That surge of motherly pride swept through Lilly as Dahlia flashed a grin.
Claire turned back to Lilly. “You’re cooking chili and beans tonight, right?”
She held out the pause until Lilly finally nodded. Why was Claire so insistent she leave this place of protection to visit a woman she barely knew? Sure, Miriam was Claire’s sister-in-law, so she was probably safe. But the last thing Lilly wanted was to struggle for small talk with strangers.
“So put the beans on to simmer, and we’ll give Miriam a quick visit. Aunt Pearl will be glad to keep an eye on them, right?” She glanced up as the older woman swept into the room.
“Sure thing, dearie. I saw that baby this mornin’, and he’s not somethin’ you should miss.”
Lilly eyed them both. How could she say no to the only two friends she had in the world? “All right.”
~ ~ ~
BABY WILLIAM was worth venturing from the kitchen for.
His features were tiny. So inexplicably perfect. Snuggled in a crocheted blanket in the crook of Lilly’s arm, she couldn’t take her eyes from the bow-shaped lips, parted slightly as he breathed in his sleep. The little nose, rounded cheeks, and delicate ears.
“Can I touch him, mama?”
Lilly pulled her focus to Dahlia, then pulled the blanket back to uncover a small piece of fuzzy dark hair from the top of William’s head. “You can rub him here. He’s so soft.”
Her daughter breathed a sigh as she stroked the spot.
“Here, Miri, drink some of this tea.” Claire carried a tray into the parlor where Lilly, Miriam, and Dahlia sat. She handled the tray with practiced ease after so many months working at the café.
Miriam stretched across a settee and snuggled into a pillow in the crook of its arm. “Thank you.”
The woman still looked pale, and no wonder since she’d gone through childbirth only two days before. The memory of Dahlia’s birth had begun to fade in Lilly’s mind, but she could still call back the long hours of tormented pain.
The front door opened, and Lilly jumped, her grip tightening on the babe. She forced her startled muscles to relax. Little William’s face scrunched, protesting against the disruption to his nap.
“Where’s my favorite patient?” Doc Alex stepped into the room, and a smile lit his face when his gaze settled on the bundled blanket in her arms. He strode forward but didn’t move toward Lilly and the babe. Instead, he veered toward Miriam, then leaned down and placed a lingering kiss directly on her lips.
Lilly looked away, heat soaring up into her cheeks. That was something Pa-Pa would have done to Mama, but she’d never seen another married couple act that way in front of others.
Her gaze rose to another figure who stepped in the doorway. Marcus. Her heart stuttered. The light from behind outlined his silhouette, but she could see enough of his face to know he was staring at her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t quite force herself to do it.
He stepped forward, closing the door behind him.
“Marcus, what are you doing here?” Claire spoke from the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll put coffee on.”
He flicked a glance at his sister. “Thanks.” Then his gaze found Lilly again. It roamed down, to the bundle in her arms, then back up to her face as he closed the distance.
When he was just a few feet away, he stopped and crouched on his heels. It looked like he’d come to examine the baby, but his focus turned to Dahlia. “Hey there, sweet one. How are you today?”
She gave him a winning smile, barely laced with shyness. “Good.”
“Did you come to help your mama see this new baby?”
She bobbed her pointed chin. “Yes.”
“Good. Well, I haven’t seen him yet, so maybe you can tell me about him.”
He reached a hand and circled her back, then pulled Dahlia toward him. His knees dropped to the floor and he planted her where she could see the baby. “Do you know what his name is?”
She peered over the edge of the blanket at the tiny sleeping form. “Baby William.”
“I like that name. What color is his hair?” Marcus leaned forward as he spoke, getting his own look at the baby.
Dahlia peeled the edge of the blanket back where she’d touched his head earlier. “I think it’s blue.”
Lilly couldn’t stop a chuckle as she sent an apologetic glance to Marcus. “We’re just learning colors, and blue seems to be her favorite.”
A twinkle lit Marcus’s eyes as he sent her a conspiratorial grin. “I like blue.”
“Can I hold him?” Dahlia looked up at Marcus with round, pleading eyes that were usually hard to resist.
Lilly hurried to answer. “No.”
“Maybe—” Marcus cut off the word when he realized she’d spoken, too.
Lilly’s heart beat faster as she met his gaze. He wouldn’t try to override her decision would he?
Dahlia glanced back and forth between them.
Lilly inhaled to steady her voice. “He’s too little still, honey. Maybe when he gets bigger.”
Marcus eyed her with soft scrutiny. “Maybe she can sit in my lap while I hold him?”
He sent a glance over his shoulder to where Alex and Miriam watched them. Neither seemed angry, and Alex even wore an amused smile as he shrugged. “Fine by me.”
Marcus turned back to her then, looking up from his kneeling position. His face held a mixture of respect and request. He wasn’t pushing, just asking.
She looked at her daughter. “I suppose so, but, Dahlia, you have to be very gentle and don’t move when you’re near him.”
Dahlia nodded, those big round eyes filling with excitement.
After Marcus settled himself in the rocking chair with Dahlia on his right knee, Lilly carried the babe toward them. She looked over at Miriam one last time. “Are you sure this is all right?” She knew the fear that could plague a mother’s heart over the safety of her child.
But Miriam didn’t appear afraid. “Of course.” She offered a tired smile. “If he’s happy and safe, I’m happy.”
As Lilly leaned down to place the baby in the crook of Marcus’s left arm, she was closer to him than she’d ever been. His strength seemed to swallow the babe, and she could smell a hint of pine drifting from him. Her gaze wondered traitorously to his face.
She met his gaze there. Rich amber brown eyes, watching her. Softly. So different from any man she’d known. The strength he possessed she’d seen before. But this softness, this earnestness—it was unique to him alone.
Lilly pulled back. Opening herself to any man, even this one, was dangerous.
~ ~ ~
MARCUS SIPPED his mug of coffee as he strolled toward the church early Saturday morning. He needed to put out tables for the social after church the next day.
And there was always the chance Lilly might come play the piano like she had that one Saturday. She’d not come a second time that he knew of, but since she played for last Sunday’s service…he could hope.
As the building came into view, he squinted at it. Something didn’t seem right. He lengthened his stride.
The windows.
Both those on the near side of the church sported jagged holes, exaggerated by the reflection of the surrounding trees in the pieces of glass that were left.
He neared the building and started toward the glass, but he stopped himself. If the windows had been broken intentionally, the vandal may still be around. He crept toward the front porch…and stopped.
His pulse notched up as he took in the words carved in the bannister and on the steps. Anger roared through his ears as his gaze lifted to the door.
Whoever did this would pay. And he would do the honors himself. An inkling of guilt crept through his chest at the thought.
Marcus’s hands clenched as he moved up the stairs, careful not to step on any of the profanity carved into every single one of them. It was everywhere. In the floor boards, on the door frame.
He breathed hard to keep himself from
exploding. God, why did You let this happen? How could God have possibly stood by and let His house of worship be vandalized like this?
He gripped the door handle and pushed it open, steeling himself for what he would find. The inside seemed mostly undisturbed, except for the shattered glass littering the floor in front of all four windows.
He blinked to accustom his eyes to the dim interior. What was he missing?
Stepping forward, he swept his gaze across every pew and across the floor. At the front of the church, his focus found the pulpit. Apparently undisturbed. The piano. His chest tightened as he moved closer to examine it. If they’d damaged Lilly’s piano, he would tear them apart with his bare hands.
But the instrument didn’t appear touched. Its mahogany surface shone from yesterday’s oiling. He raised the cover to examine the keys. Pristine.
He let the lid slip back down and sank onto the bench. What now? He propped his head in his hand, clutching his hair as he thought through the destruction outside. Who would have done such a thing? And why? Was someone angry with him? Angry the church was open again? Or could it have been young rowdies, or even old drunkards, out for a perverted good time? He thought back to the words he’d read and cringed. Surely no youth would know the meaning of half them.
He had to get rid of those vile words. What if someone came by and read them?
His chest froze. What if Lilly came today, with Dahlia?
He surged to his feet and strode toward the door. He still had some glass paper left from polishing the new picnic tables he’d made. Lord willing, he could remove the worst of it with that.
Chapter Nine
DAHLIA KEPT UP a steady chatter as they neared the church, and Lilly tried to follow along. But her thoughts constantly strayed to the tall, broad-shouldered preacher who’d manned the pulpit at this very church last Sunday. Would he be there this morning? Probably not. He hadn’t been that other Saturday when she’d come to practice. Of course, they were a little later this morning, but…
They passed the final town building, a washhouse, and turned onto the road where the church stood in the distance. Her eyes scanned the structure. A figure knelt on the front porch, his dark clothing outlining him clearly against the white of the deck.
Her heart leapt. Even from this distance, she recognized those broad shoulders.
“Look, honey.” She gripped Dahlia’s hand tighter to help her make this last stretch. “I see Marcus at the church.”
The child’s face lifted at the name, just as Lilly’s heart did. “I brought Miss Ann to show him. I know he’s going to like her.” Her daughter clutched the rag doll Aunt Pearl had made her. It had long been a dear friend.
As they entered the church yard, Lilly watched the preacher. What was Marcus doing now? The church fairly gleamed from a fresh coat of paint outside and a thorough polishing inside. It looked like he was scrubbing at something on the porch floor.
When they were a few feet from the steps, Marcus glanced up. Something about his expression didn’t look right. Drawn. Tense.
“Look what I brought, Marcus.” Dahlia’s high-pitched voice filled the air, and he looked at her, his face softening.
“What is it, little bit?” He rose to his feet, his limbs and muscles unfolding as he did. Goodness, he was tall. Moving down the stairs, he stopped before them and leaned down to rest his hands on his thighs. “Let me see.”
“It’s Miss Ann.” Dahlia dipped her chin and held out the doll, pivoting a little as she waited for his response.
He let out a low whistle. “Well, hello, Miss Ann. I’m awfully pleased to meet you.” With his thumb and forefinger, he shook the doll’s dingy cloth hand. “I’m Marcus.”
Dahlia giggled, a sound that rang like music in the air. Lilly couldn’t quite bite back her smile.
Marcus straightened, meeting Lilly’s gaze. The troubled look shadowed his eyes again. “Did you come to play?”
What was wrong with him? Did he not want her there? She forced herself to straighten her shoulders and not bite her lip. “Yes, but I don’t have to if it’s an inconvenience.”
He breathed out a sigh and turned to look back at the church behind him. “I’d love for you to play. We’ve just had some…damage to the church. I’m working to get it cleaned up, but…” He turned back to meet her gaze. “I’d rather you not see it all.”
Lilly’s gut tightened. “Damage?” Had someone intentionally vandalized the building? Was no place safe? Were the men even now lurking about? She scanned the open meadow around the building.
Marcus edged closer. “They’re gone now. The only things left are some broken glass and words carved in the porch. Everything inside is fine. I almost have the porch done.” He stopped the rush of words to swallow, his face losing a bit of color. “The door’s going to take a little longer.”
She studied him. “What can I do to help?”
His face picked up its ruddiness again. “Nothing. I don’t want you around it.”
She bent down to Dahlia. “Honey, why don’t you sit down under this tree with your bread and apple. All right?”
The child plopped down where she pointed and looked up expectantly. She was always ready for a snack these days. Must be a growing phase.
The heat of Marcus’s gaze penetrated the back of her cloak as Lilly settled Dahlia with the food. She straightened to meet his look, then started forward. As much as he’d done for their cabin, she could spend a few hours helping to repair the church.
~ ~ ~
MARCUS MATCHED her stride across the yard and to the steps. She was a stubborn lady, and the look she’d given him brooked no argument.
She slowed as they took the stairs, her eyes widening. He’d spent a couple hours rubbing out the marks in the wood, so the worst of the words were unreadable. Thank the Lord. It must have been the extent of the damage that shocked her.
The door was another story, though. He’d not started on it yet. So much profanity marred the solid surface of the boards, the thing would most likely need to be replaced.
He stepped forward to open it and hopefully hide the scrawling. Lilly stopped to examine it though.
Even though the awful words weren’t his own doing, heat crawled up Marcus’s neck while she took it all in. What was he doing letting a lady see these things? He should be protecting her.
She rested a hand on his arm, and her face paled. “Marcus.” She breathed the word, the horror of it all playing across her face.
He stepped in front of the door, blocking her from the scene. Pulling her from her trance.
Lilly squared her shoulders, and the shock cleared from her features, leaving behind a guarded expression. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.”
She glared at him, a look that would have singed a lesser man. But his sister had an expression similar to it, and he’d spent years developing his defenses.
He softened his tone. “I’ve got the worst of it done. I don’t think the door’s repairable. I’ll need to make a new one.”
“What about the inside?”
He glanced through the open doorway. “They didn’t touch anything in there. I’m not sure why, but I’m thankful.”
She stepped in, her gaze scanning the room. It paused on the shards of glass littering the floor beneath each shattered window. “Do you have a broom?”
His gut fell. He didn’t want her working. Not at the church. She labored all the time as it was, both at the café and her house. “I don’t want…”
She brought her hand to his forearm again. And this time the touch melted through his shirt. “I want to help.”
Those eyes. He was close enough to see the chocolate brown in them, surrounded by the dark that made them look black from a distance. She was almost close enough for him to feel her breath play across his face. She wouldn’t be able to feel his, because he’d stopped breathing.
He had to look away before he pulled her close. He forced his gaze from hers, but it si
mply drifted down to her hand on his arm, despite his efforts to look away. He swallowed. Hard.
She pulled back. Took a step away. “A broom?” Her voice sounded breathy.
Marcus pinched his eyes shut for a second—only a split second, but he used it to send up a desperate prayer for control. A broom. He opened his eyes and looked at the floor. “There’s one in the shed. I’ll get it.”
He loped down the stairs and inhaled for the first time in what felt like an hour as he stepped out of sight around the corner of the church. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t feel this way about one of his parishioners. But she’d been standing so close, and when she’d touched him… He needed an ax and wood to split. Or a dunk in a cold river. Something to slow his churning body.
She was beautiful. Stunning. But more than that had his pulse racing and his muscles clamped tight. He wanted to protect her. From the vandalism on the church. From anything that might bring her pain.
That had always been his weakness, protecting those he loved. He held too tightly, even smothered at times. But Lilly needed protecting. He saw it in the vulnerability that occasionally flashed behind her fierce mask. He’d felt it a few moments ago when they stood in the doorway.
It wasn’t a cry for help. Only a tiny glimpse of raw fear. She needed protecting. And he wanted to be the one to do it.
~ ~ ~
MARCUS WHISTLED an old folk song as he followed the trail along the side of the café toward the back door. Lilly had spent several hours Saturday morning helping clean the damage at the church, then she’d come back yesterday to play for the service. She’d started talking with him, too. Not chattering on like Claire would, but her responses had begun to reveal her history and personality in a way that intrigued him.
Apparently, she’d lived in Derbyshire, England, for over half her life, and she still had family there, although she didn’t seem to be close to them. Interesting that her English accent wasn’t stronger. Perhaps that had to do with her first nine years spent in Guatemala, and the more recent time in Montana.
The Lady and the Mountain Promise (Mountain Dreams Series Book 4) Page 6