A Bride for Keeps

by Melissa Jagears

  “Amen.”

  The lamplight succumbed to Julia’s breath. Her shadowy outline appeared, barely discernible in the dark room. He sighed. He should be demonstrating God’s love to her, but engaging her in lighthearted conversation hurt too much. His physical desire for her wasn’t yet locked up tight. He needed more time to get under control.

  The blanket jerked around as she searched in the dark for the top of the quilt. She would twist it into knots like usual, so he reached over to flip the covers down. The weight of her backside fell upon his hand, his pinkie finger crooked at an odd angle. “Ow!” He clamped his hand to his chest. “That smarts.”

  Her minty breath wafted inches from his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your hand was there.”

  “Obviously.” He stretched his fingers.

  Her hand caught his and pulled it to her. “Let me kiss it. Where did I hurt you?”

  “Nowhere.” He tried to tug his hand away, but she kept a tight grasp.

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to find the spot myself.”

  He sat up. “No thank you.”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought—”

  “Kissing hurts away might have worked when I was a kid, but it’s useless now.” Her hand found his knee, and he swiped it off. He couldn’t let her lips touch his skin, even for a childish kiss. He didn’t trust himself right now. She was too close, too enticing. He pushed out of bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Leaving.” He stomped his right heel down into his boot.

  “I’m sorry, Everett. Please. I won’t offer any more kisses.”

  “Good.” He wrenched his left foot into the other boot.

  “Stay, Everett.”

  Shaking his head, he walked out and down the steps.

  “What’s wrong?” Her voice warbled from the porch. “Must you run? Please, let’s talk.”

  She stood at the porch railing, her white gown glowing in the moonlight. He growled to the maker of the stars above him, “This isn’t working!” He spun on his heel and raced to the barn. A nudge in his heart told him he was making this train wreck of a relationship worse.

  Go back. Go listen.

  He swiped the prodding aside and stomped toward a dark stall full of hay.

  ———

  Her heart thumped in her throat. Agitated and downright angry he was. For nothing. Simply nothing. She took a step down the stairs, intent on finding him and chastising him for his childish behavior.

  Merlin stepped in front of her at the bottom of the step and whined. Boy did she feel like whining herself.

  God, I don’t understand. I wouldn’t act like this.

  The thought of how she’d pushed him away at every single advance and the look in his eye as he told her of the four women before her who’d rejected him rushed from the confines of her memory.

  Her heart slowed and her fists unclenched. She crossed her arms and glared at the barn. They needed to talk. She needed to tell him.

  The barn door stood open, and the full moon made the outline of stalls and sleeping animals visible. As she stepped inside the barn, the cicada humming receded, and the sound of sputtering and mumbling filled her ears.

  Taking a step back, she clenched her hand against her stomach. Walking in on a man weeping was certainly wrong, but her name being sputtered between moans drew her forward. Her feet crunched on the hay-littered floor as she followed the sounds to the last stall. The window across the way let in enough light for her to see Everett on his knees, hands clasping a wad of hay.

  “What you ask me to do is too difficult, Lord. I can’t do it. It’s absurd.” His ragged breath sounded from the stall. “I was wrong to bring her here. But what would you have me do? I want to get away . . . but my vows hold me, and my heart enslaves me. But your expectations . . . your expectations are too much.”

  Her heart drooped like a withered plant after drought and neglect. Had she read him wrong? She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and slid to her knees while he stammered incoherent sentences. If he left her, she’d never get over the hurt. And to know he loved her once would make the pain so much more acute.

  She was too late.

  Blinking hard to get her tears under control, she readied to push herself off the ground.

  “But I can’t, Father. I can’t leave her.” His erratic breathing evened. “Help me rid myself of these feelings. I love her, I do, it’s just too hard.” He slumped against the stall’s side. “Sleeping next to her is killing me.” He hiccuped.

  Her heart sang. What did he say?

  “I can’t be her companion. I can’t be what she’s forcing me to be. She won’t have me, yet she tortures me. Make my agony stop, Lord! Rip out these feelings so I can be the friend she wants me to be. Every day that I wake up beside her, I want her more.”

  A loud, shuddering breath escaped her lips.

  His silhouette tensed.

  Her skin prickled, and her heart felt light. She crawled toward him.

  He began to rise, but she reached for his shoulders, keeping him on his knees in front of her.

  Coughs and swallows preceded his whisper. “I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to hear that. Don’t fear I’ll pressure you. I won’t. I’ve promised.”

  She scooted next to him. “I’m not sorry I overheard. It’s time we ended this sham of a marriage.”

  He rocked back on his heels and stood as quick as lightning. She scrambled to stand, grabbing the hand clenched over his chest. He hung his head. “I suppose it is.”

  She clasped his tense arm with both of her hands. “What you were praying for just then would require a miracle.” She peered up at him, but his face turned toward the window, his neck taut. “I don’t want to see God do such a mighty work.”

  With her finger, she drew lazy lines on his tensed arm. The muscles flexed under her touch. “It’s wrong for you to be sleeping next to me a foot or two away. That ought to stop. Every night, since you kissed me last, I struggle to fall asleep, wondering what another one of those kisses would feel like if you rolled over and took me into your arms.”

  He stiffened more, and she let her hand travel up his chest, the muscle solid and reassuring. He clamped her arm against his racing heart, staying her movements. “Don’t toy with me, Julia.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to kiss you a few minutes ago?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Because I feared I’d kiss you back, and I can’t watch you turn away from me in disgust again.”

  “That’s all I’ve done, isn’t it?” Her posture slumped.

  “And I shouldn’t kiss a woman who doesn’t love me.”

  He deserved better than her; she now realized what a gift God had given her. “I shouldn’t have married you—”

  He released her and stepped away.

  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Wait. I only mean I shouldn’t have married you when I did.” Reaching up, she straightened his collar. “I let my fear of men cloud my discernment, but I love you for respecting my impossible expectations and for loving me despite how I’ve treated you.”

  “What are you saying?” He bent his head, his eyes roving back and forth as if he could read her thoughts by taking in every inch of her face.

  How could she have ever toyed with this man? And how had she ever doubted what her attachment to him really was? “Yes, Everett, I love you. Very much.”

  Cupping her face, his thumbs trembled as he smoothed the skin at her jawline. “I’m not sure I can keep from kissing you right now.” He swallowed hard. “May I?”

  Her heart hammered in her throat as she nodded. “I promise not to pull away.”

  One roughened hand whispered across her neck, and the fingers of his other combed themselves into her hair. “Good,” he whispered. The moonlight from the window illumined the flash of fire behind his eyes. His kiss was slow and tender as he tucked her in close. She closed her eyes, awash in the comfort and love of the man who adored her. A fe
w seconds later, he pulled back, shivering.

  At least she thought he was, since her body shook of its own volition.

  “Just wanted to see if I could be the first to break a kiss for once.” His voice was husky.

  His boyish smirk made her smile. “I now see why you didn’t like it.”

  “Beloved, are you certain you love me?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes softer than the moonlight. “I don’t want you to ever think I want you tucked into my side for anything baser than the fact that you are my other half. The only woman I dream of, the one I need beside me. The girl I’ll spend the rest of my life getting to know so well, no one will believe our marriage started off so rough.”

  “Yes, I’m certain.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her head against his chest. The warmth of tears flooded her eyes. “And I know you’ll love me no matter what because you loved me before I was any good to you.”

  She didn’t deserve him at all. “What can I do to erase these last miserable months from your memory?”

  A low chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “They weren’t that miserable.”

  She leaned back to look at him. “Yes they were. You just told God as much.”

  “All right, more than miserable.” He smiled as he swept a tear from the corner of her eye. “But you just told me you loved me, and those words have already wiped away the hardship. I would have gone through anything to have you say that to me.”

  “Then let’s add some more good memories to today, shall we?”

  “What do you have in mind, love?”

  She stood on tiptoe to meet his smiling lips, starting a kiss she refused to be the first one to break. Time and the need to breathe disappeared in the security of his embrace.

  Why had she ever pulled away?

  Epilogue

  THREE YEARS LATER

  Julia sucked in a mighty breath before it was too late. Rachel leaned over and clasped her uncontrollably quivering knees. “Almost there.”

  Growling, she pushed.

  “One more.”

  Through gritted teeth, she spit word daggers at her friend. “You told me that a hundred pushes—”

  “Save your breath, girl.”

  Her vision turned black, and then a thousand stars obliterated the darkness. She gulped for air.

  “There. I told you. Do it again.”

  With one last shove, the pressure slipped away and the pain dissolved. She didn’t have to ask if the baby was alive. A cry pierced the air, and her legs fell limp to the ticking. A sigh escaped, and she lay back onto the pillows, exhausted.

  She’d lost two little ones early on, but this one was here, actually here. Anticipating the anguish of losing children hadn’t truly prepared her for it. New empathy had allowed her to forgive her mother for how she’d been treated as a child. But she was determined not to let her lost children affect her treatment of the one crying in Rachel’s arms.

  Rachel’s beaming face swam before her. “A boy. A big, loud boy.” She wiped the damp hair from her forehead and smiled. “And you told me you wouldn’t be having any children.”

  The bedroom door flew open, and Everett’s tall form filled the doorway. His eyes locked onto hers.

  Rachel moved away to the corner, hushing and cooing to the swaddled baby in her arms.

  Everett knelt beside her and grabbed her hand. “How are you?”

  She sighed. “We have a son.”

  “I can hear.” The baby’s wails nearly drowned out his words, but she still heard the pleasure behind them.

  “You should be happy.” She mustered up a smile. “A strong boy to help with the workload.”

  “So that’s why you wanted this baby so bad.” His face sported a lopsided grin. “Needed someone to take over chores so you could be lazy.”

  Her head moved back and forth across the pillow. “You said I’d be a fool to think we could do the farm work alone. The Lord knows I tried.”

  He covered a laugh with a cough before letting his fingers slip into her hair. “Glad you worked so hard making our home ready for my son.”

  Laughing, Rachel placed a freshly washed bundle of baby in the crook of his arm. “I’m afraid you’ve added to your workload with this tiny thing. Doubled if not tripled. A long, roundabout process to scale down your responsibilities.”

  Julia sat up against the headboard and caressed her son’s velvety cheek. He turned toward her fingers, and Rachel gave her a few minutes of instruction on feeding the baby before she left the room.

  Feeling no fatigue, she placed her thumb in the babe’s grasp.

  “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Everett’s voice broke.

  She raised her eyebrows. “You once said that about me.” Their son’s big blue eyes stared up at her as if she were the most marvelous thing in the world. She caressed his folded velvety ear. “He’s usurped me already.”

  Everett’s hands planted themselves on each side of her lap, forcing her gaze off the perfection in her arms.

  “I suppose I’ve looked better.” She took in his dark, vivid blue eyes.

  “No.” Everett’s voice was rough and low. “No you haven’t.”

  Acknowledgments

  I am indebted to so many people for helping me on my journey to publication, and I’ve most likely not thanked any of them enough for their generosity, time, and expertise.

  To my husband, who listens to my rambling story ideas and the woes of making characters do what I want—even though I often keep him up late at night to do so. I’m grateful he enjoys being my fight coordinator and weapons and outdoor expert.

  To the original Scribes 203 group, Anne Greene, Charlie Marquardt, Diana Sharples, and Glenn Haggerty Jr., who had to deal with a very green writer, yet saw my potential and hacked my words to pieces so I could grow. If it wasn’t for your kind but thorough help in learning the craft, I’d not yet be where I am.

  To my critique partner, Naomi Rawlings. Not only is she exactly who I need to kick my stories to the next level, but she is a friend I treasure.

  To two of my very best friends, Andrea Strong and Karen Riekeman, who believed in me before reading my manuscript and still believed in me afterward, their confidence in me is incredibly encouraging.

  To my agent, Natasha Kern, and my editors, Raela Schoenherr and Sarah Long, and the other people behind the scenes at Bethany House who championed my manuscript and helped me achieve my dream of holding this book in my hands: I’m very, very grateful.

  To authors who give of their time to judge prepublished contests, I know how much work that is and am thankful you do so. I especially want to thank the ones that came out of anonymity to encourage me. And to contest coordinators and organizations that provide contests and industry professionals serving as final judges who make them worthwhile, this book most likely wouldn’t be published if it hadn’t been for your time. And to Seekerville, which posts monthly contest updates that spurred me to put this manuscript in One. Last. Time.

  And to my poor children, who have to put up with a writing mommy, I thank them for not caring that the house is often a disaster. I’m glad that ditching housekeeping to write doesn’t make me a poor mommy in their eyes. And to my husband, who deals with it.

  And to my God, who loves me for reasons unfathomable. May I grow to be a better servant with the gifts you’ve given me.

  Melissa Jagears, an ESL teacher by trade, is a stay-at-home mother on a tiny Kansas farm with a fixer-upper house. She’s a member of ACFW and CROWN fiction marketing. Her passion is to help Christian believers mature in their faith and judge rightly. A Bride for Keeps is her first novel. Find her online at www.melissajagears.com, Facebook, Pinterest, and Goodreads.

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