“This is a lot to spring on us willy-nilly,” Doc interjected.
Brad nodded. “I realize that, too. You can give me your decision in a month.”
“And until then?” Shirley asked, stopping him before he could descend.
“We can either go on as we have or you can make do without.”
“Hell, preacher, that ain’t rightly fair, giving ultimatums.”
“Life isn’t fair, Dan. Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife is feeling poorly, and I’d like to get her home.”
He made it halfway around the pulpit before Gray stood, his dark face intent. “The McKinnelys do not need time.”
Shit. The first time Gray stood as a McKinnely and it had to be over this, backing him. “Still, you might want to take it,” he cautioned.
Gray’s shoulders squared, his chin leveled. “I do not need time.”
Probably not. Gray’s real mother had been beaten to death by an insane customer. The same man who’d later kidnapped Jenna and Mara.
“Your words are good. The McKinnelys stand with the Reverend Swanson.”
“A wet-behind-the-ears boy doesn’t talk for the McKinnelys,” Dan sneered. Evie came to Brad’s side. He glanced down as her hand slipped into his, small and warm. She gave his fingers a comforting squeeze.
“Did you forget what happened the last time you denied Gray his standing?” she asked.
Clint had kicked the shit out of the man because of Gray but also because of the boot print on Jenna’s shoulder.
“I haven’t forgotten anything.”
Jenna, patting a fussing Brianna, stood beside Gray, pride in her gaze as she turned and swept it across the congregation. “You heard my son.”
Mara stood, too, though it was hard to tell. The woman had sure been shortchanged on height, but she repeated Gray’s claim. “The McKinnelys stand with the Reverend.”
“Well, I for one don’t appreciate being railroaded. I have a daughter to consider.”
Evie bristled. Brad squeezed her hand, warning her to be quiet. “I understand, Shirley, and I’d be the last one ever to want her to be in a position of no choice, so you take your time.” He nodded to Millicent. “Can Erica and the girls stay with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thank you.”
As he passed the McKinnelys’ pew, Brad stopped. “That’s quite a son you and Clint have there, Jenna.”
She smiled, ruffling Gray’s hair with the love of a mother who didn’t take into consideration the boy’s fragile sense of consequence. He ducked away, but his scowl wasn’t nearly as dark as normal. “We’re so lucky he chose us.”
Truth was, Gray hadn’t stood a chance once Jenna had decided to love him, but that was Jenna. Always loving without condition, always giving. Clint’s sunshine. Gray’s and Brianna’s salvation.
Evie smiled. “He’s definitely done you proud today.”
Brad was probably the only one who heard the tightness of pain in her voice.
“Yes, he has. And your husband has done us all proud.”
Evie’s hand squeezed his. “Yes, he has.”
The praise sat uncomfortably on Brad’s shoulders. He was an outlaw. Fighting came as naturally as breathing. It wasn’t anything special. When he met Jenna’s gaze, he grew even more uncomfortable. There was knowledge in her big blue eyes. Damn. Clint wouldn’t have told her . . .
“It’s not every town that’s fortunate to get a man with the Reverend Brad’s experience.”
Shit, Clint had.
“We can’t afford to lose him,” Jenna continued, not letting go of his gaze.
They couldn’t afford to keep him. If she knew who he was, Jenna had to know that, too. As if the truth didn’t matter, Jenna continued, “And I for one, intent to do everything in my power to make sure he stays.”
“Sometimes a man doesn’t have a choice.”
“And sometimes he does.”
She was spinning fairy tales, but there was no arguing with Jenna when she got her mind set. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
Jenna nodded as if she wasn’t holding him to an impossible goal.
Uncomfortable with her expectations and worse with the longing that sprang up inside him as he contemplated them, he slipped his hand to the small of Evie’s back, urging her forward, away from the pointless tease of possibility. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get Evie home.”
IT WAS RAINING outside; the streets were filling with mud. Lightning flashed in the sky. In another two minutes, it’d be a deluge.
“Looks like we’ll have to make a run for it.”
Beside him, Evie groaned and grabbed her middle. “You go ahead.”
“Shit.” She was hurting. Scooping her up in his arms, suppressing a groan of his own as his ribs let him know they didn’t appreciate the strain, Brad dashed across the wide street, mud splashing up his pants legs, Evie clinging to his neck. When he set her down on the stoop, there was mud on her skirt.
He brushed at the smears. “Well, so much for my attempt at a good deed.”
She didn’t even glance at her skirt. “I think what you did today is enough to last a lifetime.”
“It’s not hard to take a swing at Bull. The man’s an ass.”
“But it took a lot to stand up for Erica and her family. It could cost you your job.”
The job that really wasn’t his to begin with. He’d long since lost touch with God. Brad opened the door, feeling her muscles tense under his hand as he guided her in. “There’s right and there’s wrong.”
It was a wonder a lightning bolt didn’t strike him dead as soon as he finished the statement. Instead, Evie blessed him with the gentlest of smiles. “I’ll cook you lunch.”
“That’s my reward?”
The door closed with a quiet click. The darkness of the house closed around them.
“If you’ll settle for pancakes. I’m pretty good at pancakes. I only burn every other one.”
“Do you burn the first or second?”
“First.”
“I’ll take the second then.”
“What, no chivalry?”
“I used up my quota with Bull.”
She turned, hands pressed to her stomach, eyes shining, looking so beautifully feminine it made him ache inside for what might have been. “I could love you for that.”
“Don’t be tossing your love away so cheaply.”
Her head cocked to the side. “I’m stuck with you forever, what’s so cheap about that?”
The next wince happened around her eyes. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed the top of her head, guilt clawing at him. “Not a damn thing.” Another kiss and he picked her up. “Let’s get you up to bed.”
“It’s barely noon.”
“I have it on good faith from Doc that a dose of laudanum, a hot water bottle, and your husband’s attentions will go a long way to making you feel yourself.”
“I don’t like laudanum.”
“I’ll put it in sweet tea.”
His ribs were screaming by the time they got to the top of the stairs.
“I hate tea.”
“How about coffee?”
She wrinkled her nose.
He set her beside the bed. “Then I’ll just have to wing it.”
He started unbuttoning her dress. Swatting at his hands, she said, “I can undress myself.”
“But I enjoy it more.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s like opening my own private, very special present.”
How did he always manage to find the sweetest things to say? Admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips, knowing the beauty those clothes hid, she sighed with disappointment. “An indisposed present.”
“You sound sad.”
“I am.” She caught his hand and kissed the back. “I like sleeping with you.”
The shock of the confession ripped through Brad in a torrent of right. Other women had said that to him. He was
an excellent lover, it was to be expected, but hearing the words from Evie who guarded her vulnerability so closely hit him hard on the same dream spot Jenna had tenderized with her conviction. A wife who believed in him, a congregation that relied on him.
He glanced heavenward.
Can’t you leave it alone? I am what I am.
Evie’s lower lip slipped between her teeth at his hesitation. “That’s good, right?”
Apparently not. He silently sighed and tipped Evie’s chin up. He hated seeing her hurt or uncertain. Hated knowing he was the one who was going to eventually hurt her.
Resentment surged right along with the hunger. Did you think of that when you laid this out?
“It’s so good sometimes it’s scary,” he said.
“I find it hard to believe a man who would take on Bull Braeger would be afraid of anything.”
“Then you’d be wrong.” He set to work on the buttons at the collar of her Sunday dress. Severity didn’t suit her. Evie was a wildflower, completely unconventional, totally beautiful, and surprisingly tough. “You scare me, Evie.”
She tipped her head back into the crook of his shoulder. Her natural trust that he would take her weight settled on the void that lurked inside, filling it a bit more. “Why?”
“Because with you I want a whole lot of things I have no business wanting.”
She blinked and then grinned with only a hint of uncertainty. “Wild sexual things, I hope.”
He smiled back, the ease of her acceptance encased in amusement, as always, chasing away the blackness of his conviction. “That, too.”
Her grin twisted and she hugged her stomach. “Ugh, I’m sorry I can’t be more fun.”
“I don’t always need fun, Evie. Caring for you is good, too.”
And the truth of that scared him more than anything else. He wanted to be the only one to care for Evie when she was sick, sad, happy . . . His hand slid to her stomach. Pregnant.
Shit. He yanked his hand back. What the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t get her pregnant. As Evie rested against him, he made short work of her blouse, her corset, and her camisole, sliding the latter off her shoulders. He expected her to hunch over and hide; she didn’t. Just lifted that chin and let him look his fill. Until a cramp hit particularly hard. Grabbing her stomach, she doubled over.
“I’ll make lunch for you tomorrow,” she groaned.
“I’ll look forward to it.” Of all the lies he’d told in his life, that was probably the kindest. Evie really couldn’t cook. “Lie down now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“You must be hungry.”
“I’m not.”
He tugged on the skirt, and she lifted her hips. The skirt came off. He draped it over the chair. Handing her the extra pillow, which she immediately clutched to her stomach, he said, “I’ll be right back.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” But he wanted to.
By the time he got back upstairs with the water bottle and the laudanum disguised in a cup of hot chocolate, Evie was curled in a ball on the bed. It was hot and stuffy in the room.
“Bad?”
She nodded. Outside, lightning flashed and the house shook under a blast of wind. Lifting the sheet he tucked the water bottle against her stomach. She moaned and hugged it to her as she leaned against the headboard. He brushed the hair off her sweaty cheek. “How about we let the storm in?”
“I don’t care.”
The window stuck. He had to hit the sash three times to get it open. The storm blew in with a gust of damp air. The curtains billowed around him as he repeated the procedure on the second window. The scent of summer rain swept through the room on a gust. “That’s better.”
Evie didn’t reply, just reached for the hot chocolate. Brad only debated a minute before shucking his clothes and sliding into bed beside her. “Scoot up.”
“Don’t you have something to do?”
Lightning flashed again. “Nothing more important than you.”
As he settled behind her, she whispered, “I hate this house. It’s so big, so formal, so . . . perfect.”
“It came with the job.”
Thunder rumbled. “I’ll try to be grateful.”
He tucked her into his chest. “Don’t bother on my account.”
“I thought you were going to remind me to be angry at you,” she murmured as she leaned back against him with a trust she wouldn’t have shown him just days before. A trust he didn’t deserve.
“I’ll get around to it eventually.”
Putting his arm around her, he accepted her weight, cradling her breast as the damp wind blew around them.
Her head dropped back onto his shoulder as she took a sip of the hot chocolate. “What are you doing?”
Gazing down into the blue of her eyes, seeing that spirit shining in her gaze, he saw the future he might have had, had things gone differently all those years ago when he’d had a choice.
“Stealing a bit of heaven.”
Fourteen
LAST NIGHT HAD been a revelation. Another piece to add to the puzzle that was her husband. Evie smiled as she dried the last glass from the breakfast dishes before setting it on the washboard. She didn’t think he had even got any sleep. She’d never seen Brad unsure before, but she had the distinct impression that the last two nights had been the first time he’d comforted a woman. He’d been good at it though. Every time the pain had come, he’d been there, holding her through it with a rather endearing determination, as if through sheer force of will he could vanquish it. Her damp fingers drifted to her stomach, where the sensation of his touch lingered. It was the first time she hadn’t minded monthly cramps.
The knock at the front door was a welcome distraction from the dishes. Tossing the towel down, she headed through the house, the echo of her footsteps in the big dining room sounding overly loud to her ears. She really didn’t know if she could ever adjust to this house being her home. She much preferred the warmth of Amy and Elijah’s old house. It was cozy and warm and inviting. And every room had great light.
Through the glass panels at the sides of the door, she could see a man standing, something bulky in his hands.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, pumpkin.”
She opened the door. “Uncle Paul!”
Throwing her arms around him she gave him a hug.
“Whoa! I haven’t been greeted that enthusiastically since the day I bought you that special red paint you liked.”
She stepped back. “Ochre. It was ochre.”
“Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?”
She thought of the way Brad had taken care of her, of how he’d stood up for Erica and her children, for her, and of the way he made her feel in bed. “Yes.”
“Good. Then I can give you your wedding present.” He hefted the large, paper-wrapped package.
She took it. “The painting?”
“The painting. I didn’t think the Rev would want it loose. And I didn’t want to leave it around before your mother and I headed East tomorrow.”
No. That wouldn’t be good. “Thank you.”
She set it inside the door. “Do you want to come in for coffee?”
“I don’t have time. I’ve got an appointment in five minutes. I just wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine.” Maybe even more than fine.
“The marriage working out?”
“More than that, it’s even beginning to feel real.”
He chucked her chin the way he had since her earliest memory, a happy connection between past and present. “Good. I brought you something else.”
Turning, he headed back to his buggy. From the bed he pulled out a familiar box. After putting the painting inside the door, Evie hurried down after him.
“My paints!”
“Brad sent a note asking for Pearl to send them over. She wasn’t in favor of the idea, seeing as you get al
l wrapped up in what you’re doing when you paint, but Brad insisted.”
Evie could take that two ways. She preferred to think Brad knew how much painting meant to her and wanted her to be happy. “As well he should.”
Uncle Paul handed her the box and gathered up the canvases. “You going to do a new painting of him?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the one I did.”
Her uncle chuckled, following her up the steps. “You mean besides the fact that he’s unimpressively naked?”
She sighed. “Except for that.”
“He’d probably appreciate a more flattering version.”
“Maybe I’ll save it for his birthday.”
“Didn’t he just have one?”
His twenty-ninth. “The wait will do him good.”
“You’re a hard woman, Evie Swanson.”
She put the paints on the dark mahogany table. “I’m just giving him something to look forward to.”
He put the rolled-up canvases beside the box. “Of course.”
Grabbing a canvas before it could roll off, she smiled at him, her fingers tingling with the urge to touch the paints, check that they were all there. “Thanks for bringing these over.”
He gave her a quick hug. “Just don’t get to painting and forget you have a husband.”
The laughter welled from within. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
THE HOUSE WAS quiet in the wake of her uncle’s departure. The dark interior, elegant and refined, seemed to close in on her. She wanted to take her paints to a sunlit field and paint the wildflowers, feel the sun on her skin, the joy of creating, just feel like she had room to smile. But that wouldn’t get the dishes done, or teach her how to cook. More’s the pity.
Casting one longing look to the sunshine outside, she headed back toward the kitchen. Her foot caught on the edge of the painting. Paper tore.
Darn it. There was a gaping rip across the bottom and up the middle. Through it she could see the flesh of Brad’s abdomen. Curiosity drove her to tear it the rest of the way. Now that she’d had time to study up, just how accurate had she been?
The paper tore with a louder rip, exposing the hard muscles of Brad’s chest. She hadn’t gotten that quite right; his pectorals were bigger, more delineated. And the scars. She touched the first spot below his left pectoral. The canvas was rough against her fingertips, but if she closed her eyes, she could easily summon the heat of his flesh, the firmness of muscle, the ripple of response, the ridge of scar. She sighed and released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She’d missed a few of them.
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