He barked defensively, “All I was trying to do was get her to eat better. How is a bachelor supposed to know what a pregnant widow does for indigestion?”
Howie piped up. “She’s been keepin’ a bottle of antacid tablets in the stable.”
Dylan nearly exploded. “Anything you know about her comes directly to me, do you hear that? Anything. Miller put her in my care. The last thing I need is for the lot of you to go leavin’ me in the dark about the particulars.”
Someone grumbled, “She’s an adult. She takes pretty good care of herself.”
“You can’t be serious! She hasn’t had liver even once. Every fool knows she supposed to eat liver. And when she got sick—remember when she got sick?”
Nickels admitted, “She was pitiful.”
Teresa rubbed her hands on a napkin. “Enough’s been said. I doubt Sondra would appreciate being the topic of any further conversation. Just do your best by her.”
Dylan held up a hand and added, “And each of you comes to me with anything—otherwise, you’ll be looking for work elsewhere. Any questions?”
No one said a thing.
Still, his message got through. As soon as he showed up that afternoon, Edgar reported, “Miz Sondra locked herself out of her car today. Went shoppin’, too. Brung back loads of baby stuff. She’s up at the house.”
Armed with a carton of rocky road ice cream as a peace offering, Dylan headed for her door. She didn’t answer his knock. He wasn’t sure whether she refused to speak to him or if she was in trouble. He knocked once more. With no response, he decided to take her at her word. Dylan opened the kitchen door. He strode into the kitchen, letting his boots scrape on the floor loudly in hopes she’d call out a howdy. She didn’t.
He stuck the ice cream in her freezer, expecting she’d hear him and make an appearance. When she didn’t, he peeked into the empty living room. Maybe in the basement—doing laundry perhaps? Nope. The light was off down there. Her bedroom was empty, too. His heart started to race.
A soft sound made him push open the last door. Dylan stood there and tilted his head to the side. His eyes narrowed. Asleep? In here? He drew closer and confirmed his suspicion. She looked vulnerable as she slept. Her lashes fanned across her cheekbones and fluttered a little. Her lips pouted. He winced at how kissable she looked.
Whoa. Where did that thought come from? For all of its surprise, the admission rang true.
She had no right to look so adorable. And cuddly. Peach and yellow flowers dotted the dress that draped her softer, fuller curves. Sondra had gained some weight—enough to fill in the hollows of her cheeks pleasantly, and the radiance of her skin brought to mind the cliché of how pregnant women glowed.
Oh, man. I’m getting lassoed by my own rope.
She favored some heady perfume—an exotic blend of subtle spices and a hint of flowers that left him inhaling deeply after she walked past. Just a whiff, and he’d hold his breath to appreciate the scent a moment longer. The intelligent sparkle in her eye captivated him. And the way she sometimes pursed her lips as she thought or absorbed something he told her—as if she were ready for a kiss.
Oh, he’d been appreciating the sight all along. Truth be told, she’d slowly been driving him crazy—but until this moment, he’d attributed it more to obligation and her quirky nature. Never once had he admitted his heart might be getting involved.
Through it all, he’d been sort of a neutral party. Exhibiting a polite modicum of concern and a proprietary interest were all that seemed appropriate. After all, they were partners of a sort. Miller had entrusted her into his care.
Besides, she was a widow. Carrying another man’s baby. And he was a Christian brother. That certainly put him in a position of helping out.
Until now. Just as soon as Dylan admitted to himself that he’d fallen, and fallen hard, the sucker punch came. He could want her from now ’til the moon fell out of the sky, but wanting didn’t matter when it was one-sided. Then, too, he didn’t cotton to the notion that he would be last in line. Sondra’s world revolved around the child she carried. That was admirable. . .but it also pointed out a glaring fact: That baby would always bind her heart to Kenny.
She cherished her memories of Kenny—and though that was well and good, he’d once been a mortal man. . .but Dylan knew he’d now be competing with saintly memories. That went over about as well as getting bucked off into a cactus patch. Nope. He shook his head. Partners. Brother and sister in Christ. That’s all he and Sondra would ever be.
Other than when she had the flu, she’d been bouncing around and getting into everything. Indigestion might be a bit of a nuisance, but overall, she’d never complained or shied away from doing anything. Leave it to a sassy woman like her to carry a kid with confidence. She didn’t want or need special considerations.
Just then, the baby moved, making the flowered fabric of her dress ripple in the most fascinating way. Dylan watched in silence. It was such an amazing sight. A little frog-catching, jackrabbit-chasing, cowlick-headed boy was inside of her. What a wonder!
Tension sang through every last inch of her. His eyes narrowed. “You’re awake.”
She let out a cry.
Ten
“Hey, settle down,” Dylan placated in a soft tone. “It’s just me. Everything’s okay. I brought some ice cream. Rocky road.”
Sondra wet her lips and nodded slowly. She sat on the far side of the bed, back pressed against the wall. Her eyes were huge.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Dylan realized aloud, “I spooked you. I’m sorry.”
“ ’S okay.”
“Not really. You look like you wanna scream. I’ll go dish up ice cream. Okay?” He headed for the kitchen and decided to have a bowl, too. A relaxed time together was just the ticket—and no one could get het-up mad while eating ice cream. He scooped out several hunks and created a mountain in each bowl.
“Dylan! What army is going to help me do that justice?”
He turned. “You’re on your own.” Grinning wasn’t hard. She’d run a comb through her hair so it fell in a fiery, bouncy fall past her shoulders. Her flowered dress looked springy and cool.
Self-consciously smoothing out a few wrinkles over her tummy, Sondra said, “I should have changed.”
“You look cuter than a bug’s ear. Come sit down.” Thumping the bowls onto the table, Dylan waggled his brows. “I brought your favorite.”
She sat, took up her spoon, and let out a small sigh of pleasure as she swallowed her first bite. A moment later, she frowned at her hand. “My ring’s getting tight.”
“Better take it off.”
She chewed on her lip and shrugged.
He wondered if it was already stuck. Forcing himself to not look at her hand took considerable self-control. He’d already blundered by giving his opinion about how she ought to take care of herself. A pregnant widow had every reason to want to keep on her wedding band. Still, she needed to be sensible. “When you’re ready, a little butter might make it slip off a bit easier.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I thought maybe bag balm would do the trick.”
He shot her a quirky smile. “Ma’am, you said it, I didn’t.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Dylan, I owe you an apology. I let my hormones and temper get ahead of me last night—”
“I owe you an apology,” he interrupted. He searched for the right words, “About the—”
“How about we both forget that unfortunate episode?”
He started to chuckle. “You’re not hearing me complain. Your revenge was mighty sweet.”
She smiled as she took a bite of ice cream.
He finally allowed himself to look at her left hand. “Ma’am, if your band gets much tighter, you’ll be in trouble—but then again, I’ve proven myself to be wholly ignorant regarding maternity and women, in general. I’ll have to beg your pardon if I get a mite jumpy about you. . .” He waved his spoon toward her tummy. “And all of this.”
�
��There’s nothing to fret about. Overall, I’ve been very lucky. Six weeks to go, and I’m feeling fine.” She looked pleased—though he wasn’t sure whether her relief came from the fact that she was so close to the end of being in a family way, or that they’d dropped the subject of her ring.
“When are you going to move into the city?”
Her spoon clattered to the table. “I’m not moving!”
“Oh, come on, Sondra! I wasn’t talking about you leaving permanently.”
“I’m staying right here.”
“You have to be closer to medical care for when the baby comes. No one’s gonna take that as abandonment. Other mothers-to-be do it. As a matter of fact, BobbyJo Lintz just came back home yesterday after having their kid.”
“Really? What did she have?”
“A boy. Your youngster will have a pal on the school bus. Nice, eh?”
Sondra glowed. “Wonderful! I’ll have to make her a few meals.”
“Oh, no, you don’t! What you need to do is settle down and rest.”
“I was lying down.”
“After you went roaming all over creation. I saw all of those shopping bags.”
“Those are a few essentials. I’m going to order the nursery furniture from Nielson’s.”
He nodded. Sondra showed good judgment, buying big-ticket items from a local family who also happened to worship at their church. She’d adjusted to small-town living like the proverbial duck to water. Rubbing his hand across his jaw, Dylan blurted out, “Are you sure the baby’s healthy?”
“There aren’t any guarantees, Dylan. So far, things look fine.”
“Why was your husband in a wheelchair? I mean, was it because of a birth defect?”
“Motorcycle accident.”
“Before or after you got married? Aw, forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”
Sondra licked a dot of chocolate off her lower lip and shook her head. “No one’s asked me about Kenny since he died. It’s spooky—like I’m supposed to pretend he never existed or anything. I loved him. I don’t want to forget him.”
“Makes sense.” Dylan stared at the ice cream melting in his own bowl. The last thing he wanted to hear was how much she loved another man—even if Kenny was dead.
“Ken and I met at a coworker’s birthday bash. He and I hit it off right away. I’d sprained my ankle and had to camp out on the couch. We ended up talking for hours.”
“He must have had the time of his life.”
“I sure did. I’m a sucker for a man in jeans and a flannel shirt.”
“Hmm. You’re in trouble.” And I’m in luck. I live in jeans and flannel shirts all winter.
“Why am I in trouble?” Her brows rose. “Because the men around here wear them?”
When he nodded, she shrugged. “I don’t think that’ll be much of an issue. I’ll be far too distracted to care about anyone who doesn’t wear a diaper.”
Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, Sondra?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a pretty little gal. You’ve got a bunch of money and a fine ranch. I hope you’ll be careful. Plenty of slick guys would be more than happy to slip in and get their hands on such a deal.”
“Mr. Cheviot warned me of the same thing when I signed the papers. I’m not worried, Dylan. It’s nice of you to be concerned, but I don’t think I’m heart-whole enough to think about loving anyone again.”
Some things can’t be hurried. I’ll give you time, honey.
She stared at the melting ice cream in her dish and his empty bowl. She made a ragged attempt to clear her throat. “I hate being a crybaby.”
Dylan rose and stood by her. He skimmed his big hand up and down her back. “You’re not being a crybaby. You’re just a woman with too many responsibilities and a broken heart.” He smoothed her hair as she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “A man would be lucky to be loved the way you loved Ken.”
“Don’t you have someone, Dylan?”
“No. Miller must have eaten locoweed when he stuck that option in the will about us getting married. Bad enough he got that bee in his bonnet. Even worse, Teresa nearly drives me crazy with her matchmaking schemes. Our folks were one of those rare couples who were madly in love with each other. Teresa’s engaged to Jeff Langston, and they’re both disgustingly happy together. I couldn’t be more pleased for them.”
“With that kind of example, why haven’t you taken the plunge?”
He shrugged. “I’m waiting on God’s timing.”
“The loneliness is awful, isn’t it?”
“I’m not complaining.” He intentionally kept his voice light. The last thing she needed was for him to underscore the emptiness of solitary nights and meals for one. He gave her a playful pat. “Eat the rest of your ice cream.”
“I’m full.”
“Want me to make you eat liver instead?”
❧
Dylan finished putting the chicks back with the hens. Sondra still took them to the group home for foster kids every other week. He didn’t cotton to her driving that far, but she always came back so happy, he couldn’t very well discourage her. Instead, he made it a habit to be there to help her gather them up. It was cute, seeing how she never just scooped them up and tucked them into the box. She always cradled them for a moment, rubbed them against her pleasure-flushed cheek, and temporarily lost all of her sadness. Usually she’d put them back, but it was barely eleven o’clock, and the day had turned into a scorcher. He’d promised to take care of her little chicks if she’d go in and cut a few checks he vowed were urgently needed.
Dylan watched the Nielson’s Furniture truck drive up and nonchalantly wandered over to get a gander. It was time he could ill-afford to waste. “That the stuff for the baby?”
“Yep.” Jim Nielson jumped out of the delivery truck. “This is the biggest order we’ve gotten in a long time.”
Dylan let out a low whistle when the kid opened the tailgate of the truck. “Need a hand getting all of this inside?”
“I’d be obliged. Dad promised her I’d set up everything. I may well still be in there clutching a screwdriver the day the kid comes home from the hospital!”
Dylan’s smile faded. In fact, he gritted his teeth. Sondra was young. Pretty, too. Vulnerable. Some moon-eyed puppy like this could wriggle his way right into her heart if he did a few favors and acted understanding. Dylan half stomped up to the doorstep and pounded. “Sondra! Truck’s here with the baby furniture!”
She opened the door and smiled at him. She didn’t look at the truck—she looked at him! His heart did a genuine two-step. She was one fine-looking woman. He grinned right back like some nitwitted fool.
“Terrific!” She stepped back as Jimmy brought up the first load of boxes.
Steering her over to the couch, Dylan ordered, “You sit here and put your feet up. Did you want the baby to have the room next to the master bedroom?”
“Please.”
Soon as they’d hauled the boxes inside, Sondra sat on the edge of the twin bed in the nursery and opened a box containing the swing. Dylan appreciated that about her—she was a dig-in-and-get-things-done kind of woman. She didn’t expect everyone to fuss over her. Her attitude about getting on with life showed wisdom and strength.
She jutted her chin toward the far wall. “If you’d please put the crib over there, I’d appreciate it. It gets morning sun, but the baby won’t be by the curtain’s cord.” She chewed on her lip. “I’m not sure about where to put the changing table.”
Jabbing his thumb at the opposite wall, Dylan said, “There. When you’re changing him, and he sprouts a leak, the closet and curtains are both out of range.”
Sondra blinked at him. “How did you know that?”
“Mom was a baby magnet. Folks knew she’d watch their kids anytime, for any reason. If someone was sick or needed a break or wanted to go off on a romantic getaway, they knew Mom would gladly take on their kids. I’ve changed more diapers than you could ev
er count,” Dylan admitted gruffly.
She laughed, then turned. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty, Jim. Can I get you some lemonade or soda?”
“Either would be nice, ma’am. Thanks.”
Sondra went down the hall toward the kitchen. Dylan followed right behind her. When she opened the refrigerator, he reached and grabbed a soda. Dylan was careful not to touch her. Oh, he loomed as close as possible, but he didn’t actually allow himself to make contact. He just might end up doing something stupid if he did. Like shaking her ’til her teeth rattled. Or kissing her.
Yeah, he wanted to spin her around and plant a kiss on her. He ached to hold her and stop pretending to be nothing more than a helpful neighbor or financial partner. A man couldn’t be more warped than this—to want a woman carrying another man’s child. His timing stank. She didn’t want him; he’d undoubtedly drive himself insane, wanting her.
He tried to concentrate on the soda. Sondra had asked what brand he preferred and kept some on hand for him. He’d been flattered. Now that the soda was waiting, ice cold, for him, he should have felt even better—but he didn’t. He noticed she’d offered Jim a drink. Not him. Just Jim. He purposefully didn’t straighten back up. His fingers flexed around the aluminum can as the cool air blasted out of the refrigerator.
“Please, Dylan, excuse me.”
Something in her tone struck him as wrong. Mostly the way those last two words came out in a strained puff of air. He stepped back and wondered why she didn’t uncurl. “Sondra?”
A long second passed. “Hmm?” Slowly, she straightened.
Scowling, he demanded, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Baloney. You just shut the fridge and didn’t get Jimmy-boy’s drink.”
Color tinged her cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t, did I?” She opened the door again.
He slammed it shut. “Enough of this nonsense, woman. What just happened?”
“I had a little cramp, is all.”
His can was on the countertop in nothing flat. Dylan scooped her up and headed for the couch. “It’s too soon! Why didn’t you say something straight off?”
In His Will Page 7