Oh, that. Lydia retrieved the cherry pie she'd baked before services, ran a knife through the crisp pastry and gooey red filling, and topped it with a napkin before tucking it into the basket as well. “I don't think we should wait too long,” she said at last. “We need to talk a bit about what our expectations are from…” she gulped. “From marriage. And we need enough time to plan. I don't want to have a hurry-up event the way everyone else seems to be doing. It doesn't have to be the wedding of the century, but a little preparation goes a long way toward making a special day even better.”
“Ah, that's some sound reasoning, my dear,” Dylan said. He lifted the basket from the counter and hung it on the crook of his arm. The other hand he extended to Lydia. She laced her fingers through his, an act which always caused a thrill.
“So how long is long enough?” he pressed as they strolled toward the back door of the kitchen. Outside, a small garden contained no grass, only two small apple trees, their partially mature fruit already dragging down the branches, a small patch of green beans, two large pots filled with tomato plants and a third in which an assortment of herbs clustered and twined together. Near the back fence, vines crept along the ground, laden with pumpkins and other types of squash. The wooden boards that delineated the rear boundary of Lydia's property hung with grapevines. The sides were filled with climbing flowers.
“I've never been back here,” he commented. “This is a pretty space.”
“Nature is beautiful,” she replied. “It's nothing but the practical means to equip my café, and yet it looks like the Garden of Eden. I only grow the roses for their beauty, and yet the apple trees are just as pretty. I'm so glad the previous owners of the building planted them. So are the pumpkins. Everything God makes has its own appeal.”
He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I had no idea you were such a philosopher.”
She colored. Was that too much? Girls aren't supposed to be deep thinkers. Then she shoved away the thought. That's an Ilse Jackson way to think. He already knows you're intelligent, an astute business owner. He likes you as you are, so don't pretend not to be his intellectual equal. If he has an issue, it's better to know ahead of time. “I suppose you don't know everything about me yet, do you, Dylan?”
He stopped beside the gate leading into a small alley between her property and the rear of the houses behind. “It would take the rest of my life to know everything about you, honey,” he said seriously. “And that's a course of study I'm looking forward to more than you can imagine.”
The heat of embarrassment faded, replaced by a warm glow. Emboldened by his tender words, she reached out to Dylan, capturing the side of his neck in one hand and drawing him down to initiate a gentle kiss. He allowed her to control the embrace. She tasted his lips with shy eagerness that left them both panting.
“I think,” she said slowly, “that a spring wedding would be just fine with me.”
“Spring?” he asked, disappointed.
“Yes, why not?” she asked as she opened the ornate wrought-iron handle on the gate and led them into the alley. They turned right and made their way into the street, hand in hand. The cooler temperature seemed to be holding.
“It's a long time, Lydia,” Dylan commented.
She smiled. He is eager, isn't he? “Less than a year.”
“How long do you think it will take?” he demanded. “How big an event are you hoping for?”
They reached the street and turned south. A cool breeze blew up behind them, teasing the couple with tantalizing hints of autumn.
“Not that big,” she said. “My friends and their husbands would be sufficient.”
“Heitschmidts, Fultons, Williamses. Who else?” Dylan asked.
“Um, Wests,” Lydia replied. “What about you?”
Dylan shrugged. “My other deputy, Rob, I suppose. But I think you've hit the major ones. So that makes ten adults and four kids, three of them babies who aren't born yet. You really think that's going to take more than half a year to plan?”
Lydia laughed. “Are you in a hurry, Sheriff?”
“Oh yes,” he replied with intensity rather than humor. “A huge hurry. I've wasted too much time already with my dithering.”
“So you took too long to decide what you wanted and that means I have to truncate my dreams of a white wedding?” she asked, hiding her grin and pretending to be serious.
Dylan frowned, his lips following his dark brown handlebar mustache. “I guess, honey, if that's really what you want, I'll let you set the pace.”
Good. He's willing to listen and not railroad me. He also, it seemed, was willing to pout if the opportunity presented itself. “Dylan, I'm joking,” Lydia admitted. “I don't need that much time. Actually, October or November would be perfect.”
The Sheriff's rugged face brightened. “That soon? Hot damn. That sounds much better.”
Lydia couldn't help but return his smile. I see we're on the same page. “Yes, Dylan. Why not?”
“I love you, Lydia. I do hope you realize that. The reason I waited to speak to you wasn't that I was unsure of you. I just wanted to be certain what I had to offer was good enough for you.”
“It is,” she reassured him. “I already have a satisfying life, Dylan. I have my café, which I hope you won't ask me to give up so I can be some kind of housewife. I don't plan on that at all. I have a home, friends, a place in the community. I'm not looking to you to provide for me, because I'm already providing for myself. I'm asking you to be my companion.”
His fingers tightened on hers as they meandered south, passing the church and the bank on their right, rows of colorful homes on their left. The uneven brick of the street caught at Lydia's high black Sunday shoes, but her grip on Dylan's arm kept her securely upright.
“That means even more to me,” he replied. “I like the idea that you chose me because you want me, and that you're not relying on me to stave off desperation. It's a better way. And you don't need to worry about your café. I would be tarred and feathered and run out of town if it closed because of me. I'm not quite sure how we'll manage our time, when you keep such early hours and mine are all over the place, but we'll make it work somehow.”
“We will,” Lydia agreed. “I'm sure of it.”
They had reached the train tracks at the southernmost edge of town, and Dylan helped her over the rails, as though such a low obstacle might actually prove to be an impediment. She didn't mind. Beyond the train station, the wide, wild prairie stretched out to the horizon, a sea of grass undulating in the endless wind.
Like a sliver of mirror, the river sliced through, meandering on its slow, steady course toward Wichita and all points east. The previous day's rain had done little to compensate for the ravages of a long, hot season, and so a long patch of muddy bank adorned the river on either side. In the rainy season, likely to begin in a month or so, the river would completely cover that mud and overflow, turning into a raging torrent. But today, it seemed only to add to the peaceful ambience of a perfect summer's day.
As they approached the spot where they'd agreed to meet their friends – under a wind-twisted tree a few feet from the water – Lydia noticed they'd arrived last. Becky and James sat side by side on a blanket. He held her hand in his lap. The sun reflected on their hair turning hers to gold, his to copper. His freckles danced on a satisfied smile. To their left, his back against the tree, Wesley scratched in a tiny notebook with a dull pencil. A splashing sound drew Lydia's gaze to the water, where Allison, looking heavy enough to topple at any moment, dabbled barefoot in a muddy pool with her three-year-old stepdaughter, Melissa. That blond hair looks so much like Allison's, Melissa could be her natural child. Another blond man, this one young and deeply tanned, stretched out on his side on the blanket, providing support to his petite, red-haired wife. Lydia waved to Addie, who grinned in response. Her smile looked strained. I'll get to the bottom of that. Last, Cody and Kristina completed the group. The freckled, strawberry blond woman also sat cross-
legged on the blanket. Cody lay with his head in her lap. She stroked his forehead.
“Oh, good,” Jesse said, drawing attention to the new arrivals, “the food is finally here. I was wondering if the lovebirds had gotten so distracted by their cooing we'd never get fed.”
“Shut up, whippersnapper,” Dylan replied congenially, grinning at his impudent deputy.
Wesley looked up from his notebook, nodded once, and buried his face in his figures again.
Allison and Melissa squelched their way back to the group, wiping their muddy feet on prairie grass as they went. “Hello, Lydia, Sheriff,” the expectant mother said in a sad, weary voice. “Wes, can you put that away, please? Everyone is here now.”
“Just a minute,” he replied. “I'm almost done.”
“I'm not waiting on you, Fulton,” Jesse told his childhood friend. “I'm starving. Let me at that chicken!”
Lydia laughed at his eagerness. “Of course, Deputy West.”
“Here you go.” Dylan set the basket in the middle of the blanket and helped Lydia to a seated position in the remaining spot on its edge. He laid his arm across her shoulders.
As the group munched chicken and sipped lemonade, Lydia noticed the normal rapport she felt with her friends seemed absent. Becky and Kristina tried to keep up their usual friendly conversation, chatting about this and that, but with Allison glaring daggers first at her husband and then at Addie, keeping up their chatting became increasingly difficult.
Wesley eventually packed up his notebook, but he remained withdrawn from the conversation, focused on his food, not speaking. Allison also kept silent, except for the muted groan she released every time she shifted position. Her enormous belly seemed to get in the way of everything, even eating. After only a few bites of chicken, she set her plate aside. The lemonade sat untouched.
“Are you feeling poorly, Allison?” Lydia asked at last.
She nodded. “There's no room left in my stomach. I'm hungry, but when I eat, it gives me heartburn. The midwife says I should just nibble whatever sound appealing and hang on. I only have a couple of weeks left. I'll be glad when this is over.”
“Sounds terrible,” Addie commented. “I'm sorry you're having a hard time.” Her gentle tone could not have aroused temper in anyone.
“You're next,” Allison snapped. “We'll see if you do any better.”
“Allie,” her husband admonished, speaking at last, “that wasn't called for. Look, everyone already feels sorry for you. Don't milk it.”
“You have no idea what you're talking about,” she hissed at him. “Men never do. Think this is easy, Wesley? Do I look like I'm having fun?”
“You look like you're whining,” he replied. “What do you think, Jesse? Shall we leave the hens to their clucking and put a line or two in the water?”
“Sounds good to me,” Jesse replied. “You don't mind, do you, Addie?”
Addie cast a nervous glance at Allison. “I don't mind. See if you can catch a fish for supper, okay?”
“I'll try.” Without a moment's concern for everyone's eyes on them, he kissed her lips gently before levering himself to his feet. Fishing poles and a bucket of minnows rested beside Wesley near the tree. Under Addie's wistful gaze and Allison's vicious glare, the two men gathered their gear and headed off to the bridge that spanned the river, where they could sit and fish without getting all muddy.
“Would you like to go?” Lydia asked Dylan.
“Don't mind if I do,” he replied. Like Jesse, he showed no compunction about touching his lips to Lydia's temple before joining the younger men, well away from the group and out of earshot.
“What about Cody?” Allison asked, eyeing her friend. The young pastor still lay unmoving, his head cradled in his wife's lap.
“He's out cold,” Kristina replied. “Sometimes the Holy Spirit just sort of… takes him over. He loves it, and he always preaches the best sermons, but then he passes out afterward. I don't expect to see him move for at least an hour.” She smoothed his dark hair back from his forehead and gazed tenderly on his face.
I love this group, Lydia thought. They feel so free to be affectionate with their spouses in front of each other. Then her eyes fell on Allison, who still looked angry. Maybe there's such a thing as feeling too free. And yet, she was contemplating marriage, which was sure to be a life-altering event. As much as she loved Dylan, as long as she'd wished for him and pined for him and dreamed of him, there would be bad as well as good to joining their lives together. Maybe he snores. Maybe he leaves dirty hankies all over the place. Maybe he hogs the necessary. Though insignificant, these minor irritations could certainly grow over time. I have to face that life with Dylan won't be a fairy tale. We'll have disagreements, even arguments. There may be days when he would rather go fishing than spend time with me. When I would rather he did.
The contrast among the various relationships spoke volumes. Allison, who everyone said had loved Wesley since they were too young to know what love was, had found marriage to be more problem than joy. Becky, Lydia knew, had expected to remain a spinster. James had had other plans. Jesse and Addie's story Lydia didn't know, but the way they interacted and the pinched, nervous look around the petite redhead's eyes spoke of both joy and uncertainty. All was not yet perfect in their world, and Addie clung to her husband as though to shield herself from some unseen threat. Lydia turned to Cody and Kristina and drew in a slow breath. Like her, Kristina was a professional. A woman with a passion and a place she'd made for herself in the community. Like Lydia, she didn't need a man to provide for her. Not really. She had allowed Cody into her life because they cared for each other. Mutual need linked Allison and Wesley, and that neediness had tarnished their love, but for Cody and Kristina, working together, fulfilling their dreams with the support of the one they loved, the light of joy between them rivaled the summer sun. That's what I want with Dylan. She smiled. She could see it happening.
She raised her eyes to the bridge, where the three men sat, their legs dangling over the boards, far above the dirty water. Dylan sat taller than either Jesse or Wesley, and had the biggest muscles. Years of office work had left Wesley skinny, and Jesse was one long, wiry string bean. Maturity had filled out Dylan's figure into the image of manhood. She bit her lip at the thought of how that barely-leashed strength had pinned her to the pantry door. His power both made her feel protected and frightened her.
He seemed to feel her regard and turned in her direction, flashing a white-toothed grin at her. She gave a little wave.
“How cute is that,” Addie said. “I love how comfortable you two are together.”
Lydia's cheeks warmed at the compliment.
Allison muttered something under her breath that sounded decidedly hostile.
“You know something,” Becky said mildly, “your husband has a point. You're not being your usual friendly self, Allison. What did Addie ever do to you?”
“I agree,” Lydia added. “She's a nice girl and she's new in town. I remember when I first arrived. You, your sister and Kristina made a point of coming to my café, talking to me, telling everyone how nice I was and how great the food was. Why welcome me and not her?”
“So everyone's going to gang up on me?” Allison demanded, her lip trembling. “Kristina?”
The freckled face scrunched as she sought for words that would speak the truth in love. “I think, probably, that you've got a lot going on, and you aren't feeling your best. I can see you've decided Addie is to blame. You haven't given her a chance. I'm not sure what that's based on, though I'm willing to listen if you want to talk about it.”
Seeming to sense the tension, little Melissa, her face smeared with cherry pie filling, jumped up from the blanket and ran to her father. He plunked her down on his lap and let her pretend to hold the fishing pole.
“Skittish little thing,” Lydia commented. “She's never liked me either.”
Allison heaved a huge sigh, and then whimpered, pushing against her belly. “Stop
that, you. Come out, and you won't be so crowded, but there isn't any more room.” Then she met eyes with each of the other women. Becky looked back steadily, knowing her sister might become angry, but would never abandon her. Kristina's face spoke of concern for her friend. Lydia let a bit of her indignation over Allison's unfairness show. Addie curled up, her arms around knees she had drawn toward her chest, trying to appear invisible, as though debating whether she should stay or bolt. The roundness of her belly transformed her defensive shape into a ball
“Doesn't it bother anyone else that Jesse went out into the wild world and came back with this one? And her pregnant out to there, no less, but no sign of a wedding ring. Oh, no. They had to hurry up and marry before anyone could get to know her. That bothers the hell out of me. Lydia,” she turned and their eyes locked, “you, I understand. You never knew Jesse. You only know how to be hospitable.” Having exonerated her friend for perceived duplicity, she moved on. “Kristina, I'm surprised at you though. I know how you used to feel about Jesse.”
Kristina smiled kindly. “Used to, Allison. It's been years. Yes, I was sweet on Jesse when we were seventeen.” She shot an apologetic glance at Addie. “I dared to hope, when Lily passed away, that he might find me acceptable. But, Allison, why on earth would I hold on to that now? Look at what I have. What am I supposed to regret that I would begrudge him his happiness? I want him to be happy, and I'm glad he turned me down. Cody loves me. I'm first in his heart. That's as good as it gets, and much more than I expected. So, in honor of years of friendship, I affirm Jesse's choice. This is the girl who taught him to love again. I won't say a word against her. Not unless she shows me by some action that she's hurting our friend. So far, she seems to be helping him.”
Lydia couldn't help looking at Addie. Her cheeks glowed with both embarrassment and pleasure at Kristina's kind words.
“And before you dig any deeper into that hole,” Becky added, “if you condemn her for going to the altar pregnant, you'll have to condemn me too. Don't forget that.”
High Plains Passion Page 9
