Claire resisted the urge to look at her watch. They’d barely returned from the church when Harold had whisked Tony away, leaving her to deal with Mrs. Sandy. So far the woman hadn’t been too bad, but Claire sensed that was about to change.
“Perhaps.” Claire feigned an interested smile. “But not right away. I’d like to get settled first.”
“I completely understand.” Mrs. Sandy patted her hand. “Those wedding plans will be keeping you busy.”
Claire took another sip of her fruit juice and wished for something a little stronger. “Uh-huh.”
“What day are you getting married?” The landlady took her third brownie from the plate and tilted her head. “I know it’s in July sometime.”
Claire smiled, keeping her expression noncommittal. The more she thought, the more sure she was that she and Tony never discussed a date.
Absently she took a bite of the brownie Mrs. Sandy had shoved before her. The chocolate sweetness melted against her tongue.
Claire dropped the rest of the gooey concoction to the plate. She needed to stop this mindless eating or she’d end up leaving town with a suitcase full of clothes that wouldn’t fit.
“Claire?”
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and swallowed hard. “Yes?”
“What day are you getting married?” Mrs. Sandy asked again. “July…”
“Fourth.” The date popped out before she could stop it. When she’d been a little girl Independence Day had been her favorite holiday. Her mother had loved the fireworks and all the parades. She shoved the memories aside.
“You’re getting married on the Fourth of July?” The woman’s tone was clearly disbelieving.
It was almost worth the gaffe, Claire decided, to see Mrs. Sandy try to conceal her shock. Claire gave a little shrug. “Tony picked the day. Personally I thought it was a little strange.”
“What’s strange?”
A familiar deep voice sounded from the doorway, and Claire’s heart skipped a beat. She took another sip of the too tart orange juice.
“That we’re getting married on the Fourth of July.” She lifted her gaze and met his. “I told Mrs. Sandy that I thought it was strange but that you’d insisted.”
To his credit, his smile appeared genuine. But she noticed he didn’t answer right away. He slipped behind her, and his hand settled on her shoulder. Obviously a ploy to bide time.
“I know it’s unusual.” Tony chuckled. “But I’ve always called Claire my little firecracker, so it seemed fitting.”
He’d taken the ball she’d tossed him and scored a touchdown. Her respect for him inched upward. She’d always admired a man who could think on his feet, especially a handsome one. Her gaze met his, and they shared a smile.
A sad expression flitted across Mrs. Sandy’s face. “John used to call me pumpkin.”
Pumpkin?
Fat, round, orange. Claire bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. The word fit the woman.
“So I take it you were married on Halloween?”
“Claire.” Tony’s low voice was filled with reproach.
“What?” She straightened in her chair, and her jaw tightened. “You call me your firecracker and we’re getting married on the Fourth.” The words rolled awkwardly from her lips. “He called her his pumpkin—”
“Stop it, you two.” Mrs. Sandy laughed. “I’m not offended at all. John and I were married in October, so I guess I was sort of a harvest bride.”
Claire shot Tony a smug grin. “Where is your husband? Will I meet him later?”
It wouldn’t be long before she’d have John Sandy wrapped around her finger, like she had Harold Clarke. She’d always liked men more than women.
The woman hesitated. “John was killed last year in an explosion at the co-op.”
It was obvious she’d loved the man very much. Claire’s gaze shifted to Tony, and she eyed him speculatively. Would she ever love someone that much? It hardly seemed likely. “Was he killed instantly?”
Mrs. Sandy’s eyes widened in surprise. It was almost as if no one had asked her that question before. “Why, yes, he was.”
Tony’s fingers dug deep into her shoulder. “Knowing he died in the faith must have been a comfort.”
“John is with God now. I have no doubt.” The woman dabbed at her eyes with the tip of her napkin. “But knowing he didn’t suffer was also a comfort.”
Mrs. Sandy blinked several times and took a deep breath. “Would you like a brownie, Pastor?”
Claire studied the woman thoughtfully. Darlene Sandy did possess a certain amount of class. For a pumpkin.
Tony pulled out a dining room chair and sat down next to Claire. “It’s tempting, but I think I’ll pass. Harold and I stopped at the Gas ’N’ Go when he was showing me around town and I picked up a doughnut.”
A pastry from a gas station? What would be next? Tony in a seed cap talking about hogs? Claire cringed at the thought. Thank goodness she’d be long gone before that happened.
“I assume Harold talked to you about the barbecue tomorrow night,” Mrs. Sandy said.
“It sounds great.” Tony nodded. “But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble for me.”
“We’re happy to do it.” The color had returned to Mrs. Sandy’s cheeks, and the haunted look had left her eye. “The community can’t wait to meet the new pastor. And his fiancée,” she added.
Claire knew what that meant. They couldn’t wait to scrutinize the new minister and spend the rest of the night talking about him…and her. Claire certainly wouldn’t fault them. If the situations were reversed, she’d be doing the exact same thing.
Her thoughts shifted to her suitcase, still sitting unopened in the hall. She tried to remember what she’d packed and if she had anything suitable for a barbecue.
If not, Des Moines would be the closest city for shopping. If you could call Des Moines a city. Still, she should be able to find something there. Especially with the help of Daddy’s platinum credit card.
“I’m going to unpack.” Claire pushed back her chair and stood. She’d socialized long enough. “Maybe take a nap.”
Tony nodded and rose slowly. “Are you sure you want to go to the motel already?”
“Motel?” Claire frowned. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“You said you wanted to get settled in.”
Surely, he didn’t think she’d be staying at the motel. She’d caught a glimpse of the dump on the way into town. A typical mom-and-pop operation whose decor hadn’t been updated since the sixties. “Not at the Shabby Inn.”
“It’s the Shady Inn,” Mrs. Sandy corrected.
“Whatever.” Claire shrugged. “The point is I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”
“Where are you going to stay then?”
“Why, sweetheart.” She flashed Tony a bright smile and gave him a wink. “I thought I’d stay here with you.”
Mrs. Sandy choked on her coffee.
Tony blanched.
Claire laughed. “Not with you, silly. After all, we’re not married yet.”
She caught the approval in Mrs. Sandy’s eyes and the relief in Tony’s face. Her gaze lingered appreciatively on the elegant Victorian furnishings. “I meant I’ll rent one of the rooms in this house. Actually, I’ll take your very best room.”
“I’m sorry, Claire.” Regret shown on the round face. “But I only have three guest rooms, and they’re booked solid through August.”
“You must have something.” Claire stared. Surely the woman wasn’t serious. What was she to do? She wanted to stay here. Claire forced herself to calm down and think how her father would handle such a situation. “I’ll pay you twice as much as you normally get.”
“I couldn’t.” Mrs. Sandy shook her head. “Some of these people have had reservations for months.”
Never take no for an answer.
“But there’s got to be a way.” Claire shot the woman her best sugarcoated smile.
> “I do have the maid’s quarters, but light housekeeping goes along with that space.”
Claire smiled in satisfaction. Listening to her father rant and rave all these years had been worth it, after all. “I’ll take the room. You can find someone else for the housekeeping.”
Not for one moment would she even consider doing manual labor. Picking up her clothes from the floor before the cleaning lady came was bad enough. Claire smiled appreciatively at her recently manicured nails and her soft-as-silk hands. Some people were made for physical work. Some weren’t.
“I’m sorry, but that won’t do.” Mrs. Sandy shook her head.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Claire kept her voice calm, trying to still her rising panic.
“I really need some live-in help. Especially since April took that job at the video store.”
“April?”
“April is Mrs. Sandy’s daughter, Claire,” Tony said.
Claire disliked her already. If the girl would help her mother instead of wasting her time shoving videos across a counter for minimum wage, that room would be available.
“She’s a senior in high school,” Tony added. “And a beautiful girl.”
All the more reason to hate her.
Claire slanted a sideways glance at Mrs. Sandy.
A beautiful girl?
Tony was either being incredibly kind, or the girl took after her father.
Claire paused, beyond caring what Mrs. Sandy’s daughter looked like or why she’d taken some job and left her mother in the lurch. It had been a long day, and Claire’s head throbbed. She desperately needed a long soak in a tub, a facial and a massage. But she doubted that most people in this tiny bump-in-the-road town even knew what a day spa was, much less had one. That left the motel to provide the tub and Tony for the massage. The facial would have to wait until another time.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d really like to freshen up.” It took all her inner strength to continue and utter the foreign word. “Do you think the…motel…will have an empty room?”
“They always have space,” Mrs. Sandy said promptly.
Claire knew the woman was trying to be reassuring, but her words had the opposite effect. After all, what kind of place always had rooms? The suites of the establishments she frequented with her father were always booked well in advance. But then again, they’d never considered a…motel.
“Okay.” Claire forced a smile. “Tony can drive me.”
She didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question. Of course, he would want to take her. “Then we can go out to dinner and to a movie.”
Tony shifted uncomfortably. “Mrs. Sandy is having the church council members and their spouses over tonight.”
Claire raised a brow.
“It’s sort of a meet-the-pastor kind of get-together.”
“But this is my first night here.”
“Sweetheart, we didn’t know you were coming.” Tony smiled, but Claire could hear the hint of reproach in his voice.
“What am I supposed to do all night?” Irritation surged through her. There was no way she was going to sit alone in that motel room all night.
“Actually you’re invited, too, my dear.” Mrs. Sandy cast an anxious glance from Tony to Claire. “You’re part of the team.”
Of course she was. Everybody knew if a minister had a wife the congregation was doubly blessed, two workers for the price of one. Claire was tempted to say as much but she held her tongue. In large part due to the pleading look in Tony’s brown eyes.
“I suppose I could make an appearance.” Claire’s thoughts returned to the limited wardrobe she’d packed. “What will everyone be wearing?”
If she’d known she’d have all these functions to attend, she would have brought a whole trunk load of clothes. Still, perhaps her clingy black silk cocktail dress might work in a pinch.
“I don’t think anybody will wear jeans,” Mrs. Sandy said, her expression thoughtful.
Jeans? Startled, Claire jerked her head up. She would never have considered jeans an option.
“Although some of the women might wear a denim jumper,” Mrs. Sandy added.
Claire widened her eyes. Visions of overweight women in voluminous jumpers danced in her head. Her lips twitched.
“It’s just a little get-together, Claire.” As if he could read her mind, Tony squeezed her hand, a warning glint in his eyes. “Everyone will be dressed casually. Why don’t you wear that cute little red dress of yours? The one made out of that stretchy material.”
At first she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then she remembered. It hadn’t been red, but rather brick. And the stretchy fabric had been a rayon, polyester and spandex blend.
When Tony had spent the summer in Cedar Ridge, he’d loved that dress.
“How sweet that you remembered.” Claire patted his hand. “Unfortunately that was forever ago, and even if I still had it, I wouldn’t have a clue where it could be.”
“Mom, Matt don’t want—”
Claire shifted her gaze to the intruder with the horrid English. A blond-haired teenage girl stood in the doorway, a slightly older young man behind her.
“April, I’m glad you’re home.” Mrs. Sandy rose and motioned the two into the dining room. “Come in and meet Pastor Karelli’s fiancée.”
“You’re engaged?” The girl’s startled gaze shifted from Tony to Claire.
That’s right, honey. He’s mine.
“I’m Claire Waters.” Claire smiled sweetly but couldn’t resist adding, “Tony’s fiancée.”
“We knew she would eventually be moving to Millville.” Mrs. Sandy rattled on. “We just didn’t know it would be this soon.”
“Claire, this is April, Mrs. Sandy’s daughter. And her friend…” Tony turned to the boy.
“Matt.” His gaze dropped from Claire’s eyes down to the rest of her. “Coukle.”
“What an interesting last name. Cuckoo.” Claire’s lips tilted upward in an amused smile. “Matt Cuckoo. Any relation to the clock?”
“It’s Coukle,” he snapped. A hint of red stole up his neck, his youthful arrogance somehow diminished by a single word.
“Sorry.” Claire smiled, not sorry at all. The boy deserved to be taken down a peg or two. She knew his type. He was nothing more than a big fish in a small pond. In a large city he would have been one most women would have tossed back in an instant. But April was young and naive. Claire almost felt sorry for her.
“Claire, we’d better get you checked in.” Tony pushed back his chair and stood.
“Checked in?” April’s gaze shifted to her mother. “Isn’t she staying here?”
“All our rooms are full, April. You know that,” Mrs. Sandy said. “Claire’s going to be staying at the Shady Inn.”
“That dump?” April hooted. “Hey, good luck to you.”
“I don’t need luck.” Despite her misgivings, Claire refused to give the girl any measure of satisfaction. “If the place is unsuitable I won’t be staying there.”
She and Tony hurried through their goodbyes, promising to return at seven for the barbecue.
They made it all the way to the car before Tony spoke. “What did you mean about not staying at the Shady Inn?”
“Just what I said.” She turned to face him and lifted her chin.
“But where will you go?”
“I might change my mind and stay with you.” His apartment was beautiful, and there was more than enough room for her. The sofa in the living room even folded out into a bed.
“Think how that would look.”
“Worried about your reputation, Pastor?”
“No,” he said softly, his hand rising to push a strand of her hair from her face, his lips softly brushing her cheek. “I’m worried about yours.”
She stared, and despite herself, a warm glow of satisfaction swept through her. He hadn’t disappointed her. Not at all.
Chapter Four
Tony wheeled the Jeep into the Shad
y Inn’s parking lot and pulled to a stop in front of the entrance. Shivers of dread coursed up Claire’s spine. The place looked even worse up close. Paint hung in loose strips off the hardboard siding, and yellow dandelions sprung up here and there in the gravel-covered parking lot.
There was only one other vehicle in the lot, an orange station wagon with a Go Hawkeyes bumper sticker in the back window.
“Looks like they need to run a weekend special,” Claire joked, trying unsuccessfully to smother her sense of foreboding.
Tony reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know it’s not a Hilton, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
It was all Claire could do not to roll her eyes. Tony was the eternal optimist. She preferred to be realistic. The instant they drove up she knew everything was not going to be fine. She stared through the windshield at her new home away from home, and her heart sank to the tips of her alligator shoes.
With a heavy sigh of resignation, Claire slowly opened the car door and stepped out.
“It looks better up close,” Tony said.
Startled, she glanced from the handmade welcome sign hanging crookedly from a thumbtack in the door to the gingham curtains on the window. Had Tony lost his mind? Or better yet, his eyesight?
“Yeah, it’s definitely got that Martha Stewart touch.”
Her sarcasm seemed lost on him. He smiled absently, pushed open the door and motioned Claire inside.
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and entered the lobby feeling like a prisoner walking into a cell block.
“Welcome.” A heavyset man in his mid-fifties smiled broadly from behind the counter. “Need a room tonight?”
No, we just stopped by to say hello.
“Good afternoon.” Claire forced herself to maintain a civil tone. It wouldn’t do to alienate the natives. Plus she needed to consider that there were probably many people—her gaze settled on a Hawaiian hula doll in the windowsill—make that at least a few people who wouldn’t mind staying here. “I’ll take your best room.”
“I’m afraid all of our rooms are the same—” the man chuckled “—’cept of course you get your choice of two doubles or a king.”
Redeeming Claire Page 3
