In His Will

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Nickels,” he called across the barnyard, “I need a word with you.” After he arranged for Nickels to drive Sondra to the wedding, he whistled as he strode off. Things were going to fall into place.

  ❧

  The photographer snapped portraits out on the church lawn, but Dylan left and strode over to the car. After he helped Sondra out, he whistled under his breath. “Aren’t you pretty as can be?”

  Sondra glanced at the striped canopy in the near distance, then looked down at her apple green and white maternity dress in utter dismay. She didn’t manage to stifle her moan. “I match the tent we’re going to be dining under!”

  “No wonder you look good enough to eat,” he shot back with a wink. He tucked her into a pew in the air-conditioned sanctuary, then rejoined the wedding party.

  Sondra sat through the whole ceremony remembering her own wedding. It, too, had been small. Kenny had worn a white tux just like Jeff’s. Some days, it was so hard to pretend that she was getting along well. This was one of them, yet she plastered a smile on her face. Teresa bent over backward to be a good friend. She deserved to have everyone celebrate her joy—not grow selfishly maudlin.

  An intimate wedding, the bridal party consisted only of Teresa, Jeff, the matron of honor, and the best man. Dylan served as the best man, and Sondra couldn’t help noticing how handsome he looked. He’d been kind to come walk her into the church. Had he sensed how hard today would be for her?

  Sondra planned to sit toward the edge of the reception tent so she could duck away. To her amazement, Teresa tugged her to the bride’s supper table. Dylan was her partner, and the matron of honor’s husband partnered her. The whole arrangement felt horribly awkward.

  The conversation stayed lively, thanks to Teresa’s bubbly nature and Jeff’s crazy sense of humor. Dylan glanced around and signaled the waiter with a suave motion. The waiter scuttled over, and Dylan quietly stated, “The lady and I would like sparkling cider in our toasting glasses.”

  Sondra slanted him a look. “You know I don’t drink. Why are you playing Pregnancy Police?”

  He simply chortled.

  Jeff leaned forward. “What was so funny? What did I miss?”

  “I told the waiter to get us sparkling cider so I could do the toast,” Dylan tattled. “She’s accusing me of being part of the Pregnancy Police.”

  Bride and groom both laughed; then Teresa smiled. “You’ve got a whole squadron of us.”

  Not wanting to put a damper on things, Sondra accepted the new glass, then tilted it at Teresa. “Just you wait. One of these days, your turn is coming.”

  “I hope so!” She blushed.

  “Yeah, me, too.” Jeff waggled his brows.

  Dylan stood and gave a witty, surprisingly sentimental toast. He was quite a man—more masculine than Adam on the day of creation, capable of running two ranches, and still tenderhearted toward his sister. . .and good to me.

  That admission made the defenses Sondra tried to put up crumble. She’d been a fool to try to shut him out of her life. He’d let her withdraw, but he hadn’t neglected his duties. Now he was including her as if nothing was wrong. . .and it isn’t, a little voice whispered in her heart. Nothing was wrong. Dylan still cared for her.

  “Sondra?” He cupped her elbow and gave the glass in her hand a puzzled look. She’d taken a sip, but everyone else started talking while she stood frozen in place. “Are you okay?”

  She barely kept from scooting closer to him. As she set her glass down on the white linen tabletop, she whispered, “The heat must be getting to me.”

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “No!” The last thing she wanted was for him to give up the only day he’d taken off for pure enjoyment since she’d taken possession of the Curly Q. Needing to signal their friendship was back on track, she stammered, “I’ll have a seat and drink more cider. It’s just that I need to leave before they cut the cake.”

  He pulled a bit closer. “Why?”

  She waited a beat then started to laugh. “Remember what happens when you and I get near desserts?”

  ❧

  Dylan sat in his kitchen and dialed Sondra’s number, but the line buzzed. Busy. It’s probably for the best. She gets under my skin too easily. I need to pay more attention to the ranches. One is more than enough to keep a man busy; two is far too much.

  He, Teresa, and Jeff had come to an agreement about leaving the Laughingstock Ranch undivided and splitting profits for the time being. With his livestock and Sondra’s mingling in the pastures, it would be a disaster to take down or move fences at this point. Jeff and Teresa adamantly stated that the land and livestock he gained from Miller’s bequest at the end of the year were Dylan’s alone. They didn’t expect a share of that windfall.

  Dylan did a bit of figuring and estimated what the size of his herd would be once the dust settled. It would take a few years to build up his stock once Jeff and Teresa’s half moved onto Langston property, but in the meantime, he’d grow less fodder—or continue production and sell the excess. He’d have to give some thought to letting the land lie fallow.

  One thing for certain, land could be left unproductive for a season, but busy little Sondra probably wouldn’t let grass grow under her feet. Silly woman didn’t know the value of a field left unseeded or a moment left to leisure. He shook his head. How did his brain twist that direction?

  She’d looked sweet as could be at the wedding—but she’d wilted all too fast at the reception. For the first time, she’d admitted she might be slowing down a bit. She valued her independence and got downright feisty whenever she figured anyone was trying to bulldoze her.

  Self-reliance rated as a fine quality, and he respected the gutsy woman for charging ahead with life. She didn’t wring her hands or bemoan her calamities; she took a deep breath and kept plowing ahead. Too bad she didn’t understand that could be dangerous at times. She needed someone to temper her autonomy and moderate her drive. Sondra could easily misjudge her ability and get hurt—and that wasn’t even taking into consideration her motherly condition. Heaven only knew how often he prayed for her safety and health. Yes, knowing Sondra certainly improved his prayer life.

  She must be going stark raving mad, not having had the baby yet. What if she slipped in the kitchen or shower? And those stairs to the basement were steep. He didn’t want to think about her carrying a laundry basket up and down them. No matter what image came to mind, each task was fraught with danger.

  He tried to stay calm, but Dylan wanted to grab the phone and announce that he was moving in until the baby came. No, make it for a period including the first few weeks afterward when Sondra would need extra help. Miller asked him to look after her. He was the logical choice. After all, Teresa needed to take care of her own home and husband. None of the hands knew a thing about babies. Yes, Dylan knew he was the best man for the job. . .but Sondra wanted him in her home just about as much as she wanted whooping cough.

  He could probably work around that. The clincher was the morality issue. Plenty of men and women shacked up without the benefit of marriage, but Dylan didn’t approve. It went against his personal code to give anyone the slightest reason to question the morality of his actions. It made for a poor witness and opened a Christian to temptation. A man and a woman ought not live together without the benefit of marriage—well, unless some extreme situation dictated otherwise.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t stretch the facts that far. Sondra was one fine-looking woman. If he moved in, folks might well cook up some suspicions and gossip. What kind of witness would that be? A thought occurred to him. He picked up the phone and dialed. This time, it rang. And rang. And rang. By the fifth ring, he was ready to call paramedics to meet him at her place, but a breathless voice answered, “Hello?”

  “Sondra? Are you all right?”

  A short, mirthless laugh met his inquiry.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Then why
are you laughing?”

  “Because I promised myself that if anyone else called me and asked if I’d had the baby yet, I’d do something rash.”

  “Oh.” He paused, then said in a level tone, “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask.”

  “So what do you need?”

  “Is Kenny’s family coming to help you when the baby’s born?”

  “No!”

  Dylan jerked at how harsh she sounded. “It was just a thought.”

  “They want nothing to do with the baby.”

  “What!”

  “You heard me. I’m tired, Dylan. Did you need anything else?”

  “It may not be my business, but an explanation would be nice.”

  She sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  She’d said she was tired, but in an instant, she’d gone from sparky to sad, and he didn’t want to hang up without making sure she was okay. He’d hit a nerve, and it bothered him. He quietly invited, “Give me the Reader’s Digest condensed version.”

  A long silence crackled over the line. Sondra sighed. “The Thankfuls equated Kenny’s injury with complete disability. His parents presumed he wasn’t capable of. . .being a complete husband. They want nothing to do with a baby they’re sure isn’t their son’s, and they threatened to cut their daughter off without any college funds if she kept in contact with me.”

  “Oh, Sondra!” Dylan breathed in shocked sympathy.

  “It doesn’t matter. My son and I will get along just fine without them.”

  “Sure, you will.” Comfort. How can I comfort her, Lord? Help me take away the sting of their rejection. His gaze happened to land on the refrigerator, and inspiration struck. “I’m dying for some ice cream. What if I grab a carton and come over?”

  “Sorry. I’m lousy company. I’m just going to go to bed.”

  “Okay. Sweet dreams, honey.”

  ❧

  Sondra hung up the phone, sat down, and cried. The weatherman took unholy glee in announcing the temperature hit all-time records for the fourth day in a row. She bet he wouldn’t be half that perky if his wife were overdue and suffering from the heat.

  Her attitude disintegrated even further over the next week. Twelve days overdue, she strained to be barely civil.

  “Mornin’, city-gal,” a soft, teasing drawl sounded from beside her as she sat on the porch steps just past sunrise the next day.

  Sondra jumped. “How’d you get here without me knowing it?”

  Dylan gave her a lazy grin. “Because you’re not all here, if you get my drift.”

  “If I were any more ‘here,’ my feet would grow roots.”

  “Ah. . .cabin fever. A terrible case of it, if I don’t miss my guess.” Dylan took a seat beside her, rested his forearms on his knees, and stared off at the horizon. “I need to tend to some things, but I’ll come by tonight at seven. I’ll take you to town, and we’ll get an ice cream cone.”

  “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

  Dylan gave consideration to her question, then pursed his lips as he turned to study her. A scampish grin tilted his mouth, and his wink warned her he was about to deliver one of his tongue-in-cheek zingers. “I don’t think I’d tag you as pathetic. More pitiful, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, get out of here!”

  “Are you talking to me or the baby?”

  ❧

  Dylan was going to have to hurry to be at Sondra’s on time. A man had to be in sorry shape if all he could think about the whole livelong day was eating an ice cream cone with a pregnant widow. Dylan glanced at a mirror and saw the sorriest looking man he’d ever seen.

  The phone rang, and he barked, “Hullo,” as he clamped the receiver between his shoulder and ear so he’d have both hands free to yank on a sock.

  “Dylan, there’s been a change—”

  “Oh, no, there hasn’t,” he interrupted. “You have to get out a bit. What harm is there in a trip to Dairy Queen?”

  “I changed my mind. . .or maybe I should say my mind was changed.”

  “So change it back.”

  “Dylan, I don’t want you to argue with me.”

  Stubborn woman. “Do you even know what you want?”

  She went quiet for a moment, then said in a strained voice, “I want you to take me to the hospital.”

  Fourteen

  “The hospital!” He nearly dropped the phone and managed to jam his other sock painfully between his toes in his rattled state.

  “Teresa’s not home, and—”

  “I’ll be right over!”

  “I think I’d better get moving. The contractions are getting strong—”

  She went silent, and he barked, “You hang on. I’ll be there in a jiffy.” He hung up.

  He didn’t bother to button his shirt, drove like a maniac, and came to a screeching halt in front of her place.

  Cool as a cucumber, she sauntered down the steps and opened the passenger door. “Thank you for coming.”

  He hopped out of the cab and hastily fastened his shirt as he went around to her side. In those brief seconds, she tucked a little suitcase into the cab. Her methodical actions didn’t reassure him in the least. He’d learned when things were tough, Sondra got very subdued and businesslike. “How far apart are the contractions?”

  She gave no answer. Instead, she started to pant softly. Her hand went to her tummy and brushed back and forth in cadence with her breathing. After a minute, she let out a sigh and gave him a wobbly grin. “I’m about as ready as I’m going to be.”

  “You were ready weeks ago.” He grinned for her benefit. If she wanted to put an I’m-okay veneer over this, he’d play along. “You’re fretting like a hen, ’bout ready to nest on her egg awhile. Guess we’d best get you to the hatchery—I mean, hospital.”

  Her lips bowed up in a smile. He knew he’d done the right thing. She needed him to be calm. Yeah, that’s me, all right. Mr. Easygoing. . . Relaxed as barbed wire and sedate as a charging bull. She’ll never know, though. I’ll play it mellow, act unruffled, and she’ll stay composed.

  “Upsy-daisy.” He gently cupped her middle and hoisted her into the truck, then pulled her seat belt out so it reached its fullest length. She snagged the buckle and snapped it into the holster. He’d have rather fastened it himself. It would have given him a good excuse to get close and kind of hug her. That realization made him mad at himself. He needed to get his head examined. He needed to get her examined.

  She started panting once again.

  “Just hang on!” He slammed her door shut, raced around, and vaulted into his seat. They were in motion before his door closed. He quickly buckled his seat belt and shot her a worried look. “How close together are the contractions?”

  She didn’t answer right away—a fact that made him antsy as could be. Finally, she let out a deep sigh and whispered, “Six minutes or so.”

  “Six min—”

  “Dylan?” She squeezed his arm. He cut off his impending tirade and waited for whatever she wanted to say. She smiled sweetly as her cheeks filled with color. “Could we still stop by Dairy Queen and get me an ice cream cone to eat on the way?”

  ❧

  It should have been an hour-long drive to the hospital; they made it in thirty-nine minutes. Traffic had been light, and though he normally drove in a conservative manner, Dylan turned into a maniac behind the wheel. Sondra gave him a couple of worried glances and muffled more than a few gasps at the harrowing way he drove.

  Each time she gasped, he moaned, “Another one? Already?”

  She wasn’t sure whether to say anything or not. The man looked downright sick. He looked like he needed medical attention more than she did! In fact, he acted as rattled as she felt. If she had any sense of humor left, she would have thought it was pretty funny that she was hurting and he was sweating bullets, but she’d forgotten how to laugh, and a thousand fears and doubts assailed her.

  For all of his panic, Dylan carried on with his trademark kindness. “Hang on,
Sondra. I’ll have you there real soon.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sure you are.” His eyes accused her of lying, but he didn’t challenge her. Instead, he wondered, “Why are you clutching that teddy bear so tight?”

  “He’s my focal point. I’m supposed to stare at him when I’m having a contraction.”

  “My staple gun’s under the seat. Want me to stick him to the dash so you can relax a little?”

  “What?!”

  “Forget it. That was a bad idea. I just thought maybe you’d like your hands free to rub your belly.”

  “I have two hands.”

  Dylan chuckled softly. “Once the baby’s here, you’re going to wish you had another pair. He’s going to keep you mighty busy.”

  “It’ll be a nice change. I’ve been bored to tears for weeks now.”

  “Have you missed taking the little chicks to the kids?”

  She nodded. “Nickels volunteered to do it for a while so I can get the baby settled.”

  “That’d be real fine,” he said. He tried to carry on a bit of conversation to distract her. It didn’t work, but she appreciated the effort—as long as he kept his staple gun out of sight.

  Relief flooded her when she saw the hospital. “You can drop me off at—”

  “Drop you off? Are you out of your mind?”

  Sondra dug her fingers into the teddy’s plush brown fur and began to pant once again. She’d done her best to keep from moaning, but the pains kept growing stronger. She didn’t want Dylan to see her lose control. Having him think well of her mattered too much—more than she’d ever confess.

  Early in life, she’d learned to keep some walls up to protect herself from being hurt. She’d let down the walls with Kenny—and now, look what that got her. A heart full of grief and waves of gut-wrenching pain.

  Dylan was already too adept at slipping past her defenses. When she realized she’d started into labor, she’d longed to call him—to have him drop everything and be with her. Instead, she convinced herself to hold off, then call Teresa. When Teresa failed to answer, she’d felt a flare of gladness that she had an excuse to lean on Dylan yet again. Though heading for heartache, she couldn’t seem to stop herself.