At their request, the pastor kept things simple. Dylan warmed her cool hands in his as he said his vows. Her voice faltered slightly, but she kept her big, green eyes on his face the whole time. Once the words were said, she smiled. Dylan’s tension drained away. You’re mine now.
“You may kiss your bride.”
He kissed her with a joy he’d never felt before. The scent of her roses and the glow of the candles faded away until Matthew cried.
“I’d like to present Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Ward.”
Dylan motioned to Teresa. She came to the altar and gave him Matt. He kept one arm around Sondra and cradled Matt in his left arm as he tacked on, “And their son.”
Everyone clapped. Music played, and he led her back down the aisle. As they stepped out of the door, into a small grass courtyard, he saw Miller’s brother.
Edwin. He’d been skulking around. The sheriff suspected he’d been behind the sabotage. In fact, they’d discovered Edwin had invested his money in the Tuttlesworth developing company that stood to buy the land. Still, they couldn’t find any concrete proof against him.
Dylan quickly turned so Sondra wouldn’t catch sight of him. Anger surged. She and Matthew were his family, and he’d protect them and their land with everything he had in him. Nothing was going to ruin their wedding day. What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. . . .
❧
Finally, they were alone. Well, not exactly alone. Matt let out a happy squeal. Grateful for his interruption, Sondra let out a nervous laugh. “I hope you’re used to his noise already. If anything, he’s starting to make a lot more of it as the days pass.”
Dylan chuckled as he pulled off his tie. “I’ll get him. You probably want to change into something more comfortable.”
She froze at that phrase. Did he mean. . . ?
“Um, scratch that. I mean, well, how about if we opt for jeans? I hate wearing a suit. Your dress is beautiful, but it can’t be your first choice of something to lounge around in.”
Her shoulders slid back down with the silent sigh of relief. Sondra sidled out of the room, into the master bedroom. She shut the door very quietly and pressed her back to it. This is so awkward.
Matthew cooed loudly from his room next door. Dylan’s deep chortle followed. “Hey, PeeWee, where are your jeans?” Drawers slid open and banged shut.
Sondra thought about calling out to tell him they were in the second dresser drawer. Instead, she headed toward her closet and grabbed a pair for herself. Baggy ones. Not that any of her jeans were tight, but she didn’t want anything even vaguely form-fitting. Unzipping her dress required gymnastic stretching and wiggling. Once it fell into a pool around her ankles, Sondra looked down at the frothy lace and peach satin. Dylan liked her wedding gown. She’d get it dry-cleaned and keep it special—maybe wear it on their first anniversary.
Ha. First anniversary. I’m thinking of twelve months from now, and I can’t even imagine how I’m going to make it through the next twelve hours!
A daisy-printed tee shirt and jeans. Her hair clipped back into a bouncy ponytail. Sondra studied herself critically in the mirror. She looked. . .casual. Comfortable. At ease. Appearances certainly were deceiving. She felt all knotted up inside. The man she’d fallen in love with and married didn’t love her. Without a heartfelt commitment, how could they share a wedding bed?
We should have discussed it before now. A three-day engage-ment definitely qualified as whirlwind, but they should have covered that important topic before now.
Only they hadn’t.
Sondra whispered a prayer for help, then went in search of her husband.
“We’re ready for you.” Dylan plunked a bowl of ice cream on the table. Matt and I decided the dinky slices of cake weren’t enough to fill even a little cowhand like him.”
“That bowl is big enough for Matt to swim in!”
“Yeah.” Dylan pouted. “I looked for a bigger bowl, but I couldn’t find one.”
“It’s the biggest I have!”
“You’d better buy a decent-sized one with one of the gift certificates we got.”
“The only thing bigger would be a hot tub!”
“Good thinking.” He pulled an aerosol can from the refrigerator, shook it, and squirted whipped cream atop what looked like an entire half-gallon of fudge brownie ice cream.
Matt banged his palms on the plastic tray of his high chair and let out a stream of gibberish.
“Gotcha, PeeWee.” Dylan pivoted and squirted a frothy pile of whipped cream onto the tray. “Snack time.”
“Snack?” Sondra gasped. “That’s the size of the iceberg that sank the Titanic!”
He added more. “Never let it be said that I skimp.”
Sondra laughed in disbelief. Getting into the spirit of things, she sat down, swiped the big bowl, and gave Dylan a wink. “So where’s your ice cream?”
He leaned against the counter and smirked. “Where’s your spoon?”
“Oops.” He blocked the silverware drawer.
“I think we have a stand off.”
Easing back, Sondra gave him a “wanna-bet?” smile. Swift as could be, she opened the dishwasher and pulled out a spoon. When she turned back around, the playful victory she felt turned into disbelief.
Dylan took advantage of the brief second while her back was turned to grab a big serving spoon from the ceramic jar by the stove. He’d scooped a big chunk from the bowl.
“Community property.” He looked downright smug as he took a lick.
“Uh, Dylan?” She stared at the front of his shirt. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but you got the slotted spoon.”
“Yah, yah, yah, yah!”
Dylan swiped a finger of ice cream and dabbed it on Matt’s cream-covered chin. “You have no room to talk. Besides, we men have to stick together.”
“With that mess, you’re guaranteed to stick!”
The kitchen rang with his booming laughter. Sondra leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh of relief. At least for now, they’d gotten past the awkwardness. Lord, please let everything else work out this easily!
Twenty
Dylan stood by her side as she tucked the baby into his crib for the night. She covered Matthew with one of the blankets made from Kenny’s shirts. Well, that really puts me in my place. As if I needed any reminder that she still loves her late husband.
He took a chance and slipped his arm around her waist. “What about bedtime prayers?”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “Really? This early? I mean, I pray for him, but well. . .” The corner of her mouth twitched nervously. “When I was a kid, no one ever said bedtime prayers. I sort of thought maybe you were supposed to start that when they could listen to a Bible story or something.”
“One of my earliest memories is of my dad kneeling by my bed.” Dylan kept his arm about her and reached over the rail to finger Matthew’s soft baby curls. “As the years passed, I always loved having the security of him or mom praying with me. Anything—big or small—got mentioned in those prayers. I have a distinct memory of Dad checking under the bed and Mom looking in the closet because I was so sure there were monsters. Even when they didn’t find one, Dad prayed for God to set angels about me so I’d be safe. It’s how I learned God cared and listened to all of my concerns.”
“Oh, Dylan. I’d love to have Matt grow up with that assurance.”
“Then let’s start having bedtime prayers with him.”
For all the times he’d heard Sondra say grace at a meal, Dylan was unprepared for her prayer over her son. Those brief, sweet moments gave him a glimpse of her heart. After she finished, he prayed, too.
Sondra left on the nightlight. Dylan filed that detail away for future reference. Little things like that made a big difference to a kid. And to his mom. Especially to a mom like Sondra. She tried so hard to make everything perfect for her son—as if she had to make up for Kenny not being there and for her own poor childhood.
Well, he won’t ha
ve Kenny, but he has me.
“That was so sweet, Dylan. Matthew’s first bedtime prayer. I’ll have to record it in the baby book.”
“That baby book must weight a ton by now.”
“Haven’t you seen it?”
“Nope.”
Sondra scurried over to the cabinet. “You’ve got to see it. Really.”
Dylan sat on the couch, figuring a groom ought to get to cuddle a bit with his bride on their wedding night. She carried a big, baby blue album over and sat close enough to have their elbows brush.
Dylan wrapped his arm around her and dragged her tight against his side. “There. Much better. Now we can lay it across our laps. That thing is huge. Lookie there.” Dylan chuckled as he ran his fingertip around the border of baby animal stickers she’d used to embellish the first page that held Matthew’s birth certificate. “You got downright fancy on this page.” The only thing that would have improved that page would be if his own name were listed as “father.”
“Oh, you just wait.” Sondra turned the page.
Pictures from the hospital filled the pair of pages. He’d taken those pictures himself, since she’d been so tired and weak. She’d filled in a little square with Matt’s vital statistics. Dylan tapped it. “You thought he was so big, and he was just a tidbit.”
“I know.” She turned the next page. Dylan stared.
She’d blown up one photo to the full size of the page—it was nothing but Matt’s bitty little hand resting in Dylan’s. That photo now took on special significance.
Sondra shifted, and the caption she’d penned came into view. It was a line from a song they sometimes sang in church. I am weak, but he is strong. Below that, she’d written more. God provides, Matt. He brought a kind, capable man into our lives who helped us through and cared.
“It’s true,” she said in a shaky voice. “You’ve been wonderful, Dylan. I can’t ever thank you enough or repay—”
He didn’t want her gratitude; he wanted her love. Dylan shut the book and turned to her. She’d stopped speaking at his abrupt action, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Let’s get something straight. Being married to you suits me just fine. I don’t want to hear how thankful you are.”
“Because I’m not Thankful anymore—I’m Ward, right?”
He nodded emphatically. “You got it.” Lord, I prayed that tonight would go well. You’re coming through like gangbusters. Please give me the strength and ease us through this next topic. Jutting his chin toward the suitcase by the door, he said, “I already carried my other suitcase into the spare bedroom. I know we touched on having kids some day, but well—” He paused, hoping she’d want him, want a real marriage, but she tensed and didn’t say a word. Her eyes darkened and filled with tears. No way was he going to take her to bed unless she loved him.
“I—” He cleared his throat. “I—reckon the first one we have won’t be another honeymoon baby.”
Silently, she nodded.
They gave each other a chaste hug in the hallway, then went to separate rooms. Dylan stared at the dinky twin bed as he unsnapped his shirt. He’d pledged himself to Christ and had waited all these years for his wedding night. So here it was. But he was alone, and the woman he loved couldn’t bear the thought of sharing a bed with him.
❧
They sat across the breakfast table in aching silence. The empty inches between them at the table might have just as well been miles. Sondra poked at the runny yolk of her egg, and Dylan gulped down scorching hot coffee. The idea of starting each day of the rest of her life awkwardly searching for something to say made her shudder.
“You okay?”
She forced a smile. “I, um. . .usually don’t eat my eggs over easy. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Listen, you don’t need to get up this early to make breakfast.”
Squaring her shoulders, Sondra said, “Hold it right there. As I recall, you’re the one who recently said anything worth doin’ is worth doin’ right. No sliding by.”
“Oh, ho. So you’re tossin’ my words back at me, are you?”
Her fork skidded through the egg and scraped on the plate. She couldn’t bear to look at him as she mumbled, “This might not be one of those Valentine’s-y kind of marriages, but some things aren’t negotiable. This is one of them.”
“Fine.” He rose from the table, stuck his plate in the sink, and popped a Cheerio into Matthew’s mouth. Without another word, he left.
Sondra dumped her eggs down the sink and let out a shaky breath. Lord, I don’t know what to do. Give me strength and help me to become the wife Dylan needs.
The next day, they barely spoke. Everything was ultra-polite. Only the most essential things were said, and the most necessary ones went left unsaid. They tucked Matt into his crib and prayed over him, then sat in the living room where the only sounds were the rustling of the newspaper and the tick of the clock. At bedtime, Dylan slept in the guest room again.
Over the following week, he was his usual, helpful self. Sondra pasted on a smile and tried to do as much as she could around the house. She paid bills, sewed buttons on Dylan’s shirts, made nice meals, and set about trying to blend in some of the things from Dylan’s house so this place would feel more like home.
More like home? This wouldn’t ever be his home. He already regretted marrying her. She sat down to rock Matt and blinked back tears. Again.
The porch screen banged. “I brought over another box of Dylan’s stuff,” Teresa said. “I’ll stick this on your bed.”
“Just leave it there.” Desperate to keep Teresa from knowing Dylan wasn’t sharing her room, Sondra blurted out, “Dylan will carry it back later.”
“Okay.” Thud. The box landed on the floor. “I’m moving our stuff into the Laughingstock. If you need something, call, and I’ll see if I can find it. I’m telling you, Dylan was alone in that house for six months, and everything’s in the wrong place.”
“New isn’t wrong; it’s just different.”
“You tell her, honey,” Dylan said from the doorway.
“Oh, boy. You’re just like Mom and Dad were—the united front, absolutely indivisible.”
“Yup.” Dylan jerked his thumb toward the box. “What’s in that?”
“Stuff from the closet shelf. Jeff just dumped it all in there for me.”
Sondra gave her a mock look of outrage. “You have no room to talk about our teamwork. You and Jeff are quite a pair yourselves.”
“I seem to remember you having a hand truck. Mind if I borrow it?”
“Help yourself. It’s out in the barn.” Sondra stood and slipped Matt into his playpen. “I’ve used it to move bales of hay, so you might want to hose it off.”
“Okay. Why don’t you come over tomorrow and take whatever you want? There’s some stuff in the kitchen you might like that belonged to Mom or Grandma.”
“Don’t you want it?” Sondra couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice.
“I took a few things that had sentimental value to me, but you’re family, and the two of you ought to have some of it, too.”
Dylan slid his arm around Sondra’s waist. “Sure. You took Mom’s china. Maybe we’ll take Grandma’s. There’s this huge old turkey platter. . . .”
“Oh, boy. He’s going to start drooling any minute.” Laughing, Teresa gave them a quick hug. “I’m getting out of here. See you tomorrow!”
Dylan hefted the box and carried it off to the guest room. When he sauntered back in, he took one look at Sondra and silently grabbed the tissue box. Setting it closer to the rocking chair, he somberly looked into her brimming eyes. He sat down heavily on the coffee table, leaned forward so his forearms rested on his thighs, and let his hand dangle. “Guess we’d better talk.”
Sondra slipped into the rocking chair. If only he’d wrapped his arms around me or wanted to sit beside me on the couch.
He waited a long second, then said very quietly, “I can’t live like this.”
Twenty-one
<
br /> Sondra looked at him and tried to choke back a sob.
“I’m not good at this stuff,” he rasped.
Before he could say more or she could respond, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. Neither of them moved. The answering machine clicked.
“Dylan? Sondra? This is Troy Upton. I need you to come down to the sheriff’s office.”
Dylan heaved a sigh and headed for the phone. Sondra listened as he spoke. The conversation was short and cryptic. When he hung up, he came back to her and rubbed his forehead. “Something’s up, but I’m not sure what. We need to go there now.”
Sondra threw a few essentials into a diaper bag while Dylan washed up. They didn’t do much talking on the road. Sondra kept hearing his words echo in her mind. I can’t live like this. . . . She glanced at his profile, then stared out the window. God, what should I do? Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this.
As he pulled into a parking place, Dylan murmured, “I’ll grab PeeWee.”
Diaper bag slung over her shoulder, Sondra walked along-side Dylan down the sidewalk to the sheriff’s office. Dylan held the heavy door, and Sondra slipped inside. He always minded those simple courtesies, and it made her feel like a queen. “Thank—” Her voice died out, and she froze in place.
Dylan slid his warm palm to the small of her back and stood beside her.
“What’s he doing here?” Sondra inched closer to Dylan as she tried to focus anywhere other than on Miller’s brother, who sat in a room off to the side.
“I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”
“Hi, Dylan,” the receptionist said. “Y’all go on back to Troy’s office.”
Sondra looked around, and Dylan slipped his arm around her waist. “This way.” He led her down a short hall and into an office. “What’s up, Troy?”
“I need to ask you folks a few questions.” As soon as they were seated, he asked, “Sondra, have you given away anything of Miller’s?”
She gave him a surprised look. “Some of the furniture went to the Battered Women’s Society.” When he nodded and still looked as if he expected more, she continued, “His clothes and books went to the bunkhouse.”
In His Will Page 15
