In His Will (13 page)

“So I see. Why?”

Heat and color flooded her face. “Never mind.”

“Hmmm. Must be something terrible. Something like stretch marks.”

“I don’t have those!” As soon as she reacted, she groaned and turned away.

“I’m not trying to offend you. I’m trying to help and listen. You’re not making this easy at all!”

“Shouting at me doesn’t make it any easier,” she yelled back. “You can’t possibly understand how humiliating it is to get so fat you can’t fit behind the wheel!” As soon as the admission was made, she let out a shriek.

Dylan blocked her exit. “Where did you want to go?”

“Away from you!”

A grin twitched at the left corner of his lips. “I meant, where did you want to drive?”

She bowed her head and mumbled, “I had a doctor’s appointment.”

“Does it occur to you that if I have time to stop for a drink, I could take you?”

“Ten minutes for a soda is far different that an hour drive in each direction and the time in between at the office.”

“Bravo. You can do math. I’ll take you today. Nickels, Howie, or Teresa can take you next week. After that, there’s no problem, because Junior will make his appearance.”

“I don’t need to go today.”

His brow puckered. “You just said you had an appointment.”

“It was at nine o’clock. I cancelled it.”

“What?! That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

She glowered at him. “If you think I enjoy having to depend on everyone around here, you can just guess again! I refuse to ask anyone to do anything more for me.”

Dylan slammed his can down and bellowed, “Then you’ve got your priorities wrong, lady. Let the dumb ranch fall apart at the seams for all we care! Just take care of the poor baby!” He spun around, stomped out of the house, and slammed the door shut.

❧

September second came and went. Sondra still hadn’t had the baby. Her nerves were frayed, and she’d spent the last twenty days studiously avoiding Dylan Ward. She managed to be in the bathroom, on the phone, or somehow unavailable whenever he made an appearance. Church was the only place she couldn’t avoid him, but he kept busy as an usher so she didn’t have to do more than merely greet him with a polite nod.

Half of the time, she was livid that Dylan dared to think she’d ever put anything above her baby’s welfare. The other half of the time, she was embarrassed she’d given him so much latitude in her life that he felt free to speak to her that way.

If only he hadn’t been such a good listener, so calm and undemanding, so kind and helpful. If only he hadn’t let her weep on his shoulder and gently gotten her through her illness. . .maybe then she would have kept a sense of perspective. But she hadn’t. She’d opened her big mouth and spilled every intimate detail of her whole life. His rock-solid presence, understated ways, and quiet attentiveness all made it easy to keep company with him—but she could resist those qualities if she made a conscious effort. The truth of it was, he’d found her Achilles’ heel. She found it impossible to resist a man who loved God and rocky road.

Dylan still saw to all of the ranching matters, and he’d taken to phoning her to transmit any information regarding bills or expenditures. She managed to be businesslike and polite, but an awkward distance stretched between them.

That distance left her feeling bereft. In many ways, it also made her feel crushingly guilty. Though she grieved for Kenny, she still thought of Dylan. He crossed her mind way too much, as a matter of fact. He’d somehow managed to fill in places in her life and heart that went far, far beyond a simple business partner’s role.

She’d been stupid to let that happen. Now that it had, part of her wanted to shut down that connection; worse, part of her secretly wanted to tend the relationship and let it not only continue, but deepen. What kind of widow leaned on a man when she’d lost her husband so recently and was pregnant with his child? Confused, lonely, and guilty, she kept to herself.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Sondra stared at a bowl of ice cream. She missed Dylan’s impish smile, the rumble of his deep voice, the companionship they’d shared. She didn’t understand the emptiness she felt. Twice during her courtship and once during their marriage, Kenny had to take a week-long business trip. She’d missed him, but not like this. This odd ache took her by surprise. How had Dylan wormed his way into her life like this?

❧

Dylan took a long, tepid drink from the garden hose. He’d far rather have a tall glass of sweet tea, but the welcome he’d once felt in Sondra’s house was long gone. The contact he’d had with her had been the highlight of each day—a short interlude of laughter, planning, camaraderie, and mutual regard. That evaporated in this estrangement.

The distance between them puzzled him. He’d been blunt, but honest—and she’d taken it badly. As he cranked off the faucet, a last bit of water drained from the hose and made a puddle of mud. Yeah, he’d made muck of everything.

He’d had enough of this strain. Playing games never suited him. Saturday was Teresa’s wedding, and if he didn’t do something quick, Sondra would probably concoct a flimsy excuse and not show up, just to avoid him. He’d been biding his time, but she needed a nudge. She needed folks’ friendships and support, Teresa’s feelings would be hurt if Sondra didn’t come, and. . .well, he missed her company.

“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?”