The Rebel and His Bride (3 page)

No, intrigued wasn’t quite the right word, he thought. Besotted was more like it. He’d been besotted with her, the way her hair had looked spread over his blue-striped pillowcase, the way she’d felt beneath his hands, the way she’d tasted, the little sounds she’d made in the back of her throat when he’d made love to her.…

“Gregory?”

He looked up. “What? Oh, sorry. I was lost in thought again.”

“Tomorrow’s sermon or next week’s?”

Neither. His thoughts had been as far from a sermon as they could get. He drew in a deep breath. “Uh, next week’s, I think. I’ve almost finished tomorrow’s.” He wondered how Annabelle would feel beneath his hands now? There was an enticing new roundness to her curves that fascinated him.

“And about what subject are you going to enlighten us tomorrow?” she asked.

He was careful to keep his gaze above her chin. “Deciding whether or not to ditch church?”

“What, me? I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you in your native habitat.” She fished the last bit of praline topping from the bottom of her bowl, then stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles.

Gregory’s gaze locked on her long tanned legs.
Heaven help him, he could remember so vividly the way they would lock around his hips in passion. He lifted his gaze back to her chin, clenching and unclenching his fists before saying evenly, “There’s a little ice cream left. Since it’s your favorite, do you want it?”

“Oh no. I couldn’t eat another bite.” She leaned back in her chair, the movement pulling at the buttons on her pink-flowered shirt.

All of Gregory’s attention fastened on the tiny bit of white lace visible through the gap in her shirt. A sudden gathering of pressure behind the zipper of his jeans caught him off guard. It had been a long time since he’d felt such unbridled desire—nine years, to be exact. He sent a brief prayer for self-control winging its way upward and opened his mouth to speak. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say and could only hope he didn’t groan.

Clara Walling, who always came by the church on Saturday evenings to make sure everything was set for Sunday, poked her head in the office. She appeared taken aback to find someone with Gregory, but smiled brightly. “I just put the fresh flowers on the altar, Reverend, and I picked up the bulletins and placed them by the door so the ushers can get to them.”

Thank you, Lord, for the distraction
. “Thank you, Mrs. Walling. I know I can always count on you to be on top of things.”

Mrs. Walling turned a shrewd gaze to Annabelle.
“And how are you, dear? I know your grandmother is delighted to have you here in her time of need.”

“I’m fine, thanks, Mrs. Walling. And Gran is managing well enough. She only has a broken arm, you know.” Annabelle smiled at the older woman, but she wasn’t thrilled to see Mrs. Walling, at least not now. She was a well-meaning lady, but she had an earth-mother complex a mile wide.

Childless, she’d proclaimed herself the adopted mother of nearly every child in town—both permanent residents and summer visitors alike. She’d attached herself to Annabelle and Danni when they’d spent summers there as children.

At Danni and Sebastian’s wedding five years ago, Mrs. Walling had declared it her duty to see that Annabelle was next to wed. Now, Mrs. Walling’s gaze shot from Annabelle to Gregory and back again. Annabelle could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

“What do you hear from Danielle and Sebastian?” Mrs. Walling asked her.

“They just left on their vacation Friday and should be back before Daisy and Buddy’s engagement party.”

“Where did they go this year? Last year was Paris, France, I believe.”

“Disneyland. They stayed a little closer to home this year to save money for the babies’ nursery.” Anticipating Mrs. Walling’s next question,
she added, “They’re due the first week in October, if you recall.”

Mrs. Walling nodded and said, “Well, I’ll just go check on the Communion wafers and leave you two young people to chat. See you in the morning, Reverend.”

“Yes, uh, thank you again, Mrs. Walling.”

No sooner had Mrs. Walling exited the room than Annabelle was on her feet. “Well, it’s been nice, Rev, but I’ve got to go. See you ’round.”

“Uh, Annabelle?” Gregory stood as well. “I’d hoped we could talk a little more.” Why couldn’t he formulate the words he really wanted to say? Why did they freeze into solid little lumps in the back of his throat? Why couldn’t he just say,
How could you leave me, Annabelle?

“Love to,” she said, “but I really do need to go. Gran and Lute are going out tonight and she needs me to help do her hair.”

“Oh, sure. I understand. I thought she was managing all right, though.”

“Well, she is, but she has trouble doing things that require two hands. Earlier today she was trying to mend the collar on her leather jacket, and ended up sewing it to her blue jeans. And with her arm in a cast, she’s hopeless with a curling iron.”

Gregory thought fondly of Virgie’s bright orange spiked hair and figured she was hopeless with a curling iron even when she had the use of both arms.

“Anyway, I really need to go,” Annabelle finished.
“See you tomorrow.” With a wave she was gone, leaving Gregory looking after her with nine-year-old questions still burning through him. He sat at the desk staring at the almost empty carton of ice cream until long after the remaining few spoonfuls had melted.

She hadn’t slept well—partly because she’d lain in bed for hours castigating herself for being such an idiot. It had been the grandmother of all mistakes to eat ice cream with Gregory. And he’d been so charmingly casual about it. Didn’t he remember, for God’s sake? Didn’t he remember? She wished she could forget all the wonderfully wicked and inventive things the two of them used to do with ice cream—and praline chips.

With a quiver of annoyance, she pushed the unwanted memories away. For all her fine talk about no more trips down memory lane, she couldn’t seem to stop wallowing in the might-have-beens. When she finally did get to sleep, she tossed and turned through vivid dreams and awoke wondering if it was a sin to fantasize such things about a man of God. The real problem was that he had dared to look at her as if he still thought her attractive.

Merlin jumped up on her bed about five o’clock in the morning, meowed once, and cuddled next to her, his head propped on her shoulder. She thought about her closed bedroom door, wondered
briefly how he’d managed to get in, then cuddled him nearer. With the warm comforting body of the cat nestled beside her, she finally managed to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. The next thing she knew, her grandmother was calling her.

“Annabelle, honey, I thought you were going to church with me this mornin’. It’s after nine.”

Annabelle’s eyes flew open and her feet hit the floor almost simultaneously. She’d overslept! “Uh, yes, Gran. I’ll be ready shortly,” she called back, pushing her hair out of her face.

“You won’t have time for breakfast,” her grandmother warned.

“Feed mine to Merlin.”

“He’s already had his Cheerios,” Virgie said, her voice fading as she went on down the hall.

Annabelle shook her head at the cat’s odd diet. She doubted he’d eaten regular cat food once in his entire life. Even Sebastian and Danni, who were always admonishing their patients’ owners that pet food was for pets and people food for people, fed Merlin portions of whatever they had for meals. Just last night, Annabelle had seen him scarf down some of the applesauce with cinnamon she’d had for a late-night snack.

Weird cat, she thought, and glanced at where he’d curled up in the hollow she’d left in her pillow. Shaking her head, she yawned, rubbed her eyes, and gazed at her reflection in the mirror opposite the bed. After such restless sleep, her curly hair looked like a Brillo pad and she had pillowcase
creases on her cheek.
Well, Reverend Talbott
, she thought,
let’s see if you still find me attractive this morning
.

She had intended to wear a demure navy suit and pink blouse to church, but in a moment of perversity, she tossed aside the blouse and pulled on a red silk shell with a scoop neck instead. She even rolled the waistband of her skirt over to raise the hem by a couple of inches.

The cat interrupted his morning bath to watch her, and she shot him a defensive look. “I’m not doing this to attract his attention. I’m doing this—” Why? she asked herself. To prove that she still had great-looking legs even though she was two years shy of thirty? To see if Gregory donned a veil of stuffy conservatism with his ministerial robes? To see if she could tease his attention away from his duties?

Sighing, she tugged her skirt back to its original length, but defiantly left on the red shell. And it wasn’t because Gregory had always liked her in red. Just to make that point clear, she said as much to the cat. He simply blinked his mismatched eyes and resumed his grooming.

When she arrived at church, she was immediately surrounded by old childhood friends. She and Danni had spent many a summer in White Creek playing with Magda’s daughters. Magda, a self-proclaimed Gypsy and owner of several dozen cats, had raised five daughters alone. Her husband, a navy captain, had died twenty-five years before.

Annabelle and Danni had been especially close with the triplets—Rose, Daisy, and Lily—because the triplets were the same age as they were. But they’d also been friends with Anne and Caterina despite the fact that they were one year older and two years younger respectively.

Rose, Lily, and Anne had left White Creek for Norfolk, though they usually showed up on Sunday mornings to attend church and eat Sunday dinner together. Caterina had stayed in town and opened a children’s clothing shop, and Daisy had stayed on as a nurse-midwife. They’d kept in touch with Annabelle and Danni via phone calls, letters, and the occasional visit. It was good to see them now, although Daisy wasn’t there. She’d overslept, Caterina said. Annabelle was grateful for their presence, hoping it would insulate her from Gregory.

Thirty minutes into the church service she knew that theory was shot all to hell. Heck, she corrected herself as she remembered where she was. She stifled a sigh. A six-foot-thick brick wall probably couldn’t insulate her from Gregory. He radiated an energy that drew her, nine years ago and now.

And his voice, she thought. As long as she lived she doubted she’d ever forget his voice. If the laws of physics altered to allow sandpaper to be made of velvet, that would be his voice. Maturity had added a depth and resonance that made it more compelling than ever. His voice was intimate and personal
one minute, soaring to the rafters the next, and she was alternately thrilled by it and horrified at being thrilled by it. She found herself hanging on every word but couldn’t have told anyone what he’d said.

He looked so remote in his robes. So grown up. So—so preacherlike. Mentally she contrasted that image with the college senior who’d lived in blue jeans and a Greenpeace T-shirt. She missed the college senior. While he might have always been up to his eyeballs in one cause or another, at least he’d been less complex, easier to read. But, in all honesty, maybe she’d been easier to read back then too. After all, she had wanted nothing more than to be the number-one thing in Gregory’s life.

With a start, she realized that everyone around her was getting to their feet. Was the service over already? Before she could reach for her purse, she noticed Lily and Caterina opening their hymnals. She turned to Rose to share hers and met a sympathetic smile. “You okay?” Rose whispered. Annabelle nodded.

The triplets knew all about Gregory and Annabelle’s deep, dark history. It was okay that they knew, Annabelle thought, but she hoped no one else did. From Danni, she’d already heard about the determination on the part of most of the ladies in town to play matchmaker between Gregory and anybody. They’d apparently been thrusting daughters and nieces and their friends’ daughters and nieces at him for the last six years, though to no avail. If the women found out about Gregory and
Annabelle’s previous romance, she just knew they’d start rubbing their hands together with glee.

Irritated with herself, she pulled her thoughts back front and center, composing herself as she remained standing for the final benediction. She looked around, her gaze lighting on the side exit, and she decided to head in that direction. No way did she want to get caught in the crush of people milling down the center aisle toward the back to shake hands with the minister. Before she could move, however, she found herself boxed in by Clara Walling, her grandmother, and Bosco Wilson’s wife, Elsie.

Annabelle eyed her grandmother’s bright perky smile. She’d learned that the brighter her grandmother’s smile, the more likely the possibility that she had mischief up her sleeve. She turned to Mrs. Walling. “Hello, Mrs. Walling, it’s nice to see you again. Mrs. Wilson, I know I haven’t had a chance to visit yet, but I ran into Buddy when I was looking for Daisy yesterday.”

Mrs. Wilson’s round, weathered face split into a smile. “It’s so good you’re back in town for a while, Annabelle. I know how much your grandmother misses you. I understand you’re an English teacher, aren’t you?”

“Um, yes, I am.” Annabelle was puzzled by the remark, but from the expression on her grandmother’s face, she knew there was a reason behind all this. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
She gave her grandmother’s face another speculative glance. Then again, maybe she could.

Mrs. Walling smiled at Annabelle. “Virgie said that you’d taken charge of the sixth- and seventh-grade plays at the private school you taught at in Raleigh.”

Still mystified, Annabelle nodded. “Yes, I worked with the kids on a couple of plays.”

“You enjoyed doing it too,” her grandmother added.

“Sure, I enjoyed it. Kids are enormously fun to work with.”

Mrs. Wilson beamed. “Wonderful. Then, while you’re here with your grandmother, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind helping with the church’s Independence Day play. It’s just a couple of hours two nights a week and Saturday afternoons. The play will be presented at the church on the Sunday after Independence Day.”