Читать книгу Baby Dreams And Wedding Schemes - C.J. Hill - Страница 9

Chapter One

“You lied!”

“That squeaky little voice could penetrate steel,” Sasha Lambert muttered, gritting her teeth and trying to remain calm.

Warning—this is what cute, darling little babies grow into. Rethink your plan! There it was again; that ridiculously mocking voice inside her head issuing its gloomy admonition.

I am just as capable as the next woman when it comes to children. I merely need to apply the fine art of reason to this situation, she told herself.

“Look, little boy,” she coaxed quietly. “I can’t have a funeral for Henry in my store! I don’t do funerals.”

He stared up at her, his eyes wide and accusatory. One short, stubby finger pointed to the sign in her window. “My dad tol’ me that sign says you can do anything here.”

Sasha sighed once in resignation, the second time in capitulation as she spotted one fat tear suspended on the end of his incredibly long lashes. “Actually it says we cater to all occasions. But it’s wrong. Sorry. No funeral. No way.”

She hadn’t meant to say it quite so loudly, but the words rang through Bednobs and Broomsticks like a cowbell on the open prairie. The customers quietly browsing her craft store opened their eyes wide to frown at the tall, slim woman positioned near the half-finished train display in the main aisle.

Sasha ignored them all, examining the preschooler from her impressive height. He refused to budge. Instead he stood watching her, his big brown eyes now welling with tears.

“But we hafta,” he wailed as one glistening droplet finally plopped down onto the copper freckles covering his chubby cheeks. “My dad’s gonna kill me when he finds out and then I’ll get grounded. I just gotta have Henry’s funeral first.”

She tried to ignore the sympathy pangs that were mounting inside her mushy heart. The frosty looks of condemnation her customers were casting her way didn’t help stifle the gnawing sense of censure that yawned inside. Nor the pangs of regret. Her eyes fell on the bit of paper she had taped to the counter.

“Word for the day. Compunction: anxiety arising from guilt.” Stupid word! Who needed extra guilt?

Some mother you’ll make, her subconscious chided. No empathy. She frowned, glaring maliciously at the cash register. She was as empathetic as the next woman and she fully intended to be the best mother since sliced bread. So there!

Sasha tossed her shining head back and considered her folly in moving to Allen’s Springs, Montana. Was it her fault poor old Henry had died right here in the middle of the store? she demanded of herself.

“I’m sure your father will understand when you explain it all to him.” There, her voice was kind but firm.

“Nah, he won’t.” The face drooped with misery. “He never does. He’s gonna be really mad. I just know it.”

Sasha closed her eyes in defeat as the tentacles of his mournful distress squeezed tightly around her heartstrings. With difficulty, she repressed the urge to push back the tumble of brown curls from his brow.

Softie. Don’t get involved. Not today. You’ve got that appointment to prepare for. If you’re lucky, you’ll soon have your own kids to worry about.

“Well,” she said in capitulation, knowing darn well she never took her own advice, “perhaps if I spoke to your father.” She glanced around the empty store and made a face. “I don’t think anyone else is coming in today anyway. That announcement of mine pretty well cleared everyone out.” She smiled grimly.

At least he had the grace to look downcast at her loss of business. Sasha handed him a tissue.

“Here. Blow.” Her tone was filled with resignation. “What’s your father’s name?”

“No! You can’t!” The boy’s voice trembled with fear. “I—I’ll tell him myself.” He was backing down the aisle toward the door now, one knobby knee showing through the wide tear in his black pants.

Sasha was amazed. What kind of an ogre was the child’s father, for heaven’s sake, to engender such fear in the boy? And where was he when his son needed him? This was the fifth time in as many days that she’d had the child as an afternoon visitor. Alone.

She darted past him and whipped the door closed, sending the chimes tinkling throughout the empty aisles. That was one advantage of having very long legs. She could outrun almost everyone. Of course, at five feet eleven and seven-eighths inches she also towered above every other living soul.

“I think you and I had better have a talk,” Sasha told him firmly as she closed her hand around one thin shoulder. “Come on. I made cookies yesterday.” He looked doubtful. “Triple chocolate chip with nuts.”

That seemed to decide the issue. He trailed along behind her, his black leather shoes clicking against the worn oak planks of the floor.

Black leather shoes?

Sasha took a second look at the child and grimaced. Most of the kids in Allen’s Springs wore jeans and a T-shirt with sneakers. This child was distinctly out of place in his white shirt, dress pants and leather shoes; the very same items he’d worn each time he’d visited her.

“What’s your name?” Sasha asked softly, leading him through the connecting door to her small living quarters at the rear. Somehow they had never gotten ’round to introductions.

“Cody,” he told her, gazing around with interest. “Is this where you live? I like it.”

His chubby fingers twiddled with the stuffed parrot that hung behind her sofa. “Trains,” he crowed, his eyes sparkling as he moved toward the display in the center of her living room.

Sasha watched as he lovingly gazed at the miniature machines, reached out a tentative hand and then dropped it back by his side. His eyes were huge, round saucers as he studied the red locomotives sitting silent on the tracks she had tacked to a board late last night.

“Four,” he half whispered to himself, nodding. “Here’s the engine and the c’boose. This one is for carrying stuff.”

Sasha pondered his rapt expression as she lifted the jug of milk from the refrigerator and poured a glass for herself and one for the child. Cody seemed mesmerized by her newest project. Good. The boy’s interest boded well for her expansion plans.

Sasha grinned as she removed several of the biggest cookies from the nutcracker cookie jar on her counter and arranged them on a tray. As the eldest of six children, if there was one thing she had experience in, it was kids and what they liked. Sasha grimaced. She should know; she’d played both mother and father in her own family for years.

The fact that this child was a little different from any of the children she’d baby-sat through high school and college just meant she needed a break from work. To get back her perspective! she told herself.

“Let’s have our snack in the backyard,” she told him, pushing the screen door open with one hip as she carried out the tray. “Then we’ll talk about Henry.”

At the mention of that name, Cody’s round face fell and he followed her out the door onto a tiny patch of lawn. “Henry’s gone,” he muttered disconsolately. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just wanted to take him for a walk.”

Sasha’s motherly heart ached at the sadness in his tone. Poor little waif.

“I was ever so careful to lift him gently.”

“Well, it was a nice idea, Cody, but I don’t think goldfish go for walks. They like their bowls.”

He shook his head sadly. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “Everything dies.” It was a solemn denunciation of his whole five-year-old world.

Sasha ruffled his hair gently, enjoying the feel of those silky strands against her palms.

“Who else died?” she asked, waiting for him to look at her.

He didn’t. Instead one grubby fist dashed away the tears before he picked up one of her cookies and started chewing. His voice was quiet when he spoke. “Rocket.”

“Who’s Rocket?”

“My dog, o’ course.” Cody peered up at her then, as if to assess her mental age. “He got hit by a car when I letted him out of the gate.” He sniffed sadly. “An’ George and Gertrude.”

Sasha frowned. His grandparents?

“How did they die?” she asked softly.

“Ate too much.” He picked up a second cookie while his other hand grasped the glass.

Sasha was mystified. “Ate too much?” She tried to play along. Maybe this having kids thing was harder than she thought. “But that wasn’t your fault. People feed themselves. Except for babies, of course. No one could blame you, Cody.”

He shook his head doubtfully. “I feeded them too much birdseed.” His mouth was stuffed full of cookie and Sasha wasn’t sure she heard him correctly.

“Birdseed?”

He nodded. “Uh-huh. And I didn’t keep their cage clean ’nuf, neither.” Sadly, he scuffed his toe on the grass. “Dad said you can’t be pushing stuff at canaries all the time. They like to be left alone. Gertrude stopped singing one day and then she got dead.”

A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as Sasha realized her error.

“And is that all?” she asked, unable to resist brushing her hand over his darkly shining head once more.

“Nope.” He slurped down the rest of the milk and then leaned over to pick a dandelion.

“Who else?”

His brown eyes peered up into hers. “Shelley—that was my turtle. And Rolly.”

“Who’s Rolly?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Gerbil,” he told her succinctly. “Got out of the cage and Dad stepped on him. Axidennnally, o’ course.”

“Oh, of course.” Sasha smiled, watching the round face with a pang. He looked so forlorn as he recounted the death of all his little pets.

“Henry was ’sposed to be my last chance. Now he’s dead, too. Just like my mom.”

It came out of left field, knocking her back in her chair.

“Your mom,” she half whispered, shocked by his bald statement. “What happened to your mom?”

He sniffed loudly. “She got dead, too.” He bent his head, shifting away from her probing glance.

“Was she sick?” Sasha hated asking the questions but for some reason she just had to know how this little scrap of a child came to be without a mother.

“Uh-uh. Least, I don’t think so. She got dead from a guy.”

“Oh, Cody.” Her soft heart melted then and she cuddled the wiggling little sweat-scented body close to her abundant chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. A mommy’s an awful thing for a boy to lose.” -

He hugged her back tightly, sniffing at the threatening deluge of tears. When at last he pushed away, Sasha let him go with an empty ache in her heart and her arms.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “‘Sides, she’s in heaven now.” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you know, ’bout heaven?” he demanded, wiping one sleeve across his nose as he frowned up at her.

Sasha smiled. “Yes, I do. And I think your mom is very happy there.”

His big eyes studied her speculatively for a moment. “I guess.”

“But it still hurts, doesn’t it?” she guessed.

“Yeah.” He nodded glumly. “My mom used to laugh all the time. We had fun and we had lots of good times together. She always had surprises for me. Now we never have them. My dad doesn’t talk about her no more.”

“Why, Cody?” It was an invasion of privacy and under any other circumstances Sasha wouldn’t have probed, but there was something about Cody and his sad little face that tugged at her heartstrings, begged her to listen to his childish explanation.

“’Cause it’s my fault that she died and he don’t want people to blame me, I guess.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no. It isn’t your fault at all. It couldn’t be.” Sasha couldn’t bear to hear it. She gazed into those trusting brown eyes and the familiar ache for a child of her own welled once more.

Stop it, she ordered her brain. Think about this child for now.

He was watching her, waiting.

“Sometimes God just wants people to go and live with him, honey, and there’s nothing we did or can do that will stop that.” Sasha had no idea where the words came from but she was thankful Cody seemed to accept them.

His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he considered what she said, as if checking her sincerity. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, positively, unfailingly, irrevocably, indubitably sure, Cody.”

“I dunno what all that stuff means,” he mumbled, his face tipped up so that she could see the light that gleamed in his eyes. “But if you’re sure that I didn’t do nuthin’ bad, I guess that’s okay.”

With lightning swift change he shifted the conversation mode. “Can I play with those trains?” His head jerked toward the doorway. “I never had no trains to play with before.”

Sasha smiled. She was a fool. With his track record in pet care, she shouldn’t let him anywhere near the display. Let alone touch it. Nevertheless, she heard herself agree.

“Yes, you can play with them if you treat them very carefully. They’re my special trains and they don’t like it if you’re rough with them. Okay?”

His eyes were as big as saucers at the prospect of handling the models. He nodded his agreement as she led him back inside. Together they maneuvered the huge board outside onto the lush green lawn. Sasha ran an extension cord and tested the entire mechanism.

When his plump little fingers closed around a fire-red engine, she posed one last question. “What’s your dad’s name, Cody? I need to call him and tell him you’re here.”

His big clear eyes stared at her for one long moment, assessing her. Then he shrugged. “His name is Jacob Windsor,” he told her proudly. The child’s brow furrowed. “He don’t like people buggin’ him when he’s workin’ though.”

Sasha held her tongue with difficulty. Of all the insensitive brutes! “Well, I have to tell him where you are, Cody,” she said with some asperity. “He could be worried.”

Doubtful, her mind chided spitefully.

Cody watched her for a moment and then recited his father’s phone number with a happy grin. Pleased with his good memory, he turned back to his perusal of her trains.

Sasha squared her shoulders. Jacob Windsor had to be a cold, insensitive man. He sure didn’t deserve to have a wonderful son like Cody. How else did one explain a father who would leave a child so floundering, so unsure of his place in the world? This boy needed love and support, not guilt about his mother’s death, regardless of what had happened.

She poured herself another glass of milk and considered the situation at hand. It was up to her to rectify the matter, Sasha decided. If the man was so anesthetized to his son’s doubts and questions, it was her duty to set Mr. Jacob Windsor straight. The man needed to know his son was in pain and help him alleviate it.

She wasn’t surprised when the knock came at the side door fifteen minutes later. A stiff and formal telephone voice had curtly informed her that the Reverend Jacob Windsor would be over immediately to collect Cordell.

But when she opened the door, Sasha lost all ability to converse as she gazed at the very tall, very handsome man who stood waiting.

He’s taller than you. Her eyes relayed this unheard-of information with lightning speed to her foggy brain as Sasha tried to ignore the pulse of awareness thudding through her body.

“I believe my son is here,” he said quietly, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“Oh. Uh, yes. Yes, he is. Outside playing.” She nodded, holding the door wider.

Get a grip, she ordered her mushy brain. Think of the boy.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you first, though. I’m Sasha Lambert.” She thrust her hand out toward him and was surprised to feel the strength in his lean grip.

He was tall, six three or four at least. And gaunt That was the only way to describe the jutting bones that carved the aristocratic planes of his rugged face. His jet-black hair flowed away from his forehead with just a tinge of silver visible on the sides. Solemn and sad, gray eyes met hers, cloudy with his own thoughts.

“Jacob Windsor. I’m the new minister at First Avenue.”

She digested the news with a nod, motioning to the nearest kitchen chair. Stern and sober; the name suited him and his profession.

“I assume that is your craft store in front,” he murmured. “I hope Cody didn’t break something.” His voice had the wistful tone of a man who knew the truth and wished he didn’t.

Sasha glanced down the long, lean length of him, taking note of the old-fashioned trousers and shirt he wore and the shabby jacket with elbow patches. Even so, the man was a hunk.

“I’ve just made coffee,” she offered, forcing herself to smile, hoping to counteract the lack of air in her lungs. “Would you like some?”

“Please don’t bother on my account. I’ll just take Cody home and leave you in peace.”

He turned toward the back door abruptly, causing Sasha to jump in where angels wouldn’t have.

“No, please.” She grasped his sleeve in her fingers, tugging him away from the screen and Cody’s whirring sounds as he ran the engine around the track. “I really do want to talk to you and it would be easier over a cup of coffee, don’t you think?”

Those silver gray eyes stared intently at her hand and Sasha pulled it away immediately, as if burned. Jacob Windsor resumed his seat slowly, studying her through narrowed eyes.

“What, exactly, is this about?” he asked, a thread of iron evident in the low rumbling timbre of his voice.

Sasha took another breath and charged in.

“Cody,” she told him clearly, setting a steaming mug of coffee and a huge slice of fresh apple pie in front of him. “I want to talk to you about your son.”

One black eyebrow lifted as he contemplated the pie and the steaming coffee, but he said not a word. Instead, he picked up a fork and cut off a piece, placing it between his lips like a connoisseur of baking.

“This is delicious,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to feed me. Widowers get used to fending for themselves.” His cool gaze studied her. “That is what this is about, isn’t it, Miss Lambert?”

There was something in his tone that rasped across her nerves. Some hidden meaning behind those innocent words that was meant to stop her from further questions.

Sasha watched the craggy lines of his face harden into a rigid mask.

“You want to help me out by being a mother to my poor, orphaned son.” His smile was not friendly. “You want to share some of the load that single parenthood presents. You want to relieve Cody of a father who has abnegated his responsibilities whe—”

“What was that word?”

Sasha grabbed a pad and began to print.

“What word?” His gray eyes glared at her, angry at the interruption.

She ignored the anger. “Ab-something.” She glanced up at him. “You said you had ab-something your responsibilities.”

“No, Miss Lambert, I did not. I said you thought I had abnegated my respon—”

“Could you spell that?”

She heard the sigh. Anyone would have. It was long and drawn out, as if to show the listener what extreme patience he exercised. When her eyes studied his face, she saw a look of disgust there. Loathing, almost.

“Miss Lambert. If we could return to the matter at hand?”

“In a minute.” She shook her head. “This is important. Could you please spell that abneg...whatever it was.”

He spelled it, slowly and carefully, as if she were mentally deficient and would never be able to print the letters if he spoke in a normal tone.

“Thank you.” Sasha grinned and slapped the sticky note against her fridge.

He frowned, glancing from her to the fridge. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting a word for the day,” she told him airily, pouring fresh coffee into his empty cup. “I try to get a really good one that I can use all day long.” She moved toward the counter to replace the decanter.

“Abnegate.” She rolled the word over her tongue to test its flavor. “It means to give up something, right?”

He nodded, dazed by the sudden turn of events.

“Thought so.” Sasha grinned. “I can usually tell from the context. Would you like some pie? I don’t want to abnegate my responsibilities as hostess.” Her dark head tipped back to study his annoyed features. “Now, what were you saying?”

Jacob frowned. “I can’t remember,” he admitted dryly. “Do you always go off on these tangents?”

“Yes.” She grinned.

But Jacob Windsor wasn’t watching her. He was glancing around her home. She could easily read the curious thoughts flitting across his expressive face. His wide mouth tipped downward on one side as his eyes remained fixed on the overstuffed purple wing chair she’d recovered herself. Finally they swiveled away from the matching sofa.

“’That’s a rather, uh, unusual piece of furniture.”

Sasha burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. People in Allen’s Springs had been thinking that for years but to date no one had told her outright, to her face.

“I guess I am mercurial,” she grinned. Then added,

“Some people even say I have rapid and unpredictable changes of mood.”

He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he admitted. “I can see that. Now, about Cody?”

“Oh, Cody! He’s a great kid,” she enthused. “But he’s got a problem.”

Jacob Windsor grinned. At least she thought that’s what you could call it. His lips curled in a dry, mirthless sneer that made him look hard as a rock.

“I’m sure he does. More than one, in fact.” His gray eyes hardened to slits of steel. “But nothing that I can’t deal with. I’m used to it, you see. I am his father, after all.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That is your bailiwick. But I don’t think you’re handling it very well.”

Black eyebrows tilted upward mockingly. “‘Bailiwick’?” He shook his dark head in amusement. “Yes, I guess it is.” His face hardened. “Look, Miss Lambert. I am perfectly capable of dealing with my son and his problems without the help of a female.”

Sasha decided she didn’t like the look he cast her way but watched silently as he surged to his feet, one hand digging into his pocket.

“We don’t need a little mother to take care of us. We’re doing just fine. Let me pay you for whatever damage he’s done and then we can get on with our respective lives.” He thumbed several bills from a worn, tattered leather wallet.

“Will this about cover the damage?”

Sasha shook her head determinedly. “Not nearly,” she muttered, frustrated by his uncaring attitude.

Mr. Jacob Windsor merely peeled off a few more dollars, ignoring her sarcasm.

“You know,” she mused, head tilted to one side as she perused his rigid stance. “I always thought a minister of the church was supposed to have some special sense that lets him see into the misery and confusion of others, empathize with their troubles. You appear to have lost it where Cody’s concerned.”

She watched the tide of red rise from the base of his neck to the black roots of his hair.

“Now, just one blasted minute. For an autodidact like yourself—”

“A what?”

His face wore the smug look of one who knows he has the upper hand. “It means a self-taught person.”

Sasha could feel him watching her scribble it on another of her sticky notes. She ignored him, finished the word, or a facsimile of it, and smacked it against the refrigerator with a snap of her wrist.

“Yes, I guess I am self-taught,” she told him. “That doesn’t mean I can ignore what I see. Go on.”

He inclined his head, obviously choosing his words with care. “To someone like you, who is a stranger to us and outside of our family, perhaps it seems as if Cody is having difficulties.”

He is a blind, narcissistic fool, Sasha decided impartially. Condescending and rude, yes. But still a hunk.

“I assure you that Cody is a perfectly normal little boy who is simply adjusting to a new environment.” .

Sasha placed her hands on her hips. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“Especially when he thinks he’s responsible for his own mother’s death, and that you blame him for that?”

He spouted another word Sasha hadn’t ever heard before but she had no intention of asking him to repeat it. In fact, she pretended she hadn’t heard it as she watched his hands curl into fists at his sides. She faced the flintlike steely gleam in his eyes when they riveted on her.

“What did you say?” His voice was frigid with dislike.

“Cody thinks he’s the cause of your wife’s death and that you are keeping mum about it to shield him from public opinion.”

“Just how did my son come to confide such information?” The words were chipped away from his hard lips as he scowled at her across the table.

“It was after Henry died. You see—”

“Who?” His eyes wore a dark, puzzled look as they met hers.

“Henry. The goldfish. The bag broke and Henry ended up drying out on my floor. He’s still there, I guess.”

Sasha thought about that for a moment before Jacob Windsor’s throat-clearing sounds drew her attention back to him.

“Anyway, Cody wanted me to give Henry a proper funeral. He said you’d kill him for making the mistake of terminating another pet. I don’t do funerals—especially goldfish.”

“I believe the sign in your window says you cater to all occasions,” he said tongue-in-cheek.

Sasha shook her head. “Sorry. Not funerals. But to get back to Cody...” She purposely let the words hang for emphasis.

“Yes, let’s.” He was clearly not going to be deterred by her sharp tone.

“In Cody’s words, ‘everything dies.’” There, she’d said it. Now he would tell her to mind her own business.

But Jacob Windsor just shook his head stupidly. Sasha could see he wasn’t following.

“I’m not going to kill Cody just because his goldfish died.” He looked confused.

“Oh, good.” She sipped at her coffee for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. It didn’t help, so she plunged right in. “Well, anyway, it was during this discussion that Cody told me about his mother dying. He said she died from a gun and that you didn’t talk about her any more because you didn’t want people to blame him.”

“Oh, my Lord. I thought we had left all that behind.” It was a groan of despair that touched her nerves as the tall man stooped against the tabletop, head in his hands as he sighed in defeat. “I really hoped he’d forgotten all about it.” His voice was full of pain and sadness.

“What happened?” she whispered softly, reaching out to brush her fingers over his arm in empathetic understanding. She pulled back when he flinched. “I just want to help Cody as much as I can.”

When he looked up at her his eyes were dark and hooded. He withdrew visibly into a shell that blazed don’t touch like a neon sign. The deeply carved lines of his face emphasized the sadness that marked him.

“I’m not sure you can,” he whispered hoarsely. His voice was flat. “And if anyone’s to blame for Angela’s death, it’s I. I insisted we go away. Unfortunately, it was too late.”

Sasha heard the words in stunned disbelief, but filed them away for later inspection.

“Cody was three when Angela died during our summer vacation.” He was speaking again in a dull, flat monotone. “She’d had an asthma attack. For some reason he’d started having nightmares. He dreams that she was killed by some punks who were trying to steal from the church. He thinks he saw the whole thing.”

“Oh, no.” Sasha gasped in consternation, imagining the terror such an event must have had on his young mind.

“In fact he did see her choking. But it happened almost three years ago and in another place. I was hoping he’d forget it all. Put it away. Get on with life.” He shook his head. “Apparently neither of us can,” he half whispered to himself.

Sasha thought for a moment considering the little boy’s plight and his words. “The series of recurring problems with pets probably brought on some of his self-blame. He seems to have some difficulty keeping them alive.” She tried to be kind.

He snorted derisively at her obvious understatement. “Difficulty? If Cody gets his hands on them, they can’t last long in this world. He’s probably the most well-known human in pet heaven and he’s only five years old!”

Sasha glared at her visitor.

“What your son needs, Reverend Windsor, is something to take his mind off his troubles. A little fun. Some jocund person who can regurgitate his high spirits back to where a five-year-old boy’s should be.”

“You really do have a thing for all these weird words, don’t you? Jocund, indeed.” He smiled sadly at her strange choice of words.

But Sasha held his gaze steadily, willing him to accept Cody’s distress. And her solution to it. When he inclined his head in a nod, she let her breath out in a whoosh of relief.

“And I suppose you have yourself in mind as this cheerful, animated person who is only too willing to sacrifice herself for the good of our family. To do her Christian duty, in fact.” His sigh was full of long-suffering patience.

She nodded slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on him. “Well, I don’t know about sacrifice myself. But, yes, I do have a certain perspective that you seem to lack.”

He muttered something disparaging.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said there’s always one. At least.” His voice was full of bitterness.

She frowned. “One what?”

He glared at her angrily.

“One do-gooder busybody who thinks she knows exactly what my son and I need in our lives. And she usually volunteers herself as that solution.” He paused to stare at her expectantly. When it became obvious to him that she had no idea as to the direction of his thoughts, Jacob Windsor clarified matters in a cold, mocking tone. “As Cody’s new mother. And my wife.”

Sasha couldn’t help it, her eyebrows rose to their full height as her eyes widened in shock at his words.

“I’m not proposing anything of the sort,” she informed him in a squeaky, high-pitched croak that was totally unlike her usually low voice.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get ’round to proposing fairly soon, Miss Lambert. They usually do.”

Fury rose like a red flag in front of a bull and Sasha’s reaction was just as quick. She slapped her hands on her hips and surveyed his seated form from her standing position.

“Well, they are not me! Of all the patronizing, rude—”

“Forget it,” he said snidely. “I’ve heard it all before. The pie, the little discussion, the motherly concern. They’ve already been used.”

“Not by me they haven’t. I couldn’t be bothered.”

The look he favored her with just then sent her temperature soaring several degrees higher. Which was not a good sign, Sasha decided angrily, releasing a breath that puffed the bangs off her forehead.

“Lest you faint away from shock,” she said gratingly, struggling to hold on to her temper, “I take great delight in informing you that I have not the least intention of becoming anyone’s wife.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded smugly. “That’s what they all say. At first.” He twiddled with the empty pie plate sitting in front of him as he spoke. “I’ll give you about five minutes until that tactic changes. The next step is sugarcoated sweetness.”

“Ooo-ooh.” Sasha’s hands formed fists at her sides as she blinked away the red tide of murder from her gaze. She planted herself directly opposite him and leaned in, holding her face mere centimeters from his.

“You may think you’re God’s gift to this earth, Reverend,” she rasped. “But let me be the first to have the temerity to suggest that I don’t find you so irresistible.” She refused to look away from those black depths. “Oh, I’d like to have a child like Cody, make no mistake about that.”

“I thought so.” The superior look on his face was shortlived as she prepared her ammunition and fired with both barrels.

“But to take you into the bargain seems an awfully high price to pay to be a mother.” She stiffened her backbone with barely concealed fury.

“Men!” She spat the word out in disgust, “Let me tell you, buster. Minister or not, I haven’t the least interest in you or any others of your kind.” Her eyes held his, refusing to look away from their piercing intensity.

“I am a career woman, dedicated to pursuing her own interests and livelihood. I don’t need a man to support me or to hold me down or to nurture. I’m fully capable of building my own life.” Her teeth hurt from clenching and she eased up on her jaw just a fraction. “If and when I decide to have a child, there are the facilities available. I don’t need you to accommodate me there. Thank you very much!”

Sasha could feel the heat radiate off her face as she ended the tirade and wondered if she’d been too blunt. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just naturally assumed that you were another—”

She cut him off. “Don’t naturally assume anything about me, Mr. Windsor.” Sasha tossed her head back angrily. “I like children, a lot. That’s all. Period. No strings.”

He nodded. “Fine. I understand.”

She searched his gray eyes but saw nothing save a faint remnant of suspicion and perhaps a hint of relief.

“What do you suggest I do about Cody, Miss Lambert?”

She sucked in a breath of air and allowed a slight softening to mold the curve of her straight lips. At least he had decided to listen to her opinion concerning Cody’s welfare. His gray eyes glinted at her.

“Thank you for your interest in him. And I really do apologize. I guess I was way off base.”

“Yes, you were,” she agreed pertly. “I am only thinking about Cody.”

He nodded gravely. “So am I.”

Sasha took that as a green light and proceeded to offer him her advice. “Well, Rev,” she began irreverently, enjoying the frown that drew his thick black eyebrows together.

Do him good, she told herself. Obviously thinks he’s hot stuff.

“The first thing I’d suggest is that you go down to Booker’s and see if you can find another goldfish to replace Henry. And eventually you’re going to have to talk to Cody about this strange idea he has regarding his mother’s death.”

He nodded, obviously considering her advice.

“I know. I did try, but when we moved and my mother was with us, I thought he’d forget about it. He hasn’t had a nightmare for quite a while, but obviously Cody still thinks about Angela. I guess we’ll just have to go over the whole thing again.” He heaved a sigh that lifted his wide shoulders high. “I’m not anxious to go back to that era.”

Sasha watched him covertly.

“You know, part of the problem might be that he’s by himself all the time,” she suggested softly, and watched as the Reverend Jacob Windsor frowned at her criticism, his back straightening in his chair.

“I spend as much time as I possibly can with my son, Miss Lambert.”

Sasha could hear the ice crackling in his voice and decided to drop that aspect. For now. She stood and carried the dishes to the sink, stacking them haphazardly.

“I’m sure you do, Rev. But tonight, I’m going to spend the evening showing Mr. Cody Windsor what a good time is like in Allen’s Springs.”

Sasha smiled widely. She liked kids, especially their capacity for love. She hadn’t had much to do with them lately; not with the store and all. Of course, Allen’s Springs usually attracted an older clientele to its rejuvenating mineral waters, although parents and children did come to the lake in the summer. And since she’d moved from Toronto, her siblings had found it expensive to visit.

This was exactly what she needed to get over Dwain, she told herself. Just what she needed to be young and carefree once more, no longer tied to a man who demanded straitlaced perfection and unending cloying devotion in a little town where their every move was relayed back to his fawning mother.

“How?”

She turned in surprise. The Reverend Jacob Windsor stood behind her, a look of expectation on his narrow face.

“Well, let’s see...” She paused, thinking madly. “Cody and I are going to go on a picnic.”

She grabbed a basket from the closet shelf and considered the contents of her fridge. When a choking sound penetrated her consciousness, she turned to find her guest eyeing the lake trout stretched out across her refrigerator shelf, its glassy eye fixed on them both.

“You’re not taking that, are you?” he asked curiously. “I mean, you’re not going to serve sushi or something, right?” He frowned down at her, his finger stroking the line of his jutting chin. “You know? Not right after Henry’s, er, demise?”

Sasha pointed her chin in the air and ignored his rudeness. She had never even seen sushi!

“If you hurry,” she intoned snottily, “you might get back with that goldfish in time to go with us.” Her eyes flashed indignantly. “Not that I’m inviting you, you understand. I wouldn’t want to be accused of pursuing you like some man-hungry female on the make.”

She didn’t bother to sugar-coat the words although Sasha wondered later if it was exactly the right phrase to use with a minister.

“Yes, ma’am,” he quipped, moving toward the door. “I got that message loud and clear.”

His eyes glanced across the blur of yellow sticky notes dotting her refrigerator. Each note had a cat prancing across the top and a word scrawled across the bottom. His eyes glimmered with some hidden vestige of humor as he studied their curious poses.

“I think it’s only fair to mention, however, that Cody is not an ailurophile. In fact, he’s allergic.”

He sauntered out the door, a smug smile of superiority curving his lips as Sasha frowned at his retreating back. He was trying to get back at her, make her feel inferior. Well, she’d show him!

She ignored his departure and concentrated on filling her picnic basket. But, finally, when she could resist no longer, she gave up and dashed out the door after him.

“A what?” she called.

Jake Windsor turned toward her. “An ailurophile. A lover of cats.” His gray eyes opened wide, mocking her ignorance. “I was sure you would know that one.”

But Sasha was ready for him. “I don’t go for bombastic words,” she told him saucily. “Too pretentious for a rural area like ours.”

With that she marched back into her house to prepare Cody’s picnic. And all the while her mind enumerated the indubitable assets of the newest inhabitant to Allen’s Springs.

So what if he was tall. Taller than her in fact.

And dark.

And handsome.

She was interested in the son, not the father.

Her mind echoed the unusually descriptive word Jacob Windsor had used earlier.

You’re interested in him all right, her subconscious asserted. But it won’t do you any good. He’s gun-shy. And you’re supposed to be focusing on a different goal.

Sasha picked up the hamburgers and stored them in a corner of the large basket before checking her appearance in the mirror for the sixth time. Her mouth tipped downward in just the tiniest way as she considered her actions.

Primping! Yuk!

But her mind wouldn’t stay off the subject of Jacob Windsor. She’d been truly sad to see Pastor Dan leave after so many years. But now there was Pastor Jacob Windsor. He did present a whole new range of possibilities.

Of course, they have nothing to do with the fact that he’s young and good-looking and four whole inches taller than me, she assured her subconscious in a severe tone. Nothing at all!

She knew she lied.