In His Will (10 page)

“Really? What did she have?”

“A boy. Your youngster will have a pal on the school bus. Nice, eh?”

Sondra glowed. “Wonderful! I’ll have to make her a few meals.”

“Oh, no, you don’t! What you need to do is settle down and rest.”

“I was lying down.”

“After you went roaming all over creation. I saw all of those shopping bags.”

“Those are a few essentials. I’m going to order the nursery furniture from Nielson’s.”

He nodded. Sondra showed good judgment, buying big-ticket items from a local family who also happened to worship at their church. She’d adjusted to small-town living like the proverbial duck to water. Rubbing his hand across his jaw, Dylan blurted out, “Are you sure the baby’s healthy?”

“There aren’t any guarantees, Dylan. So far, things look fine.”

“Why was your husband in a wheelchair? I mean, was it because of a birth defect?”

“Motorcycle accident.”

“Before or after you got married? Aw, forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

Sondra licked a dot of chocolate off her lower lip and shook her head. “No one’s asked me about Kenny since he died. It’s spooky—like I’m supposed to pretend he never existed or anything. I loved him. I don’t want to forget him.”

“Makes sense.” Dylan stared at the ice cream melting in his own bowl. The last thing he wanted to hear was how much she loved another man—even if Kenny was dead.

“Ken and I met at a coworker’s birthday bash. He and I hit it off right away. I’d sprained my ankle and had to camp out on the couch. We ended up talking for hours.”

“He must have had the time of his life.”

“I sure did. I’m a sucker for a man in jeans and a flannel shirt.”

“Hmm. You’re in trouble.”
And I’m in luck. I live in jeans and flannel shirts all winter.

“Why am I in trouble?” Her brows rose. “Because the men around here wear them?”

When he nodded, she shrugged. “I don’t think that’ll be much of an issue. I’ll be far too distracted to care about anyone who doesn’t wear a diaper.”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, Sondra?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a pretty little gal. You’ve got a bunch of money and a fine ranch. I hope you’ll be careful. Plenty of slick guys would be more than happy to slip in and get their hands on such a deal.”

“Mr. Cheviot warned me of the same thing when I signed the papers. I’m not worried, Dylan. It’s nice of you to be concerned, but I don’t think I’m heart-whole enough to think about loving anyone again.”

Some things can’t be hurried.
I’ll give you time, honey.

She stared at the melting ice cream in her dish and his empty bowl. She made a ragged attempt to clear her throat. “I hate being a crybaby.”

Dylan rose and stood by her. He skimmed his big hand up and down her back. “You’re not being a crybaby. You’re just a woman with too many responsibilities and a broken heart.” He smoothed her hair as she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. “A man would be lucky to be loved the way you loved Ken.”

“Don’t you have someone, Dylan?”

“No. Miller must have eaten locoweed when he stuck that option in the will about us getting married. Bad enough he got that bee in his bonnet. Even worse, Teresa nearly drives me crazy with her matchmaking schemes. Our folks were one of those rare couples who were madly in love with each other. Teresa’s engaged to Jeff Langston, and they’re both disgustingly happy together. I couldn’t be more pleased for them.”

“With that kind of example, why haven’t you taken the plunge?”

He shrugged. “I’m waiting on God’s timing.”

“The loneliness is awful, isn’t it?”

“I’m not complaining.” He intentionally kept his voice light. The last thing she needed was for him to underscore the emptiness of solitary nights and meals for one. He gave her a playful pat. “Eat the rest of your ice cream.”

“I’m full.”

“Want me to make you eat liver instead?”

❧

Dylan finished putting the chicks back with the hens. Sondra still took them to the group home for foster kids every other week. He didn’t cotton to her driving that far, but she always came back so happy, he couldn’t very well discourage her. Instead, he made it a habit to be there to help her gather them up. It was cute, seeing how she never just scooped them up and tucked them into the box. She always cradled them for a moment, rubbed them against her pleasure-flushed cheek, and temporarily lost all of her sadness. Usually she’d put them back, but it was barely eleven o’clock, and the day had turned into a scorcher. He’d promised to take care of her little chicks if she’d go in and cut a few checks he vowed were urgently needed.

Dylan watched the Nielson’s Furniture truck drive up and nonchalantly wandered over to get a gander. It was time he could ill-afford to waste. “That the stuff for the baby?”

“Yep.” Jim Nielson jumped out of the delivery truck. “This is the biggest order we’ve gotten in a long time.”

Dylan let out a low whistle when the kid opened the tailgate of the truck. “Need a hand getting all of this inside?”

“I’d be obliged. Dad promised her I’d set up everything. I may well still be in there clutching a screwdriver the day the kid comes home from the hospital!”

Dylan’s smile faded. In fact, he gritted his teeth. Sondra was young. Pretty, too. Vulnerable. Some moon-eyed puppy like this could wriggle his way right into her heart if he did a few favors and acted understanding. Dylan half stomped up to the doorstep and pounded. “Sondra! Truck’s here with the baby furniture!”

She opened the door and smiled at him. She didn’t look at the truck—she looked at him! His heart did a genuine two-step. She was one fine-looking woman. He grinned right back like some nitwitted fool.

“Terrific!” She stepped back as Jimmy brought up the first load of boxes.

Steering her over to the couch, Dylan ordered, “You sit here and put your feet up. Did you want the baby to have the room next to the master bedroom?”

“Please.”

Soon as they’d hauled the boxes inside, Sondra sat on the edge of the twin bed in the nursery and opened a box containing the swing. Dylan appreciated that about her—she was a dig-in-and-get-things-done kind of woman. She didn’t expect everyone to fuss over her. Her attitude about getting on with life showed wisdom and strength.

She jutted her chin toward the far wall. “If you’d please put the crib over there, I’d appreciate it. It gets morning sun, but the baby won’t be by the curtain’s cord.” She chewed on her lip. “I’m not sure about where to put the changing table.”

Jabbing his thumb at the opposite wall, Dylan said, “There. When you’re changing him, and he sprouts a leak, the closet and curtains are both out of range.”

Sondra blinked at him. “How did you know that?”

“Mom was a baby magnet. Folks knew she’d watch their kids anytime, for any reason. If someone was sick or needed a break or wanted to go off on a romantic getaway, they knew Mom would gladly take on their kids. I’ve changed more diapers than you could ever count,” Dylan admitted gruffly.

She laughed, then turned. “I’ll bet you’re thirsty, Jim. Can I get you some lemonade or soda?”

“Either would be nice, ma’am. Thanks.”

Sondra went down the hall toward the kitchen. Dylan followed right behind her. When she opened the refrigerator, he reached and grabbed a soda. Dylan was careful not to touch her. Oh, he loomed as close as possible, but he didn’t actually allow himself to make contact. He just might end up doing something stupid if he did. Like shaking her ’til her teeth rattled.
Or kissing her.

Yeah, he wanted to spin her around and plant a kiss on her. He ached to hold her and stop pretending to be nothing more than a helpful neighbor or financial partner. A man couldn’t be more warped than this—to want a woman carrying another man’s child. His timing stank. She didn’t want him; he’d undoubtedly drive himself insane, wanting her.

He tried to concentrate on the soda. Sondra had asked what brand he preferred and kept some on hand for him. He’d been flattered. Now that the soda was waiting, ice cold, for him, he should have felt even better—but he didn’t. He noticed she’d offered Jim a drink. Not him. Just Jim. He purposefully didn’t straighten back up. His fingers flexed around the aluminum can as the cool air blasted out of the refrigerator.

“Please, Dylan, excuse me.”

Something in her tone struck him as wrong. Mostly the way those last two words came out in a strained puff of air. He stepped back and wondered why she didn’t uncurl. “Sondra?”

A long second passed. “Hmm?” Slowly, she straightened.

Scowling, he demanded, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Baloney. You just shut the fridge and didn’t get Jimmy-boy’s drink.”

Color tinged her cheeks. “Oh. I didn’t, did I?” She opened the door again.

He slammed it shut. “Enough of this nonsense, woman. What just happened?”

“I had a little cramp, is all.”

His can was on the countertop in nothing flat. Dylan scooped her up and headed for the couch. “It’s too soon! Why didn’t you say something straight off?”

Eleven

Clutching his shoulders, she squeezed to stop his tirade. “Dylan, they’re normal. The doctor calls them Braxton Hicks contractions. I can have four an hour without getting worried. It’s simply a warm-up for the big event.”

Stopping in the middle of the living room, he demanded, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

His heart still thundered. “Just how many of those cramps have you been having?”

“Not that many.”

He glanced at her belly. “Carrying a baby is normal, but you don’t have to take it lightly. Cramps matter. Shouldn’t you be counting them? We’ll get a clock in here so you can keep track.”

Her hand stayed stationary on his shoulder, but her thumb-nail traced back and forth along the seam of his shirt. A bashful half smile flickered across her face. “Honest, Dylan, I’m doing fine. I just saw the doctor day before yesterday.”

“What did he say?”

“I’m fine.” She cast a look back toward the kitchen and gave his shoulder a pat. “Your cola’s getting hot.”

“Do you care?”

Her eyes widened and mouth fell open. “Why else do you think I keep it in the refrigerator?”

He slowly bent and put her feet back on the floor. As he completely turned loose of her, he let out a rude snort.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You asked Junior what he wanted.” He knew he sounded like a jealous kid who got the skimpiest slice of cake. “Just forget it.”

Her small hands both grabbed and clasped one of his. “Dylan, I knew what you’d want. I don’t know Jim Nielson from Adam, so I was trying to be polite.”

“Oh.” He yanked away his hand and growled, “Great. You think you know me so well that you can read my mind? For your information, I wanted lemonade!”

She planted her hands in the region where her hips used to be. “And I suppose that’s why you took out a soda?”

“Do you want to stand here all day jawing, or do you want that crib put together?”

She sidled past him. “I’ll get your lemonade.”

He captured her wrist. “I don’t expect you to wait on me. I can get my own drink.”

“You’ve never treated me like I’m a waitress, Dylan. I appreciate all you do, and you’re going the extra mile—again, helping with this on top of everything else. I—”

Whatever she was going to say got lost in a thump and a yelp from the other room. Dylan muttered, “I’d better get back in there with Jimmy-boy before he kills himself.”

Sondra supplied the men with lemonade and fixed chicken salad sandwiches for lunch. They all sat in the nursery and admired the way things began to take shape. After wolfing down one last bite, Jim dusted his hands. “I gotta go. I took the liberty of tucking the high chair in the far side of the closet. You won’t need it for a long while. Those blankets in there are a real kick.”

Sondra opened the door, took out a big stack, and set them on the dresser. “Did I show these to you, Dylan?”

He picked up one. She’d carefully cut Kenny’s flannel shirts into neat squares, stitched them together, and made baby quilts. “Wanna put this in the crib now?”

“Please.”

As Sondra walked Jimmy out, Dylan put the other blankets away. A teddy bear tumbled out. Dylan stooped to pick it up. It was dressed in a tiny flannel shirt. Suddenly, Dylan felt completely out of place. He’d invaded her private domain. Just about the time he was feeling like his soda cans filled her fridge and he had a place in her home and life, he ran into the blatant reminder that in her heart, she still belonged to another man and was carrying his baby. Reality hit hard. He hurriedly stuffed the bear in place and strode to the front door. “I’ve got work to do. You rest up now.”

“I don’t do anything else.” She paused, then said, “Dylan, I’m glad you were here to help me with the nursery. It made it easier. . . .”

He looked at her with a new tenderness. She gave her son special homemade blankets from a daddy he’d never know. Still, she appreciated Dylan’s presence. That counted for a lot in his book. Unable to resist, he gently stroked his fingertips down her cheek. “Honey, you’re gonna be a good mama.”