By the time all the scooting and adjusting had taken place, there wasn’t a scant inch between the side of his leg and Katie’s blue skirts. She moved and the inch disappeared, making him painfully aware that his thigh brushed hers.
Correction, there were layers of petticoats and other fabrics between the two, and he was acting ridiculous. Forcing his attention to the front of the church, he prayed for the first time in years. Granted, he only prayed the piano player would tackle the cantankerous contraption so they could stand to sing, and he could regain his inch when they sat back down. But it qualified as a prayer nonetheless.
As though she had been eavesdropping on his thoughts, the little old lady teetered to the piano and started a painfully out-of-tune melody. Everyone stood to sing, affording John a second to relax. Until Katie offered to share a hymnal with him. He glanced down at her, surprised again at her small stature. He’d bet he could lift her in his arms and not even notice the load.
Not that he ever would do such a thing.
Her slender hand turned the page, and the congregation began to sing. Reluctantly, he held his half of the hymnal and sang along quietly. Katie’s clear voice was more pleasant to listen to than his anyway.
The song ended too quickly and when they returned to sitting, his inch appeared to be gone forever. John
tried to concentrate on everything except Katie, but a whiff of vanilla pulled him back into her realm. Must just be hungry.
“Brothers and sisters.”
Thank God, Reverend Stoker took the pulpit. Was that another prayer? Perhaps he was becoming a fanatic.
“Today’s sermon is from the book of Ephesians,” the reverend said, pausing a moment to allow the congregation to find the scripture. “Chapter six, verse sixteen.” He cleared his throat then began, “ ‘Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.’”
John settled back to pretend to listen. He had more important things to think about, like why Katie’s vanilla scent should matter to him or why the thought of her thigh next to his made him as nervous as a young boy. He wondered if his thigh made her nervous.
Ridiculous.
He didn’t smell like vanilla or have skin like satin. He wasn’t even pretty.
Where in the hell had those thoughts come from?
“…and sinners surround us all…” Reverend Stoker’s voice pierced through John’s thoughts, which was a good thing. The last thoughts were disconcerting at best.
Fidgeting, John tried to move his leg away, but the inch was gone permanently, and his movement only managed to allow him to feel the side of her thigh more clearly.
He glanced at her to see if she was as uncomfortable as he was, but she sat, stoic and unaffected, captivated
by the reverend’s sermon. Maybe he should try that approach. Furrowing his brows, he forced his attention to Reverend Stoker and his fiery darts. Based on the reverend’s fervor, the wicked in this community must be very busy.
“You must arm yourselves!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the pulpit. “Surround yourselves so you will be protected from the wiry farts of the dicked!”
The reverend had done John a great service. He was no longer concerned about Katie’s thigh or the scent of vanilla. He was too busy wondering what exactly wiry farts were, and if the dicked often had trouble with them. Perhaps they came from eating barbed wire and beans.
He would have handled the wiry farts with much more aplomb had he not felt Katie’s shoulders shake beside him. Looking down at her was his fatal mistake. She had raised her hand to cover her mouth, but her dimple could not be hidden so easily.
A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.
He coughed, but it did no good. A laugh bubbled up his throat, where he tried to squelch it despite its uncontrollable desire to escape.
Cough again.
Katie giggled softly, then covered it with her own cough, one he could feel more than hear.
Folding his arms across his chest, he rubbed his hand over his chin in an attempt to relax his face muscles. He couldn’t give in or the laugh would blurt out, embarrassing himself and all around him.
Should he concentrate on the sermon? Not likely.
That was what had started this dilemma to begin with.
She cleared her throat again. Good idea. It seemed to be the plan of action for most in the congregation. He hadn’t heard that much throat clearing since the last flu outbreak.
Katie saw the muscle twitching in John’s cheek. Like the rest of the congregation, she had developed ways to restrain herself during Reverend Stoker’s
accidents
, but today’s was threatening to undo her—most likely due to her nerves being on edge. John sat so closely beside her.
She could feel the heat from his body and smell the bay rum he’d used after shaving. Though none of that affected her as much as the feel of his leg against hers. She’d tried not to move in the crowded pew, but he was fidgety today and every time he shifted, his thigh brushed hers. It was all she could do not to gasp in response.
It’d been a week since she’d last seen him, and despite the fact that she’d tried not to think about him, he had occupied more than his share of her thoughts. Even here in church, it was think about either him or wiry farts.
Oops. She giggled.
John’s shoulders began shaking, so he moved, and that thigh of his seared her from knee to hip.
“Turn in your hymnals to page four hundred thirty-two,” Reverend Stoker said, and Katie couldn’t have been more relieved.
Flipping to the right page, she bolted to her feet. John reached to share the hymnal with her and for some reason, his hand on the book drew her attention more than a hand should. Strong square fingers with neatly trimmed nails, a smattering of dark hair brushed his wrist. The only adornment was a thin gold band. A wedding ring implied a wedding, so where was the wife?
“Amen,” the congregation sang, and she realized with a jolt she’d missed the hymn. It seemed appropriate considering she’d missed most of the service altogether.
The crowd dispersed quickly with the women making their way out of the sanctuary first. Today was Homecoming and that meant a meal had to be laid out, eaten, and cleaned up before they could go home.
“Are you going to stay and eat?” Katie asked John as she stepped into the aisle. “There’ll be plenty.”
John smiled the empty, tight-lipped smile he seemed fond of and said, “I suppose we could stay for a bite. I need to speak with you about something anyway.”
Something else to add to her curiosity quotient.
“Katie?” Oh dear, Randy Kopp had spied her in the aisle and was heading her way, glaring at John.
“I’m Randy Kopp.” He stuck out his hand toward John, but Katie had the feeling it was more of a challenge than a greeting.
“John Keffer,” John said, returning the glare, much to Katie’s surprise.
He shook Randy’s hand, and Katie knew knuckles must have been crunching. Each man stood toe-to-toe,
neither breaking the grip or the eye contact, until Ka tie couldn’t take it any longer.
“Randy? Did you need a word with me?”
Finally hands dropped, and the duel ceased. Randy turned toward her, grinning. Such a charmer.
“I was wondering if you’d let me sit with you at dinner today”—he leaned closer, lowering his voice—“so we can get to know each other better.”
“Wait just a pea-pickin’ minute.” Harold Crowley stormed toward them with determination and a scowl. “You can’t hog her all to yourself.”
Freddie’s flushed face appeared around Harold’s shoulder, though instead of speaking, he simply nodded in agreement.
She couldn’t let all three sit beside her. She only had two sides. Not only that, but just the thought of keeping those three from attacking each other all afternoon left her tired.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’ve already asked Dr. Keffer and Julia to join me for dinner.”
John must have sensed her distress, for as soon as she finished speaking, he did the strangest thing. He placed his hand on her back, low like a man does to escort a lady friend from the room. If she didn’t know he was married, she’d have sworn he was marking his territory.
“If you gentlemen will excuse us,” he said, gently directing her down the aisle with Julia following behind.
The warmth of his hand on her waist felt oddly intimate as they left the sanctuary to head for the tables set
up in the side yard. Several of the women had slipped out of the service early to set up the meal, leaving Katie nothing to do except help John find his way around.
Pine boards set on sawhorses provided a long make-shift table for the forty or fifty parishioners staying for lunch. Tablecloths, in an array of colors and prints, covered the boards and brightened the side yard, as though the maples in their fall foliage weren’t enough.
A few of the children darted around the food table, giggling as Rebecca Fisher threatened with a large wooden spoon. Pa and Grandpa were already at the front of the line.
“Can I go play with them, Daddy? Can I, please?” Julia tugged on John’s sleeve.
“You should probably eat first,” he said before adding, “Shouldn’t she?”
Katie glanced up from Julia, surprised to see John had directed the question toward her. At first she thought he was teasing, but the look in her eye told her otherwise. He truly didn’t know.
“I think your pa is right,” Katie said, stepping in where she had no right to. Where was his wife? “Let’s eat our lunch and then maybe you can play for a spell.”
Julia’s tiny lip only pouted a second before she grabbed her plate and hurried down the food table. Katie followed behind, helping place food on Julia’s plate until they reached the end, and the three found a spot at the picnic table to sit and eat.
No sooner had she picked up her fork than Harold Crowley came hustling across the yard. “I brung you
something to drink,” he said, plopping a cup of water in front of her, then scooting onto the bench opposite them.
“Why, thank you, Harold—”
“This here was the last piece of Mrs. Pennington’s apple pie.” Freddie set the pie in front of her, taking a seat beside Harold, where the two began some sort of elbow duel as they vied for room for their plates.
“That was nice of you, Freddie. Gloria makes the best apple pie in these parts.”
John cleared his throat. “There are plenty of other seats, if you gentlemen are crowded.”
Harold harrumphed. “So you can have her all to yourself?” Harrumph number two. “That ain’t goin’ to happen.”
Good grief, here came Randy, carrying his plate. He took the seat beside Freddie.
“Well?” John asked Randy. “What did you bring for Miss Napier?”
“I brung her water,” Harold bragged.
“I brung her pie,” Freddie added, a little more humbly.
Randy grinned. “I brung her scenery.” He winked at Katie, and she had to admit he was pretty.
Harold groaned. “You are so danged full of yourself—”
“Listen, you old fart—”
“Gentlemen!” John stopped Randy before things got any uglier. “There’s a woman and a child present.”
Julia tugged on Katie’s sleeve, pulling her down to
whisper in her ear, “Is he the wiry fart we’re supposed to stay away from?”
It probably wasn’t an appropriate time to laugh, but Katie couldn’t help it. Harold
was
wiry and as for the other part, well…
“No, honey,” she said, as soon as she could talk. “Reverend Stoker didn’t mean…” What
did
Reverend Stoker mean? Oh dear. She glanced at Julia’s plate. “Why, look, you’ve eaten your lunch. Maybe it would be all right with your pa if you want to play now.”
John didn’t respond, but his response wasn’t necessary. Julia had bounded away before Katie even managed to put the period at the end of her sentence.
She returned her attention to the men, only to find Harold seething, Freddie blushing, and John glaring. As for Randy? He was grinning, but then, he did that a lot.
Was that his foot brushing against hers under the table? Surely not. She tucked her feet under her bench, not daring a peek in his direction.
They ate in uncomfortable silence until finally all three men blurted at once, “Katie, I was wondering,” and from there the sentences jumbled around each other, as they each asked to walk her home. She tried to answer over the din, but gave up as their bickering overcame their desire to walk with her.
Sighing, she picked up her plate and left the group, not caring if her sudden exit was rude. They were becoming more irritating than wool under britches.
“Miss Napier?” John hurried to catch up with her.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Keffer. I guess I’d just had all I could take.”
“That’s understandable.” He stood with her while she scraped her dinner remains into the slop pail, then rinsed her plate in a bucket of water.
“Are they always like that?” He gestured toward her suitors, still arguing away at the table.
“No.” She took his plate and proceeded to clean it. “It just started when I agreed to marry them.”
John’s brows rose, and then frowned. “
All
of them?”
“Sort of.” She dried their plates and returned them to her basket.
“How can you ‘sort of’ have three fiancés?”
“It was an accident.” And one she didn’t want to talk about just now, at least not with John. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”
He hesitated for a moment, probably wondering about her abrupt change of subject, but being the gentleman he was, he didn’t ask any more questions on the matter.
“I was hoping I could convince you to help me.”
She hadn’t expected that. “How?”
“I would like to employ you to work with me in my office. I need some help learning the area and organizing my equipment. Two or three days a week, you decide. You could tell your friends where you are so that if any need to see you, they could stop by there.”
He paused, then added, “I’ll pay you well.”
Money. She could actually earn a little money for such things as flour and ribbons. But working in town would mean being away from home part of the week.
“Katie?”
Grandpa yelled across the yard. He sat under
a big shade tree with enough food in front of him to feed Wayne County. “Can you fetch me some dessert? My knee’s a-hurtin’.”
“I’d like some too, Katie girl,” Pa chimed in, scratching his belly.
Katie looked up at John and smiled. “When can I start?”