“Nonsense. Forget that old saw about the wedding being for the bride. It’s for everybody, because they all want a chance to celebrate. You belong together—I’ve seen it from the day I walked into your bedroom and saw him cradlin’ you on his lap like you were manna from heaven.”
Had Dylan been attracted to her all of this time
? No. Impossible. I was pregnant!
Teresa squinted at the monitor. “What about maybe wearing something with a hint of apricot? With priority delivery, your wedding dress will be here tomorrow.”
Sondra bumped her out of the way and found the perfect dress.
Maybe, if we really do this up right, Dylan will—
“Here. Order by phone.” Teresa nudged the phone closer. “See if they have it in a petite, or we’ll need to order super-high heels so the hem doesn’t drag.”
Placing the order, Sondra tried to tamp down the spurt of hope she felt. The years of shuffling from one home to the next taught her love didn’t blossom just because people lived under the same roof.
But God can work miracles. . . .
She called a caterer and ordered a wedding supper, then called the florist.
Lord, I’m doing my part. I’ll trust You to work on him.
❧
Dylan’s breath hitched. The last rays of sunlight spilled through the stained glass and gave a jubilant look to the church. Candles glowed. Two discreet flower arrangements dressed up the altar. Good thing the pastor’s wife had insisted on them using the church instead of the little chapel. Folks sat squished together in the pews because word got around. Every last hand from both ranches, neighbors, the friends Sondra had made, and their church family all showed up.
Strains of the traditional Wedding March started, and the guests stood. For a moment, Dylan couldn’t see Sondra at all. Nickels walked her down the center aisle, looking proud as could be. Dylan subtly rocked forward onto his toes to see his bride.
She looked beautiful. For a moment, he thought she’d come to him wearing white lace. As she drew closer, he realized the antique-looking dress was creamy, but she wore a peachy-colored slip underneath. It looked soft and feminine—not fussy and overblown—but just right. Bridal enough to let her look like she wanted to get married—not so fancy that he felt uncomfortable. She had a knack for doing things perfectly.
She’d woven a few sprigs of baby’s breath into her fire-bright tresses. Teresa had clued him in about buying a bridal bouquet. The roses shook a bit as Nickels placed Sondra’s hand in his.
Don’t be scared, honey. I’ll be a good husband to you.
At their request, the pastor kept things simple. Dylan warmed her cool hands in his as he said his vows. Her voice faltered slightly, but she kept her big, green eyes on his face the whole time. Once the words were said, she smiled. Dylan’s tension drained away.
You’re mine now.
“You may kiss your bride.”
He kissed her with a joy he’d never felt before. The scent of her roses and the glow of the candles faded away until Matthew cried.
“I’d like to present Mr. and Mrs. Dylan Ward.”
Dylan motioned to Teresa. She came to the altar and gave him Matt. He kept one arm around Sondra and cradled Matt in his left arm as he tacked on, “And their son.”
Everyone clapped. Music played, and he led her back down the aisle. As they stepped out of the door, into a small grass courtyard, he saw Miller’s brother.
Edwin. He’d been skulking around. The sheriff suspected he’d been behind the sabotage. In fact, they’d discovered Edwin had invested his money in the Tuttlesworth developing company that stood to buy the land. Still, they couldn’t find any concrete proof against him.
Dylan quickly turned so Sondra wouldn’t catch sight of him. Anger surged. She and Matthew were his family, and he’d protect them and their land with everything he had in him. Nothing was going to ruin their wedding day.
What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. . . .
❧
Finally, they were alone. Well, not exactly alone. Matt let out a happy squeal. Grateful for his interruption, Sondra let out a nervous laugh. “I hope you’re used to his noise already. If anything, he’s starting to make a lot more of it as the days pass.”
Dylan chuckled as he pulled off his tie. “I’ll get him. You probably want to change into something more comfortable.”
She froze at that phrase. Did he mean. . . ?
“Um, scratch that. I mean, well, how about if we opt for jeans? I hate wearing a suit. Your dress is beautiful, but it can’t be your first choice of something to lounge around in.”
Her shoulders slid back down with the silent sigh of relief. Sondra sidled out of the room, into the master bedroom. She shut the door very quietly and pressed her back to it.
This is so awkward.
Matthew cooed loudly from his room next door. Dylan’s deep chortle followed. “Hey, PeeWee, where are your jeans?” Drawers slid open and banged shut.
Sondra thought about calling out to tell him they were in the second dresser drawer. Instead, she headed toward her closet and grabbed a pair for herself. Baggy ones. Not that any of her jeans were tight, but she didn’t want anything even vaguely form-fitting. Unzipping her dress required gymnastic stretching and wiggling. Once it fell into a pool around her ankles, Sondra looked down at the frothy lace and peach satin. Dylan liked her wedding gown. She’d get it dry-cleaned and keep it special—maybe wear it on their first anniversary.
Ha. First anniversary. I’m thinking of twelve months from now, and I can’t even imagine how I’m going to make it through the next twelve hours!
A daisy-printed tee shirt and jeans. Her hair clipped back into a bouncy ponytail. Sondra studied herself critically in the mirror. She looked. . .casual. Comfortable. At ease. Appearances certainly were deceiving. She felt all knotted up inside. The man she’d fallen in love with and married didn’t love her. Without a heartfelt commitment, how could they share a wedding bed?
We should have discussed it before now.
A three-day engage-ment definitely qualified as whirlwind, but they should have covered that important topic before now.
Only they hadn’t.
Sondra whispered a prayer for help, then went in search of her husband.
“We’re ready for you.” Dylan plunked a bowl of ice cream on the table. Matt and I decided the dinky slices of cake weren’t enough to fill even a little cowhand like him.”
“That bowl is big enough for Matt to swim in!”
“Yeah.” Dylan pouted. “I looked for a bigger bowl, but I couldn’t find one.”
“It’s the biggest I have!”
“You’d better buy a decent-sized one with one of the gift certificates we got.”
“The only thing bigger would be a hot tub!”
“Good thinking.” He pulled an aerosol can from the refrigerator, shook it, and squirted whipped cream atop what looked like an entire half-gallon of fudge brownie ice cream.
Matt banged his palms on the plastic tray of his high chair and let out a stream of gibberish.
“Gotcha, PeeWee.” Dylan pivoted and squirted a frothy pile of whipped cream onto the tray. “Snack time.”
“Snack?” Sondra gasped. “That’s the size of the iceberg that sank the Titanic!”
He added more. “Never let it be said that I skimp.”
Sondra laughed in disbelief. Getting into the spirit of things, she sat down, swiped the big bowl, and gave Dylan a wink. “So where’s
your
ice cream?”
He leaned against the counter and smirked. “Where’s
your
spoon?”
“Oops.” He blocked the silverware drawer.
“I think we have a stand off.”
Easing back, Sondra gave him a “wanna-bet?” smile. Swift as could be, she opened the dishwasher and pulled out a spoon. When she turned back around, the playful victory she felt turned into disbelief.
Dylan took advantage of the brief second while her back was turned to grab a big serving spoon from the ceramic jar by the stove. He’d scooped a big chunk from the bowl.
“Community property.” He looked downright smug as he took a lick.
“Uh, Dylan?” She stared at the front of his shirt. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but you got the slotted spoon.”
“Yah, yah, yah, yah!”
Dylan swiped a finger of ice cream and dabbed it on Matt’s cream-covered chin. “You have no room to talk. Besides, we men have to stick together.”
“With that mess, you’re guaranteed to stick!”
The kitchen rang with his booming laughter. Sondra leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh of relief. At least for now, they’d gotten past the awkwardness.
Lord, please let everything else work out this easily!
Twenty
Dylan stood by her side as she tucked the baby into his crib for the night. She covered Matthew with one of the blankets made from Kenny’s shirts.
Well, that really puts me in my place. As if I needed any reminder that she still loves her late husband.
He took a chance and slipped his arm around her waist. “What about bedtime prayers?”
She blinked up at him in surprise. “Really? This early? I mean, I pray for him, but well. . .” The corner of her mouth twitched nervously. “When I was a kid, no one ever said bedtime prayers. I sort of thought maybe you were supposed to start that when they could listen to a Bible story or something.”
“One of my earliest memories is of my dad kneeling by my bed.” Dylan kept his arm about her and reached over the rail to finger Matthew’s soft baby curls. “As the years passed, I always loved having the security of him or mom praying with me. Anything—big or small—got mentioned in those prayers. I have a distinct memory of Dad checking under the bed and Mom looking in the closet because I was so sure there were monsters. Even when they didn’t find one, Dad prayed for God to set angels about me so I’d be safe. It’s how I learned God cared and listened to all of my concerns.”
“Oh, Dylan. I’d love to have Matt grow up with that assurance.”
“Then let’s start having bedtime prayers with him.”
For all the times he’d heard Sondra say grace at a meal, Dylan was unprepared for her prayer over her son. Those brief, sweet moments gave him a glimpse of her heart. After she finished, he prayed, too.
Sondra left on the nightlight. Dylan filed that detail away for future reference. Little things like that made a big difference to a kid. And to his mom. Especially to a mom like Sondra. She tried so hard to make everything perfect for her son—as if she had to make up for Kenny not being there and for her own poor childhood.
Well, he won’t have Kenny, but he has me.
“That was so sweet, Dylan. Matthew’s first bedtime prayer. I’ll have to record it in the baby book.”
“That baby book must weight a ton by now.”
“Haven’t you seen it?”
“Nope.”
Sondra scurried over to the cabinet. “You’ve got to see it. Really.”
Dylan sat on the couch, figuring a groom ought to get to cuddle a bit with his bride on their wedding night. She carried a big, baby blue album over and sat close enough to have their elbows brush.
Dylan wrapped his arm around her and dragged her tight against his side. “There. Much better. Now we can lay it across our laps. That thing is huge. Lookie there.” Dylan chuckled as he ran his fingertip around the border of baby animal stickers she’d used to embellish the first page that held Matthew’s birth certificate. “You got downright fancy on this page.” The only thing that would have improved that page would be if his own name were listed as “father.”
“Oh, you just wait.” Sondra turned the page.
Pictures from the hospital filled the pair of pages. He’d taken those pictures himself, since she’d been so tired and weak. She’d filled in a little square with Matt’s vital statistics. Dylan tapped it. “You thought he was so big, and he was just a tidbit.”
“I know.” She turned the next page. Dylan stared.
She’d blown up one photo to the full size of the page—it was nothing but Matt’s bitty little hand resting in Dylan’s. That photo now took on special significance.
Sondra shifted, and the caption she’d penned came into view. It was a line from a song they sometimes sang in church.
I am weak, but he is strong.
Below that, she’d written more.
God provides, Matt. He brought a kind, capable man into our lives who helped us through and cared.
“It’s true,” she said in a shaky voice. “You’ve been wonderful, Dylan. I can’t ever thank you enough or repay—”
He didn’t want her gratitude; he wanted her love. Dylan shut the book and turned to her. She’d stopped speaking at his abrupt action, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Let’s get something straight. Being married to you suits me just fine. I don’t want to hear how thankful you are.”
“Because I’m not Thankful anymore—I’m Ward, right?”
He nodded emphatically. “You got it.”
Lord, I prayed that tonight would go well. You’re coming through like gangbusters. Please give me the strength and ease us through this next topic.
Jutting his chin toward the suitcase by the door, he said, “I already carried my other suitcase into the spare bedroom. I
know we touched on having kids some day, but well—” He paused, hoping she’d want him, want a real marriage, but she tensed and didn’t say a word. Her eyes darkened and filled with tears. No way was he going to take her to bed unless she loved him.