Winter Winds (20 page)

At least she had a ring on today. Trev had given it to her last night just before they’d retired to their separate rooms. He’d taken her hand in his and slid her mother’s ring back onto her third finger, just as he had six years ago. As he moved the ring over knuckle and flesh, he looked her straight in the eye and said, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Her heart sputtered, and she put her hand over his mouth. “Trev, don’t.”

“Ah, Dori, whether it’s for six months or sixty years, you are my wife.”

She tried not to let her mix of apprehension and exaltation show, but she knew her serene face wasn’t successful with him.

“Don’t worry” he said. “While I don’t plan to let you go a second time, I won’t ask anything of you that you don’t want to give. Marriage is giving, not demanding.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Sleep tight.”

Dori sat in bed long after Trev went to his office, trying to read the paperback she’d picked up when she’d bought her new clothes, trying to shut her mind off. At least a wall separated them rather than the too-intimate acres of that huge bed at the motel, but somehow that fact hadn’t allowed her to relax. Sleep only came in the early hours of morning.

Now as she tried to smile at Trev’s people, her eyes felt gritty and red.

A pastor’s wife. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined that marrying Trev would bring her to this pass.

“Dori,” said a woman with short brown hair liberally sprinkled with gray. “I’m the other woman in Pastor Paul’s life.”

The woman’s smile was so engaging Dori knew right away that she would like her. “How’s that?”

“I’m Nancy Powell, and I’m Pastor’s office administrator.” She gave Dori a hug. “I can’t tell you how delighted I am that he’s found a wonderful, godly woman. I used to worry about him, such an inviting prize for some lucky woman. I knew several who had their eyes on him, and I didn’t approve a one.”

Not even Angie? But Dori didn’t ask.

When almost everyone was gone, Trev walked to her with three older women following him. They looked at Dori with avid interest.

“Dori, I have here three very special women who say that you are an answer to their prayers,” Trev said.

“Oh, my dear,” the oldest of the trio said, her wrinkled cheeks creased in a smile. “We have been so concerned for Pastor Paul.”

“Oh, yes,” said the one with bright spots of rouge like a large pair of polka dots in front of her ears. “It is not good for man to be alone.”

“It’s not good for us to be alone either,” said the third, a somber woman dressed in navy slacks, a navy sweater, and a formidable expression. “Not that we have any choice.”

“Now, Gracie, don’t change the subject,” admonished the polka-dot rouge lady. “We’re talking about Pastor Paul, not us.”

“These are Seaside Chapel’s three Graces, Dori.” Trev grinned at each woman in turn. “We have Grace Fellows, Gracie Wilder, and Grayce Warrington.”

“That’s Grayce with a Y,” said the one with the polka dot rouge.

“What a lovely way to spell the name,” Dori said. “Grayce Warrington? Are you related to Angie?”

“Her grandmother.”

“But don’t hold it against her,” said the somber Gracie. “It’s not Grayce’s fault that Angle’s grumpy, Bob’s a scoundrel, and Jonathan thinks he’s God.”

Dori blinked. There was forthright and then there was forthright. She looked at Grayce to see if her friend’s comments had upset her.

“Thank you, Gracie,” Rouged Grayce said. “You’re a good friend. Maybe if Merit had lived longer, things would be different.”

“Merit was your husband?” Dori asked.

“Wonderful man,” Rouged Grayce said. “He died of cancer when Jonathan was twelve, and he made the mistake of telling the boy that when he went, Jonathan would be in charge as the man of the house.”

“Jonathan interpreted his daddy’s comments rather broadly,” said Wrinkled Grace. “He thought Merit meant that he was in charge of the world, especially the chapel.”

“But we’ve been taking care of Pastor Paul,” Rouged Grayce said. “We like him and don’t want the same thing to happen to him that happened to all the others.”

Dori looked a question at Trev, but he was busy listening to the old ladies.

“You
could make it happen,” said Somber Gracie, pointing her index finger at Dori. “So we’ll take care of you too.”

Trev made a peculiar choking sound and began to cough.
Somber Gracie pounded on his back with enough strength to make him stagger.

“By the way, Pastor,” she continued after he seemed to be breathing normally again. “You once again put the object of the preposition in the nominative case. How many times must I tell you it should be the objective case? You said, ‘They sent money to he and Paul.’ ”

“I did not. I couldn’t have.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you did.” Somber Gracie shook her head at the tragedy of it all.

“It’s him,” Dori said with a smile.

“Ah,” said Somber Gracie. “Listen to your wife, sir.”

“And listen to me, too,” said Wrinkled Grace. “We sang three of those praise songs this morning. Right in a row! Isn’t that a bit many?”

“But, Grace,” Trev said, “we also sang ‘The Old Rugged Cross.’ All verses.”

“Well, yes, that was very nice, but the Collins boy was up there playing his guitar to it.” Wrinkled Grace was incensed.

Dori thought of the guitarist, who had to be forty if he was a day, and bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Wrinkled Grace continued, “I think an organ is the only proper instrument to be played in church except for maybe the piano.”

“We don’t have an organ,” Trev said, his smile now somewhat strained.

“We should.” Obviously a little fact like reality wasn’t about to stop Wrinkled Grace. “Every church should.”

“Do you play the piano and organ?” Grayce Warrington asked, squinting at Dori over her glasses.

“Me?” Dori asked, taken by surprise. “No, I’m not very musical.”

Grayce shook her head. “That’s a shame. The best pastor’s wives play the piano. They also cook very well. All those church dinners, you know. Do you cook very well?”

Knowing she was about to confess another weakness, Dori tried to look extra confident. “Well, I’ve lived alone for the past several years, and I haven’t had much chance to improve my cooking skills.”

Rouged Grayce raised an eyebrow, weighing the answer. Then she nodded, deciding to give the bride the benefit of the doubt. “Practice on Pastor Paul, dear. That’s the secret, you know. Practice.”

Trev reached for Dori’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies, we need to get home.”

“Oh, I just bet you do.” Wrinkled Grace winked at them. “Practice.”

Dori felt herself flush and refused to look at Trev. If the Graces only knew!

“Grace! Mind your manners,” Somber Gracie said with a glare.

Trev pulled Dori toward the door, the Graces following.

“He’s wearing a sweater and shirt again,” Wrinkled Grace whispered to her friends in a voice that would carry throughout an auditorium much larger than the Seaside Chapel sanctuary. “He should be wearing a suit. A black suit.”

“Next thing you know, Grace,” Rouged Grayce said, “you’ll be wanting to put him in one of those white backwards collars.”

“Well, why not? Then everyone knows he’s the minister.”

“When I grew up,” Somber Gracie said, “my minister wore vestments and a robe. And there was no guitar!”

Dori managed not to laugh until they were a safe distance away. “Oh, Trev, what a hoot!”

Trev’s smile was somewhat pained. “Easy for you to say. You don’t hear from them every week, week in and week out. ‘Now I’m only saying this for your good, Pastor.’ ”

Dori was thoroughly taken with the idea of Trev being assaulted by these women every week. “They like you and want to help you.”

“I know. I remind myself of that every Sunday when they corner me. I have nightmares about what would happen if they ever decided they didn’t like me.”

A brisk wind blew off the ocean, and when they turned the corner for the two-block walk home, it slapped Dori in the face. She shivered.

“Cold?” Trev pulled her close.

“I’m fine,” she said, very conscious of him, of his arm around her shoulders. “It’s just that San Diego is never like this.” She
yawned, slapping her hand over her mouth. “What I am is tired.”

“Did you have trouble sleeping last night? Isn’t the bed comfortable?”

She wanted to deny her sleeplessness, but she knew she couldn’t. She also didn’t want him to know he was the reason she couldn’t sleep. He might misinterpret. “Jet lag.” At least that was true as far as it went. “And the bed’s fine.”

They turned up the walk to the house and found Ryan sitting on the top step, his duffel bag at his feet, his green and white Eagles jacket swamping his slight frame.

He stood as they approached. “I forgot my key.”

Trev nodded as he pulled his out of his pocket and opened the front door. He put out a hand to catch Jack before the animal could lick all of them to death. “Try and find it before we eat, okay?” he said as he wrestled Jack back into the house. “Back door. Backyard,” he told the dog, pointing. Jack gave him a look of deep disappointment and headed for the rear of the house.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just took me to the hardware store, and they made us about five more keys?” Ryan asked.

“Easier for who?” Trev asked.

“For whom,” Dori said. “Watch it. Gracie will get you.”

Ryan grinned broadly, but Trev merely rolled his eyes. “Ry, there’s already at least ten keys to my house spread around Seaside, and you’ve only been here for three weeks!”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed as he let his coat slide off his thin shoulders. He grabbed it just before it hit the floor. “I’m not good with keys. But none of them has an address on them, so no one can break in.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel good?”

Ryan shrugged. “It makes me feel good. No bad guys in the night is something to be happy about, you know?”

Dori grinned as she hung her coat in the hall closet. She suspected that Ryan gave Trev more than a run for his money. “What kind of sandwich would you like, Ryan?”

“What do you have?”

“Well, I can do egg salad, grilled cheese, or a BLT, though the tomatoes look a little woody.”

Ryan looked at her with stars in his eyes. “Really? No PB&J?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“No, I don’t want!”

Trev looked at the boy with mock hurt. “You mean you haven’t liked my cooking the whole time you’ve been here?”

Ryan blew a raspberry. “No offense, Pastor Paul, but variety is the spice of life. Grilled cheese, Dori.”

In a few minutes they were sitting at the table eating their grilled cheeses with chips, pickles, and apple slices on the side.

“Hey!” Ryan pointed to the center of the table. “We got a plant!”

Dori nodded. “Ivy.”

Ryan stared at it a minute. “Grandmom always had an African violet on the table.” He sniffed. “She must have fifteen different ones all over the house, and she puts whatever’s blooming on the table. She even has a couple at the bookstore.”

Dori’s heart kicked. “You miss her.”

Ryan nodded and swallowed hard. Jack, back inside after his quick trip to water the garden, seemed to sense the boy’s distress and came to lay his head on Ryan’s knee.

“Just remember that she’s doing very well,” Trev said as he put a couple of apple slices on his plate. “It won’t be long until you can be home with her.” He reached over and dropped two pieces on Ry’s plate.

Ryan nodded. “I know.” Absently he picked up a slice and crunched on it while he ran his other hand over Jack’s silky head. “Then I’ll miss Jack.” He stopped midcrunch and narrowed his eyes.

Dori watched the boy with interest. What had his astute mind come up with now? With a look of innocent longing, Ryan turned to Trev. “You wouldn’t want to give Jack to me, would you, Pastor Paul? You could make a lonely boy very happy.”

Trev laughed. “Nice try, kiddo, but I’m afraid Jack’s here for the duration, aren’t you, boy?”

The big animal lifted his head, stared briefly at Trev, then walked to the front door and barked.

Dori rose and began collecting the dirty plates. “Someone obviously wants out again.”

“He wants to go to the beach.” Trev popped the last apple slice
into his mouth, then rose and carried his dishes to the sink.

At the word
beach
Jack began charging back and forth between the door and Trev, threatening anything or anyone in his path with dire injury.

“I’ll take him,” Ryan offered.

“Thanks, tiger,” Trev said, “but I was hoping my wife would help me walk Jack.”

He looked at Dori.

“Okay,” Ryan said. “We can all go.”

Dori opened her mouth to tell the guys that she didn’t really want to catch pneumonia on the beach in January. They should go while she took her much anticipated nap.

But Trev spoke first. “Not this time, Ry. This will be just Dori and me. Sort of like a date, you know?”

Ryan’s eyes got big. “But you’re married.”

Trev nodded. “So?”

“Married guys don’t date.”

“Sure they do.” He slipped his arm around Dori’s shoulders. “And kids get to do the dishes.”

“What?” Ryan looked highly offended. “I can’t walk Jack, but I can wash dishes? You do know that I’m a boy child, right? Boy kids walk dogs. Girl kids wash dishes.”

Dori started to laugh. “Oh, Ryan, do you have a lot to learn about life.”

“Besides,” Trev said as he held out Dori’s coat to her, “we don’t have a girl kid available at the moment.”

“Then have one!” Ryan ordered, carrying the remaining dishes and his grump to the sink.

Dori pulled on her red beret and gloves. She tried to make believe she didn’t like it when Trev pulled a plaid scarf off the top closet shelf and wound it around her neck.

“Got to keep the California girl cozy,” he said softly.

Jack set a brisk pace, and soon Dori was warm in spite of the cold. They walked the two blocks to the beach, then crossed the sand to the packed strand left by the tide. Jack raced in and out of the water, snapping at the little waves like he could catch them, sputtering periodically as he got an unexpectedly big mouthful of salt water.