Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“Marilyn Marshall, our last minister’s wife, led a Wednesday morning Bible study,” Mrs. Sandy said, peering over the rim of her teacup. “I know we’ve all missed it. Would you be interested in starting that up again?”
Claire resisted the urge to check her watch. They’d barely gotten back from the tour of the church when Harold whisked Tony off, leaving her alone with Mrs. Sandy. So far, the woman hadn’t been awful—but Claire could feel the tide turning.
“Perhaps.” She smiled, feigning interest. “But not right away. I’d like to get settled first.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Sandy said, patting her hand. “Those wedding plans will be keeping you busy.”
Claire took a sip of her orange juice and tried not to grimace. Too tart. A splash of champagne would’ve improved it.
“Uh-huh,” she murmured.
“What day are you getting married?” The woman selected her third brownie and tilted her head. “I know it’s in July.”
Claire stalled with another bite of the brownie in front of her. Chocolate melted on her tongue—soothing, rich—and reminded her why she should stop eating them if she wanted to keep fitting into her size-four wardrobe.
She dropped the rest of the gooey square onto her plate and dabbed her mouth with a napkin.
“Claire?” Mrs. Sandy prompted gently. “The date?”
Claire cleared her throat. “July…”
“Fourth,” she said suddenly. The word slipped out before she could stop it. Independence Day. Her mother’s favorite holiday. Fireworks. Parades. Ice cream melting too fast under the hot sun. She shoved the memories aside.
“You’re getting married on the Fourth of July?” Mrs. Sandy blinked, clearly thrown.
It was almost worth the blunder just to see the woman’s expression. Claire offered a small shrug. “Tony picked the date. I thought it was odd too.”
“What’s strange?”
Tony’s familiar baritone sounded from the doorway, and Claire’s heart gave a traitorous jolt. She took another sip of the bitter juice to ground herself.
“That we’re getting married on the Fourth,” she said smoothly, looking up. “I told Mrs. Sandy it was your idea.”
To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. His smile looked easy, even as he stepped behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. It was a calculated move—stalling for time, she realized—but also unexpectedly comforting.
“I know it’s unusual,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’ve always called Claire my little firecracker. So it seemed fitting.”
He’d run with the lie and turned it into something charming. Claire’s respect for him ticked up a notch. Men who could think on their feet were rare. Handsome men who could do it were practically unicorns.
They exchanged a glance and a fleeting smile.
Across the table, Mrs. Sandy’s expression softened. “John used to call me Pumpkin.”
Claire nearly choked. Pumpkin? Fat. Round. Orange.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. The name fit.
“So, I take it you were married on Halloween?” she asked sweetly.
“Claire,” Tony murmured in warning.
“What?” She lifted her chin. “You call me firecracker, we’re getting married on the Fourth. He called her Pumpkin?—”
Mrs. Sandy laughed. “Stop it, you two. I’m not offended. John and I were married in October, so I suppose I was a harvest bride.”
Claire offered a saccharine smile. “Will I get to meet your husband later?”
It wouldn’t take long to wrap John Sandy around her finger, same as Harold. Claire had always preferred men to women. Women were suspicious. Men? Men wanted to be charmed.
Mrs. Sandy hesitated. “John was killed last year. There was an explosion at the co-op.”
The grief that crossed her face was raw, real. Claire shifted uncomfortably.
“Was he killed instantly?” she asked, the question out before she could censor it.
Mrs. Sandy’s eyes widened. As if no one had asked before. “Yes. He was.”
Tony’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. “Knowing he died in the faith must have been a comfort.”
“It was,” she said quietly. “That—and knowing he didn’t suffer.”
She blinked rapidly and reached for her napkin. “Would you like a brownie, Pastor?”
Claire studied the woman. There was a quiet grace in her grief. A kind of strength that caught Claire off guard. Maybe she had more depth than Claire had given her credit for.
“For now, I’ll pass,” Tony said, settling into the seat beside her. “Harold and I stopped at the Gas ’N’ Go earlier. I grabbed a doughnut.”
Claire stared at him. A gas station pastry? What was next—seed caps and hog talk?
She mentally added “Des Moines shopping trip” to her list. If she was staying in this town for more than forty-eight hours, reinforcements would be required.
“I assume Harold told you about the barbecue tomorrow night,” Mrs. Sandy said.
“It sounds great,” Tony said with a smile. “But you didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
“We’re happy to do it.” The color returned to her cheeks. “The community is eager to meet the new pastor… and his fiancée.”
Claire caught the implication. What they meant was: They’re eager to judge you. She couldn’t blame them. She’d do the same.
Her thoughts drifted to the suitcase still sitting in the hall. Had she packed anything suitable for a backyard barbecue? She doubted it. Maybe she’d have to make that Des Moines run sooner than expected.
“I think I’ll unpack,” she said, rising. “Maybe take a nap.”
Tony stood as well. “Are you sure you want to head to the motel already?”
“Motel?” Claire’s brow wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you wanted to get settled in…”
“You don’t mean that motel?” she said, aghast. “That little dive we passed coming into town?”
“It’s the Shady Inn,” Mrs. Sandy corrected gently.
“Whatever.” Claire waved a hand. “The point is, I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that.”
“Where are you planning to stay, then?” Tony asked.
“Why, sweetheart.” She flashed him a wink. “I thought I’d stay here—with you.”
Mrs. Sandy choked on her coffee. Tony turned pale.
Claire laughed. “Not with you, silly. We’re not married yet.”
She caught the relief in Tony’s face and the approval in Mrs. Sandy’s eyes. Typical small-town values. She could play along—for now.
“I meant I’d rent a room here. Your best one.”
“I’m sorry, Claire,” Mrs. Sandy said. “All three guest rooms are booked through August.”
Claire stared. Surely this woman was joking.
“I’ll pay double,” she said quickly, calling on her father’s strategy. “Whatever your rate is, I’ll match it and then some.”
“I couldn’t. These guests booked months in advance.”
Never take no for an answer.
“There has to be a way,” Claire said, flashing her most persuasive smile.
Mrs. Sandy hesitated. “Well, I do have the maid’s quarters. But light housekeeping goes along with the space.”
Claire’s smile returned. “I’ll take it. Just find someone else to do the cleaning.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Sandy said firmly. “It’s a package deal.”
Claire stiffened. “Why?”
“I need live-in help. Especially since April took that job at the cafe.”
“April?”
“She’s my daughter,” Mrs. Sandy said.
Tony added, “She’s a senior in high school. Beautiful girl.”
Claire’s smile faltered. That made her dislike the girl instantly.
She rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed. Her perfectly manicured fingers were not made for scrubbing sinks. The motel was looking better by the second.
“I need to freshen up,” she said. “Do you think the… motel … will have a vacancy?”
“They always do,” Mrs. Sandy said, her tone meant to reassure.
It did the opposite.
Claire forced a smile. “Tony can drive me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“And then we can go to dinner. Maybe a movie,” she added sweetly.
Tony shifted. “Mrs. Sandy is hosting the church council tonight.”
Claire blinked. “But this is my first night here.”
“We didn’t know you were coming,” he said gently.
“And what am I supposed to do all night?”
“You’re invited, too,” Mrs. Sandy interjected. “You’re part of the team.”
Of course. One minister, two-for-one deal.
“I suppose I could make an appearance,” Claire said. Her thoughts flicked back to her suitcase. What had she packed?
Maybe her black lace cocktail dress would work. It wasn’t exactly barbecue attire, but it was stunning.
“I don’t think anyone will wear jeans,” Mrs. Sandy mused. “Maybe a denim jumper.”
Claire’s eyes widened. Voluminous jumpers in faded denim danced in her imagination.
“It’s just a little get-together,” Tony said. “Why not wear that cute red dress of yours? The one made of that stretchy material?”
She blinked. Red dress?
Then she remembered—brick, not red. Rayon-blend, clingy, and back when he’d spent that summer in Cedar Ridge, he’d loved it.
“How sweet that you remembered.” She patted his hand. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue where it is.”
“Mom, Matt don’t want?—”
Claire turned toward the voice. A teen girl stood in the doorway, a blond boy behind her.
“April, I’m glad you’re home,” Mrs. Sandy said, rising. “Come meet Pastor Karelli’s fiancée.”
“You’re engaged?” April’s eyes went from Tony to Claire, wide with surprise.
“That’s right,” Claire said smoothly. “Claire Waters. Tony’s fiancée.”
“We just didn’t know she was coming this soon,” Mrs. Sandy added quickly.
“Claire, this is April,” Tony said. “And her friend…”
“Matt,” the boy said. “Coukle.”
“Coukle?” Claire raised a brow. “Any relation to the clock?”
“It’s Coukle, ” he snapped. Red flushed his neck.
Claire smiled, not the least bit sorry. She’d known his type. Big fish. Tiny pond.
“Claire, we’d better get you checked in,” Tony said.
“Checked in?” April laughed. “She’s staying at the Shady Inn?”
“If it’s unsatisfactory, I won’t stay.”
As they hurried toward the door, Claire held her head high.
They reached the car before Tony spoke. “What did you mean about not staying at the Shady Inn?”
“Exactly what I said.” She turned toward him, chin lifted.
“But where will you go?”
She shrugged. “I might change my mind and stay with you.”
His gaze darkened. “Think how that would look.”
“Worried about your reputation, Pastor?”
“No.” His hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His lips pressed softly to her cheek. “I’m worried about yours.”
She stared at him, and despite herself, a warm flush of something unfamiliar spread through her chest.
He hadn’t disappointed her.
Not at all.