Baby Dreams And Wedding Schemes. C.J. Hill

Windsor. I’m the new minister at First Avenue.”

      She digested the news with a nod, motioning to the nearest kitchen chair. Stern and sober; the name suited him and his profession.

      “I assume that is your craft store in front,” he murmured. “I hope Cody didn’t break something.” His voice had the wistful tone of a man who knew the truth and wished he didn’t.

      Sasha glanced down the long, lean length of him, taking note of the old-fashioned trousers and shirt he wore and the shabby jacket with elbow patches. Even so, the man was a hunk.

      “I’ve just made coffee,” she offered, forcing herself to smile, hoping to counteract the lack of air in her lungs. “Would you like some?”

      “Please don’t bother on my account. I’ll just take Cody home and leave you in peace.”

      He turned toward the back door abruptly, causing Sasha to jump in where angels wouldn’t have.

      “No, please.” She grasped his sleeve in her fingers, tugging him away from the screen and Cody’s whirring sounds as he ran the engine around the track. “I really do want to talk to you and it would be easier over a cup of coffee, don’t you think?”

      Those silver gray eyes stared intently at her hand and Sasha pulled it away immediately, as if burned. Jacob Windsor resumed his seat slowly, studying her through narrowed eyes.

      “What, exactly, is this about?” he asked, a thread of iron evident in the low rumbling timbre of his voice.

      Sasha took another breath and charged in.

      “Cody,” she told him clearly, setting a steaming mug of coffee and a huge slice of fresh apple pie in front of him. “I want to talk to you about your son.”

      One black eyebrow lifted as he contemplated the pie and the steaming coffee, but he said not a word. Instead, he picked up a fork and cut off a piece, placing it between his lips like a connoisseur of baking.

      “This is delicious,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to feed me. Widowers get used to fending for themselves.” His cool gaze studied her. “That is what this is about, isn’t it, Miss Lambert?”

      There was something in his tone that rasped across her nerves. Some hidden meaning behind those innocent words that was meant to stop her from further questions.

      Sasha watched the craggy lines of his face harden into a rigid mask.

      “You want to help me out by being a mother to my poor, orphaned son.” His smile was not friendly. “You want to share some of the load that single parenthood presents. You want to relieve Cody of a father who has abnegated his responsibilities whe—”

      “What was that word?”

      Sasha grabbed a pad and began to print.

      “What word?” His gray eyes glared at her, angry at the interruption.

      She ignored the anger. “Ab-something.” She glanced up at him. “You said you had ab-something your responsibilities.”

      “No, Miss Lambert, I did not. I said you thought I had abnegated my respon—”

      “Could you spell that?”

      She heard the sigh. Anyone would have. It was long and drawn out, as if to show the listener what extreme patience he exercised. When her eyes studied his face, she saw a look of disgust there. Loathing, almost.

      “Miss Lambert. If we could return to the matter at hand?”

      “In a minute.” She shook her head. “This is important. Could you please spell that abneg...whatever it was.”

      He spelled it, slowly and carefully, as if she were mentally deficient and would never be able to print the letters if he spoke in a normal tone.

      “Thank you.” Sasha grinned and slapped the sticky note against her fridge.

      He frowned, glancing from her to the fridge. “What are you doing?”

      “Collecting a word for the day,” she told him airily, pouring fresh coffee into his empty cup. “I try to get a really good one that I can use all day long.” She moved toward the counter to replace the decanter.

      “Abnegate.” She rolled the word over her tongue to test its flavor. “It means to give up something, right?”

      He nodded, dazed by the sudden turn of events.

      “Thought so.” Sasha grinned. “I can usually tell from the context. Would you like some pie? I don’t want to abnegate my responsibilities as hostess.” Her dark head tipped back to study his annoyed features. “Now, what were you saying?”

      Jacob frowned. “I can’t remember,” he admitted dryly. “Do you always go off on these tangents?”

      “Yes.” She grinned.

      But Jacob Windsor wasn’t watching her. He was glancing around her home. She could easily read the curious thoughts flitting across his expressive face. His wide mouth tipped downward on one side as his eyes remained fixed on the overstuffed purple wing chair she’d recovered herself. Finally they swiveled away from the matching sofa.

      “’That’s a rather, uh, unusual piece of furniture.”

      Sasha burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. People in Allen’s Springs had been thinking that for years but to date no one had told her outright, to her face.

      “I guess I am mercurial,” she grinned. Then added,

      “Some people even say I have rapid and unpredictable changes of mood.”

      He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he admitted. “I can see that. Now, about Cody?”

      “Oh, Cody! He’s a great kid,” she enthused. “But he’s got a problem.”

      Jacob Windsor grinned. At least she thought that’s what you could call it. His lips curled in a dry, mirthless sneer that made him look hard as a rock.

      “I’m sure he does. More than one, in fact.” His gray eyes hardened to slits of steel. “But nothing that I can’t deal with. I’m used to it, you see. I am his father, after all.”

      “Yes.” She nodded. “That is your bailiwick. But I don’t think you’re handling it very well.”

      Black eyebrows tilted upward mockingly. “‘Bailiwick’?” He shook his dark head in amusement. “Yes, I guess it is.” His face hardened. “Look, Miss Lambert. I am perfectly capable of dealing with my son and his problems without the help of a female.”

      Sasha decided she didn’t like the look he cast her way but watched silently as he surged to his feet, one hand digging into his pocket.

      “We don’t need a little mother to take care of us. We’re doing just fine. Let me pay you for whatever damage he’s done and then we can get on with our respective lives.” He thumbed several bills from a worn, tattered leather wallet.

      “Will this about cover the damage?”

      Sasha shook her head determinedly. “Not nearly,” she muttered, frustrated by his uncaring attitude.

      Mr. Jacob Windsor merely peeled off a few more dollars, ignoring her sarcasm.

      “You know,” she mused, head tilted to one side as she perused his rigid stance. “I always thought a minister of the church was supposed to have some special sense that lets him see into the misery and confusion of others, empathize with their troubles. You appear to have lost it where Cody’s concerned.”

      She watched the tide of red rise from the base of his neck to the black roots of his hair.

      “Now, just one blasted minute. For an autodidact like yourself—”

      “A what?”

      His face wore the smug look of one