A Husband's Watch. Karen Templeton

’em in a binder with all the invoices.”

      Darryl managed a small smile. “I’ve got Faith to thank for that.” As well as her insisting that the policy covered replacement value, not purchase price.

      “Yeah, she’s a smart gal, all right.” L.B.’s gaze followed Darryl’s, watching Faith talking to the adjuster. She hiked Nicky higher up on her hip, like he was getting heavy for her. Darryl sensed more than saw his father purse his lips, and he braced himself. Sure enough, L.B. said, “You thought about what you’re gonna say if her folks offer to help? Financially, I mean?”

      “I doubt they’ve got any more than we do, L.B.—”

      “But if they do. You know how I’ve always felt about goin’ outside the family. You need help, you come to us, you hear me?”

      Never mind that Darryl had been part of Faith’s family for more than twelve years now. But then, Darryl understood this wasn’t about money near as much as it was about pride—the pride of a man who’d determined early on that nobody would ever call his sons trailer trash. A man who’d gone white as a ghost when Darryl’d told him he’d gotten the preacher’s daughter pregnant. Hell, if Darryl hadn’t stepped up to the plate to marry Faith on his own, it would have more likely been his father, not Faith’s, standing at the altar with a shotgun in tow.

      Darryl met his father’s coffee-brown gaze, as penetrating as ever underneath heavy, dark brows, even if these days the occasional white hair jutted out like a stray broom bristle. “You know I’ve never taken a dime from Faith’s parents, and I have no intention of starting now,” he said, and some of the muscles in his father’s face loosened a bit. But assuaging his father wasn’t going to solve the problem, was it? God knew, Darryl wasn’t any more keen than his father on accepting help from the Meyerhausers. But it hadn’t only been Faith’s absence from their bed, or even his injuries, that had kept him awake most of the night, but rather the incessant, nauseating tattoo of Whatnowwhatnowwhatnow…?

      Faith was really struggling with the baby by now—why she’d brought him when she’d left the other four with her folks, Darryl had no idea—so he excused himself and slowly headed in her direction. Every muscle screamed in protest; whatever hadn’t been gouged or broken had been banged up pretty good. Par for the course, he supposed, when an entire roof falls in on top of you.

      Nicky saw him and broke into a big dimpled grin, clapping his chubby hands. White-blond curls poked out from the edge of his red sweatshirt hood, his eyes a deeper brown, even, than Darryl’s. “Da!” he squealed, his breath fogging around his reddened cheeks as he lunged forward, arms spread.

      “No, no, Butterball,” Faith said, straining to keep the kid from falling on his noggin. “Daddy can’t hold you right now—”

      “Sure I can.” Darryl stretched out his good arm, even though his ribs clearly wondered what the hell he was doing. “Come here, Mr. Chunks.”

      But Faith pivoted, settling the baby more securely up on her hip. “Darryl, for heaven’s sake…you can’t possibly hang on to a wiggly baby right now!”

      “I’m perfectly capable of holding my own kid, Faith. Like everybody keeps reminding me, I’m not dead yet!”

      Nicky’s face crumpled up, his lower lip quivering. Wordlessly, Faith shoved the baby into Darryl’s outstretched arm, then walked back to the Suburban and grabbed hold of the door handle, her head bent as if she was trying to pull herself together. Or maybe she was praying. Not all preachers’ kids ended up being particularly religious, he knew that, but this was one case where the apple had definitely not fallen far from the tree. More often than not, Darryl found that comforting. Other times he found it a big pain in the butt. Especially when he got the definite feeling he was the one being prayed over.

      At his elbow, the claims adjuster cleared his throat. His son clutched to his side, Darryl turned to the bland-faced little man, meeting a watery blue gaze behind slightly crooked rectangular glasses.

      “Looks like I’ve got everything I need for now, so I’ll just be on my way. The wife’ll have five fits if I don’t get home soon.”

      “Oh. Yeah, sure,” Darryl said, trying not to flinch every time Nicky grabbed for the bandage covering the ten stitches marching over his temple. His broken arm throbbed—he needed to get it elevated, put ice on it like they’d told him to do. “We really appreciate you coming out on a holiday like this.”

      “No problem, I was in the area, anyway. Figured I may as well get a jump start on things. ’Specially as here and Ivy Gardner’s were the only two places to sustain any significant damage. Can’t say the same for Claremore, unfortunately—the outskirts got hit pretty bad. No loss of life, though, praise the Lord. Craziest darn thing, tornadoes this time of year—”

      “I don’t mean to pressure you, but any idea how long payout might take? I’m pretty anxious to get things set to rights again.”

      Behind the man’s glasses, apology flashed. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you are, I’m sure you are. Might take a touch longer than usual, with the holidays and all, and they’ll probably want to send somebody else out for a second look-see….” The man turned to set his briefcase on the hood of his runty little sedan, dropping his clipboard inside. “I’ll be in touch shortly, but if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to give me a call. Our aim is to make the process as painless as possible.”

      It did not escape Darryl’s attention that the man never directly answered his question, but he probably had no idea when they’d fork over the money. So Darryl thanked him for his help, then watched him drive off to have his Thanksgiving dinner, during which Darryl doubted whether he, or his annihilated livelihood, would be given a second thought.

      “I best be gettin’ on, too,” L.B. said behind him. “Unless you still need me to stick around…?”

      Darryl shifted to face his father, who tickled Nicky’s tummy. The baby gave one of his gurgly laughs, while Darryl thought his arm was about to fall off. Damn, this was one heavy little dude. How five-foot-three Faith lugged him around every day was beyond him. “No, you go ahead. I’m sure Mama’s an inch away from crazy with SueEllen’s folks joining you this year.”

      “You don’t know the half of it,” L.B. said, referring to Darryl’s youngest brother’s in-laws, who hadn’t accepted their daughter’s pregnancy at eighteen with nearly as much grace as Faith’s had. Darryl glanced over at his own wife, who seemed to have given up praying for silently fuming. “Every year,” L.B. added, “Renee threatens to skip Thanksgiving, but you and I both know she’d go nuts if she didn’t have something to fret over…”

      L.B.’s eyes followed Darryl’s. “Go on, son,” he said quietly. “I imagine she needs some reassurin’ right about now.” He patted Darryl’s back, then set off toward his truck, parked a few feet away. “And give your mother a call later,” he called out as he climbed into the driver’s seat, “let her know you’re okay. You know how she worries.”

      “You know something, Mr. Chunks?” Darryl said to the baby as he made his way back to the car. “Being indispensable isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

      Faith reached for Nicky, who happily lunged back into his mama’s arms. “You might be able to haul him around for a few minutes,” she said with a grunt, “but you sure as heck aren’t going to be able to get him in the car seat.”

      “Hell, I can barely manage it when I’ve got both arms in working order,” Darryl said, surreptitiously working the kinks out of his shoulder while nostalgically gazing at his wife’s bottom as she strapped the kid in. He was crazy about his kids, but their presence definitely wreaked havoc on the concept of spur of the moment.

      Faith backed out of the car, her curls all messed up; ribs or no ribs, Darryl automatically lifted a hand to smooth her hair away from her face. But he knew damn well there was nothing he could do, not really, to ease the worry from those wide, blue eyes, the same “forever” blue as the sky. Still, habit prompted,