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“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 who knows he has the upper hand. “It means a self-taught person.”
Sasha could feel him watching her scribble it on another of her sticky notes. She ignored him, finished the word, or a facsimile of it, and smacked it against the refrigerator with a snap of her wrist.
“Yes, I guess I am self-taught,” she told him. “That doesn’t mean I can ignore what I see. Go on.”
He inclined his head, obviously choosing his words with care. “To someone like you, who is a stranger to us and outside of our family, perhaps it seems as if Cody is having difficulties.”
He is a blind, narcissistic fool, Sasha decided impartially. Condescending and rude, yes. But still a hunk.
“I assure you that Cody is a perfectly normal little boy who is simply adjusting to a new environment.” .
Sasha placed her hands on her hips. This was going to be harder than she thought.
“Especially when he thinks he’s responsible for his own mother’s death, and that you blame him for that?”
He spouted another word Sasha hadn’t ever heard before but she had no intention of asking him to repeat it. In fact, she pretended she hadn’t heard it as she watched his hands curl into fists at his sides. She faced the flintlike steely gleam in his eyes when they riveted on her.
“What did you say?” His voice was frigid with dislike.
“Cody thinks he’s the cause of your wife’s death and that you are keeping mum about it to shield him from public opinion.”
“Just how did my son come to confide such information?” The words were chipped away from his hard lips as he scowled at her across the table.
“It was after Henry died. You see—”
“Who?” His eyes wore a dark, puzzled look as they met hers.
“Henry. The goldfish. The bag broke and Henry ended up drying out on my floor. He’s still there, I guess.”
Sasha thought about that for a moment before Jacob Windsor’s throat-clearing sounds drew her attention back to him.
“Anyway, Cody wanted me to give Henry a proper funeral. He said you’d kill him for making the mistake of terminating another pet. I don’t do funerals—especially goldfish.”
“I believe the sign in your window says you cater to all occasions,” he said tongue-in-cheek.
Sasha shook her head. “Sorry. Not funerals. But to get back to Cody...” She purposely let the words hang for emphasis.
“Yes, let’s.” He was clearly not going to be deterred by her sharp tone.
“In Cody’s words, ‘everything dies.’” There, she’d said it. Now he would tell her to mind her own business.
But Jacob Windsor just shook his head stupidly. Sasha could see he wasn’t following.
“I’m not going to kill Cody just because his goldfish died.” He looked confused.
“Oh, good.” She sipped at her coffee for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts. It didn’t help, so she plunged right in. “Well, anyway, it was during this discussion that Cody told me about his mother dying. He said she died from a gun and that you didn’t talk about her any more because you didn’t want people to blame him.”
“Oh, my Lord. I thought we had left all that behind.” It was a groan of despair that touched her nerves as the tall man stooped against the tabletop, head in his hands as he sighed in defeat. “I really hoped he’d forgotten all about it.” His voice was full of pain and sadness.
“What happened?” she whispered softly, reaching out to brush her fingers over his arm in empathetic understanding. She pulled back when he flinched. “I just want to help Cody as much as I can.”
When he looked up at her his eyes were dark and hooded. He withdrew visibly into a shell that blazed don’t touch like a neon sign. The deeply carved lines of his face emphasized the sadness that marked him.
“I’m not sure you can,” he whispered hoarsely. His voice was flat. “And if anyone’s to blame for Angela’s death, it’s I. I insisted we go away. Unfortunately, it was too late.”
Sasha heard the words in stunned disbelief, but filed them away for later inspection.
“Cody was three when Angela died during our summer vacation.” He was speaking again in a dull, flat monotone. “She’d had an asthma attack. For some reason he’d started having nightmares. He dreams that she was killed by some punks who were trying to steal from the church. He thinks he saw the whole thing.”
“Oh, no.” Sasha gasped in consternation, imagining the terror such an event must have had on his young mind.
“In fact he did see her choking. But it happened almost three years ago and in another place. I was hoping he’d forget it all. Put it away. Get on with life.” He shook his head. “Apparently neither of us can,” he half whispered to himself.
Sasha thought for a moment considering the little boy’s plight and his words. “The series of recurring problems with pets probably brought on some of his self-blame. He seems to have some difficulty keeping them alive.” She tried to be kind.
He snorted derisively at her obvious understatement. “Difficulty? If Cody gets his hands on them, they can’t last long in this world. He’s probably the most well-known human in pet heaven and he’s only five years old!”
Sasha glared at her visitor.
“What your son needs, Reverend Windsor, is something to take his mind off his troubles. A little fun. Some jocund person who can regurgitate his high spirits back to where a five-year-old boy’s should be.”
“You really do have a thing for all these weird words, don’t you? Jocund, indeed.” He smiled sadly at her strange choice of words.
But Sasha held his gaze steadily, willing him to accept Cody’s distress. And her solution to it. When he inclined his head in a nod, she let her breath out in a whoosh of relief.
“And I suppose you have yourself in mind as this cheerful, animated person who is only too willing to sacrifice herself for the good of our family. To do her Christian duty, in fact.” His sigh was full of long-suffering patience.
She nodded slowly, keeping her gaze fixed on him. “Well, I don’t know about sacrifice myself. But, yes, I do have a certain perspective that you seem to lack.”
He muttered something disparaging.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said there’s always one. At least.” His voice was full of bitterness.
She frowned. “One what?”
He glared at her angrily.
“One do-gooder busybody who thinks she knows exactly what my son and I need in our lives. And she usually volunteers herself as that solution.” He paused to stare at her expectantly. When it became obvious to him that she had no idea as to the direction of his thoughts, Jacob Windsor clarified matters in a cold, mocking tone. “As Cody’s new mother. And my wife.”
Sasha couldn’t help it, her eyebrows rose to their full height as her eyes widened in shock at his words.
“I’m not proposing anything of the sort,” she informed him in a squeaky, high-pitched croak that was totally unlike her usually low voice.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get ’round to proposing fairly soon, Miss Lambert. They usually do.”
Fury rose like a red flag in front of a bull and Sasha’s reaction was just as quick. She slapped her hands on her hips and surveyed his seated form from her standing position.
“Well, they are not me! Of all the patronizing, rude—”
“Forget it,” he said snidely. “I’ve heard it all before. The pie, the little discussion, the motherly concern. They’ve already been used.”
“Not by me they haven’t. I couldn’t be bothered.”
The look he favored her with just then sent her temperature soaring several degrees higher. Which was not a good sign, Sasha decided angrily, releasing a breath that puffed the bangs off her forehead.
“Lest you faint away from shock,” she said gratingly, struggling to hold on to her temper, “I take great delight in informing you that I have not the least intention of becoming anyone’s wife.”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded smugly. “That’s what they all say. At first.” He twiddled with the empty pie plate sitting in front of him as he spoke. “I’ll give you about five minutes until that tactic changes. The next step is sugarcoated sweetness.”
“Ooo-ooh.” Sasha’s hands formed fists at her sides as she blinked away the red tide of murder from her gaze. She planted herself directly opposite him and leaned in, holding her face mere centimeters from his.
“You may think you’re God’s gift to this earth, Reverend,” she rasped. “But let me be the first to have the temerity to suggest that I don’t find you so irresistible.” She refused to look away from those black depths. “Oh, I’d like to have a child like Cody, make no mistake about that.”
“I thought so.” The superior look on his face was shortlived as she prepared her ammunition and fired with both barrels.
“But to take you into the bargain seems an awfully high price to pay to be a mother.” She stiffened her backbone with barely concealed fury.
“Men!” She spat the word out in disgust, “Let me tell you, buster. Minister or not, I haven’t the least interest in you or any others of your kind.” Her eyes held his, refusing to look away from their piercing intensity.
“I am a career woman, dedicated to pursuing her own interests and livelihood. I don’t need a man to support me or to hold me down or to nurture. I’m fully capable of building my own life.” Her teeth hurt from clenching and she eased up on her jaw just a fraction. “If and when I decide to have a child, there are the facilities available. I don’t need you to accommodate me there. Thank you very much!”
Sasha could feel the heat radiate off her face as she ended the tirade and wondered if she’d been too blunt. At least he had the grace to look embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just naturally assumed that you were another—”
She cut him off. “Don’t naturally assume anything about me, Mr. Windsor.” Sasha tossed her head back angrily. “I like children, a lot. That’s all. Period. No strings.”
He nodded. “Fine. I understand.”
She searched his gray eyes but saw nothing save a faint remnant of suspicion and perhaps a hint of relief.
“What do you suggest I do about Cody, Miss Lambert?”
She sucked in a breath of air and allowed a slight softening to mold the curve of her straight lips. At least he had decided to listen to her opinion concerning Cody’s welfare. His gray eyes glinted at her.
“Thank you for your interest in him. And I really do apologize. I guess I was way off base.”
“Yes, you were,” she agreed pertly. “I am only thinking about Cody.”
He nodded gravely. “So am I.”
Sasha took that as a green light and proceeded to offer him her advice. “Well, Rev,” she began irreverently, enjoying the frown that drew his thick black eyebrows together.
Do him good, she told herself. Obviously thinks he’s hot stuff.
“The first thing I’d suggest is that you go down to Booker’s and see if you can find another goldfish to replace Henry. And eventually you’re going to have to talk to Cody about this strange idea he has regarding his mother’s death.”
He nodded, obviously considering her advice.
“I know. I did try, but when we moved and my mother was with us, I thought he’d forget about it. He hasn’t had a nightmare for quite a while, but obviously Cody still thinks about Angela. I guess we’ll just have to go over the whole thing again.” He heaved a sigh that lifted his wide shoulders high. “I’m not anxious to go back to that era.”
Sasha watched him covertly.
“You know, part of the problem might be that he’s by himself all the time,” she suggested softly, and watched as the Reverend Jacob Windsor frowned at her criticism, his back straightening in his chair.
“I spend as much time as I possibly can with my son, Miss Lambert.”
Sasha could hear the ice crackling in his voice and decided to drop that aspect. For now. She stood and carried the dishes to the sink, stacking them haphazardly.
“I’m sure you do, Rev. But tonight, I’m going to spend the evening showing Mr. Cody Windsor what a good time is like in Allen’s Springs.”
Sasha smiled widely. She liked kids, especially their capacity for love. She hadn’t had much to do with them lately; not with the store and all. Of course, Allen’s Springs usually attracted an older clientele to its rejuvenating mineral waters, although parents and children did come to the lake in the summer. And since she’d moved from Toronto, her siblings had found it expensive to visit.
This was exactly what she needed to get over Dwain, she told herself. Just what she needed to be young and carefree once more, no longer tied to a man who demanded straitlaced perfection and unending cloying devotion in a little town where their every move was relayed back to his fawning mother.
“How?”
She turned in surprise. The Reverend Jacob Windsor stood behind her, a look of expectation on his narrow face.
“Well, let’s see...” She paused, thinking madly. “Cody and I are going to go on a picnic.”
She grabbed a basket from the closet shelf and considered the contents of her fridge. When a choking sound penetrated her consciousness, she turned to find her guest eyeing the lake trout stretched out across her refrigerator shelf, its glassy eye fixed on them both.
“You’re not taking that, are you?” he asked curiously. “I mean, you’re not going to serve sushi or something, right?” He frowned down at her, his finger stroking the line of his jutting chin. “You know? Not right after Henry’s, er, demise?”
Sasha pointed her chin in the air and ignored his rudeness. She had never even seen sushi!
“If you hurry,” she intoned snottily, “you might get back with that goldfish in time to go with us.” Her eyes flashed indignantly. “Not that I’m inviting you, you understand. I wouldn’t want to be accused of pursuing you like some man-hungry female on the make.”
She didn’t bother to sugar-coat the words although Sasha wondered later if it was exactly the right phrase to use with a minister.
“Yes, ma’am,” he quipped, moving toward the door. “I got that message loud and clear.”
His eyes glanced across the blur of yellow sticky notes dotting her refrigerator. Each note had a cat prancing across the top and a word scrawled across the bottom. His eyes glimmered with some hidden vestige of humor as he studied their curious poses.
“I think it’s only fair to mention, however, that Cody is not an ailurophile. In fact, he’s allergic.”
He sauntered out the door, a smug smile of superiority curving his lips as Sasha frowned at his retreating back. He was trying to get back at her, make her feel inferior. Well, she’d show him!
She ignored his departure and concentrated on filling her picnic basket. But, finally, when she could resist no longer, she gave up and dashed out the door after him.
“A what?” she called.
Jake Windsor turned toward her. “An ailurophile. A lover of cats.” His gray eyes opened wide, mocking her ignorance. “I was sure you would know that one.”
But Sasha was ready for him. “I don’t go for bombastic words,” she told him saucily. “Too pretentious for a rural area like ours.”
With that she marched back into her house to prepare Cody’s picnic. And all the while her mind enumerated the indubitable assets of the newest inhabitant to Allen’s Springs.
So what if he was tall. Taller than her in fact.
And dark.
And handsome.
She was interested in the son, not the father.
Her mind echoed the unusually descriptive word Jacob Windsor had used earlier.
You’re interested in him all right, her subconscious asserted. But it won’t do you any good. He’s gun-shy. And you’re supposed to be focusing on a different goal.
Sasha picked up the hamburgers and stored them in a corner of the large basket before checking her appearance in the mirror for the sixth time. Her mouth tipped downward in just the tiniest way as she considered her actions.
Primping! Yuk!
But her mind wouldn’t stay off the subject of Jacob Windsor. She’d been truly sad to see Pastor Dan leave after so many years. But now there was Pastor Jacob Windsor. He did present a whole new range of possibilities.
Of course, they have nothing to do with the fact that he’s young and good-looking and four whole inches taller than me, she assured her subconscious in a severe tone. Nothing at all!
She knew she lied.
Chapter Two
“Amen.” Cody’s loud voice reverberated through the solemn silence of the woods later that afternoon.
Jake watched as Sasha Lambert leaned down to drop a few handfuls of the rich dark soil onto the tiny box that held his son’s dead goldfish
Cody wasn’t quite so dainty and Jake grinned as the little boy heaped up piles of the rich black soil with his bare hands. His pants were dirty and stained and there was a tear in one leg. Again! It was doubtful the shirt would be good for much but the rag basket after today. And Cody’s shoes? Well, they could probably be restored to something like their former state.
Somehow.
“We can have the lunch now,” his son told them cheerfully. “They always have lunch after funerals. To celebrate the person’s life, right, Dad?” He looked from Sasha to his father for confirmation. Jake felt another pair of eyes fasten on him, as well.
“Yes, well, uh, that’s right, Cody,” he mumbled, and felt embarrassed at the strange look she gave him. She was probably right. A five-almost-six-year-old shouldn’t know so much about funerals.
“Sorry, guys.” Sasha’s cheerful voice broke the silence. “I haven’t got a lunch. I’ve got supper!”
He watched her kneel beside Cody.
“I’ve got hamburgers and potato salad and pickles and chips and double-chocolate brownies. How about that, sport?”
Cody grinned. “I’m not a sport.”
Jake heard him giggle as Sasha tickled him under his chin.
“You’re not,” she said, pretending astonishment. “I was sure you were a good sport.” She rippled her fingers across his stomach and under his arms, drawing out squeals of glee. “Are you sure you’re not?”
He watched them cavort in the sun-dappled woods and thought how long it had been since he’d heard his son laugh so readily. Cody seemed to have developed a strong rapport with the owner of the local craft store in a remarkably short time.
Not that she wasn’t remarkable herself. Sasha Lambert was every bit as curious as the name she had given to her business. She was tall, stretching to just above his chin, and well rounded in all the right places. He knew that because she was wearing a yellow kind of skirt-shorts thing that showed off those long legs and a scooped-neck knit top that gave him a very good view of all of her assets. He tried to ignore the top’s bilious purple color, which bore a significant resemblance to the shade of her unusual furniture.
She was a pretty woman with that black cap of feathery hair cut close to her scalp, cupping the regal lines of her neck. The deep richness of its raven tones highlighted her round, expressive eyes and lent their green hue a clarity that was very effective in raising his temperature when she focused them on him.
He hated that flutter of awareness that tingled low in his stomach. It was, well, a betrayal of Angela somehow. A denial of the place his late wife should hold in his heart. The fact that Angela had died at the lowest point in their marriage was something he refused to think about.
Angela was gone. Why, then, did he feel so guilty? Why couldn’t he let her rest in peace?
It was a punishment; he understood that now. He hadn’t appreciated his wife’s fragility, her inability to handle the myriad problems that came with his job. He’d ignored her complaints and focused solely on the opportunity to get ahead. After all, they would have time later on.