The Preacher's Bride. Laurie Kingery
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lovely in a dress the color of bluebonnets, and he looked no further.
He could have sworn she’d been looking at him until a second before his eyes had found her, but it was just as well that she no longer did. This way, he could feast on the sight of her as she watched the new husband and wife pass by.
Did she have any idea how pretty she was? His pulse quickened at the thought of spending time with her at the wedding reception. Now that it seemed clear his father was on the mend, Gil planned to make it clear to her and anyone who cared to notice that he was interested in her. Faith—what a perfect name for a future preacher’s wife!
* * *
“Did you notice how Reverend Gil was looking at you just a moment ago?” Faith’s mother remarked as they waited to congratulate the bridal couple. “I believe he’s sweet on you, dear.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re imagining things, Mama,” Faith told her mother, hoping no one had heard her. Sometimes Lydia Bennett’s voice carried more than she meant it to, for she was slightly hard of hearing and didn’t realize how loudly she spoke.
“Time will tell,” her father said. “About time our young preacher found a wife and settled down. I don’t reckon he could do any better than our daughter.”
It was rare to hear her father express approval of her, yet his words made Faith wince inwardly. Just about anyone would be better for him than me.
Once in the social hall where the wedding reception was to be held, her parents drifted toward other older couples they were friends with and Faith joined a cluster of Spinsters’ Club ladies.
“How are you doing out on the ranch with your husband off on that cattle drive? I’m sure you must miss him dreadfully,” Faith said to Milly Brookfield, whose baby son, Nicholas, was being handed from lady to lady, much to his delight and theirs. Clearly he’d inherited much of his British father’s charm.
“I miss him every minute of the day,” Milly admitted. “But I’m doing all right. Little Nick keeps me busy.”
“I’ve begged her to come stay with us while Nick’s gone, but she got all of our father’s stubbornness,” her sister, Sarah, said. “I even suggested renting the Spencers’ house because it’s still standing empty just down the street, if she thinks it’d be too crowded at our house.”
“Nonsense,” Milly retorted. “What kind of ranch wife would I be if I stayed in town the whole time my husband’s away? Besides, I’ll have Jack and Caroline as my neighbors, as soon as they get back from their wedding trip,” she said, nodding toward the bridal couple, who were speaking to old Reverend Chadwick and Mrs. Detwiler nearby.
“Milly, I just can’t rest easy about your being out there so far away with only the cowhands who stayed behind, as loyal as they are,” Sarah said. “Why, anything could happen.”
“By ‘anything,’ I know you mean Comanches, sister,” Milly said, “but they’re not likely to come raiding because there’s only a handful of cows with young calves left on the ranch, and only half a dozen horses. And I don’t think outlaws will be a problem, either—they’ve steered clear of Simpson Creek since Prissy’s husband’s shown himself to be such a no-nonsense sheriff.”
Prissy, already glowing with the radiance of a woman expecting her first child, beamed at the compliment.
“We’ll all have to make it a point to come out visiting often, both as a group and individually,” Faith said. “Perhaps we can organize a party, like we did to celebrate young Nicholas’s birth.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be up for any trips out that way until after our baby comes,” Sarah Walker said, glancing down at her own rounded form.
Prissy clapped her hands together. “I have an idea—we’ll have a party to celebrate Sarah’s baby coming, here in town!” Prissy cried. “We should probably have it at Papa’s house, rather than ours, because Sam’s in the middle of adding on a room and it’s all sawdust and confusion,” she added. “You could come into town for that, couldn’t you, Milly?”
“Sure,” Milly agreed. “And yes, Nicholas and I will stay overnight with you then, Sarah.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Sarah said.
“Prissy, your papa and Mrs. Fairchild will be getting married soon, too, won’t they?” Faith asked the sheriff’s wife.
“Yes, though they’re just planning a quiet ceremony with the family and a few friends,” Prissy murmured. “My guess is they’re talking to Gil about that right now,” she said, nodding to where her father, the mayor, and the widow he’d been courting were now in earnest conversation with the young preacher. “Papa seems years younger since she’s come into our lives,” she added with a happy sigh.
Faith remembered it hadn’t been so long ago that Prissy was very distressed about the fact that her widowed father was romantically interested in Mrs. Fairchild, a woman whom he had known from his school days. What a difference a few months—and Prissy’s own contentment with Sam Bishop—had made.
“Goodness, we might as well rename ourselves The Brides’ Club and a Few Others,” Polly hissed in Faith’s ear just then, yanking Faith abruptly out of her peaceful musing. “I can’t believe we were ever once a band of enterprising misses looking for husbands. Land sakes, all we’ve talked about are babies and the husbands of the lucky few.”
Faith fought to control her feeling of irritation at Polly’s spiteful remark. “Well, Milly sure didn’t wait on someone else to bring about her wedded bliss,” she pointed out, keeping her voice low. “Why don’t you suggest an event we could plan?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of that very thing,” Polly said, her face smug as she turned to the rest of the spinsters. “Ladies, I think the Spinsters’ Club should hold a box social, with the prize going to the most beautifully decorated supper box before the bidding. Only Spinsters’ Club members’ boxes will be eligible for the prize, though there’ll be the usual bidding by husbands for their wives’ boxes, of course. I’ve taken the liberty of drafting an advertisement to be posted in the neighboring towns—perhaps Caroline’s young brother would take care of that for us?”
Faith’s irritation faded. Polly had actually made a plan and wasn’t just carping with no solution in mind. “Who’d be the judge?” she asked. “And what would be the prize?”
“Why, Reverend Gil would be the judge,” Polly said. “And the lucky winner would get to sit with him at the picnic supper that would follow.”
Too late, Faith saw where Polly’s idea had been leading. It was only another thinly veiled plot to position herself next to Gil Chadwick. Faith smothered a sigh. There was no guarantee of victory, but Polly was willing to risk it.
“That’s a good idea, Polly,” Maude Harkey said, apparently unsuspecting of Polly’s motives. “Have you asked him if he’d be willing to judge?”
“No, I wanted to pass the idea by you ladies first,” Polly said, all innocence. “But now that you’ve approved the plan, I think I’ll go speak to him this very minute. What man wouldn’t want to be the prize of a contest?” She left the circle of spinsters and sashayed in Gil Chadwick’s direction.
“I see what she’s up to now,” Prissy said, her eyes narrowed. “Cousin Anson!”
Startled, Faith stared at Prissy. What was Prissy up to, calling her cousin like that? What was it she wanted him to do?
Chapter Six
A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man with a faint resemblance to Prissy turned from where he had been conversing with young Dan Wallace. “Yes, Cousin?”
She nodded pointedly at Polly, who had been stopped by Mrs. Detwiler just before she had reached Gil. The old woman appeared to be complimenting her