Finally a Bride by Vickie Mcdonough Page A

gave Emmie another piece of biscuit. “Informative?”
    “Yes, ma’am. As a pastor, I need to know a little bit about everything. I counsel people who are having problems sometimes, and seeing the, uh … natural side of children’s behavior is eye-opening.”
    “How so?” She cocked her head.
    “Um … well, I didn’t expect them to be so devious, even when they’re young—and I hope that doesn’t offend you. I saw the same thing at the home of a family I stayed with that had seven children.”
    “No, it doesn’t offend me at all. As much as I wish my children were perfect, I haven’t had one that is. All of them have been lively. Emmie is probably my mildest-mannered child.” She stroked the toddler’s wispy blond hair. “So, have a seat. I need to fetch the rest of the food so we can eat. Luke should be home any minute.”
    “Is there anything I can help you with?” His gaze shot to the large container of biscuits Abby carried into the room. Her mother took the bowl and set it on the buffet.
    “Thank you, but no. Everything is dished up and just needs to be brought in here.” She turned and shuffled back to her kitchen.
    Noah wondered how long she had before her baby was due. Surely it must be soon. He looked around the table, trying to figure out where he should sit. Did the children have their favorite spots? He finally settled opposite Emma and watched her munch on her food. She caught him staring and gazed back. Suddenly she lobbed her biscuit across the table, and the wet, gooey substance hit his cheek, clung there for a moment, then dropped into his lap.
    Emma giggled, then searched the empty space in front of her. Her lower lip came out again. Noah didn’t know what to do with the goo in his lap. He glanced in the kitchen, then grabbed it and tossed it back. Emma’s eyes lit up, and she snatched back her treat and shoved it into her mouth.
    Good thing he’d changed out of his travel clothes earlier and was wearing clean pants.
    The front door opened and shut, and Noah expected to see the marshal. Instead, he heard quick footsteps hustle up the stairs, a knock, and then the creak of a door. Mrs. Davis returned with a large steaming bowl, which she placed beside the platter. His mind was running rampant, trying to guess what she’d cooked. He suspected she must be an excellent cook since she ran a boardinghouse and her family looked well-fed.
    Abby followed with two small bowls filled with butter. She placed one at each end of the table then took a seat next to Emma. The five-year-old grinned at him. “We’re eatin’ pot roast. Don’tcha just love that?”
    He nodded, and Mrs. Davis returned to her kitchen. A loud thump pulled Noah’s gaze to the hall door. His pulse took off like a race horse at the sound of a starter’s gun, and he shot to his feet.
    There stood the marshal with Jack in his arms. Her eyes widened when her gaze collided with his. The air left Noah’s lungs, and he pressed one hand against the table to steady himself. He couldn’t look away for the life of him. Her medium green dress looked lovely with her reddish-brown hair. And—he took a second quick glance—bare toes peeked out from under the hem of her dress.
    “Could you pull out a chair for me, Reverend?”
    Noah jumped into motion at the marshal’s request. He yanked out the chair beside him.
    “I usually sit on the other side of Emmie so I can help feed her if she needs it,” Jack offered.
    “Oh.” He hurried around the table, pulled out that chair, and stepped back.
    Jack’s gaze connected with his again, but for the first time close up. He could see the deep blue coloring and her curious stare. He forced himself to look away and hurried back to his seat. Feigning interest in the floral design of his empty plate, he kept his head down, afraid to look up now that Jack sat almost directly across from him.
    His hands shook as badly as they had the first time he ever preached a sermon on a street corner.