The Substitute Bride by Janet Dean

the instrument out of his pocket and played a few merry notes. Ted looked as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him, but Elizabeth’s toe tapped under her skirts.
    People came over, shook Ted and Elizabeth’s hands, offering their congratulations.
    “Would you like a piece of Agnes’s pie?” Johanna said, once the crowd cleared.
    Ted took a step toward the door. “We really need to be going.”
    “My treat,” Johanna persisted. “Sorry it’s not cake, but it’s mighty good.”
    In case she needed to escape tonight, Elizabeth couldn’t risk putting the sheets to the test. She turned to Ted. “Is your house one story or two?”
    “One.”
    “Oh, I’ll have a slice of pie, then. A big one.” She smiled at Ted, resting her chin on her palm. “Pie is my weakness.”
    Johanna waved to Agnes. “They’ll have pie. I’m paying.”
    Agnes appeared at their elbows. “I’ve got sugar cream and cherry today.”
    “The sugar cream, please,” Elizabeth said.
    Ted frowned as if he didn’t approve of the turn of events. “None for me.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Johanna said. “This is your wedding day. Your bride shouldn’t eat pie alone.”
    Ted sighed. “All right—”
    “Cherry and coffee black,” Agnes said, obviously familiar with Ted’s tastes.
    With Johanna issuing orders, diners moved the tables, opening space in the middle of the room. The mayor let loose on his harmonica. A heavyset, squat fellow strode in carrying the fiddle and joined in. Cecil’s brother Oscar, Johanna informed Elizabeth.
    Four couples formed a square, moving up and back, square dancing or so Johanna explained.
    Agnes arrived with coffee and pie. Flaky golden crusts piled high with luscious filling. Elizabeth thanked her, and then dug in. Mmm, cinnamon. Sugar. Cream. She licked her lips, capturing a speck from the corner of her mouth. “This is delicious.” She glanced at her husband.
    Ted sat motionless, his fork hovering over his plate. Did the man pray before each course? No, he was staring at her lips. Had she missed a crumb? She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin.
    His face turned a deep shade of red. Blue eyes collided, hastily looked away and then back again. He dropped his gaze to his plate, slicing his fork into his pie and then lifting a forkful of cherries and crust to his mouth. Her stomach dipped. When had pie ever looked better going into someone else’s mouth besides her own?
    In all of Elizabeth’s years she had never been unable to finish a piece of pie. But tonight, her wedding night, she pushed the plate away. “I’m stuffed.”
    Ted smiled. “Glad I finally got you filled up.” He glanced out the window. “Time to head for home.”
    “We can’t leave.” She waved a hand. “Your friends have done all this for us. To celebrate our marriage.”
    “Johanna’s turned our wedding dinner into a spectacle.”
    “My dreams for my wedding day hardly match our ceremony.”
    Ted had the decency to look contrite. He rose and offered his hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Logan?”
    “If you’ll teach me the steps, Mr. Logan.”
    “It’ll be my pleasure.”
    Her pulse raced at the warm, steady pressure of his hand on her back. At the warmth radiating from his very masculine body. At the breadth of those powerful shoulders.
    No doubt Ted could protect her from any danger. Yet she’d never felt more threatened. More out of control.
    Surprisingly light on his feet for a hulk of a man, Ted led her through the dance. But even with the unnerving awareness that others watched every move they made, smiling and nodding approval at her attempt to join in, she wanted to stay. Leaving would mean being alone with her husband.
    Right now, if she could, she’d stamp Cancel on their mail-order nuptials. But that meant she couldn’t give Robby a home.
    So like a self-assured bride, she smiled up at her groom, but under her skirts, her knees were knocking.
    What had she gotten herself in