The Forever Man(19)

       
           



       





Chapter Eight


The spanking-new two-seater surrey was a sight to behold, rolling into  Belle Haven on Sunday morning. Selena, nodding and smiling, lifted one  hand to wave a discreet greeting as it passed her by. Beneath her  breath, she murmured her blessing. "He was worth waiting for, Johanna  Patterson. I'll warrant he'll put a bloom in your cheeks and a baby in  your belly before the winter's out."

She'd been the girl's stoutest defender when Neville Olson's suit was  denied. Marjorie Jones had said "the Patterson girl should have snatched  up the Olson boy, probably the best chance she'd ever have, at her  age." Selena had secretly thought Neville's fascination was with the  Patterson farm, not with the young woman who owned it.

Now, watching the surrey progress toward the church on this crisp  late-autumn morning, Selena felt more than vindicated. If ever a fine  figure of a man had existed in this town, Tate Montgomery was it. From  the top of his head-each dark chestnut hair held firmly in place by a  discreet application of pomade-to the tips of his shiny boots, he was a  man worthy of respect.

She'd heard he'd ordered the surrey without Johanna's say-so, bought the  mares on impulse and built a new corral in jig time, all in the first  two months of his marriage to the sharp-tongued young woman. What  Johanna had to say to all that was a mystery, since she'd never been  known to confide in anyone hereabouts.

The surrey pulled smartly into the churchyard, Tate lowering himself to  the ground with an ease that spoke of physical strength. Fast on his  heels, the two boys riding in the back seat slid to the side and, with  quick movements, he lifted them down. Finally he turned to the woman  he'd married.

"Would you like a hand, Mrs. Montgomery?" His dark gaze glittering with a  silvery sheen, he held out his hand to her, and Johanna slid across the  black leather seat, aware of more than just one pair of eyes focusing  in her direction.

But it was the man before her who drew her attention. The scar ridging  his cheek should have detracted from his male beauty. Indeed, the small  white slash nicking the edge of his lip might have been judged an  imperfection, had another man borne it. Instead, they only distinguished  Tate Montgomery with their silent message. This was a man not to be  underestimated. His face bore intriguing marks, from the crooked bridge  of his nose to the scars he wore with self-assurance. She'd married a  man to be reckoned with.

And unless she missed her guess, the day of reckoning was fast  approaching. Johanna gripped the wide palm he offered, placing her feet  carefully as she turned to climb from the surrey. His hand at her waist  took her unawares as he guided her down, the other still grasping her  fingers.

"I've got you." Steadying her as she got her bearings, allowing his  warmth to creep past the woolen cape she'd worn, he pressed his  advantage.

A habit he'd gotten into lately, Johanna thought ruefully. Every chance  he had, every time an opportunity arose, he touched her. Like now, this  very minute. By now she should have gotten used to the pressure of his  palm against her back as he guided her up the path, toward the church  doors. They'd been observing this ritual for two months now, since their  marriage in September.

But then, some things took a lot of getting used to. Like the way his  gaze seared her with heat every time he took a slow survey of her form.  Not in any way Johanna could make a big fuss over, not with the boys  around, anyhow. And then there was the trick he had of telling her  goodnight and watching her climb the stairs. Her cheeks burning with a  mixture of unease and excitement, she would lift one foot, then the  other, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that those gray eyes were  marking every move she made.

One would have thought that the familiarity of the ritual would have  eased her into a comfortable rut. Her mouth pinched as she considered  the thought. There were no ruts in the life she'd chosen to share with  Tate Montgomery, and not a lot of comfort, either, for that matter.

His hand shifted on her back, sliding up to center between her shoulder  blades. It was a silent message, and she lifted her face to his, caught  by the small smile he sent her. So well she knew this man already. And  yet she knew him not at all. She'd washed his clothing, folding his  stockings and undergarments into precise, neat piles for storage in his  chest of drawers, leaving them on a hall table outside his door. She'd  ironed the very shirt he was wearing, yet never touched the flesh it  covered.                       
       
           



       

"Selena is waving at you." His head bent low as he delivered the message in a soft whisper.

Johanna peered past him. Selena hurried across the churchyard, skirting  the muddy spots. One hand uplifted in an unmistakable signal, she  silently bade Johanna wait

The postmistress was past her prime. Johanna knew she had to be at least  forty years old, and she certainly had lost the bloom of youth. But the  firm flesh on her face and the golden hue of her curling hair allowed  her the distinction of being one of the loveliest woman to inhabit Belle  Haven. Why she'd never married had long been a source of speculation,  but over the past few years, she'd been accepted as just exactly what  she was-a woman alone, beyond the age of marriage, a permanent fixture  in the small post office that took up one corner of Joseph Turner's  general store.

"Johanna! You didn't come to town yesterday." The words weren't an  accusation but a statement of fact, and Selena accompanied them with a  swift hug and a brushing of cheeks.

"We were in on Thursday," Johanna told her. "Twice a week, just like always."

"Well, I knew I could look for you tomorrow, but I wanted to let you  know that there was a catalog at the post office for you, and a letter  for your husband. I thought it might be important."

Tate halted before the double doors of the small church. "When did the letter come, ma'am?"

"It came yesterday morning. It may not be of importance, but I'd be  willing to open the office and give it to you today, if you'd like, Mr.  Montgomery." Without waiting for his reply, Selena's gaze flowed to rest  on Johanna's face. "You're looking well, Johanna. I'd say marriage  agrees with you, but I'm sure you've heard that from numerous others in  town already, and I don't want to be a copycat."

"Thank you," Johanna answered, aware suddenly that a line of hopeful  entrants to the church was gathering behind them on the path. "I think  we're blocking the doorway, Tate. We'd better move along."

His hand slid to her waist as he opened the door and ushered her through  the portal, motioning to the postmistress to follow his wife. As Selena  passed him, he nodded. "I'll be most appreciative if you could make a  Sunday delivery of the mail, Miss Phillips. We'll come by after church.  Perhaps you'd like a ride in our new surrey, ma'am."

"Thank you, Mr. Montgomery." Sliding into her usual pew, Selena watched  as the couple moved up the aisle. The Patterson family had always sat on  the right side, in the fourth pew from the front of the church. Not  that their name was attached to the polished oak seat, but by habit, the  pew belonged to them. Now it was occupied by the newlyweds and their  two small boys.

The service was joyous, a celebration of Thanksgiving, in honor of the  holiday to come just four days hence. The congregation sang with vigor,  the small choir adding considerable volume to the music. Theodore Hughes  had gathered up all the scripture he could find that signified reasons  to be thankful and presented them with gusto. Indeed, so long was his  list that Johanna began sympathizing with the wiggles of Timmy and Pete  long before the sermon was over.

"Let us pray!" The young minister bowed his head, amid sighs of relief  from almost every young person in the congregation, and pronounced the  benediction over the heads of his congregation. " … now and forever,  amen."

The noonday sun was brilliant, unseasonably warm and more than welcome  as the congregation flowed into the churchyard. "Good to see you, Mr.  Montgomery," Esther Turner chirped. "You too, Johanna." Her keen eyes  scanning the couple, she smiled her regard. "You two certainly make a  fine pair. Haven't seen you look so good in a month of Sundays,  Johanna."

Tate slid a proprietary hand to rest against the curve of his wife's  waist and dipped his head in a nod of thanks. "I think she always  presents a fine image, Mrs. Turner," he said politely, steering Johanna  toward the surrey, parked amid a dozen others at the hitching rail.

Leah Ibsen, teacher at the schoolhouse, stepped before them. "I thought I  might have your eldest boy in class, Mr. Montgomery," she said  politely, her eyes fixed on the ruggedly handsome man.