The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,30

blessed to be in a position to hold many babies, though.” She patted the blanket one last time, relishing the warmth the little bundle created.

“Never say never. This guy took four years, but he was worth the wait.”

“I didn’t know.” Evie was shocked to hear that they’d been struggling to get pregnant. Camille always looked so healthy.

“It wasn’t something we talk about openly.”

“So why tell me?” Evie threw out the question without considering how it might have sounded.

Thankfully, Camille didn’t act like it was a strange thing to wonder. “I guess having you see the underbelly of our family tonight—and not running off—I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think you would judge me.”

“Never.” Evie looked around. Camille had extended a hand of friendship in sharing, and Evie felt pressure to return the gesture. There just wasn’t much she could actually say—a confession about how much she wanted to kiss her husband but couldn’t popped into her head, and she shoved it away. She couldn’t tell Camille that. But she really should get Maisie on the phone soon—some major girl-talk time was in order. “Is there anything more we can do for you?”

Camille shook her head. “I’m going to feed this guy and then try to get everyone in bed.”

That’s our cue to leave. “I’ll find Seth.” She turned around and almost bumped right into his chest. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard her talk about wanting children but not having them? She hoped not.

“Are you ready?” he asked. He had the basket, which was piled with their empty dishes, hooked over his arm. “I think Jerom is about to fall asleep in his mashed potatoes.”

Evie smiled at the thought. “I’m ready if you are.”

Seth waved to Camille, who had settled on the couch and was busy changing Tayson’s diaper. “Congratulations. Please, don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Thank you. You’ve helped out so much tonight.”

They ducked out, not needing a big, formal goodbye. The ride home was quiet. Evie glanced at Seth several times, still wondering if he’d heard her say she wanted children. She didn’t dare ask, because it would start an awkward conversation that she wasn’t ready to face.

Because what if he said no? He’d advertised a platonic marriage, and that was what she’d agreed to. Neither of them ruled out the possibility of renegotiation, but … She wasn’t sure she could take that kind of rejection.

If Seth didn’t want her to be the mother of his children, her heart would crumble.

Chapter Twelve

Evie

Evie checked her skirt before walking into the chapel. This was her fourth official week as a pastor’s wife, and she was finally getting the hang of things.

“Hello.” She leaned over the side of the pew to look at the darling Tayson wrapped up tight in a white blanket. “He’s just so beautiful,” she told Camille.

Camille, looking stunning in a Princess Kate-type post-pregnancy robin’s-egg-blue dress, pulled the blanket aside and let her have a look. “He’s going bald in the back. But that’s normal. I just hate to see all this downy hair disappear.”

“I’m sure he’s going to turn out just as handsome as your Jerom.” Evie winked at the big brother, who had taken the job of being an example quite seriously. He sat in the pew, his ankles folded and his brow lowered in his best reverent look.

Evie moved on to the next seat. “Mrs. Farmly! What a beautiful new hat.”

“Do you like it, dear? My daughter shipped it from a small town in Arkansas, I think. She travels so much and finds the most wonderful items all over. She’s got quite an eye.” She patted her hair at the base of her neck and preened.

“Well, she certainly found you a treasure.” Evie’s heart warmed at the joy on Mrs. Farmly’s face. The woman hadn’t had the easiest life, but she came faithfully every Sunday and contributed to the potluck luncheon last week. She also crocheted baby blankets for preemies at the hospital, even though her hands were slightly bent with arthritis. As far as Evie was concerned, she deserved all the compliments the world could give and then some.

“I’ve been wondering about you, dear.” Mrs. Farmly patted Evie’s hand.

“Me?” Evie was on top of the world. Well, except for the hankering to kiss her husband that came up about every five minutes. She was on guard, though, and careful not to let herself get lost in his deep brown eyes. That was the key. His eyes spoke