The Small Town Preacher's Fake - Lucy McConnell Page 0,4
off. But there wasn’t one. Instead, all he felt was calmness. Not a huge burning in his bosom, but a general sense of well-being. That would do.
He called the number at the bottom of the reply.
“This is Evie,” she answered.
Her voice was confident and sure while also being—dared he say sexy? He sucked in. Maybe he should have given himself a good night’s sleep before jumping in with both feet. Like Peter, he was willing to get out of the boat, but now he saw the waves and the storm.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi.” The word came out like the sound of a balloon popping because of his nerves. “I’m calling about your response to the ad I placed.” He kicked at the curb. He sounded like a secretary—not a potential best friend/husband.
“Oh. Um. Yes?”
He scrambled for something to say. “Do you—I mean, are you still interested?”
“Can you tell me a little more about what I’d be doing?”
He stopped fidgeting. “Sure.” He spent the next five minutes talking about the duties of a pastor’s wife—as far as he knew them, anyway. He’d need someone to organize church activities, help women in delicate times when a man wasn’t wanted around, maybe work with the teen group once it was up and running. If he could convince the board that starting one was in the best interest of the church and the community. He didn’t mention the uncertainties of the situation.
They could divide up the household chores any way she wanted. “I’ve been a bachelor long enough that I know how to keep a house clean. I’m not expecting you to pick up after me or anything like that.”
“Well, that’s a tick in the positive column, then.”
“Are you making a pro/con list?” he asked, suddenly nervous.
“Only in my head. But it sounds like the kind of life I would enjoy.”
“So you want to get married, then?” If he weren’t a pastor, and this situation wasn’t weird enough on its own, he would have cursed himself for throwing that out there like a Frisbee.
“Sure. How does Friday look to you?”
His jaw dropped. He hadn’t expected her to say yes—let alone offer a date. She sounded so … normal. Like this kind of thing happened to her all the time. He wasn’t as calm as all that. If he didn’t stop pacing, he’d wear out the soles of his shoes. “That sounds perfect.”
“Great. I’ll meet you at the courthouse.”
“Wait—” He didn’t want to hang up with her. A connection had formed, something he hadn’t expected but now didn’t want to lose. Then, realizing how dumb that was—considering they’d only just met over the phone and would be married in three days—he groped for words. “I’m a little worried by how easy this was.”
She laughed. It was a nice laugh, deep in her throat and with a musical quality. “I’d be lying if I didn’t agree. But it feels right, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t have to search his heart to know the answer. “It does.” The silence between them was warm and welcoming. I’m in the deep end now. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you Friday.”
They said goodbye and hung up. He fell forward, lying on the hood of his car. He’d just gotten engaged to a woman he’d not laid eyes on.
“Lord, I’m praying this is your plan for me. If it’s not, I’m making a big mess of things.” His voice echoed off the metal.
Instead of getting in his car, he went around the side of the church to the small home that would be his and Evie’s by the coming weekend. It was in desperate need of a paint job, and there were several shingles missing on the roof. He could do the work, but he wouldn’t be able to finish it before bringing her here.
He hoped she wouldn’t run away at the sight of him or the home. He had a lot riding on getting married—like his whole life plan. If this didn’t work, he’d be back to square one.
His job wasn’t his only concern, though. If word got around that he’d advertised for a wife, no one in the congregation would respect him. He had to keep it hush-hush and hope that Evie would feel the same way.
Chapter Three
Evie
Evie rushed up the courthouse steps, her white eyeletted skirt lifted by the wind. She slammed it down with a hand, grateful she’d caught it before it’d gone too high. She should have known better than to wear something so impractical on a windy day,