Loree Lough - Suddenly Married

“Peanut butter balls!” she shouted through her fingers.

Dara got onto her knees, making herself child size, and held out her arms to them. The children melted against her like butter on a hot biscuit. That quickly, she’d worked her enchantment on them. “No peanut butter balls,” she promised, smiling. “Now, tell me—what’s your favorite dessert?”

“Brownies!” said Bobby.

“Chocolate cake!” Angie insisted.

Standing, Dara turned to Noah. “What time is dinner?” She spoke with the precise diction of a TV news anchor.

“Five o’clock?”

When she nodded, her shining reddish brown curls bounced. “Is your place easy to find?”

He never went anywhere without his trusty pen and pencil. Can’t tell when you might need to work out a problem, he’d found. He flipped open the pad, quickly jotted down the directions, then placed the small sheet of paper into her palm, closing his large hand around hers. “Route 40 west,” he said, pretending not to notice the slight tremor, “left on Centennial Lane, right at the light at Old Annapolis. We’re the fourth house on the right.” He turned her loose. “You can’t miss us.”

She stared at the directions, then looked at him. In school, when the teachers weren’t watching, he’d made fun of the supersensitive male poets who’d written lush prose describing how it felt to be lost in a woman’s gaze. He hadn’t understood a word of their sweet talk, because frankly, he couldn’t get a handle on the why of it.

He understood them now, as he looked into dusky eyes that made Dara seem mysterious and elusive and at the same time vulnerable and sensitive, with a capacity for love like no one he’d ever known.

It disappointed him more than he cared to admit when she blinked, turned that warmth on his children again. “See you in a few hours, then,” Dara said, waving and smiling as he took them by the hand and led them toward the big double doors at the end of the hall. Bobby and Angie turned three, perhaps four times to look over their shoulders, tripping over his feet and their own before he was able to guide them outside.

Clearly, his children were charmed by Dara Mackenzie.

He had a feeling it was going to take a concerted effort on his part to keep her charm from working on him.

The kids had been in the living room for half an hour already, knobby knees poking into the cushions, elbows resting on the sofa back as they pressed their noses to the windowpane. “Where is she?” Angie sighed.

Chuckling, Noah said, “It’s only four-thirty, sweet girl. Miss Mackenzie said she’d be here a little before five, remember?”

“But it’s snowing harder now. Do you think she decided not to come?”

“I think she would have called.”

“But maybe you should call and offer to pick her up and bring her here, Father.”

“Maybe.”

“I saw one car slipping and sliding a few minutes ago. Do you think she was in an accident?”

It surprised him, the way his heartbeat quickened at the possibility. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute, Angie.” But Noah sent a prayer heavenward on Dara’s behalf, just in case.…

“Do you think she’s…” Bobby squinted, searching his memory for the right word. “Do you think Miss Mackenzie is a punk -shal kind of person?”

“Yes, she seems the punctual type.”

“I hope she doesn’t get lost.”

“She won’t,” Angie confidently assured him.

Noah pocketed his hands and leaned on the door frame as he watched them, heads turning to follow every car that drove up or down the street. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen them looking forward to having a guest to dinner. Fact was, he’d never seen them so excited about company, particularly female company.

A year or so ago, he’d warily ventured back into the dating scene, but only because his wife had insisted that he try, as soon as possible, to find a mother substitute for Angie and Bobby. He might not have considered it even then if Bobby hadn’t asked, “Father, do you ever get lonely?”

The answer had cried out from his heart, from his head. Yes! he’d wanted to shout, yes, I’m lonely. He’d felt the pangs of it day and night, starting on the morning when Francine’s doctor had announced her prognosis. But he couldn’t very well admit it to the boy. The children needed his strength, not his weakness. So he’d said, “Now, why would I be lonesome when I have you and your sister to keep me company?”

Either Bobby hadn’t heard him, or chose to ignore the comment. “I get sad sometimes,” Bobby had said, “because I miss Mother.”

Angie, he recalled, had not agreed. He’d sloughed it off to immaturity; perhaps the girl felt her mother had abandoned them.

“No need to be sad, kids,” he’d said, “because your mother is in heaven now, with Jesus.”

“Is she happy there?” Angie had wanted to know.

Francine had talked so much about paradise in those last, pain-filled days. “Yes, I believe she is.”

Bobby nodded. “Do you think she misses us?”

He’d looked into his little boy’s face, a face so small, so innocent, yet so old and wise. “Of course she does. Your mother loved you more than…more than life itself.”

Angie had sighed heavily and frowned. “Then I don’t see how she can be happy.” She’d met Noah’s eyes and said very matter-of-factly, “I’m sure not happy when I think about how much I miss her. ”

They’d been so young when Francine died—Angie, four and Bobby three—too young to remember much about their mother. Or so the experts said.

“They miss the things she did for them,” insisted the Christian counselor Noah had hired. “Have you considered remarrying, Mr. Lucas?”

In truth, he had not. It may not be macho to admit it in this day and age, but Noah had never been with any woman except Francine. The thought of sharing himself so completely with another woman…

But the therapist’s words had echoed Francine’s own. If it would help his children, he’d set aside his feelings, take another wife. But it would have to be in name only, he told himself time and again, because the woman hadn’t been born who could replace Francine in his heart.

He’d learned to trust his children’s instincts about potential dates. They liked Dara Mackenzie. Noah had a feeling that tonight’s dinner was going to end up quite differently.

“Father, she’s here!” Angie announced, in a voice filled with anticipation and wonder.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” Dara suggested as she stacked the dinner plates, “since you know where everything goes.”

He gave her a sideways look. “I realize I come off as an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud kind of guy,” he said, “but a couple of years back, I actually invested in a modern-day gizmo called a dishwasher.”

Dara grinned as Noah carried the nearly empty lasagna tray to the sink. “Amazing contraption,” he continued. “Put the dirty dishes in, close the door, and voilà! Clean dishes!”

“I stand corrected, Mr. Lucas.”

“‘Noah,’ Miss Mackenzie.”

“‘Dara,’ Mr. Lucas.”

He chuckled, tore off a sheet of aluminum foil and covered the leftover lasagna. “We could go on this way long into the night.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay long into the night. In fact,” she said, standing on tiptoe at the window, “I should probably have left half an hour ago. I imagine the snow has started to mount up by now.”

Noah flipped a switch near the back door, flooding the yard with light.

Dara gasped. “Oh, my goodness! It’s white, as far as the eye can see, and still coming down like crazy.” She glanced at Noah, who had parted the miniblinds to stare out the half window in the back door. “How deep do you think it is?”