The preacher adjusted his spectacles. “Now that we’re all seated, let us continue.” He picked up his Bible and began to read about David’s years on the run from King Saul.
Devon closed his eyes for a moment and willed the rope-tight tension from his muscles. He was here now, next to her. He’d better make it count.
As welcoming as a block of ice in sawdust, Morning Fawn sat forward, with her hands clasped around her knees, and stared at the preacher as if she hung on every word.
Devon leaned her way an inch and whispered, “I’m sorry about yesterday.”
Ice.
He dug his finger between his neck and his too-tight collar. Another few minutes of sweating, and he tried again. “I was stupid.”
She slung her hair back, almost whapping his nose with her hat, but her gaze remained fixed on the pulpit.
Mrs. LeBeau scorched him with glare that said her husband would hear of this.
So be it. Devon pressed his lips together and tried to listen to the sermon. He didn’t dare rest against the back of the pew lest he nod off.
If he didn’t do something before the end of the service, Morning Fawn would be faster than Mr. Franklin’s Thoroughbred exiting the church. His shoulder brushed hers. He dug out his heart and mouthed a statement a scratch above silence. “I was jealous.”
Slowly, she tilted her face, her gaze meeting his before she peered down her nose at him, as if she were at a livestock auction giving him a good lookover to see if he were worthy of consideration. “You look as if you haven’t slept.”
He couldn’t tell the truth, but he didn’t want to out and out lie. “I was helping Dr. Schramm.”
She snorted.
In front of them, a lady dressed in full mourning scooted forward as if to escape their whispers.
He leaned toward Morning Fawn, lips close to her ear, and inhaled the scent of rose in her hair. “Dr. Schramm, not Miss Schramm.”
“Miss Schramm now? It’s none of my concern what you do in Alleyton. I had my own evening with Mr. Moyer.”
The mere mention of the name clenched his jaw. He settled back and folded his arms.
The preacher talked about David as king. How he’d loved the Lord, followed the Lord, and yet had fallen so badly in the case of Bathsheba and Uriah.
Good message, but Devon was ready for a hymn. The room grew warm. His eyes drifted closed.
Morning Fawn elbowed him, and he jerked awake.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You better listen. You might learn something about women and being led astray.”
He shot her a glance and moved within the shadow of her hat, his lips close to her hair. “I’m sitting next to the only woman who has any hope of distracting me.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
She swung her face toward him, her nose almost colliding with his chin before he pulled his head back.
“Shhh.” Her aunt jabbed a finger in his direction.
His eyepatch scratched against his heated cheek.
Morning Fawn scooted away a couple of inches before refocusing her gaze on the preacher.
Devon leaned forward, elbows on knees, and listened. King David repented. Prostrated himself, begging the Lord’s forgiveness. It was later after this that the Lord called David a man after his own heart.
Forgiveness. The balm of complete forgiveness. The weight of the past sank onto Devon’s shoulders. How could the Lord give him such a gift if he himself wasn’t willing to accept it? His sin had been nothing like King David’s. He had simply failed to be at his wife’s side when she needed him most. His shoulders drooped. His presence might not have saved Isabelle or their newborn child, but at least she would not have gone through the agony alone.
And here he was feeling like he was seventeen again in the presence of this impetuous, determined, fiery-tempered woman who was nothing like Isabelle.
The last song came. They stood, and Devon opened the hymnal to share with Morning Fawn, his heart heavy.
