Jeb’s eyes about popped out of his head. “You eloped?” He exchanged an admiring look with his brother. Both boys were cute in an I-play-sports way, with grins that warned daddies that they weren’t as innocent as their big blue eyes proclaimed.
Kenzi suspected she went up two notches on the cool-cousin meter. “We did.”
Nash put his arm around her, settling his hand on her waist and pressing a kiss to her hair, as if he not only had permission to take such liberties but had enjoyed them a hundred times over. She counted to three as she inhaled in an effort to appear as unfazed as he was by the knowledge that his lips had touched her, but her cheeks still warmed. If he’d only pulled her close and not kissed her hair, she might have had a chance.
“Well, aren’t you the blushing bride.” Miranda patted her arm. “We’re going to find Mama. We’ll chat with you later.” She ushered one brother along while hissing, “Don’t you dare elope—Mama would kill you dead.” The other brother headed back out to the car.
Kenzi tipped her chin up and was rewarded with a soft smile from Nash. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispered.
“I survived. Miranda’s the easy one; wait until you meet—”
“Kensington Donegal, you come here this instant.”
“… my grandmother.” Kenzi straightened her spine and applied the proper tilt to her lips to greet her mother’s mother. She nodded to Aunt Gertie, who pushed her wheelchair ever closer. “Hello, Grandma Treekle.” Kenzi bent over and kissed her grandmother’s papery cheek. Her skin was heavily coated in powder, making it hard not to sneeze. She had hair the color of pepper without a hint of gray—gray, white, and silver hairs wouldn’t dare appear on her head. Her eyebrows had long ago been tweezed to an early grave, and in their place was a thin, penciled arch. Wine-colored lipstick made a cameo appearance on what was left of her lips, which were pressed into a disapproving line.
“Hello yourself.” Grandma’s voice wasn’t turned down to church level, and people turned to stare. “What is this I hear about you eloping? Have you no shame?”
Kenzi glared at Jeb and Miranda standing just behind Aunt Gertie. Their ears, which stuck out just a little too far, were scarlet, giving away their part in this like neon signs blinking:We told on you.
“Are you pregnant?” Grandma hollered.
Until that moment, Kenzi hadn’t paid much attention to the background noise created as guests greeted one another and offered condolences. That age-old saying “You don’t miss something until it’s gone” came to mind as the whole church hushed.
“Mother!” Aunt Gertie admonished.
“I saw them with their hands all over each other and he was kissing her.” Grandma was working herself into a nice little tizzy. In her mind, husbands and wives should pretend intimacy didn’t exist and children appeared on the doorstep in clean diapers and pink or blue booties.
“At least someone bought our act,” Nash whispered in Kenzi’s ear. His attentions were as sweet as they were addicting. Once she relaxed and allowed herself to get into the flow, she welcomed the closeness he so easily offered, and she wasn’t about to let Grandma guilt her out of it.
She briefly closed her eyes against the bright light of disappointment. While she’d been reveling in affection, Nash had been doing his job. And a fine job he did, too—he’d convinced her that their contact was natural and normal for their situation when it most certainly was not.
“They’re newlyweds.” Aunt Gertie flipped her hand to the side. “Give them a little slack, would you, Mama?”
“It’s unseemly.”
Irritated with herself for not keeping a better handle on her feelings, Kenzi faced down her grandmother. “Pish!”
“Don’t youpishme, young lady. You’re the oldest, and you should set the example for your sisters and your cousins. If you’re pregnant, own up to it.”
Kenzi put her hands on her hips. She was careful to keep her voice low, but she wasn’t about to be branded as the family’s black sheep when her sister had already taken that title. “As the matriarch of the family, you should be the epitome of decorum, Grandmother, yet you’re yelling in a church at my daddy’s funeral about me being pregnant and embarrassing my husband.”
An uneasy silence slashed the room as she finished. Grandmother folded one hand over the other in her lap and lifted her chin. Kenzi glared down at her, unwilling to back away from her grandmother’s way of looking down on her even as she sat in a wheelchair. Jeb’s head bobbed back and forth between her and Aunt Gertie twisting her gray silk scarf around her hands.
“If I may.” Nash stepped forward. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Treekle.” He picked up her hand and placed a kiss on the back, right above the bulging blue vein. That action alone earned his first month’s salary. “I apologize for sweeping Kenzi away in matrimony, but I couldn’t go another day without knowing she was my wife, and with her father’s health … well, you can forgive a young man’s foolishness over a woman, can’t you?”
Grandmother melted from his manners as only a Southern belle could. “I think I can let this one slide.” She leaned forward. “As long as you name the baby after me.”
Nash laughed. “You got it.”
“Thank you.” She patted her hair. “Come, Gertie, we must find our place before the funeral begins. I’ll not have everyone staring at me for being late.”
“Yes, Mama.” Aunt Gertie winked at Kenzi as she pushed the wheelchair passed her and Nash.
Kenzi waited until their backs were turned, and then she elbowed Nash in the belly.
“What was that for?”
“She thinks I’m pregnant.”
