A Husband's Watch. Karen Templeton

      “I don’t suppose there’s much point in asking if you’re comfortable?”

      A towel-wrapped ice pack perched on the elevated cast, Darryl grimaced at his father-in-law from the plaid sofa in Faith’s parents’ den. Over in his playpen, a bouncing Nicky gnawed on the thickly padded edge, occasionally squealing at the overfed, overfurred cat cautiously regarding the far too noisy, temporarily caged human from where she lay sprawled across most of the coffee table.

      “Actually, between the turkey and these pills I’m taking, I’m not feeling much of anything at the moment.”

      With a soft laugh, Chuck Meyerhauser lowered himself into his navy-blue La-Z-Boy, the football game on TV flickering in his glasses. He must’ve gone outside for a minute—a leaf or two clung to his striped sweater, while several strands of graying red hair floated over his freckled, balding head as if they couldn’t decide where to light. “Way my joints’ve been acting up lately, I wouldn’t mind some of those pills myself.”

      “Oh, yeah, this is good stuff.”

      Chuck smiled, then focused on the game, as usual leaving a whole mess of unspoken thoughts shimmering between them. Faith’s daddy was one of those rare preachers who spent more time living what he believed than yakking a person’s ear off about it. Not once had either he or Didi made an issue of Darryl’s getting their only daughter—their only child, for that matter—pregnant right out of high school. That didn’t mean, however, that the situation hadn’t thrown them for a loop. Probably more, in some ways, than it had Darryl, even though marriage and fatherhood at eighteen hadn’t exactly been something he’d figured on. In any case, he’d been well aware of Faith’s folks’ concern about what might happen down the road, that the marriage might not make it.

      A concern that still lingered like an odor you couldn’t completely get rid of, no matter how hard you tried. Which was why, from the moment Faith eagerly accepted Darryl’s weak-kneed proposal, he’d made a silent vow—to himself, to her, to her parents—that he’d never give them the slightest reason to think their daughter had married a loser.

      A commercial came on; Chuck punched the mute button. “I suppose the town got off easy, considering,” he said. “Not that that’s any consolation to you, I don’t suppose.”

      “Oh, believe me, I’m grateful nobody else got hurt.” Darryl took a swig from his plastic glass of sparkling cider. He hated the stuff, frankly, but mixing beer with painkillers probably wasn’t a real smart idea. “Never did buy into the whole misery-loves-company thing.”

      Nicky shrieked at the cat, who took that as her cue to get the hell out of Dodge. Chuck fondly regarded his youngest grandson for a moment, then said, “Faith says the insurance will probably cover most of the rebuilding, but I was wondering…you guys have supplemental insurance? To cover your loss of income while you’re out of commission?”

      Darryl nearly laughed out loud. They’d been doing well to make the insurance payments on the property as it was—Oklahoma had one of the highest rates in the nation. Not to mention health insurance premiums, which they could only afford with a huge co-pay. Still, having to say no hurt like all get-out.

      “Listen,” Chuck said, the sympathy in his voice nearly making Darryl cringe, “we’ve got a little put by, if you guys need any help….”

      “No, we’ll be okay,” Darryl said automatically. “Need to have the pumps inspected, but it doesn’t appear they were damaged, so I’ll still have income from gas sales. And once the cast is off, I’ll be back at work in no time. The wrecker wasn’t touched, did Faith tell you?”

      “Yes, she did. But three or four months can seem like forever when there’s not enough money coming in. Believe me, I know. Let us help, son—”

      “I’ll admit, this is a setback I hadn’t counted on,” Darryl said through the painkiller fog, “but it won’t keep me down for long. You’ll see.”

      The pastor’s gray eyes all but looked straight through him. “There’s not a soul alive who’d think ill of you for accepting a little help to get you through this. And if you really have Faith’s best interests at heart,” he said over Darryl’s next objection, “you won’t let that pride of yours cloud your reason. Do I make myself clear?”

      Heat crawling up his neck, Darryl focused on Nicky, who held out his arms, squealed, then promptly toppled onto his diapered butt in the playpen. “If we do have to borrow from you,” he said at last, “I’ll pay you back every penny, I swear.”

      “I know you will. But there’s no hurry. Oh, for crying out loud, wipe that look off your face—sticking together is what families do.” Chuck grabbed a tissue out of a nearby box and leaned forward to wipe drool off Nicky’s chin, the recliner squawking when he settled back into it. “You know, it’s easy to see where you get your dedication to your family. Your daddy was always talkin’ up you boys, when you were little—‘Guess what that Danny did today?’ he’d say, or ‘Hope you don’t mind me braggin’ on my oldest.’ And the way L.B. dotes on your mother…I think he’d move heaven and earth for her, if she asked him to.”

      “Yeah, that’s L.B.” Darryl shifted, trying to get comfortable. No such luck. “From the time I was little, I remember him saying a man’s most important duty is to make sure he never gives his wife a reason to regret marrying him.”

      “A code more men would do well to live by, I’m sure.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      Except, over the past dozen years, Darryl had come to realize good intentions weren’t always enough to put theory into practice. Because way too often these days he’d catch this look in Faith’s eyes as if she couldn’t quite figure out how she’d gotten there. She never nagged, never complained, but still, it was enough to make a man wonder if his best was even remotely good enough.

      Faith came into the den just then to announce that dessert was ready and did Darryl want her to bring his to him so he didn’t have to get up? Before he could answer, though, their eldest son pushed around his mother and streaked across the room, fully intent on launching his solid six-year-old self right at Darryl’s chest.

      “Jake, no!” she yelled, as her father grabbed the kid around the waist before he made contact.

      “I just wanted to hug Daddy!”

      “I know, sugar. But Daddy’s kinda banged up right now. The last thing he needs is you using him for a trampoline….”

      “Come here, Jakester,” Darryl said, carefully lifting his arm. “I need a hug, too.” He lowered his head as best he could to peer up underneath the boy’s shaggy bangs. “Only, you need to be real gentle. I’m basically one big bruise.”

      Somber-faced, the boy walked into Darryl’s one-armed