A Wife Worth Waiting For. Arlene James
boys and a lovely wife already big with another of Wyatt’s children. It was a good thing he also liked Wyatt Gilley immensely or their relationship could be strained.
As it was, he counted the Gilleys among his closest friends. Wyatt was a bit rough around the edges, but that was one of the things Bolton liked best about him. Wyatt was honest. He didn’t put his “Sunday face” on just because the preacher was around. In fact, Bolton doubted Wyatt even had a “Sunday face.” That made it very easy to relax around the man. Wyatt was good for him.
Maybe, if it came about, this arrangement with Trent Revere would be a good thing for him, too. He was a busy man, but he was also a lonely man in many ways. Trent was likely to liven things up a bit. What that boy needed most was somebody to play with him, somebody who would let him be a kid just for the sheer joy of it, somebody who could make him feel safe and protected and carefree. Unless Bolton’s judgment was skewed, the boy needed him. Maybe they needed each other. The kid seemed as lonely as he was. It occurred to him for the first time to wonder what Trent’s mother was like. Wallis had hardly mentioned her, and neither had Trent, though he hadn’t really had any opportunity. Bolton wondered briefly how it was that he had never met the woman. It was odd that she had never attended the services at his church. Perhaps she was of a different religious persuasion. If so, would she object to his spending time with her son? He suddenly hoped that was not the case. He liked that little boy. He was rather surprised to find how much he was looking forward to their first outing.
A light tap sounded on his office door at precisely four o’clock. Bolton put away the sermon notes he had been jotting down and rose to walk around his desk and lounge upon its corner.
“Come in.”
The door opened and a small, pretty woman walked through. Bolton came instantly to his feet, taken off guard by the delicate creature before him. Her wispy blond bangs hung in her eyes. The remainder, cropped at chin length, swirled around her head in charming disarray. Then she lifted her hands and swept the whole of it back from her face; it fell forward again in soft wings that revealed the precise, sophisticated cut. She smiled politely, the softness of her full mouth belied by the sharpness of large, tilted, moss-green eyes set deeply beneath straight, delicate brows. Her nose, though small, was finely cut. Her chin, gently pointed, gave way to the roundness of high-boned cheeks, lending her face the piquant shape of a heart. She straightened the ribbed bottom of the sleeveless, periwinkle blue knit top she wore with a matching pleated skirt. A single pearl at each earlobe was the only jewelry she wore. Bolton noticed, with interest, that she was not wearing a wedding ring.
She held out a dainty hand with manicured nails painted a soft shell pink. “Reverend Charles, I am Clarice Revere.”
“I assumed as much.” He smiled, very conscious of the way his hand literally swallowed hers. Hers was cool, almost weightless, making him very aware of the heat and heaviness of his own. He cleared his throat. “Ah, where is Trent? I thought he would be with you.”
Her smile was thin, rueful. “Yes, Wallis did intend that, but my father-in-law sometimes forgets that Trenton has a mother who does not like to shirk her responsibilities. I felt we should talk, you and I, before I decide whether or not this notion of Wallis’s is a good idea.”
Well, this was a surprise. Here was a female, small and cool and delicate, whom Wallis Revere had not succeeded in cowing despite years of undoubted effort. The lady possessed hidden strength. Bolton liked that. His grip tightened on her hand. Only then did he realize that he still held it. He let it go, forcing himself not to snatch his own hand back as if hers was a hot potato, and offered her a chair. Then, in a deliberate effort to put distance between them, he went back to his place behind the desk.
When they were both comfortably settled, he began. “What would you like to know, Mrs. Revere?”
She grimaced. “Clarice, please. In my mind, Mrs. Revere is still my late mother-in-law.”
He nodded, ridiculously pleased. “A fine woman, I understand.”
“A doormat,” she said bluntly, then grimaced again. “Forgive me. I’m afraid cynicism is a necessity in my present circumstance. Wallis is a terribly controlling man. I find I must remind myself at every turn not to knuckle under.”
“Which is what she did?” he asked gently.
Clarice Revere took a deep breath, as if immensely relieved to find that he understood. “Yes, and what I did for a long time, too.”
He templed his fingers. “I gather this visit has something to do with not ‘knuckling under’ again.”
Her smile was self-deprecating this time. “You’re a very perceptive man, Reverend.”
He bit back the temptation to offer her his given name, reminding himself that he was functioning here as a professional. “I don’t know Wallis well,” he said carefully, “but well enough.”
She laughed, the sound rich and clear and bright. “I think he was right in this instance.”
“About?”
“You,” she said. “About you being a good influence for my son.”
His pleasure at that was inordinate—and a little dangerous. Only with great effort did he manage to keep his manner one of relaxed professionalism. “Thank you. I look forward to spending time with Trent. Maybe you could give me some idea what he would like to do. His own list of favorite activities were rather solitary exercises.”
She frowned, nodding. “I am aware of that fact,” she said. Then she sighed and leaned for ward in the manner of one about to confide a personal secret. “I should explain something to you, Reverend Charles. This determination of mine not to let Wallis control our lives is fairly new. You see, when you’re lost and alone and responsible for a young child, it’s horribly easy to let someone else take care of you, and when that someone is a man like Wallis Revere, well, you find yourself being taken over completely. You start to lose yourself, and when that happens, you start to lose even the will to go on. I let that happen to myself a long time ago, but when I realized that it was happening to my son, too…” She lifted her chin. “I’m fighting him every way I know how, and I’m trying so hard to fight smart, to pick my battles and approach them from the position of greatest strength. But it isn’t easy. I have to weigh every situation carefully and be absolutely certain that if I take a position opposite Wallis that it is because it is the right thing to do. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”
He stifled the very inappropriate impulse to applaud the woman! Instead, he sat forward, forearms aligned atop the blotter on his desk, and mentally tamped down the absurd elation he was feeling. “I not only understand,” he said carefully, “I also approve, for what that’s worth.”
The smile she presented him this time was brilliant. “It’s worth a great deal!” she told him. “It means I can trust you to consider my wishes over those of my father-in-law should the two conflict.”
He was a little shocked. “But that goes without saying. You are, after all, the boy’s mother.”
He thought he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to her lap, but when she lifted her head abruptly a moment later, she was very much in control of herself. She crossed her slender legs at the knee, tugging gently at the hem of her skirt.
“I’m a little surprised at how this has gone,” she said. “I wanted to be honest with you, and you’ve made that very easy. Now I must ask that you be honest with me.”
He sat back again, liking her more and more. “By all means.”
She sat forward, her whole posture suddenly intense. “Were you coerced into this arrangement with my son? Isn’t it an inconvenience to be saddled with someone else’s little boy? Wouldn’t you rather not go through with it?”
Bolton couldn’t help grinning. “No. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. Very much.”
She seemed pleased, very pleased. She relaxed.