Groom by Design. Christine Johnson
He’d repeated those words often the past two days, but it sounded even less convincing in church.
Sam was never so happy to rise for a benediction. He’d barely heard a word of the sermon. Something about doing unto others. Standard material. The moment the benediction ended, the congregation headed for the doors, where the minister greeted them before they scattered for the shade. Sam waited in line behind Ruth and her older sister, exuberant toddler still in hand.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Beatrice Kensington sighed as she reached for her son. “I can take him from here.”
She’d have a struggle. The boy had found his legs and wanted to run.
“Let’s wait until we’re outside.” Sam kept hold of the squirming toddler’s hand. “I don’t mind.”
Truly he didn’t, for it kept him close to Ruth and her family. The sisters did resemble one another, but each had somewhat different features. Most people would consider Beatrice the beauty of the family, but Sam preferred Ruth’s paler blue eyes and fairer complexion. Her features were also finer, more delicate. Her skin looked soft as silk.
Jen, on the other hand, was dark and tall. The family resemblance could be found in her facial features, though her eyes bordered on hazel, as if all the colors on the palette had been thrown together. Minnie was the shortest, her hair a muddy-blond, almost brown, but her eyes matched those of her oldest sister.
“New in town?” The minister’s question pulled Sam from his assessment of the sisters.
Beatrice took her son, allowing Sam the opportunity to shake Pastor Gabe’s hand.
“Just arrived on Friday.” Sam was surprised by the minister’s strong grip.
“Thought I saw you the other day,” the minister said. “You’re working on the new store, right? Peter Simmons mentioned you had him do some carpentry for you.”
Ruth’s head turned at those words, her approval clear.
Sam, on the other hand, suspected the minister really wanted to know what type of store Sam was opening. He tried to relax his shoulders. The questions would get more and more probing by the day, and people would expect answers. He shouldn’t have come to church today. He shouldn’t have agreed to spend any time at all with the townsfolk. In the past he’d maintained his distance until after the grand opening. But it was too late now. He’d introduced himself to Ruth and her family, and there was no going back.
He concentrated on the minister and forced what he hoped was a casual smile. “Peter does fine work for someone his age. I was quite impressed.”
The minister proved just as unshakable. “He certainly has God-given talent and the willingness to share. That’s what we’re all about here. Sharing.”
The emphasis wasn’t lost on Sam. Pastor Gabe expected open communication and honesty. Ruth expected the same. Both hung on Sam’s response.
He used his smile to deflect the question. “Wouldn’t expect anything different.”
“Neither would I.” The minister’s grin told Sam he understood the bluff, but wasn’t calling him on it this time. “Let me add my welcome to the others. Staying long?”
“Can’t say yet.” That was true. After the grand opening, he would probably go to another location. “I hope it’ll be a while.” He was surprised to find that was also true. In just two days, Pearlman’s tidy homes and friendly folk had captivated him.
“If you need anything while you’re here, just ask,” Pastor Gabe said.
“Thank you, but I can’t see what I’d need.”
“The offer’s open. I know pretty much everyone in town. We might be small, but we have big hearts.”
That sounded like a great advertising slogan. Sam mentally tested it for his store but dismissed the idea. In a town the size of Pearlman, Hutton’s was anything but small. When finished, it would be the largest retail establishment in town. Only the airplane-engine factory covered more square footage.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, glad to escape into the fresh air.
Beatrice followed. “Thank you again for your help.”
“My pleasure,” he said, though an hour tending the boy had exhausted him more than a full day of work.
Ruth, still holding Beatrice’s little girl, joined them in the shade of a large maple. “We’re having a picnic this afternoon. In the park. You should join us, Beattie. The children would love it. Maybe Blake would come, too.” She glanced toward Sam. “Mr. Roth agreed to join us. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“The more the merrier,” Sam dutifully replied, though the presence of Beatrice’s family would put a crimp in talking to Ruth.
“I—I don’t think so.” Beatrice’s gaze flicked to the street. “We’re busy.”
That sounded like an excuse, but Ruth didn’t press the point. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe.” Beatrice hurried toward a sleek black Cadillac that had just pulled to a stop. She opened the rear door and lifted the children inside.
What a cad of a driver! A hired man ought to get out of the vehicle and assist the lady.
Sam started forward until he noticed that the dark-haired man behind the wheel sported a fashionable suit. The little girl called him “Daddy.” That cad was Beatrice’s husband. Sam recognized the distracted self-absorption of careless pleasure-seekers, whose quest for self-indulgence knew no limits because they’d been born privileged. Money bought them out of scrapes. Money insulated them from recrimination. Sam’s wife had been one of that set, and, to some extent, so had he. But she had paid the price for her sins, while he lived to regret his every day.
The driver leaned across to open the passenger door. Beatrice grabbed her expensive beaded bag off the fender and climbed in. Her diamond ring flashed in the sun, and the truth finally sank in. Beatrice had married into money.
The Foxes would not lose their shop. Beatrice could bail them out.
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