Baby Dreams And Wedding Schemes

“Oh, of course.” Sasha smiled, watching the round face with a pang. He looked so forlorn as he recounted the death of all his little pets.

“Henry was ’sposed to be my last chance. Now he’s dead, too. Just like my mom.”

It came out of left field, knocking her back in her chair.

“Your mom,” she half whispered, shocked by his bald statement. “What happened to your mom?”

He sniffed loudly. “She got dead, too.” He bent his head, shifting away from her probing glance.

“Was she sick?” Sasha hated asking the questions but for some reason she just had to know how this little scrap of a child came to be without a mother.

“Uh-uh. Least, I don’t think so. She got dead from a guy.”

“Oh, Cody.” Her soft heart melted then and she cuddled the wiggling little sweat-scented body close to her abundant chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. A mommy’s an awful thing for a boy to lose.” -

He hugged her back tightly, sniffing at the threatening deluge of tears. When at last he pushed away, Sasha let him go with an empty ache in her heart and her arms.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “‘Sides, she’s in heaven now.” He cocked his head to one side. “Do you know, ’bout heaven?” he demanded, wiping one sleeve across his nose as he frowned up at her.

Sasha smiled. “Yes, I do. And I think your mom is very happy there.”

His big eyes studied her speculatively for a moment. “I guess.”

“But it still hurts, doesn’t it?” she guessed.

“Yeah.” He nodded glumly. “My mom used to laugh all the time. We had fun and we had lots of good times together. She always had surprises for me. Now we never have them. My dad doesn’t talk about her no more.”

“Why, Cody?” It was an invasion of privacy and under any other circumstances Sasha wouldn’t have probed, but there was something about Cody and his sad little face that tugged at her heartstrings, begged her to listen to his childish explanation.

“’Cause it’s my fault that she died and he don’t want people to blame me, I guess.”

“Oh, sweetheart, no. It isn’t your fault at all. It couldn’t be.” Sasha couldn’t bear to hear it. She gazed into those trusting brown eyes and the familiar ache for a child of her own welled once more.

Stop it, she ordered her brain. Think about this child for now.

He was watching her, waiting.

“Sometimes God just wants people to go and live with him, honey, and there’s nothing we did or can do that will stop that.” Sasha had no idea where the words came from but she was thankful Cody seemed to accept them.

His forehead wrinkled in a frown as he considered what she said, as if checking her sincerity. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, positively, unfailingly, irrevocably, indubitably sure, Cody.”

“I dunno what all that stuff means,” he mumbled, his face tipped up so that she could see the light that gleamed in his eyes. “But if you’re sure that I didn’t do nuthin’ bad, I guess that’s okay.”

With lightning swift change he shifted the conversation mode. “Can I play with those trains?” His head jerked toward the doorway. “I never had no trains to play with before.”

Sasha smiled. She was a fool. With his track record in pet care, she shouldn’t let him anywhere near the display. Let alone touch it. Nevertheless, she heard herself agree.

“Yes, you can play with them if you treat them very carefully. They’re my special trains and they don’t like it if you’re rough with them. Okay?”

His eyes were as big as saucers at the prospect of handling the models. He nodded his agreement as she led him back inside. Together they maneuvered the huge board outside onto the lush green lawn. Sasha ran an extension cord and tested the entire mechanism.

When his plump little fingers closed around a fire-red engine, she posed one last question. “What’s your dad’s name, Cody? I need to call him and tell him you’re here.”

His big clear eyes stared at her for one long moment, assessing her. Then he shrugged. “His name is Jacob Windsor,” he told her proudly. The child’s brow furrowed. “He don’t like people buggin’ him when he’s workin’ though.”

Sasha held her tongue with difficulty. Of all the insensitive brutes! “Well, I have to tell him where you are, Cody,” she said with some asperity. “He could be worried.”

Doubtful, her mind chided spitefully.

Cody watched her for a moment and then recited his father’s phone number with a happy grin. Pleased with his good memory, he turned back to his perusal of her trains.

Sasha squared her shoulders. Jacob Windsor had to be a cold, insensitive man. He sure didn’t deserve to have a wonderful son like Cody. How else did one explain a father who would leave a child so floundering, so unsure of his place in the world? This boy needed love and support, not guilt about his mother’s death, regardless of what had happened.

She poured herself another glass of milk and considered the situation at hand. It was up to her to rectify the matter, Sasha decided. If the man was so anesthetized to his son’s doubts and questions, it was her duty to set Mr. Jacob Windsor straight. The man needed to know his son was in pain and help him alleviate it.

She wasn’t surprised when the knock came at the side door fifteen minutes later. A stiff and formal telephone voice had curtly informed her that the Reverend Jacob Windsor would be over immediately to collect Cordell.

But when she opened the door, Sasha lost all ability to converse as she gazed at the very tall, very handsome man who stood waiting.

He’s taller than you. Her eyes relayed this unheard-of information with lightning speed to her foggy brain as Sasha tried to ignore the pulse of awareness thudding through her body.

“I believe my son is here,” he said quietly, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“Oh. Uh, yes. Yes, he is. Outside playing.” She nodded, holding the door wider.

Get a grip, she ordered her mushy brain. Think of the boy.

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you first, though. I’m Sasha Lambert.” She thrust her hand out toward him and was surprised to feel the strength in his lean grip.

He was tall, six three or four at least. And gaunt That was the only way to describe the jutting bones that carved the aristocratic planes of his rugged face. His jet-black hair flowed away from his forehead with just a tinge of silver visible on the sides. Solemn and sad, gray eyes met hers, cloudy with his own thoughts.

“Jacob Windsor. I’m the new minister at First Avenue.”

She digested the news with a nod, motioning to the nearest kitchen chair. Stern and sober; the name suited him and his profession.

“I assume that is your craft store in front,” he murmured. “I hope Cody didn’t break something.” His voice had the wistful tone of a man who knew the truth and wished he didn’t.

Sasha glanced down the long, lean length of him, taking note of the old-fashioned trousers and shirt he wore and the shabby jacket with elbow patches. Even so, the man was a hunk.

“I’ve just made coffee,” she offered, forcing herself to smile, hoping to counteract the lack of air in her lungs. “Would you like some?”

“Please don’t bother on my account. I’ll just take Cody home and leave you in peace.”

He turned toward the back door abruptly, causing Sasha to jump in where angels wouldn’t have.

“No, please.” She grasped his sleeve in her fingers, tugging him away from the screen and Cody’s whirring sounds as he ran the engine around the track. “I really do want to talk to you and it would be easier over a cup of coffee, don’t you think?”