Spring Fever

What, A

Strings and woodwinds warbled, a lovely classical piece that seemed hauntingly familiar. “What’s that song?” A

Must not think of sex in church. Must not think of sex in church. Must not think of Mason naked.

Instead, she tried to think of Shane, naked. Her fiancé had a perfectly nice body, tall and rangy, and he had long, artistic fingers, but he was just the slightest bit self-conscious, even in bed, which she thought must be unusual. Weren’t musicians supposed to be wildly uninhibited? Oh, but Mason, naked! A

Fortunately, her best friend didn’t notice. She was humming the processional under her breath. Pokey had taken piano for years at Sallie’s insistence, and was actually a credible musician, when she cared to be. She gave a sniff of disapproval. “Handel. Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. As if.”

The bride took her first step down the aisle.

Celia was tiny, dainty, exquisite, a queen of Sheba in miniature, A

Seeing the regal bride, A

“Geezus H!” Pokey chortled, elbowing A

“Hush,” A

The bride paused for a moment, basking in this, her moment of glory. She adjusted her train, raised her chin, and began to glide down the white-carpeted aisle. Celia’s ensemble was simplicity itself. She wore no jewelry other than her engagement ring, except a pair of shoulder-brushing diamond drop earrings, and in the now-darkened church, the diamonds spun kaleidoscopic reflections on the ceiling. She clutched a single immense calla lily—the size of a majorette’s baton—in her elbow-length gloved hands.

Halfway up the aisle, Celia’s cloak of poise slipped, just a bit. She frowned and slowed her gait.

The music was still playing. A

Mason’s back was ramrod straight. His lips were curved in a slight, frozen smile, but the rest of his face seemed a mask, his eyes flickering rapidly, side to side.

Sophie had stopped again, this time only a few yards from the altar. She was looking around, studying the flowers, her grandmother and cousins in the front pew, waving shyly at her adored na

Letha leaned out into the aisle. “Go on, baby,” she whispered. “You’re doing great.”

So what if the groom was nervous? A

She had to give Mason credit. Faced with a six-month-old baby and apparently irrefutable proof of the child’s paternity, he had done the right thing. The Baylesses did not shirk responsibility. He had been forced to, as Davis so cynically put it, “man up.” Letha had been hired as a na

Sophie, who’d been a spindly, colicky infant when she came to them, had slowly begun to blossom. Mason’s responsibilities for Quixie had formerly kept him on the road four days out of every week, but after Sophie arrived, he’d reshuffled his responsibilities to allow him to spend most evenings with her. And he had fallen head over heels in love with his little girl.

Mason had a lot on his plate, A

He seemed to be holding up reasonably well under the pressure, A

A

Not soon enough. A

It was a tell! How many times had she seen that involuntary signal? Across the room at a boring di

He wants out, A

As she watched, she felt the past come rushing back with a ferocity that nearly knocked her down. And it struck her, this was not just a flare-up she was experiencing, not just a bout of spring fever. This was full-blown passion.

This can’t happen. She can’t have him. I want him back.

Her fingers gripped Pokey’s arm in a death lock.

“Heey,” Pokey whispered, giving her a worried look. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

A

The music kept playing. Celia floated past them in a cloud of perfume. A

Stop that woman! A

No, no, no! A

But suddenly, a forlorn, high-pitched wail rose above the violins and the piccolos.

It was Sophie. Just a few feet from the altar, she crumpled to the carpet in a pink tulle heap. She was writhing and clutching her tummy. She howled. “It hurts! Daddy, it hurts!”

5

For a moment, nobody moved. An instant later, Mason was kneeling at Sophie’s side. He gently scooped her into his arms, and she twisted like a caged animal. Worse than screaming, she was only whimpering now, words A