Life After Wife (Three Magic Words Trilogy, #3)(10)

“It’s your other room. Do with it whatever you want, but don’t be begging me to help carry things to the bunkhouse when you get a wild hair and want that room for a sewing room,” he quipped right back at her.

She took two steps toward him and tiptoed until her face was just inches from his. “I don’t sew. I’ll do my share of the housework, but you will help. I’ll help work cattle, put up hay, drive a tractor. Anything you can do, big boy, I can do better, so don’t be thinking I’m a little stay-in-the-house woman. If you’ve got a problem with helping to cook or washing dishes, don’t let those men leave until they’ve reloaded your things.”

He leaned down until his nose came so close that it became two when she tried to focus on it.

“I bet I’m a sight better housekeeper than you are, and I hate things out of order, so put that in your big-girl pipe and smoke it, sister. And I can sew when I want to, so add that to my list of accomplishments.”

“Honeymoon must be over,” one of the movers laughed.

“Honeymoon ain’t even started,” Elijah growled.

“Honeymoon ain’t never startin’,” Sophie hissed.

The movers all chuckled as they went back to the truck for another piece of expensive furniture, this time a leather recliner that had seen lots and lots of wear.

“Where do you want this?” two of them asked at the same time.

“In the den and take out all the furniture in there,” Elijah answered.

Sophie turned around abruptly and stomped into the house, slamming the screen door behind her. She watched the men as they placed the recliner where the old, brown, plaid one had sat as long as she could remember. In that moment she realized how badly she hated change. That’s what had kept her head buried in the sand all those years with Matt. To acknowledge that the only time her marriage was happy was when he was in front of the cameras on Sunday morning would mean she’d have to change things.

“That’s good. Right in front of the big-screen television,” Elijah said right behind her.

She pointed. “You see that little burgundy recliner over there by the bookcase? You move it one inch, and I’ll spend the rest of my life in jail for killing you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise that you can take to the bank. I mean it. That one is mine.”

He narrowed those cool blue eyes until they were little more than slits. “The living room is yours. The den is mine. Take it to the living room.”

“That was your idea, not mine. I love this den. It’s where I spend my evenings, and I’m not budging. Get out the duct tape, and we’ll mark off half the room. You can have half the formal living room, but you are not moving the sofa either,” she said.

He bit his lower lip. “You are a spitfire.”

“You are the devil.”

“OK, the ugly purple recliner can stay. Anything else you’re going to have a fit over?”

“The bookcase can’t be touched. I don’t care if you bring in your ugly, old, modern big-screen television, but you touch that rug in front of the fireplace, and I’ll poison your iced tea.”

“I don’t drink iced tea. I like ice-cold Dr Pepper,” he said.

“You can go to…” she stopped midsentence.

He chuckled. “I thought you were a preacher’s wife.”

“I thought you were a…” She couldn’t think of a word ugly enough to say. Not even her extensive repertoire of cuss words had one that would describe Elijah.

“I’ll let you think about that while I go tell these guys where I want the rest of my things placed,” he said.

Suddenly, Sophie was starving. She hadn’t known true hunger since the policeman knocked on her door and told her that there had been a plane crash. Fancy ate like a horse when she was upset. Kate always ate enough for two field hands. But Sophie ate when she had to, not because she wanted food.

She marched into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She piled little containers of leftovers on the cabinet and got a fork from the drawer. Cold chicken wasn’t bad at all; neither were baked beans or potato salad. When she took the top off some sauerkraut and hot links she paused.

“No guts, no glory,” she mumbled as she dug in.

“Wow! Even that’s good. Standing up for myself gave me an appetite! By Christmas, I may be calling on Omar the Tentmaker to make my clothes if it’s always like this,” she said when she’d chewed the first bite.



Elijah helped carry in his television and his sofa that matched the recliner. True to his word, he didn’t touch the ugly chair over by the bookcase. He scanned the titles, surprised to find several of his own favorite authors scattered among the familiar old classics that Maud had read and reread.

He’d finally accomplished his goal and made Sophie mad enough that she’d stormed off in a snit. Now he could do what he wanted with the den. The sofa needed to be exactly the right distance from the television to get the full effect of the big picture. The stereo system went into the corner where an antique secretary had sat for so long that there was a light spot on the carpet when they took it out of the room. He put on a Zac Brown CD and turned the volume to the right loudness as the guitar music started. He wiggled his head to the lyrics as Zac sang “Colder Weather.”

Elijah loved the mountains in Wyoming and Montana, but he wouldn’t want to live there forever. Still, the song reminded him of the times he’d taken his vacation time and gone to a cabin in the mountains and watched the sunset over the snowcaps. He sang loudly with Zac as he arranged things just so.