Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(56)

“Thank you.” I carried my tea to the armchair and sat. It was totally inappropriate for me to have Ben Aden in my house, unchaperoned. Alone. Me, wearing sinful pants that showed off my feminine form. I fought a smile and sipped my tea. It needed to brew much longer, was weak and unsweetened. I sipped anyway, fighting the giggle that wanted to erupt from me. “My mama—”

“Sent me to see you. Away from family.”

“She’s matchmaking,” I said, thinking that she woulda never done such a thing except that I’d been widowed and the social mores were different for widder-women. “Being devious,” I added.

“Oh yes. She is. It’s what churchwomen do whenever there’s a single man looking for a wife.”

Looking for a wife. I sipped my tea. Placed the mug on the table with a soft thump. “Ben, I like my job. I like my life. I love my farm. I’m not a churchwoman anymore.” I was, however, babbling. “I ain’t—I’m not ever going to live on church grounds and be part of a huge family. I don’t even know if I want kids.” I stopped suddenly. I’m not human. That was the important part. I couldn’t say that. Some of the churchmen might still be desirous of burning nonhumans at the stake. It had happened before, long ago. A woman accused of being a witch, burned to death. Mud. Esther. Priscilla. Judith. Mama. Or perhaps Daddy. Or my whole family, every man, woman, and child. It would be a midnight fire, source unknown, fast burning. The church would never call a fire department. Everyone inside would die.

Ben’s full lips moved in an easy smile that was slightly crooked, his teeth strong and white. “Nell . . .” It sounded like a caress.

I shook my head no. My cell dinged with another text. I pulled it from my pocket and cradled it in my hand without looking at it.

Ben said, “I love the land and the people. I don’t love the lifestyle of four wives and forty children running around all over.” Forty children wasn’t an impossible number, if a man kept four wives and a few concubines all busy, but it made my frozen face crack a smile. “I came back to the church to effect change. Along with Sam and his other friends, we want to see the church move into the twenty-first century. I want a wife who can help that happen.”

I stilled. Wife . . . I’d been a wife. It hadn’t been all bad. John was an old man when he told me it was time to come to the marriage bed. I was fifteen. I’d been an old bride by church standards. John wasn’t too demanding. A few times a month. And it had kept me safe. Until he fell sick and died and left me a widder-woman and landowner and far better off than the churchwomen. John had left Soulwood to me.

Being in John’s bed had been unpleasant, but I’d thought it was worth it to be safe from the man who wanted to own me. It was the kind of compromise women made all over the world: sex and nurturing and nursing for safety. Prostitution of a different kind.

“I don’t know if we would suit,” he said, “but I’d like to get to know you better. I’d like to take you to dinner.”

I had been staring into the distance, and whipped my eyes to him.

Dinner.

His dark hair had fallen across his forehead in a long curl. Too long by church standards. And Ben Aden wanted to take me to dinner. Like Occam did. Occam who had kissed me. Playing the field, JoJo had called it once when I was in the room with her and T. Laine as they talked about men. Dating. “Oh. Umm. Oh.” I looked around the house as if I had never been there. Dusty. Cat prints. Lumpy brownish couch. Tattered chairs. I hadn’t noticed they were in such bad shape. John’s and Leah’s things. So little that was mine. I didn’t know what to say to Ben.

Tears filled my eyes. Maybe fear. Maybe confusion. Maybe lots of things. I blinked hard to push them away. “Um.” My cell dinged again. Then twice more with reminders for the first two. I held up the cell as if to show him where the dings were coming from, or like a lifeline, and thumbed it on.

The first text was from Mama, telling me she was sending someone over with fresh eggs. Not even thinking that I might be at work or sleeping off a night of work. No. Expecting me to be at home like a good churchwoman, because the idea of a woman with a regular job was beyond her world reference. Not mentioning Ben. Setting me up for matchmaking.

The second text was from HQ, updating me as to time and location for the op.

The last text was from Occam. It said, Driving up your mountain. We need to talk.

“Oh. Dear Lordy Moses,” I whispered.

“What?” Ben asked, concern lacing his voice.

A car pulled up outside. Cello leaped to the floor and raced to the front door, as if knowing that a big-cat had come calling. Mworing loudly.

“This is about to be uncomfortable,” I said, standing. “A coworker is here to have a chat.” All truth. Not lying at all. “I don’t know about dinner.”

“Would you like to meet for coffee in the morning? Like normal people do? Somewhere in town?” Ben asked, bemused by my obvious and growing panic. A car door closed. The other cats raced to join Cello.

Were the cats moon-called yet? What would Occam do if—when—he met Ben? Occam who wanted to date me, and whose cat might perceive Ben as competition. My breathing was too fast. My hands were tingling. Soulwood seemed to roll over in the winter deeps and reach for me. Oh no. I’d grow leaves. A peculiar laugh stuttered out of me.