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“Are you telling me you’re unhappy? That you want a change?”
“Maybe.” Claire stepped away, where he wouldn’t confuse her. “I guess I want to change the partnership a little.”
She turned around and looked into Ben’s warm, dark eyes. If she weren’t careful, this argument would end with him promising plenty, changing nothing and romancing her into complacency.
“But I look at you and still see the sweet thing I married. And I promised to honor you, protect you and cherish you.”
That sounded like a caveman talking.
“But you didn’t promise to treat me like a child! Your sweet young thing is all grown up. And she’s got a lot more sense than you give her credit for!”
LYNN BULOCK
lives in Thousand Oaks, California, with her husband and two sons, a dog and a cat. She has been telling stories since she could talk and writing them down since fourth grade. She is the author of nine contemporary romance novels.
Walls of Jericho
Lynn Bulock
MILLS & BOON
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And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him who have been called according to His purpose.
—Romans 8:28
To Joe, always
And
To my parents, Walter and Betty Hosea,
a truly matched pair
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
It was going to be a lovely wedding. Claire Jericho was sure of it. Now, if she could just marshal the troops to get there in time she could enjoy her father’s lovely wedding.
Was she the only one in the whole extended family who could get ready on time? She paced the living room, hearing the click of her heels on the hardwood floor. She could hear the boys thumping around upstairs. Her two had the vague excuse of adding their cousin to the normal chaos of getting ready. But Ben had no excuse at all, and Laurel had their father’s whole apartment to herself to get ready in. Where was she?
Running late or trying to replace panty hose at the last moment, Claire told herself. Old habits died hard. She could still remember the bathroom mirror wars when all three girls were at home, in this same house. Laurel was always the last one ready, no matter how much time they gave her.
Carrie, of course, was first. But then she had to be talked into wearing something better than jeans, a ball cap and T-shirt, which made the whole process last twice as long. And while her parents squabbled with Carrie, or tried to hurry Laurel along, Claire quietly got ready for whatever event they were going to.
Most of the time, it was church at Friedens Community Chapel—where they were all heading today if the rest of them ever got ready. She picked a tiny piece of lint off the skirt of her pink dress, and sighed. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”
As if Laurel had actually heard Claire for a change, she came through the front door. “Sorry it took this long. I put a run through the first pair of panty hose with my fingernail.” She waggled her bright fuchsia nails. “Not used to these most of the time. They are elegant, though, aren’t they?”
“Definitely.” And probably cost more than Claire’s weekly grocery bill. California was far different from Friedens, for sure. Laurel looked elegant from head to toe, with her brown hair in a perfect chignon, slim suit the same shade as her nails, and gorgeous pumps in a shade Claire couldn’t even describe.
Her sister saw her looking at the shoes. “Yeah, I know, they’re a bit much. But everybody says gray is going to be the new neutral for a couple seasons. I saw them at the mall and bought them before I thought about them. Would you believe that I actually had them halfway home, ready to show them to Sam, before I remembered—” Laurel’s voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears.
“Okay, now don’t smear the makeup,” Claire said, grabbing a tissue out of the side pocket of her dress. That was one of the reasons she’d worn this pale pink one. It had pockets, and she knew she’d need them to fill with tissues. But she hadn’t thought she’d need them until church. “We said we’d get through this without thinking about Mom or Sam or any of those things.”
Laurel’s lip trembled. “I know. And I really meant it.” She ran the backs of both hands up her cheeks. “There. I’m done. Now let’s see where those guys are.”
“I think they’re about to find us.” Claire could hear somebody marching down the stairs. It was a lighter step than usual, but all four males upstairs had traded their usual athletic shoes for something dressier today. The sounds rounded the bend to the landing, and shiny black loafers with pinstriped pant legs came into view. That had to be Ben.
Claire’s heart still lifted at the sight of her husband. He looked so fine dressed up. He looked pretty good in the khakis and shirt he wore to work most days, but this was even better.
“It’s about time,” she told him. “You’re supposed to set an example for the rest of that bunch. I thought I was going to have to come drag all of you down.”
His grin was brighter than the sunshine streaming in the windows. And when he smiled like that, the same dimple appeared in his left cheek that she could trace now in Trent and Kyle.
“What if I don’t want to set a good example?” Ben got to the bottom of the staircase and put his arms around her waist. “What if I want to kiss you, instead? You look wonderful. How much of my money did you spend on that new dress?”
“None, silly. Because it isn’t new.”
He held her at arm’s length. “I’d remember that one from before, wouldn’t I?” His slightly wolfish grin suggested that the dress was as flattering as she’d hoped.
“Honest, it’s not new. I’ve, uh, enhanced it a little,” Claire said.
“New jewelry? Different belt?” He was still holding her around the waist, and it made Claire want to squirm slightly, combined with the way he was still admiring her.
“Try about ten pounds less inside the dress,” Laurel piped up from across the room. “Or does it take another woman to recognize that?”
Ben shrugged. “Whatever. It looks great, Claire. Want me to holler at the guys to get them down here?”
“Only if I get to cover my ears first,” Laurel told him. “I remember your hollering, Ben Jericho. And it could shatter glass.”
Claire braced herself for the ruckus she knew would erupt when Ben called the troops. At least this way they’d get to church on time.
Thirty minutes later everybody had made it the half block to church. With a minimum of fuss, they were all seated in the front pew, on the groom’s side. As the organ music played and the minister spoke, Claire sat and helped her sister work through a whole purse-size package of tissues. “This is silly,” she whispered as they stood for prayers. “I couldn’t be happier.”
It was a gorgeous June day. Sun streamed in the stained glass windows like a blessing, and the church was filled. Everything was going just right. But she was still crying. At least she wasn’t alone. She could hear sniffling down the aisles behind her. Weddings just seemed to naturally do that to people. Women, at least.
“Me, too. We just show it oddly, I guess,” Laurel said wryly. “The wonders of waterproof mascara.” She fished another tissue out of the package and dabbed at her eyes. “Daddy looks so happy.”
“He really does. I didn’t think this would ever happen.” Claire watched her father, beaming as he faced Gloria at the altar. It was amazing to Claire that after nearly a decade of being on his own, Hank had found someone to share his life with again.
He’d grieved long and hard after her mom had died from cancer. Who could have imagined that at sixty-one he’d be a bridegroom again? But it felt so right. Gloria was such a sweetheart. And she was so thrilled to have “lots of girls,” as she put it. Claire could understand that. It was nice having another female around the house this weekend, even if it was her big sister, and only for a few days.
The couple looked more than happy. Hank still cut a dashing figure in a tuxedo. But then, he even looked good in his usual sheriff’s uniform. And Claire had never seen Gloria look anything less than perfect, even when she was tending to her grandchildren. The pearl-gray suit she wore now fit her to perfection, and her wrist corsage of roses and baby orchids was luscious.
There was a shifting down the row, and Claire started to turn her head to see what her awful boys were getting up to. Laurel put a hand on top of hers. “Don’t look. You really don’t want to. I know that between yours and mine, they’re doing something horrid. Just nudge Ben and have him take care of it.”
That brought a smile to Claire’s face. Ben handle the disturbance? Her husband was the biggest boy of all. He was probably in on whatever those hooligans down the row were doing. As was their Aunt Carrie, most likely. Her baby sister was never much for either romance or decorum. Even a wedding was not likely to change that. At least they’d talked her into wearing a dress. That sight itself might have set the boys off. They’d probably had no idea Carrie had legs.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to give Laurel’s suggestion a try. “Ben?” she called softly. “Sit on whatever those guys are doing, okay?” She reached out to squeeze his arm and get his attention, in case her words hadn’t. Good old solid Ben—her rock since she was no older than her fourteen-year-old nephew Jeremy.
“Right,” Ben whispered back, leaning over her. His lips brushed her ear, making Claire shiver a little. His touch still did that to her after almost twenty years of dating and marriage. Just the solid wall of his arm in that dark suit, the touch of his mouth as he whispered to her, made her spin. She was so fortunate. The tears welled up again, and she grabbed another tissue from Laurel.
“We’re a mess,” her sister muttered. “A happy mess, but we are definitely a mess.”
“It can only get better. I think they’re almost to the end. At least we won’t cry during the reception.”
They didn’t, because there was just too much going on all at once. The huge hall beneath the church was packed with people. Her father had insisted that they were not going to do a sit-down dinner and band and all the trimmings. “We know too many people who want to be here,” he’d told the girls. “Nobody would have room to dance.”
Claire had felt like arguing at the time, but her dad was right. The hall held several hundred people without a problem, and it was filled to capacity. Everybody in Friedens seemed to be here to wish Hank and Gloria well.
When Claire thought about it, that didn’t surprise her. Gloria had been the leading Realtor in town about as long as her dad had been sheriff. Between them, it would be hard to find a family within twenty miles whose lives hadn’t been touched by the people standing near the front table, smiling at each other.
Had she and Ben looked that happy nearly sixteen years ago? Of course they had, Claire told herself. But then, at the time she was all of eighteen, and Ben not quite twenty. They were too young and stupid to be anything but happy.
Not stupid, really, she mused. But they hadn’t had any idea what they were up against—unlike Hank and Gloria, who’d been married before, raised children and each lost a spouse. Still, they looked radiant. Claire was filled with the impulse to go over and hug her dad, to tell him how happy he looked.
Not that he’d take well to a hug in public, even now. But she could get away with it here. As she crossed the floor toward Hank, she looked around to see where the boys had gotten to. Kyle must have seen her searching, because he bounded up to her.
At least he’d looked presentable during the wedding. The eleven-year-old was actually wearing a white shirt and tie, although the tie was drooping now and the top collar button was undone.
“Hey, Mom. You never told me Aunt Carrie could burp the alphabet.”
Claire couldn’t help shaking her head. “It just never occurred to me, Kyle. It’s not a talent that gets much use, even for Carrie. Tell me she’s not doing that for you guys here. Is she?”
“Not exactly. But she can spell words. Jeremy still has her beat on sound volume, anyway.”
There was that familiar dimple beside his grin. It looked just as appealing on her blond son as it did on her dark-haired husband.
“Which has more bubbles?” he asked. “Fountain soda or cans?”
“Cans. Don’t shake them and don’t join the contest, understood?” She ran a hand through his hair, only to have him pull back.
“Gel, remember?”
Of course. Trent and Jeremy had helped him style the unruly mop before the wedding. “Right. Sorry. And I mean it about being good, got it?”
“Got it,” he said over his shoulder, heading over to join the beverage line and get his can of something extremely bubbly.
Maybe she should hunt down the boys and Carrie, and settle them down. Shaking her head again, Claire sought her father, instead.
“Sorry you didn’t have a band?” she asked him, giving him a quick hug. She was surprised when he answered her with a hearty squeeze right there in the middle of the church hall. If this was what marriage did for her usually reticent father, she liked it.
“A little bit. It would be fun dancing with Gloria. But then I’d get roped into dancing with all you girls, and two dozen ladies with blue hair, and I’m just as glad not to have to do that.”
“I imagine.” Claire looked over at Gloria, who had her granddaughter Mikayla on her hip and was straightening the stretchy headband in the child’s fluffy pale hair. “So, are you two going to sneak out soon?”
Hank shrugged. “Don’t see how we can for a while. I’m just glad we decided to go off to Branson for a few days. It will seem calm compared to this.”
He put an arm around Claire again, and she marveled at the happiness in his blue eyes.
“Did I give you the last set of keys to the apartment?” he asked. “I can always come get them when we get back, to clear out the last of the boxes.”
“You sure did. They’re on the dresser, next to Ben’s huge ring of keys from the hardware store. You could have kept a set if you wanted, though.”
“It’s safe this way. In more ways than one. This way if we have a spat, I don’t have any way to go home to the family.”
Claire giggled. “Right, Dad. That will happen. You two look like you couldn’t be happier. And I’m sure it will last.”
Hank winked at her. “If it lasts as long as you and Ben, we would make the papers as the oldest couple in the county, I think.”
She thumped him on the shoulder, but gently. “I meant your happiness. And anyway, in sixteen years you’d only be—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t even go there, my dear. I know it’s true, but I don’t want to be reminded.” Pulling back, he smiled, then came in to kiss her on the forehead in a very uncharacteristic, but endearing gesture. “I’ll check in next week when we get back from Branson, and bring the truck over to move the last of the boxes. I’m down to odds and ends that Gloria doesn’t want to see, I imagine.”
“Like that elk head from Canada that Mom wouldn’t let in the house, I’ll bet.”
Hank grinned. “You didn’t notice that was already out of the garage? Gloria put it in the mudroom for a hat rack. The woman has quite a sense of humor.”
“Yeah, she married you,” Claire teased. “Seriously, though, all happiness. Have a good trip to Branson.”
“We will. You two taking off now?”
Claire shook her head. “Not yet. And you know that by the time we leave it will be seven, not two. We’ve still got Laurel and Jeremy. And the boys, who are having some kind of contest with Carrie that I don’t want to know about. I just wanted to come over here and catch you while I could.”
“Good job,” Hank told her. “Of course you’d manage to come while Gloria was holding Mikayla. I’m sure that was pure coincidence.”
Gloria, hearing her name, came closer. “Coincidence, hmm? Where Claire and babies are concerned, I don’t think so, Hank. I’d offer to let you hold her, but she’s at that age where there aren’t many people, besides her mom, that she’ll go to.”
“She is a doll baby, though, isn’t she?” Claire stroked the wispy hair, not getting close enough to frighten the wide-eyed child. “Like I told Dad, all the best. And have a great time in Branson.”
“I’m sure we will.” Gloria’s eyes glowed with happiness, and possibly with a few unshed tears.
Claire wondered what kind of feelings went through a woman’s head on a second wedding day like this. It was hard for Claire to imagine.
Suddenly she had a question—for Ben. She knew it might be hours before she got her answer. But it was very important. She made her goodbyes, and found him discussing the fall football season and Friedens’s chances against their biggest rival in Union.
Some of the folks in the discussion seemed to think Trent would automatically follow his father’s lead as Friedens High School’s star quarterback. Ben didn’t disabuse them of the notion, even though he knew how Claire felt about the boys playing football. She was nervous enough that Trent would probably be on junior varsity in the fall.
When Ben slipped an arm around her, it was almost without looking—and, she suspected, without thinking. Just one of those automatic reactions because she was there.
The thought was still playing over in her mind later that same night, when she was standing at the bathroom mirror, brushing her hair before bed.
Sometimes it was very helpful to have your husband run a hardware store. Even if he didn’t have the time to do all the work himself, they could afford all the materials to keep the place in shape. She was glad that they’d done the remodeling of the old house, giving them a real master bathroom. This way she could look in the mirror and through the doorway, if the door was open, see Ben in bed stretched out the way he was now, propped up on one elbow. How somebody looked that appealing in a plain gray T-shirt was beyond her.
“Ben? Wasn’t it a nice wedding?” She put down the hairbrush and smoothed her shoulder-length waves. Still no gray among the light brown. Not everybody could say that at thirty-four.
“Nice? Sure. It was real nice.” Ben seemed to be interested in the sports magazine on the bed.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Any time.” He still didn’t lift his head from the magazine, but he was listening. That much she knew.
“I got the strangest feeling while I was at the reception watching Gloria and Dad. They looked so happy. Were we that happy?”
“Of course. We were so happy we nearly floated.”
She could see his eyes in the mirror now, behind her, looking a little puzzled. “If you knew everything then, do you think you’d still do it the same way? Getting married that young, and all?” She wanted to add that she would—in a moment. But something stopped her. Perhaps it was the silence from the bedroom.
She could hear crickets outside through an open window. And little night-peeper frogs. But no answer from her husband. “Ben?” she asked again.
“I heard you. And honestly, I don’t know.”
As Claire turned toward the bed, it was as if the foundations of her world slipped slightly, pushing her off center.
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