“That’s what I want you to always feel with me, Mara. To know that I’ll always keep you and Emmaline safe.”
A pang of worry cuts in. “You won’t let anyone get too close to her, will you? You’ll keep everyone away?”
“No one’s touching our daughter. No one.”
My eyes narrow as an unexpected flare of jealousy waters down the worry. “And you won’t be dancing with Laurel or Flower or anyone else.” A demand rather than a question. Any woman who hoped to snag him in marriage doesn’t deserve to have her name spoken correctly. Warren Shay is my husband.
Mine.
He grins crookedly. “Well, would you look at that. I had no idea green would look so good on you, Mara, and I don’t just mean your dress. Have no fear, darlin’. All my dances belong to you now. I swear it. Even though Old Widow Hester will be heartbroken.” His lips graze the back of my hand before he calls back to his brother. “Jed, take good care with my wife.”
The weight of his gaze stays on me as Jedidiah offers a courteous hand and guides us back into the whirlwind of couples. Dancing with him is altogether different than with my husband. Namely since he maintains more than a respectable amount of space between us and limits his touch to lightly rest on my shoulder blade instead of my waist.
Jedidiah breaks the silence before it can grow too awkward. “You’re good for him, you know.”
“Am I?” I reply curiously. But then I misstep and trample over his feet. “I’m sorry. Talking and dancing at the same time is a bit too advanced for me.”
“No harm done when you’re as light as a feather, sister. I’ll do the talking so you can focus on the dancing.” He effortlessly returns us to the rhythm. “And I take it back. You’re more than good for my brother. He’s always been a hopeless romantic, but now that he has you and Emmaline? If he died tomorrow, he’d die a happy man since he got everything he ever wanted.”
My throat tightens as a noise escapes. The thought of something happening to Warren is disturbing.
“Dang it, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…well, shit. Shoot,” Jedidiah mumbles when he catches the troubled expression I can’t hide. “Let me try again. I just meant that he’s only ever wanted a love to call his own, and now he does. Doubly so because now he has a baby. You and Emmaline complete him.”
For what it’s worth, I think he does regret his choice of phrasing. The remnants of a grimace reflect in eyes so similar to my husband’s. Then a twinkle forms as he changes the subject. “You ever heard of the story of the princess who kissed a frog?”
When I answer no, mischief lights in his gaze. “Oh, you need to hear this. So there was this spoiled princess who accidentally dropped her golden ball into the water right by a frog. It was too deep for her, so the frog told her he’d fetch it for her if she’d give him a kiss afterward.”
I frown. “Frogs can’t talk.” And to kiss one? Absolutely disgusting.
“They can in this story. The princess dried her tears and agreed to kiss him if he helped her.” Jedidiah chuckles at the way my lips roll in. “The frog retrieved her ball, but the princess didn’t keep her word. The idea of kissing a frog covered in warts…well that was just too much for her so she ran away. The frog gave chase, just a hop hop hopping along behind her, all the while telling her how lonely he was and could he have just one kiss. One kiss and he’d leave her alone.
“Well, the princess may have been spoiled, but she wasn’t completely heartless, so she finally agreed to give him his kiss. Pinching her eyes closed to hide the warts, she picked him up all nice and gentlelike with both hands.Puckered up her lips and gave him the quickest peck of a kiss.”
I’m equal parts horrified and intrigued. “Then what?”
Jedidiah laughs. “Keep dancing and I’ll tell you.” My cheeks heat, but I fall back into the music again. “So after that, the frog turned into a prince.”
“A prince? But he was a frog.”
“Yes, but anything can happen in stories,” he reminds me. “The frog became a handsome prince, and he married the princess and brought her back to his palace to live with him. Romantic, right?”
“In a way.” Maybe. But I still can’t understand how the princess could kiss a frog to begin with. I almost don’t blame her for not keeping her word.
“Now Warren was only a boy of about seven years the first time he heard this story, and the minute Momma told it to him, he was enthralled. Wanted it as a bedtime story for a week straight. Then one day, he marched himself right down to the riverbank.”
“No!” I gasp as an inkling of suspicion grows. “Tell me he didn’t…”
“He did.” Jedidiah’s disgust matches my own. “Every frog he came across got a kiss from him just in case it could be his princess. It wasn’t until the morning he woke up with red spots all around his mouth that Momma found out what he’d been doing and made him quit.”
I hold back the laughter battering at my lips, but a smile still breaks through as the song ends. “So am I a frog or a princess?” I search the crowd until I find Warren holding Emmaline and staring back at me. He waves at me with her little hand, and the picture of him as a mischievous child is so easy to see. Then the image is replaced by a young boy with mismatched eyes, and a quick pang darts through me.His childhood couldn’t have been so carefree. But I couldn’t do anything for him then and neither can I now.
“Without a doubt, you’re my brother’s princess, Mara. And all of us are so happy that you and Emmaline are part of the family.”
Family. I let the word settle into the cozy space Warren created in my heart as Jedidiah leads me back to my husband, daughter, and newfound family. “Thank you for dancing with me, sister.”
Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for calling me sister.
That’s what I want to say, but instead I nod with a small smile and lean into the familiar arm that sneaks about my waist.
