Brad had been the perfect date. Assisting her when needed, refilling her teacup, and never displaying too much attention or ownership, which he could have easily resorted to in Quinn’s presence.
“You are the perfect gentleman, Brad, thank you.”
“I got a bit sleepy in there, drinking herbal tea; I’m usually in bed before ten.”
“Ten?”
“Yes. I get up at 4:00 a.m.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” According to the clock on the dash, it was one fifteen in the morning.
“I was the one who’d invited myself, and I knew it would be a late gathering. Pray for me tomorrow. I mean today.” He winked across the cab at her.
If her heart hadn’t already been taken . . . Brad Ungerbach was an exceptional man. She would keep him in her prayers.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Tuesday afternoon, Katherine called Evans’s office and left a voicemail message. Approximately one hour later, the phone rang.
“Hi, Katherine, it’s Evans returning your call.”
“Hi, Professor, I have a few questions.” Katherine pulled back the lace curtain to view Grandma in the yard.
“Shoot.”
“Quinn said you’re getting Miss Wazzu’s number, and then he’d call her.”
Evans chuckled. “When did he tell you that?”
“Last night.”
“The dog! He hasn’t asked me.”
“He also told me that he didn’t want to go, but was waiting to see what happened with Brad and me.”
“He may wait until the last minute. Keep me posted, and I’ll work on the phone situation. The woman has to have a Washington area code. Shoot!”
Ж
Wednesday morning, Grandma drove Katherine to the parking lot near the Administration Building. Katherine took the elevator to the second floor and hobbled to Benton’s Civil War class. Her backpack was lighter than normal, hosting only a spiral notebook and a couple of pens.
On one foot, she hopped to her usual seat and, leaning forward, set the crutches on the floor. Seated on the front of his desk, Benton flipped through his notes. He wore a wrinkled Wazzu-maroon polo and brown Dockers. Bummer! It was the perfect polo for Friday night.
“After the Civil War, the issue of loyalty emerged in the Wade-Davis Bill of 1864.” His gaze roved the class. “It required voters to take an ironclad oath, swearing that they’d never supported the Confederacy in any way. In contrast, Lincoln asked voters to simply swear to future support of the Union.
“Lincoln’s second inaugural address, in March of 1865, has been quoted as surpassing his Gettysburg Address, which is often referred to as one of the most famous speeches in American history.”
After three pages of note-taking, Katherine’s hand cramped. She shook her wrist.
Quinn paused and glanced toward the clock. Five minutes remained.
“I have an off-the-cuff question for you.” Quinn’s gaze roamed the class. “If you could pick any US war to have worked in as either a journalist or a historian, which war fascinates you most and why?”
He’s just asked Katherine’s dating question! Slightly reworded, but it was hers!
“Mark.” Professor Benton nodded to Angel’s new love interest in the third row.
“World War I. Even though we didn’t enter until late in the war, it was the first US war in which military air strikes were employed.”
Professor Benton nodded thoughtfully. “By the way, class, there is no right or wrong answer.”
Angel raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss LeFave,” Professor Benton said.
“I would have wanted to be a journalist in World War I, and I would have somehow prevented Hiroshima.”
“Wrong war,” Mark said. “You mean World War II, and would you have also prevented Pearl Harbor?” he asked, without raising his hand.
Hmm . . . maybe he wasn’t Angel material.
Angel slumped in her seat. Maybe she should write a list of all the reasons she’d never fall in love with Mark. With the first four reasons being: way too smart, insensitive, inconsiderate, and undiplomatic.
“Okay, to be fair, the question needs a qualifier,” Professor Benton said. “As a journalist or historian, you do not have superpowers to stop wars.”
“Aw!” Angel’s shoulders sank.
“What about you, Miss King?” Quinn’s gaze settled on her. “If you could be a journalist or a historian in any US war, which war would you choose and why?”
She’d always pictured being asked the question in a candle lit room, not under fluorescent lighting among her peers. She toyed with her pen. “It’s a broad question, considering there have been eleven US wars, including the recent Iraqi situation. Hmm . . . There’s three I’m leaning toward: the American Revolution, the Civil War, and World War II. It’s a tough but brilliant question, Professor.”
There was a slight twitch to the corner of his mouth. “Some scholars might choose a war based on casualties.”
She nodded. “Hmm . . . American war. In World War II, over 400,000 Americans lost their lives on foreign soil.” She leaned back in her chair, meeting his gaze. “But I’d have to choose the Civil War, in which over 360,000 Americans lost their lives on native soil.”
“And why does the American Civil War fascinate you the most?” His pupils were a soft ebony glaze. He should have asked her this question weeks ago.
“For the Union, the American Civil War was a war to preserve the principles of our founding fathers—all men are equal, and should be free. And this class has brought to light so many other reasons. The war prevented our country from dividing into two separate nations. And as you well know, I could go on.”
“What about you, Professor Benton, which war would you pick?” Angel asked.
“The same as Miss King.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock. In ten seconds the bell would ring.
“I met your Joe Hillis last week,” Angel whispered. Bending down, she retrieved Katherine’s crutches. “He said the two of you used to date, and now you’re good friends.”
“Yes,” Katherine whispered, hoisting her book bag over her shoulder. “If you’d told me that five years ago, I never would have believed it.” She met Angel’s curious gaze.
“Because he hurt you?”
Katherine nodded.
“And time heals.”
“Yes, praise God.” One step from the door, Katherine glanced Quinn’s direction. He was busy with a student.
“Maybe there’s still hope for Greg and me, then,” Angel said as they walked together to their Lewis and Clark class.
“I still feel bad about giving you the idea of serving him chili.”
“It’s not your fault. There were other things about me he didn’t like.” Angel shrugged. “In case, you didn’t know . . . Professor Benton’s taken. He has a picture of his girlfriend on his desk, a beautiful brunette.”
“That’s good to know.” Quinn’s sister was beautiful. She looked forward to meeting her someday.
“Even before the last exam, I knew you liked him.” Angel smiled. “I could tell the first night of Doctor Zhivago. You had this I’m melting kind of look in your eyes. Brenda and Ronnie were only so-so.”
Ж
After her Lewis and Clark class ended, Katherine remained seated while Cindy gathered her things. “You’re not going to make me wait until Friday, are you, to tell me about Monday?” Cindy said. “Evans said you talked, but he’ll barely breathe a word.”
Katherine recalled Evans’s advice: Do not tell Cindy anything. She shares everything with Benton.
“Was Monday Brad and green tea?” Katherine asked, looking at the chalkboard.
“Yes, and you never called me. What do you think of Dr. Ungerbach?”
“He’s wonderful.” Katherine shrugged.
Benton stepped inside the classroom. Wide-eyed, Cindy stiffened.
Had he heard?
“Katherine!” Quinn smiled. “Good
, you’re still here. How are you getting home?”
He didn’t appear to have heard. “Grandma’s picking me up. I was hoping Cindy would take a slight detour and walk me out.”
“I’d love to, but I think Quinn would like to assist you today.” Cindy tidied a pile of papers.
“If that’s okay.” He waited for her response.
“What about your office hours?”
“I may be a few minutes late.” He shrugged.
While they took the elevator to the main floor, she remembered Hannah. “I haven’t told you that our little neighbor girl stopped by the night of your date with Claire. She wanted me to tell you thank you for the money. That was sweet of you, Quinn.”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t sure if she’d figure out it was me.”
“She saw the money after you’d gone in the house. They ended up getting a little dachshund puppy. Bruno is his name.”
Quinn chuckled and waited for Katherine to exit the elevator first.
“Poor Ethel.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know . . . dachshunds are voracious diggers?”
“Oh no. Don’t tell Grandma. She’ll be very upset.”
He chuckled and held one of the double doors open for her. “Did you go off your medication?”
“Not yet,” she said, though she hadn’t taken a pill for two days.
“Where is Ethel meeting you?”
“This is where she dropped me off.” They stopped at the curb. In the busy parking lot, Grandma’s car was nowhere in sight.
“Katherine . . .” She felt a speech coming on. “I think it’s best that I give you some time off. You have questions, and my presence is causing havoc with Ungerbach’s and your . . . relationship, and after what we shared Monday, seeing and being with you is painful. I don’t understand.”
In the bright sunlight, she held her hand over her eyes and regarded him thoughtfully. The wonderful man had again owned up to his feelings.
“You’ve dated half of Latah and Whitman Counties while visiting us. But now that I have one admirer, you’re not going to even visit Grandma? I’m the one who doesn’t understand.”
“Your tone is proof that my blind dates bothered you. I’m too much of a distraction for you. Aren’t I? Is that how you feel, Katherine, deep down?”
Grandma’s red Chevy Nova drove into view.
“I’m tired of the games, Quinn.”
“Of course, you are. You have every right to be. But I sincerely didn’t know I loved you as deeply as I do until that phone call.”
Miss Palouse was behind him, and Quinn was owning up to his feelings, and eloquently at that. Grandma rolled up beside them and shifted into a lurchy park.
“What phone call?” Was he referring to their walk and her phone call to Carl, or the phone call regarding her injury?
“I promise you, Katherine, no more blind dates, just you and me . . . if you’ll give up Brad.”
Why didn’t he answer her? Katherine opened the passenger door and slid her crutches inside before easing herself onto the bench seat.
Quinn manually rolled down her window.
“Which phone call were you referring to?” Katherine attempted to sound pleasant.
“What’s for dinner, Ethel?” He leaned down and managed a charming smile in Grandma’s direction.
“I have chicken thighs defrosting on the counter.” She leaned across the bench seat toward them. “Why don’t you bring some brown rice over about five thirty?”
“I’d like that very much; that is if it’s all right with Katherine.”
“Let’s wait until Saturday.” She held her backpack in her lap and stared straight ahead through the windshield.
“Of course, it’s all right with Katherine.” Grandma waved her hand.
“Is it, Katherine?”
Shadows played on his face. A swath of sunlight highlighted his eyes. Someday she’d tell their daughters how she won their father’s heart, and they would clap with glee. Little girls with Zhivago eyes would be so cute. Their little girls . . .
“I’m sorry, Quinn.” She shook her head.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The man is full of contradictions. One minute he’s telling me he’s not going to hang around, and the next minute he’s inviting himself. If it wasn’t for Miss Wazzu on Friday night, I’m almost to the conclusion that he’s absolutely, head-over-heels in love with me. Katherine sighed happily.
“That was not a pretty picture.” Grandma leaned forward stiffly, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
“I’m tired of being confused, Grandma, and he’s so confused he’s almost stuttering.”
“Be kind.”
“I almost need to stay on painkillers if I’m going to be around him.”
Grandma smiled and came to a jerky stop before the stop sign at the intersection of Sweet Avenue and the Lewiston highway. “Because you care. Because you love him.”
The afternoon had been blissfully quiet, especially during Katherine’s nap.
“He’s my friend too.” With the oven door open, Grandma basted chicken thighs with barbecue sauce. A bowl of tossed salad sat on the table with a bottle of ranch dressing nearby.
Katherine sat down and poured two glasses of milk. A knot of guilt settled in her chest. Should she have told Benton no?
“What else is for dinner?” Katherine glanced from the salad to the oven.
“Nothing. I wanted Quinn to bring brown rice, and you wouldn’t let him come over. You were rude.”
“Do you blame me?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’re mad at him about something; and as Christians, we’re supposed to turn the other cheek.”
It was difficult to argue with Grandma and scripture.
“He apologized, and he felt bad . . . about the kiss,” Grandma said.
The phone rang. Grandma wiped her hands on a tea towel and mumbled something under her breath. “Hello.—I’ll get her for you.” Grandma set down the receiver and returned to the kitchen.
“Who is it?”
Grandma shrugged. “Do you want me to ask? It’s a man.”
Katherine hobbled to the phone. “Hello.”
“Hi, Katherine. It’s Quinn.”
She inhaled deeply and sighed.
“I made brown rice, and I was wondering if you’re still opposed to my company?”
His sweet tone softened her. “Do you know Grandma hasn’t made a starch? Just chicken and salad? Did the two of you plan this?”
“Yes. If your grandma were forty years younger, we’d be an item. And I have something special to share.”
She cleared her throat. “I have a wonderful idea: you bring me a half cup of brown rice and take Grandma and her chicken and salad to your place for the evening.” What did he mean, something special to share?
“What I have to share will make Ethel’s day.”
“Can you be more specific?” She stared at the shag carpeting.
“Here . . .” Grandma reached for the phone. “Let me talk to him.”
Katherine handed her the phone.
“Chicken’s getting cold. I’m tired of the two of you fighting. Bring the rice, and after dinner, Katherine can go to her room and study. She can put up with you for twenty minutes.”
Click. Grandma hung up on him.
Quinn set a saucepan of rice on a hot pad in the center of the table, sat down and set a manila envelope off to his right.
Did the envelope have something to do with Grandma?
“Katherine, would you say the prayer, please?” Grandma asked. She was trying to soften her, making her pray when she was supposed to be uptight.
Katherine bowed her head and sighed. “Thank You, Lord, for this meal, for the hands that prepared it, for Your many blessings. We have so much to be thankful for. In Your Son Jesus’s name we pray, amen.”
Quinn stared across the table at her. Did he mean to?
“How are y
ou feeling?” he asked.
“Fine, thank you.”
“Are you still numb?” His brows lifted.
The man had gall. “I’m waiting for my doctor to give me his approval before I go off completely.”
“So you’re mildly numb?”
She looked to her left at the calendar on the wall. “Miss Wazzu, July twenty-sixth, this Friday? Have you been conversing with her?”
He shrugged. “We’re on for Friday, but I’ve misplaced her phone number.”
She narrowed her gaze. He was lying, too.
“She’s the Realtor?” Grandma asked.
“No.” Quinn looked at his plate. “Miss Wazzu is the grad student. Miss Garfield, the Realtor, is now Carl’s girlfriend. Remember Mr. Flagrantly Good Looking?”
Grandma's brows lifted, and her eyes nearly crossed.
“You’re getting closer to home. Wazzu’s only eight miles away,” Grandma said. “Who set you up with this one?”
“Mashburn, an elderly professor friend of mine at Wazzu.” Quinn cleared his throat. “Not a close friend, so I’m not expecting, uh . . . any chemistry like Cindy refers to it.”
“What’s in the envelope?” Katherine regarded him.
The phone rang.
Shoot! Katherine glanced toward the living room.
“Ethel, would you like me to get it?” Quinn asked.
“No, I’ll get it.” Grandma rose and tossed her napkin on her chair.
“Hello—Yes, Katherine’s here. May I tell her who’s calling?” Grandma covered the receiver. “Katherine, it’s Brad on the phone for you.”
Without looking at Quinn, Katherine hobbled from the room.
Grandma placed one of the dining table chairs by the curio cabinet and held the phone out to her. Her forlorn look indicated she no longer thought being in the middle was a humorous situation.
“Hello.” Katherine sat down and leaned against the solid cabinet.
“Hi, it’s Brad. I’m on break right now. If all goes well, I’ll get off in about an hour. Are you up for me dropping by?”
“Quinn’s here.” Katherine glanced over her shoulder to her textbooks on the coffee table.
Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1) Page 35