Texas Weddings (Books One and Two)

by Janice Thompson

  “Well, hallelujah to that!” Regina said triumphantly. “Maybe I won’t have to play matchmaker after all.”

  “Matchmaker?”

  “I had my mind made up I would find you the perfect wife this year. It was sort of a challenge—almost made coming back worthwhile.”

  “Very funny.”

  Her face suddenly took on a serious expression. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Dougherty. I’ve got my eyes wide open. I’ll let you know when I meet the girl of your dreams.”

  “Gee, thanks, Regina.” He popped open the root beer. “Keep me posted. I’m on pins and needles.”

  He turned to leave, feeling a little better about his life. As usual, she had managed to put a smile on his face. There were a few nice women in the world, after all.

  ß

  Laura opened the car door, deep in thought. How could her day have ended this way? Just when she had to face a full afternoon of work, she had him on her mind. Professor Andrew Dougherty. He had proven to be every bit as tough as everyone said he would be.

  No—worse. He had given the class two chapters to read for homework, along with a work sheet and a biography on Christopher Columbus. How am I going to get all of this done and still have time to work at the store? Lord, I’m going to need more help than I thought.

  Laura climbed into the car, pulling out of the familiar parking lot. Try as she might, Laura could not stop thinking about what had happened in the hallway. She did her best to forget it, but how could she?

  Lost in her thoughts, she drove to the Bookstop, hoping to make it in time for her shift. How could she possibly handle all of this—classes in the morning, working the afternoon?

  “I must be crazy.” She drove on in absolute silence, her thoughts overwhelming her. By the time she arrived at the store, exhaustion had completely consumed her.

  Laura fretted and fumed as the hours rolled by at the bookstore. She found herself pacing around, frustration growing. She couldn’t focus on her work because of Professor Dougherty. She could see him now with his cocky expression, walking toward the board, spelling out his name: D-O-U-G-H-E-R-T-Y. . .very slowly, for effect. His cool eyes had stared into hers as he turned back toward the class. His motives were unmistakable. Well, I won’t let him interfere with my work here. I can’t. I need this job too badly.

  “Excuse me?” An elderly woman spoke, interrupting her thoughts. She looked a little lost.

  “Yes?” Laura responded quickly, pulling herself out of the daydream.

  “Could you please tell me where I can find the biographies? I just love to read about people’s lives.”

  Biographies. Reminds me—I need to look through some books for information on Columbus. “Sure,” Laura said. “We have a great biography department. Just follow me.” She wound her way through fiction and around the children’s area to the nonfiction books. Dougherty would really love it here in this section. There were biographies galore from his precious American history. She could just see the excitement on his face.

  “Oh, thank you, Sweetie,” the older lady said with a smile. “Just what the doctor ordered. You know, you can learn a lot about a person from one of these books. It always fascinates me to know what makes folks tick—what makes them happy, sad, angry. . .” She rambled on and on, but Laura stopped listening at some point. There’s no way he can expect us to get through two chapters, complete a work sheet, and write a biography in two days. That’s ridiculous. She realized exactly what must be done.

  He gave us his number in class, said to call if we had any problems. Well, this is a problem. I’m going to call Mr. Dougherty and give him a piece of my mind.

  ß

  Andrew buzzed around his apartment in happy anticipation. The long-awaited phone call from Joe had just come in. His blind date, Judy, would be waiting at the Happy Oyster in the Woodlands. He had just enough time to get there if nothing went wrong. He slipped on a navy shirt, accidentally tearing a button off as his anxious fingers fumbled with it.

  “Oh, man!” He pulled the shirt off and reached for another—a gray-and-white stripe. It wouldn’t look great with his dark blue sweater vest, but what did it matter, really? “If she’s really interested in me, clothing won’t be an issue, anyway. Right?” He pulled the vest on, followed by the jacket. “There.” Nearly ready.

  He glanced in the mirror for one last look at his hair. Curly. Too curly. He rubbed a little hair gel between his palms and spread it all around. No change, but nothing could be done about that. Andrew sprayed some cologne on with a smile. I’m going all out for this one. She would be worth it. He could just feel it.

  He grabbed his car keys and raced toward the door, double-checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Just as his hand hit the doorknob, the telephone rang.

  “Forget it,” he said, looking back. “Let it go to voicemail.” But something in him wouldn’t allow it. It could be Joe with a change of plans. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Judy, herself. Andrew dropped his jacket on the bench in the front hall and reached over to grab the receiver.

  ß

  Laura’s voice shook almost uncontrollably as she spoke the words. “Mr. Dougherty?” She stressed his name, envisioning how he had so carefully spelled it on the board.

  “This is he. With whom am I speaking?”

  “Laura Chapman,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “C-H-A-P-M-A-N.”

  “Very funny. What can I do for you, Ms. Chapman?”

  “I’m just calling to make sure I got the homework assignment right. Did you really say chapters one and two, along with the work sheet you handed out?”

  “That’s right. And don’t forget—”

  “The biography.” They spoke in unison.

  “That just seems like a lot of work for two days,” she argued. “It’s just. . .”

  “Just what, Ms. Chapman?”

  “Well, I thought maybe I had misunderstood. It just seemed like a lot, that’s all.”

  “Look, Ms. Chapman,” he said, sounding exasperated, “I know your type. You come into a class like this expecting to breeze through, then reality slaps you in the face. Am I right?”

  “Well, actually—”

  “Why don’t you do us both a favor and drop my class while you can still get a refund? It’s obvious this is going to be too much for you.” Sarcasm laced his voice.

  “Too much for me?” A renewed zeal kicked in. “Who said that?”

  “You’ve done everything but say it. I’m a firm believer in excellence, Ms. Chapman.”

  “So am I,” she echoed, more determined than ever. “In fact, you just wait and see, Mr. Dougherty. I’m going to be the best student you ever had.” She meant it with every fiber of her being.

  His resounding laughter caused her to pull the phone away from her ear.

  “I’m not kidding!” she hollered into the phone, then abruptly hung up.

  ß

  Andrew doubled over with laughter. How delicious! He dropped down onto the couch, trying to calm himself. He began to picture in his mind the infamous Ms. Chapman—what she must have looked like as she spoke with such energy. What a scene she must have created. A smile crossed his lips as he remembered their first encounter. This woman seemed destined to make him a little crazy.

  But wait. Another woman waited for him now. Andrew glanced down at his watch and groaned. He would be late, even if he drove like a maniac. Once again, Ms. Chapman had run him down, though she didn’t even know it.

  ß

  Laura shook violently as she placed the phone back on the hook, but she felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. “I guess I told him!” She forced back a laugh. “Let’s just wait and see who he thinks he’s messing with.” Returning to her work, she found herself energized by an undeniable surge of excitement and hope.

  Of course, she had made a rather hefty promise. I’m going to be the best student you ever had. She would keep that promise if it took her all day and all night to do so. What did losing
a little sleep mean, anyway—as long as she accomplished her goal?

  six

  “Put your books away, and take out a piece of notebook paper and a pen.” Andrew spoke the words with a sense of sheer delight. The gaze of every history student locked firmly on him. “We’re going to have a pop quiz.”

  A groan rose from among them, giving him great joy. Ah! I live for moments like this! One student in particular held his gaze. Her eyes were unmistakably laced with frustration, but they refused to concede.

  “Ms. Chapman,”—he glanced her way—“I noticed from your records that your maiden name is Eriksson.” She nodded as he continued. “Our quiz today will cover the journeys of the Viking, Leif Eriksson. No doubt a relative of yours—a great-grandfather, perhaps?”

  The roar of laughter that went up from the class convinced him he had accomplished his goal—humiliating her in front of the group.

  With the coolness of a cucumber, she replied, “An uncle.”

  Her response startled him a little. The class erupted, their laughter suddenly focused on him. His ears began to burn, as they always did when turning red.

  “This quiz will be worth 10 percent of your overall grade,” he announced. “You can leave as soon as you’ve completed it.” The students began to murmur, and rightfully so. So I’m a little irrational. So what? Laura Chapman had judged him, slam-dunked him, and all but ruined his date the other night. She wasn’t going to humiliate him in front of his students. He wouldn’t allow it.

  ß

  Laura struggled through the pop quiz, amazed at the unfairness of the questions. “What were the names of Eriksson’s children?” Were they even mentioned in the book?

  “Larry, Mo, and Curly,” she wrote, lifting her pen with a dramatic flair. If she couldn’t beat the professor at his own game, she could surely join him in the lunacy of it all.

  The pen slipped from her hand, rolling halfway down the aisle before it stopped. She felt Mr. Dougherty’s gaze on her as she crept down the aisle to pick it up.

  “Having a problem, Ms. Chapman?”

  She glared her response and sat back in her seat, her hands still shaking with anger. She looked down at the pen, noticing ink all over her fingers. “Great.” She made her way up the aisle to his desk.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes peering directly into hers.

  “My pen broke. Do you have one I could borrow?”

  “Certainly.” He reached into his top drawer for a black ink pen. “Don’t forget to give it back after class.”

  Laura turned, gripping the pen as she headed back to her seat. She would overcome this—all of this—if it was the last thing she ever did. She sat with a defiant thud, focusing on the paper once again. Question number two seemed worse than the first one. Number three didn’t look much better. She took a deep breath, beginning to write. She would give this an honest effort, regardless.

  One by one, the class began to empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see students marching back and forth to Dougherty’s desk to place their papers in the appropriate basket. Each one left with a sigh. As she passed by, Jessica cast her mother an accusing glare.

  Laura sat scribbling, marking through, scribbling, marking through. She had read the chapters. Several times, in fact. It was just that these questions were so poorly worded.

  She looked up, finding the professor’s eyes clearly focused on hers, an undeniable look of satisfaction on his face. You’re insufferable.

  The pen slipped from her fingers once again, hitting the desk and bouncing off to the floor below. It rolled all the way down the aisle, landing just in front of Dougherty’s feet. Laura’s head dropped to the desk instinctively. This is partly my fault, Father! I’ve let my anger overwhelm me. Help me. . . .

  There were still two unanswered questions on the quiz. She couldn’t possibly complete them without getting up for the pen. She stood, making her way up the aisle one final time.

  “Time’s up,” Professor Dougherty said sharply.

  ß

  Andrew spoke the words with complete satisfaction. Laura Chapman had to face the music. Thanks to her, his date last night had been a complete fiasco. He arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late, much to his own chagrin. Judy, it turned out, wasn’t a very patient sort. She wasn’t a very intelligent sort either. She had the looks, no questioning that—a redhead with the appearance of a model but few brains to match. A trip to the dentist would surely have been more pleasant. She spent most of the night whining about everything from his tardiness to the nail fungus under her phony red fingernails. It sickened him.

  He forced his attentions back to the where they should be, pushing thoughts of women behind him. They simply weren’t worth the trouble.

  His eyes met Laura’s as she dropped the paper onto his desk. He had clearly frustrated her, but that had been his intention, after all.

  Right?

  She left the class in a huff, pulling the door shut behind her. He observed the color in her cheeks as she gave him one last angry look.

  Andrew glanced through the papers quickly, looking for her quiz. With great satisfaction, he skimmed the page. “That’s wrong.” He struck a red line through her first answer. “And that’s wrong.” He added more red to the page.

  A sea of crimson ink covered the page before he had finished. Andrew leaned back in his chair, a wicked smile crossing his lips. I’m perfectly content and completely justified. She got exactly what she deserved, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

  “Well, Ms. Chapman,” he spoke aloud to an empty room. “Looks like you didn’t do very well on your first American History quiz. But don’t worry—you’ll have plenty of others in the weeks ahead. I’ll make sure of that.”

  He gathered up the stack of papers from his desk, preparing to leave. He had one last stop to make—the lunchroom. He hadn’t eaten all day. Again.

  He made his way across the crowded campus to the familiar hub at the center. Teenagers surrounded him on every side. He felt his age more acutely than ever in this place. He worked through the maze of kids to the lunchroom inside, where a familiar face greeted him.

  “So,” Regina said as he approached the counter, “how was your—uh, your ‘date?’”

  “My date?” He tried to act innocent.

  “Yeah,” she reminded him. “Remember? You said something about a girl named Judy. How did that work out?”

  “Oh, well, you know,” he mumbled, looking past Regina at the food choices. “I’ll have some cheese curls and a bag of those oatmeal cookies—and a chocolate milk.”

  “Are you sure about that?” she asked, looking at his mid-section. “We’re never gonna get you a wife if you keep eating like this.”

  “Regina,” he said, his lips tight, “I told you, I don’t need any help. I’m perfectly capable of—”

  “Sure you are, sure you are.” She collected his food and placed it on the counter. A silence fell between them, lingering in the air for a moment before Regina finally broke it. “By the way, I heard about that pop quiz you gave today.” She let out a long whistle.

  “What? What did you hear?”

  “A killer. That’s what I heard.”

  “Who said that?” he asked, growing angry.

  “Who didn’t?” came her swift reply. “It’s all over campus. You’re a legend, Mr. Dougherty. You know that. But they’re saying this one really took the cake.”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad.”

  “Well, all I’m saying,” she leaned toward him, whispering, “is it sounds like you’re mighty frustrated with something and taking it out on these poor kids. Why don’t you give them a break and let me help you find a wife?”

  “The last thing on earth I need,” Andrew said forcefully, “is a wife. I’m perfectly happy with me, myself, and I.”

  ß

  “Laura, it’s not that I’m complaining,” her boss, Madeline, spoke hesitantly. “It’s just that a couple of our customers ha
ve asked about you—wondering if you were okay.”

  “What do you mean?” Laura looked into the worried gray eyes of her boss. Madeline wasn’t the type to mince words. All business, she prided herself on running the bookstore like a well-oiled machine. This showed in the way she dressed, the way she spoke, even in the way she wore her hair. Never married, Madeline couldn’t begin to understand the issues of balancing a home and career.

  “Well, they seem to think you’re a little. . .distracted.”

  The understatement of the century, Laura had to admit. She had been here only in body. Her mind and her emotions had been divided between her children and her classes. Factor American History into the equation and, well—there just wasn’t a lot left to bring into the workplace.

  “I’m sorry, Madeline,” she said, feeling the weight of her own words. “I’ve been distracted. I know it. But it’s only because I’m trying to get used to my schedule, and I’ve had a little bit of trouble at school. I can handle this. I really can.” She sounded like a kid, trying to convince herself.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  Laura shrugged, not wanting to get into it. “It’s really nothing. Nothing I can’t handle, anyway. Everything is going to be fine. Just give me awhile, okay?”

  “Oh, speaking of trouble,” Madeline interjected, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you had a call from Kent’s school just before you got here.”

  “Kent’s school?” Laura asked nervously. “What did they want?”

  “He’s fine. Something about an incident on the bus.”

  Laura felt the usual twisting in her chest. Her son had spent much of last year in trouble at the junior high. He really seemed to be slipping since Greg’s death. But they had talked about it—at great length—just weeks ago. He had promised this year would be different. They had both hoped for a fresh start. Surely he wouldn’t blow it this quickly.

  “What sort of incident?”