Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection
Page 34
Annie smiled. Sinfully decadent. No doubt the apple pie was the only sinfully decadent thing going on in Brad’s life. Not with the way he was always talking about God. She enjoyed visiting with the man, but she had to admit he made her feel a pang of guilt sometimes at her own lackadaisical attitude toward God. The guy was too good to be true. Surely something dark and dank lay beneath that winning smile. One would think, from his constant pleasant demeanor, that he hadn’t a care in the world.
From the window she watched him struggle to move from the seat into the electric wheelchair, roll onto the steel platform, and lower himself to the ground. Then he pushed the button to return the lift to its place before sliding the door closed. It was amazing how much effort it required for him to get out of his vehicle. With all the trouble it took, it seemed as if he would forget it and stay at home, parked in front of the TV with the remote in his hand. Feeling like a voyeur, she let the curtain drop, lest he see her. The last thing she’d want to do was embarrass him.
As he maneuvered the chair up the ramp, she pushed open the door with her famous Apple Annie smile, the one her customers had come to expect. “You made it. I was afraid with the forecast of heavy rain, you might decide to stay home tonight.”
A broad smile lit up the man’s face. “A little rain stop Brad Reed? Never. I thought you knew me better than that. Besides, I’d never make it through the weekend without—”
She lifted her hand and stopped him. “I know. Our sinfully decadent Awesome Caramel Apple Pie. You’re incorrigible!” She stepped back out of the way while three waitresses left their stations to crowd around their favorite customer, oohing and ahhing over him as if he were a celebrity. That man is a magnet. She watched them fuss over him, taking turns arguing about who would serve him.
“As much as I love all this attention, I think you girls better get back to work. You know what a slave driver Apple Annie is.” His tone was teasing, and even his eyes seemed to be laughing. “But you’re great for my ego. Let’s do it again sometime—when Apple Annie isn’t watching!” The girls giggled and returned to their stations, glancing over their shoulders and smiling at him.
He shrugged his broad shoulders and lifted his brow at Annie. “Sorry. Some women just can’t leave a handsome, eloquent, attractive man like me alone.”
The girls tittered and giggled to one another from their places, filling glasses, taking orders, and conversing with the customers already seated at their tables.
“Good thing you told my crew to get back to work. I was about to fire the whole bunch of them.” Annie smiled and handed him a leather-covered menu. “You’re a terrible distraction, you know.” She gathered her long calico skirt about her and led him toward his usual table.
“Can I help it? It’s sheer animal magnetism. If God created me irresistible, who am I to fight it?” He followed close behind her, the wheelchair’s motor making a gentle hum.
“Yeah? You’re blaming God? I’d say some men are conceited on their own. And whoever told you that you were handsome and irresistible?” She didn’t turn to look at him, but she knew he was smiling.
“Only every waitress who works for you!” His hearty laugh was infectious.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You men are all alike!” The man was a charmer, she had to admit. No wonder he had all the Apple Valley women clamoring after him.
“If I’m such a distraction, maybe you’d better sit down and have dinner with me and keep me out of trouble.” She pulled away a chair, and he rolled past her into the space. “They have great food here.”
She gave him a nudge then bent and rested her hand on his shoulder. “You should know. I think at one time or another this summer you’ve tried everything on the menu.”
He gave her a sad puppy-dog look that made her laugh. “On the menu maybe, but not your magnificent buffet. I hate to admit it, but in this rolling chariot of mine I have trouble manipulating the food onto the plates and the plates onto the tray and the tray onto my lap and the—”
She tossed her head and held up both her hands. “I get the message! Loud and clear! You need a little help, and you think I’m the one for the job. Right?”
“Exactly. Will you have dinner with me, Apple Annie?” Brad winked then reached out and took hold of her hands. He stroked them gently with his thumbs as he gazed up at her.
She noticed that his eyes were the same color as the thick chocolate fudge sauce they served on the dessert bar. She could never resist that sauce, even though she knew she’d suffer the consequences later for indulging, and her bathroom scales would be only too willing to remind her.
He had never touched her before, other than an occasional handshake, and for some reason it unnerved her. She wanted to back away; yet she enjoyed the strong, masculine feel of his fingers closing over hers.
“Dinner? Here? Now?” she asked. She felt awkward.
Her first impulse was to say no. Most days she didn’t take time to eat until after the dinner crowd had gone. But it was still early, and most of them hadn’t even arrived yet. With only a piece of dried toast and a hurried glass of iced tea for lunch, she had to admit she was a bit hungry.
“Please?”
“Only if you’ll let me help you with the buffet. We’re trying out a new potato dish tonight, and I’d like your opinion.” She pulled her hands from his grasp and adjusted the red satin bow that held her dark, thick ponytail. Why did she say yes? Normally she shied away from eating with patrons, afraid of showing partiality.
“Deal.” He stuck out a hand. “Let’s shake on it before you change your mind.”
She put her hand timidly in his and once again felt the strong, warm touch of his fingers as they squeezed her hand. Then he pulled the lever under his right hand, and the chair backed slowly away from the table. “Lead the way. I’m famished.”
Annie crossed the restaurant to the buffet line and lifted a green tray from the tall stack. “What kind of salad would you like?”
Brad rubbed his chin and surveyed the enticing array of salads. “I’ve never tried the red cabbage. Is it good?”
She laughed and spooned a small bowl full and placed it on his tray. “You tell me, after you’ve tasted it.”
“Look—I’ve got an idea,” he said, his gaze never leaving her delicate face. “Why don’t you choose the rest of the meal for me? I’m not a picky eater—but I’m sure you know that, as many times as you’ve seen me making a pig of myself in your restaurant. I’ll take potluck—whatever you choose, except for those.” He leaned forward and pointed toward a fancy white dish containing bright green Brussels sprouts. “If former President George Bush can refuse to eat those awful things, so can I!”
She rolled her eyes. “And you said you weren’t picky.”
“I’m actually more picky about my women than I am my food,” he said with a lifted brow and a sideways grin.
“Hmph. What women? I’ve never seen you with a woman.”
He turned up his mouth, his brown eyes riveted on hers. “Umm. You’re right. At this time of year most of the good-looking women who chase me are at the beach concentrating on their suntans. And I have an awful time maneuvering this chair of mine in the sand.”
A giggle slipped out before she could stop it. “Good excuse.”
“Maybe I’d better find me a woman who doesn’t want to fry herself and get skin cancer. Want to volunteer?”
She raised her brows and looked at him. “Yes, but only for tonight.” Then she laughed, something she seldom did now with the demands of running a restaurant, the Big Barn Melodrama Theater, and the orchards. With all these responsibilities, her life had become much too serious and busy.
“Only for tonight?” He inched the chair forward a bit. “I hate one-night stands.”
“I thought you said women found you irresistible!”
He threw up his hands. “Maybe I stretched the figures a bit!”
“Well, you’ve just met a one-nighter.” She selected a co
lorful bowl of fruit salad and placed it on his tray. “Tomorrow you’ll have to find a replacement. I don’t have time to play the dating game with you.”
“Then, sweet lady,” he said with exaggerated emotion as his fingertips touched her arm, “we have but one glorious night together. Let us make the most of it.”
She gave his hand a swift rap and an accusing grin. “Unquote! Our melodrama actors use that line every night in our theater. You’re plagiarizing!”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying!” He shrugged then watched her select a thick, juicy slice of roast beef, adding a large helping of mashed potatoes and brown gravy and a beautifully browned cloverleaf roll.
When she was finished filling his tray, she followed him to the table. Once his chair was in place, he took the tray from her and removed each item. He kept his gaze on her as she walked back to the buffet line, filled her own tray, and returned.
She set their trays on a nearby table. “I’ll get the coffeepot.”
Brad laid his hand on her wrist. “No, let me get it. You work too hard. You deserve to be waited on once in awhile.”
She wanted to refuse his offer, but she feared she might offend him if she reminded him how much easier it would be for her to do it. So she sat down, leaned back in her chair, and spread her napkin across her lap. “I take decaf.”
“You got it!”
Annie watched Brad weave his chair in and out among the tables until he reached the drink station. How would he ever carry that pot back to the table? She jumped to her feet and rushed toward him, not wanting him to be embarrassed by an impending catastrophe. But before Annie could get to him he reached up and pulled a towel from a shelf, wrapped it around the hot stainless steel pot, and locked the coffeepot securely between his thighs.
He gave her a sheepish grin, turned the chair around, and rolled toward her. She stood there gaping. “You didn’t think I could do it?”
“I—wasn’t sure.” Now she was the one who was embarrassed, and she didn’t like the feeling.
He lifted an arm, pushed up the sleeve of his polo shirt, and flexed his biceps. Using that exaggerated deep voice again, he said, “Woman. Me, Tarzan. You, Jane. And don’t you forget it!”
Annie relaxed and enjoyed the evening more than she had in a long time. Brad had become like a dear old friend. She had missed male companionship. She hadn’t had much of it with boyfriends, but before his illness she’d had her dad, the only real hero in her life.
“Mind if I pray and thank God for our food?” Brad broke in as she reached for her fork.
His question surprised her. Not that she’d been on that many dinner dates, if that’s what her college dates to pizza hangouts could be called; but none of her escorts had ever asked to pray before the meal. She glanced around to see if others were watching and, finding them occupied with their own conversations, lowered her fork. “Sure—if you want to.”
He reached across the table and took her hands. To her astonishment, instead of bowing his head, he lifted his eyes heavenward. “Good evening, God. It’s me, Brad, and Annie is here with me. We’re sharing a great meal. We’ve come into Your presence to thank You—for this food and the hands that prepared it, for the air we breathe, and the life and health we enjoy every day. We may not know how or why things happen the way they do sometimes, but one thing we know. You are in control. Bless this food now and forgive us for neglecting to praise and thank You for all You do for us.”
He paused. “Do you mind if I pray for your dad? I’ve heard he’s having quite a struggle with Alzheimer’s.”
She met his gaze, and the warmth and concern she saw there made her heart tighten with pent-up emotion. She could only nod. His hands tightened around hers, and for a moment she thought she was going to cry. This man was genuinely concerned about her dad.
“And, God, we bring Annie’s father to You, asking that somehow You will touch him and heal his mind. And be with Annie and her family as they often find themselves locked out of his memory, and give them comfort as they recall better times. Amen.”
She bit her lips and pressed her eyelids shut against the tears that threatened to erupt.
Apparently Brad noticed. “Want to hear the story about the chicken who got hit by a car as he crossed the road?” He unfolded his napkin and grinned.
She wrinkled her nose. Their conversation had shifted abruptly from one of sadness to the ridiculous. “Sounds kind of gruesome.”
“Not the way I tell it.” He spread the napkin across his lap and smoothed it out with his hands.
She dabbed at her mouth with her own napkin then returned it to her lap, her eyelids still pressing back unshed tears. She was eager to listen to whatever foolish tale he would tell to take her mind off her father’s illness. “Okay, I’m game. Tell me about the chicken who got hit crossing the road.”
“Well, a man was driving down the road. But before he could stop his car, a chicken ran out in front of him, and he hit it.” He wadded up his napkin and let it drop onto the table. “The guy rushed out of his car, scooped up the chicken, and took it to a nearby veterinarian. The doc took one look at the poor chicken and confessed, ‘I’m not sure I can do anything for him, but I’ll try.’ ”
Brad folded the napkin in half then rolled the two opposite sides toward the center and held it up for her to see.
“ ‘This look like the chicken you hit?’ The man shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’ ”
He folded the napkin in half again, bringing the four rolled ends up together in his hands. He stuck an index finger into the end of each roll and pulled out the loose end, creating four spiraled-out segments.
“The veterinarian held the chicken up and again asked the man, ‘Does this look like the chicken before you ran over it?’ Again the man shook his head.”
With a vigorous laugh Brad held onto the ends of two of the spiraled rolls and let the other two ends drop free. ‘Doc!’ the man cried out. ‘That’s the chicken! You fixed him as good as new!’”
Annie’s mouth dropped open, and she clapped her hands. “That looks exactly like a chicken, but without the head! How did you do that?”
“My own personal magic!” Brad grinned with satisfaction as she laughed at his ridiculous joke. “I’m full of chicken jokes. Want to hear another one?”
“I’m tempted.” She giggled and pointed to their full plates. “But I think we’d better eat first, before everything gets cold. Try those potatoes and let me know what you think.”
He scooped up a big helping of the cheesy potatoes and savored them slowly, then waved his fork at her approvingly. “Mmm, excellent. With only one leg I’m certainly no Galloping Gourmet, but I say they definitely should stay on your menu.”
She nodded. She was glad he liked them, but his comment about his leg took her aback for a moment. “Then they’ll stay.”
Annie enjoyed every minute of the meal and the light, easy conversation. Most nights she ate alone, after everyone else had finished for the day. Before she knew it she’d cleaned her plate, leaving only an olive and a small piece of bread. It had been months since she’d eaten such a hearty meal. She finished the last of her coffee, folded her napkin, and placed it on the table.
Brad frowned. “You don’t have to go yet, do you?”
She pushed back her chair and stood to her feet. “Yes, but maybe we—”
“Maybe we could have our sinfully decadent Awesome Caramel Apple Pie, and then you could go?” He gave her a hopeful look and a wistful smile.
“Sorry, but I have to go now.” She hated to leave the man and his wonderful sense of humor. “I was going to say maybe another time, but right now I’ve got to seat the dinner crowd. I’m afraid you’ll have to eat your pie alone.”
For only a moment his face lost its resident smile. “I hate eating alone. That’s why I come here as often as I do. I may sit at a table for one, but this place is always filled with happy people. It rubs off on me, and I hardly notice only one person is sitting
at my table—me.”
She detected a certain sadness in his eyes, one she’d never noticed before. “Well, if you’re not in a hurry to get home and you don’t mind eating late”—she saw his face brighten—“I guess I could have that pie with you after the evening performance in our theater. But it’ll be after ten o’clock,” she cautioned, glancing at her watch.
He swung his arm across his chest with a flourish and bowed as low as one could from a wheelchair. “Ma’am, I’d be proud and honored to join you in a humble piece of pie—” He stopped and scratched his head. “Or was that a piece of humble pie? Hmm, I never can remember.”
She gave him a playful swat as a large group of patrons entered, their eyes scanning the restaurant for its well-known hostess. “Brad, I have to go. I guess since you’re going to have pie with me later you’ll be staying for the melodrama in the barn. I’ll see you there.”
“Sure, I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it. And, by the way, my mother raised me to be a gentleman, and gentlemen always rise when a lady leaves the table,” he told her with a warm smile. “I want you to know I may be sitting on the outside, but I’m standing on the inside.”
She smiled, too. “You never have to worry about standing up for me. I’ve always known you were a gentleman. And you’re wonderful company. No wonder all those women chase after you. See you later.” And she hurried off to greet her customers.
Brad watched as she gathered her skirts about her and made her way through the crowded restaurant. He wondered how beautiful, vibrant Annie Johnson had managed to stay single. At least, she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and she’d never mentioned a husband during their dinner conversation. Or even a boyfriend. Though he’d known her only a few months, by his standards she was pure gold. If he ever found a woman like Annie, he’d—His glance fell to his empty trouser leg. What woman would want a one-legged, handicapped man?