Renee’s shoulders sagged. Ben came all the way to the studio to let her know he heard on-air apology. That was huge. It meant even more that he stepped around his hurt and encouraged her to take the job. Any other man would have enjoyed letting her accept her punishment.
“More than anything, Renee, I needed to tell you something too. Because I wasn’t honest with you either.”
Renee frowned, her white knuckled fingers grasping the door handle.
“When I told you I didn’t want to be with you, I lied. I was hurt, and I didn’t know what to do, so I ran from you. But Renee, you need to know this…I love you too. You’re the first person I’ve ever said that to in my life, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the last.” Ben hiccupped. “Thanks, Chuck, for letting me drop in on you like this.” He hiccupped again. “Pardon me. I wanted the listeners to know I forgive Renee and love her with all my heart.” Hiccup.
Chuck wrapped up the break and started another song, but his voice was merely background noise. She stared at the radio, wondering what she missed Ben say when she was in the hall between offices. Her guilt caused her to flee and hearing Ben’s admission seemed to have paralyzed her.
Janice placed one hand on each of Renee’s shoulder. Renee felt a subtle shake as she focused her eyes on her friend’s face.
“What do I do?” She searched Janice’s features.
“Honey, I think you know the answer to that. Go get that boy.”
Renee’s hands shook as Janice gave her a shove toward the office door. The studio was a direct shot from where she stood. She quivered when the door moved, and Chuck’s loud voice echoed down the hall. Renee took a couple of steps. When Ben stepped out of the studio, she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Thanks again, Chuck.” Ben waved and allowed the door to close. His chin sank to his chest.
Ben turned and caught her eye. “Hello, Renee.” She heard hesitation in his voice, but smiled when he hiccupped again.
“What’s with the hiccups?”
“I’m nervous.”
“Radio makes you nervous?” Renee asked. “More nervous than TV?”
“It wasn’t so much the airwaves that got to me.” Ben took a few steps forward. His chest heaved again as he held in another convulsion. “It was more the things I said.”
“You really accept my apology?” Renee cut the distance between them in half by taking several quick steps in his direction.
“I absolutely do. I can’t blame you for your motives in the least.”
“Why not?”
“I explained it on the air.”
“I missed part of your broadcast.” Renee didn’t want to admit that she’d been trying to flee. She wondered if Janice hid in the office near the exit with her ear to the door, straining to hear the conversation taking place.
Ben put his hands in his pockets and casually moved a few more steps toward Renee. “After I told Chuck I forgave you, I said I couldn’t blame you for using the show to gain popularity in the city.” Ben’s shoulders jerked up with another hiccup. “I did the exact same thing.”
“What? How?” Renee inched forward.
“I wanted to fall in love, but you’ve seen what the media says about me. No one thought I could really do it. I’ve been painted the playboy bachelor for years in this city. I thought the show would be a good way to change my reputation. Sure, it was a shot at finding someone special, but even if I didn’t, I figured I could pick a winner and stick with her long enough to change the way people looked at me. At least I hoped.”
Renee pursed her lips. “We were after the same things.”
“Exactly. How can I fault you for using the show when I was doing it too?”
“You can’t.”
Hiccup. They were no more than three feet apart now.
“What about Tracy?” Renee asked. If Ben loved her and wanted to be with Renee, their union would cause Tracy hurt.
Ben shrugged. “We broke up about an hour after the show aired. Women’s intuition…she knew I loved you. And she didn’t want to be anywhere near a guy who was smitten with someone else.”
Renee put her hand on his arm. “So, what does this mean?”
“I love you, Renee.”
Renee waited for him to hiccup, but no sounds came from his throat. His steady gaze told her everything she needed to know.
“I don’t care how many times you wreck cars, catch fire, do silly dances, and slap monkeys or anything else. I love you. In fact, those are a few of the reasons I fell in love with you in the first place.” Ben removed his hand from his pocket and traced his fingers down her arm until he found her hand.
“I’m just a weed, Ben. Are you sure you can put up with me?”
“Renee.” Ben took the final step and drew her into his arms. “Didn’t you know dandelions are better than flowers? They spread their yellow joy farther and faster than any flower. Though some people take them to be a pest, the special ones recognize their beauty. The only thing is, I don’t want you to turn to white puff and spread yourself around.” Ben tightened his grip and placed his face close to hers. “I want you to stay right here with me.”
Renee tilted her face up to look into his eyes. The hard expression she’d seen at the final taping was gone. What remained was pure love and acceptance. She was a weed, she was positive of that. She couldn’t do anything right, but somehow, she had done everything she needed in order to get the man of her dreams.
“Ben,” she whispered. “I love you too.”
Ben closed the last inch between them and allowed his lips to meet hers.
Renee melted into his arms and allowed herself to float away into his kiss. Nothing had ever felt so completely right. She wanted the moment to continue forever so the tingle in her toes would never end.
“Who-hoo!” a shout rang from down the hall. “Who-hoo!”
Ben jerked his head back, and Renee whirled around. Janice ran past them, her arms raised as she shouted. “Who-hoo! It’s official. Does everyone hear me?” Her voice got softer as she did a lap around the studio offices. “Who-hoo!”
Renee turned back to Ben. “Who-hoo is right. I never thought this could happen in a million years.”
“You and me both. But I couldn’t be happier that it did.”
“Did you really hiccup live on the air on the KGBR morning show?” Renee asked.
“Did you really light yourself on fire on TV?” Ben replied.
Renee pressed her forehead against Ben’s chest.
“Two can play at that game. And no offense, but I think I’d win every time,” Ben challenged.
“Okay, okay.” Renee held her hands up, but Ben didn’t loosen his grasp on her waist. “You win. When it comes to faux pas, I am the master.”
Ben smiled and grabbed one of Renee’s hands to place it on his chest. “You’re right. I do win.”
Renee wanted to freeze the moment. She was lost in Ben’s eyes, and her surroundings melted away. She was in love. And the man she loved returned her affections. Nothing in the world would ever be the same again. It would be better.
“Renee.” A voice interrupted down the hall. “Get here bright and early Monday. Chuck and Renee in the morning goes live at five.”
Renee broke the spell between Ben and her and stood on her tiptoes to see her manager waving a folder at her.
“Don’t be late,” he said.
Renee lowered herself and looked at Ben again. He nodded at her. “You deserve it.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
Ben turned to her. “I’m just a weed, like you.”
Renee threaded her arm through Ben’s and began to lead him toward the exit. They had a life to start. Once they were outside, Ben released her hand and bent in the grassy area next to the exit. When he turned toward her, he had a bright yellow dandelion in his hand.
“Will you accept this dandelion?” he asked.
Renee took in the sad little yellow weed. It sure had caused her a lot of trouble
. But as she focused her gaze past it and onto the man that stood behind it, she knew he was worth every ounce of humiliation, worry, and everything else she had gone through with the show.
“My last dandelion?” Ben stood, waiting for her reply.
“Without a doubt.” Renee plucked the dandelion from his hand and put it behind her ear. It would wilt and shrivel in a matter of seconds, but Ben had seen her in worse ways. The dandelion meant a lot to her, but she didn’t want anything between her and Ben…not even a pesky weed.
Renee threw herself into Ben’s waiting arms and lost herself in his kiss. She’d always found dandelions beautiful, but she would never look at one quite the same way again.
Please read on to enjoy an excerpt from another Prism Book Group title, and to learn more about the author of Accept This Dandelion, Brooke Williams.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Brooke Williams is a sleep deprived stay at home mom/freelance writer/author. She attributes her humor to her two young children for keeping her in the lack of sleep realm on a permanent basis. Brooke is a former radio announcer and producer who also did a brief stint as a TV traffic reporter. She has been married to her husband since 2002, but since he seldom laughs at her jokes, she had to start writing to get them out. Brooke writes novels as well as articles and other items for clients on a freelance basis during the one hour a day her daughters allow her the time. Check some of her other novels, which include “Someone Always Loved You,” and “Wrong Place Right Time.”
Please enjoy this excerpt from Love Takes Flight by Lee Carver, available now from Prism Book Group!
Volunteering in the Amazon to escape a broken heart, American R.N. Camille Ringold fears she has lost the chance to be married to a doctor and live well in suburbia. Serving two weeks with missionaries living out a sacred calling, she considers whether a more meaningful life might be hers.
When the Wings of Help plane is hijacked, she and missionary pilot Luke Strong escape into the jungle. Priorities change as experiences of faith mount. Where is the intersection of God’s will and her selfish desires?
Returning to Alabama, she discovers the controlling side of her rejected sweetheart. He covers his lies with rationalizations. Dangers of the Amazon fade compared to threats from the man she once wanted to marry.
Here’s a peek…
A child’s scream pierced the Brazilian jungle night, wrenching Camille from the tendrils of a nightmare. The wail soared through the trees again, long and desperate. She rolled out of her hammock and stumbled on numb legs, gripped the supporting rope, and got her bearings. The humid night vibrated with fear and confusion in time with her pounding pulse.
Nearby, a mission team member hit the floor with a thud, emitting the forced unh! of having the breath knocked out of him. She could run to him or toward the shriek that woke them.
Shouted questions stabbed the moonlight and flashlights snapped on at odd angles. The child howled a Portuguese word Camille didn’t know, but she couldn’t miss the desperation.
Focus. Reacting with her nurse’s training and passion, she slipped on flip-flops, grabbed a flashlight, and dashed off the open platform in the direction of the pitiful cries. In this jungle, she and Dr. Flavio were the only ER.
“Sucuri! Sucuri!” The word rang throughout the village more like the name of a beautiful bird than the vicious anaconda.
She ran to where villagers converged on the wide footpath in front of the stilted houses. Raised machetes flashed as muscular brown arms brought knives down hard. Shouting and groaning, men hacked at an enormous snake curled in the baked red dirt.
Camille pushed into the circle of defenders and found a young boy under attack. The snake writhed, dying but not giving up its prey. A final cut severed the snake’s head from its squirming body. Blood squirted on the clay clearing and the people. Snake blood and boy blood.
Camille recognized Pedro as a ten year old from the previous day’s medical clinic. He cried, but no longer with curdled terror. She knelt in the dust to examine his wounds and her guts twisted. She had to get him somewhere she could treat him.
Pedro’s young father picked him up as if he were a broken doll. Another man supported the snake’s severed head with teeth still embedded in the boy’s thigh. Camille trotted beside them to the thatched, open-sided platform where they slept and also conducted a fly-in clinic. The mission team cleared the last of their hammocks.
The men laid the victim on a roughhewn table. Conscious and trembling, lips curled in revulsion, Pedro pushed at the dismembered snake head.
His father pulled his hand away. “Não. Espera.” No. Wait.
Camille glanced around. Where was Dr. Flavio? She’d have to start without him. Faced with the responsibility, her mind wanted to freeze. Stop the bleeding. Compression. Disinfectant.
Camille spotted Jessica, the blonde fourteen year old who assisted in the dispensary. She would have the keys to supplies or know who did. “Jessica, get me some disinfectant—alcohol, Betadyne. Lots of it.”
In the jerked-awake village, the missionary team shuffled about looking for a way to help. Luke Strong, one of the pilots, jumped into action. He started the pungent gasoline generator and turned on a bare bulb dangling over the table.
A native woman bustled up the steps with cloth strips.
Camille grabbed the longest one and applied a tourniquet above the injury. Pedro winced, but didn’t cry out.
A suffocating group of men surrounded the table, jabbering and pointing to the embedded teeth. They parted for Dr. Flavio as he hurried through the crowd pulling on surgical gloves. A bloody bandage taped on his forehead identified him as the one who fell out of a hammock when the screams began. She didn’t ask.
Camille took a half step away from the patient and, lacking words, mimed a questioning expression to the doctor.
Late forties, bearded and squarely built, Dr. Flavio epitomized professional concern as he bent over the boy. The gentle bear took Pedro’s wrist, checked his pulse and pupils before examining the nasty wound.
Pedro’s pregnant mother, standing with other women on the ground nearby, wailed and moaned.
Jessica ran up the steps with a liter of Betadyne, and Dr. Flavio splashed the amber disinfectant generously on the boy’s leg. He spoke to the father. Camille understood none of the Portuguese, only their urgent waving and pointing.
The doctor muttered, motioning with his fingers how the bite bent into Pedro’s leg. Onlookers nodded and chattered. Big, bad teeth curved into soft, young-boy flesh.
Dr. Flavio scattered the spectators away with orders and gestures. Reluctantly, they jumped off the platform of the community room but stayed close. This was the only show in town.
Doctor and father grasped the anaconda’s jaws and pulled carefully. The vice of back-slanted teeth didn’t give up. Even in death, they locked into the child’s flesh. Dr. Flavio motioned to the jaw, and someone in the crowd below offered his bloody machete.
“I’m going for the doctor’s tools. The whole kit.” Jessica dashed into the darkness.
Camille rested her hand on the boy’s bare chest and spoke, hoping he would understand her meaning if not her English. “We’re here to help, Pedro. You’re so brave.”
She touched his thick, black hair and smiled her compassion. He had been a diarrhea patient. Maybe the snake seized him at the village outhouse. She couldn’t even ask him how this happened.
When Jessica, aided by Luke, returned with the instrument kits and armloads of supplies, Dr. Flavio isolated the dirty wound. He spoke to Camille, and Jessica translated. “Be ready with sterile gauze and more antiseptic.”
Camille rubbed on hand sanitizer, popped on gloves and ripped open gauze. She willed her fingers not to tremble. She pulled up all of her ER experience, but she had never seen or studied an injury like this. The boy needed her to be professional.
At the edge of darkness, the missionary team formed a circle. With arms overlapping, they bowed and prayed. Camill
e tried to believe that the God who allowed an enormous snake to capture a boy and drag him toward the river would now move miraculously to save the child’s life. Although a life-long Christian, her hopes and God’s actions didn’t always agree.
Dr. Flavio and Camille strained a tool between the locked jaws of the anaconda, and something snapped in the snake’s head. Pulling together, they extracted the curved teeth from Pedro’s raw muscle and skin.
Camille’s worst fear came to life—oozing of the femoral artery despite his tourniquet. He might bleed out in seconds.
Sterile technique was impossible. She gathered a handful of gauze and pressed hard on the wound. Dr. Flavio tightened the tourniquet. He looked directly at her. “Cirugia.”
She recognized the word “surgery” and nodded.
Eyes wide with terror, Pedro’s small, lean frame went rigid. He remained silent.
The kid was brave. He twisted his head toward his crying mother but said nothing.
No general anesthetic. No ether. No morphine. Camille loaded a syringe with Novocain, hating that it would sting Pedro like a wasp until the area went numb.
Dr. Flavio inserted the needle over and over and pointed to the vial. She filled another syringe.
Surgery on a wooden table with a dim bulb and not so much as old-fashioned ether for an anesthetic. What a story she could tell when she returned to Alabama, two weeks and one century away.
The doctor probed for the artery cautiously but wasted no time.
Camille caught Jessica’s eye. “Get the strongest flashlight you can find. Stand on the other side, and hold it close without getting in his way.” She hoped the young missionary kid wouldn’t faint. This was a hard test for a girl trying to decide if she wanted to be a nurse.
Dr. Flavio squinted into the wound. Perspiration beaded his brow and glistened in his thick beard.
Camille dug in the kit and held a magnifying glass above the surgical site. The doctor gave an appreciative “Ahh.”
Accept This Dandelion Page 17