Love Finds a Way

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Wendy could still see the shocked expression on her dad’s face when a police officer arrived at the barbershop and gave him the news that Mom had been hit by a car. Those sirens had been for her, only it was too little, too late. Clare Campbell was dead—killed instantly by a drunken driver who’d veered off the road.

  The blaring sound drew closer now, pulling Wendy from the past and causing her to shiver. As the rescue vehicle flew past, she saw that it was the paramedic truck. Something serious must have happened. Someone would probably be taken to the hospital in Grangely.

  Wendy began to walk a bit faster, broke into a cold sweat, then ran at full speed when she saw the vehicle stop in front of her house. It couldn’t be! “Please, God, don’t let anything happen to Dad,” she prayed.

  Two paramedics were already on the front porch when Wendy bounded up the stairs.

  “It’s open,” she cried. “My father never locks the front door.”

  One of the men turned to face her. “Did you make the call?”

  Wendy shook her head. “No, I just got here.” She yanked open the front door and dashed into the living room.

  Her father sat slumped over on the floor. His cane, one leg, and both hands were badly tangled in a long piece of fishing line. A well-used rod and reel were connected to the other end of the line, lying at an odd angle against the front of the couch. The phone was on the floor by his hip. Its cord was wrapped around the twisted mess.

  “Dad, what on earth happened?” Wendy dropped to her knees beside him, and the paramedics moved swiftly toward their patient.

  “Mr. Campbell?” Kyle Rogers could hardly believe it. This was the same man he’d spoken to in the hospital cafeteria just last week.

  “You remember me?” Wayne inquired as Kyle donned a pair of surgical gloves.

  “Of course. We met at the Grangely Hospital last week,” Kyle replied. “You seem to have a bit of a problem, sir. Are you hurt? You didn’t get a fishhook stuck in your hand or anything, did you?”

  Wayne groaned and shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I’m so glad you’re here. I was trying to tie some flies, but I sure made a mess of things, didn’t I?” He glanced over at Wendy, who was white faced and wide eyed. “Don’t look so serious, Wendy girl. I met one of these young men at the hospital,” he said, nodding toward Kyle. “He was nice enough to help me with some spilled coffee, and—”

  “Dad, I’m concerned about you,” Wendy interrupted. “How in the world did you get all tangled up like this?” Her forehead wrinkled. “And why didn’t you call me instead of 911?”

  Wayne shrugged. “Guess I thought you wouldn’t know what to do.” He glanced over at Kyle again. “Do you think you guys can get this stuff untangled? It’s starting to cut off my circulation—what little I have left, that is,” he added with a grimace.

  Kyle turned to his partner. “Let’s see what we can do to help the man, Steve.”

  As the two men began to work, Wayne smiled at his daughter and said, “Wendy, this is Kyle Rogers.”

  Kyle’s full attention was focused on the job at hand as he tried to disengage the fishing line without causing Wayne too much discomfort. He did stop long enough to mumble, “Nice to meet you.”

  “Are you going to be able to get that line off Dad without breaking it?” Wendy asked, glancing at Kyle.

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out, Miss Campbell,” Steve answered. “If you’ll just move aside so we can have more room to—”

  “My daughter’s name is Wendy,” Wayne interrupted.

  “I’m really sorry about all this,” Wendy said apologetically. “I’m sure you busy men have better things to do than untangle a fishing line.”

  “That’s okay, Wendy,” Kyle said kindly. “We were free when the call came in, and this could have been a real emergency. What if that line had gotten tangled around your dad’s neck?”

  Wendy nodded and waited silently as Kyle and his partner tried unsuccessfully to unwind the line. Finally, when their efforts seemed futile, Steve took out a pair of scissors from his belt pouch and began to cut.

  After a few minutes Kyle announced, “There you go, Mr. Campbell. Freedom at last!”

  Wayne smiled as the paramedics helped him to his feet and onto the couch.

  “Are you planning a fishing trip in the near future, Mr. Campbell?” Kyle asked as he moved aside the fishing pole that was still leaning against the couch.

  “No—no—not really, “Wayne sputtered. “I mean, maybe—”

  Wendy gave her dad a quizzical look, but when he didn’t acknowledge her, she turned to face Kyle. “If you think Dad’s okay, then I’ll excuse myself to go fix us some lunch. I need to get back to the barbershop by one.”

  “You’re a barber?” Kyle asked, raising his eyebrows. Wow! This really is a day full of surprises.

  She nodded. “I have been for the last five years.”

  “Wendy and I used to be partners,” Wayne put in. “Then my rheumatoid arthritis got the best of me, and I finally had to hang up my shaving gear and retire the old scissors.” He grunted. “Now I’m just a worthless, crippled widower who sits around wishing he could do something worthwhile with his life.”

  Steve was already moving toward the door, but Kyle wasn’t in any hurry to leave just yet. He pulled out a chair from the dining room table and placed it directly in front of Wayne. He took a seat and leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Campbell, none of God’s children are worthless. Just because you’re a bit hampered by your arthritis doesn’t mean you can’t do something worthwhile or have an active social life.”

  Wayne’s eyes lit up. “You really think so?” He turned to Wendy. “Did you hear that? This nice young man thinks I have potential.”

  Wendy opened her mouth as if to comment, but was cut off when Steve held up the medication box and asked, “You about ready to head out, Kyle?”

  Kyle waved one hand toward the front door. “You can wait for me in the truck. I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

  Steve shrugged, grabbed the rest of their medical cases, and headed out the door.

  “You know, Mr. Campbell—” Kyle began.

  “Wayne. Please call me Wayne.”

  Kyle smiled and pointed toward the Bible lying on the coffee table. “I see you have a copy of the Good Book over there.”

  When Wayne nodded, Kyle continued. “I hope that means you put your faith in God.”

  “I try to, but I don’t get to church much these days.”

  “My father doesn’t drive the car anymore,” Wendy explained.

  Kyle eyed her with speculation. “What about you? Don’t you drive?”

  “Of course I do.” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  Before Kyle could respond, Wayne cut right in. “I bought Wendy a new car for her twenty-fourth birthday last month, and she makes a great chauffeur.”

  “Dad!” Wendy exclaimed. “I don’t think Mr. Rogers cares how old I am or that you just bought me a car.”

  Wayne shrugged and offered her an impish, teasing smile. “He did ask if you could drive.”

  Wendy drew in a deep breath and blew it out with such force, Kyle felt concern. “Are you all right, Miss Campbell?”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” she insisted. With a dimpled smile she added, “Thanks so much for rescuing Dad. I’m relieved there was no fishing hook involved and that it wasn’t anything really serious. If you’ll excuse me, I do need to fix lunch so I can get back to work.”

  Wendy started for the kitchen, but she stopped in her tracks when her father called, “Say, why don’t we ask the paramedics to join us for lunch? You wouldn’t mind fixing a little extra soup and some juicy roast beef sandwiches, would you, honey?”

  Kyle glanced over at Wendy. She seemed a bit flustered, and he had a sudden desire to put her at ease. “I’m meeting someone for lunch, but thanks anyway,” he said quickly.

  Wendy’s ears burned like a three-alarm fire. What would possess Dad to invite someone f
or lunch without conferring with me first? It’s just not like him to do something like that. She shook her head, trying to make some sense out of this whole scene. One minute she had been frightened out of her wits by the sound of a siren, only to see the rescue truck stop in front of her house. The next moment, she was paralyzed with fear at the thought of her father being seriously hurt. Then she felt relief flood her soul when the paramedics were able to get Dad free and discovered that he hadn’t been injured in any way by the fishing line. Now Dad was inviting strangers to lunch! What was going on here, anyway?

  “You take care, Mr. Campbell, and remember—God loves you,” Kyle said, breaking into Wendy’s disconcerting thoughts. “I’m sure if you pray about it, you can find something worthwhile to do.” He smiled at Wendy. “It was nice meeting you.”

  Wendy’s heartbeat picked up slightly, but she merely nodded and closed the door behind Kyle Rogers.

  “Didn’t you think those guys were great? Especially Kyle. What a nice young man he seems to be,” her father said.

  Wendy shrugged her shoulders. Kyle was nice, all right. And good-looking, too. His dark, wavy hair looked like something she would enjoy cutting, and those eyes—the color of her favorite chocolate candy. She shook her head, as if to knock some sense into it. She couldn’t allow herself to think such thoughts. What had come over her, anyway?

  “Paramedics are supposed to be good, Dad, or else they wouldn’t be in the rescue business.” Wendy flopped onto the couch. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it close to her chest. Her hands still trembled from the scare she’d just had, not to mention her unexplained attraction to one very nice paramedic. She felt a humdinger of a headache coming on, too. All thoughts of food suddenly faded.

  “I know all about what paramedics are trained for,” Dad said with a smile. “Allied Health Technical College in Grangely not only teaches emergency medical services but gives their students plenty of hands-on experience in the campus lab. The classroom training covers everything from cardiology basics to defensive driving of their emergency vehicles.”

  Wendy’s mouth dropped open. “Just how in the world did you find out so much about paramedic training?” Before he could respond, she hurried on. “And why, Dad? Why would you need to know all that stuff?”

  Dad smiled, causing his steel blue eyes to crinkle around the edges. “You know me. I’m always reading and doing some kind of research.” He repositioned himself on the couch, then leaned his head against the cushions. “What else is there for a poor old cripple to do all day?”

  Wendy shook her head. “You’re only fifty, Dad. That’s not old. And, while you’re not filthy rich, you certainly aren’t poor either. I make an adequate living at the barbershop, and your disability benefits help quite a bit.”

  He pointed a knobby finger at her. “You didn’t bother touching on the subject of me being a cripple though, did you? That’s because it’s true.”

  Wendy began to knead her forehead. “Listen, Dad, I know being housebound so much of the time is probably getting to you, but you can’t start feeling sorry for yourself. It won’t solve a thing.”

  “Who says I’m feeling sorry for myself?” he snapped. “Dad, I apologize.”

  “No, I’m the one who needs to do that,” he said in a more subdued tone. “I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have barked at you.” He frowned and reached down to massage one leg. “Guess I’m in a bit of pain right now. It’s making me kind of touchy and out of sorts.”

  Wendy was immediately on her feet. “Oh Dad, I’m so sorry! How thoughtless of me to forget about the aspirin you usually take with your meal.” She started toward the kitchen but turned back. “Listen, about lunch—”

  “Just a bowl of soup will be fine for me,” he interrupted. “Forget about the roast beef sandwich. I’m not all that hungry anyway.”

  She shook her head. “No, I wasn’t going to ask that.” “What then?”

  “I was wondering why you invited those paramedics to stay for lunch.”

  “They looked hungry,” he replied with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “Yeah, right,” she countered. “You’re such a kidder, Dad.”

  “I just thought it would be nice if we had some company for a change,” Dad said, giving her a look that resembled a little-boy pout.

  Wendy came back to kneel in front of the couch. “Dad, if you’re really that bored, why not invite Fred or even good old Clyde over for lunch one of these days? If you give me some advance notice, I might even be willing to whip up something really nice.”

  He scowled. “Fred and Clyde? You’ve gotta be kidding, Wendy. Why, those guys and their same old jokes are boring.”

  “Dad!”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Well, maybe not boring exactly, but certainly not full of vim and vigor, like those nice paramedics seemed to be.”

  Wendy groaned inwardly. She just didn’t understand what had come over Dad. Maybe he was in his second childhood or something. Maybe he thought he needed to be around younger people in order to feel youthful.

  She gave him a weak smile. “I am going out to the kitchen now. I think a bowl of chicken noodle soup might help both of our moods.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Oh brother,” Wendy fumed as she closed the door behind what she hoped would be her last Friday morning customer. She needed at least half an hour to repair the damage left in the wake of little Jeffrey Peterson. Maybe by the time she’d eaten and checked on Dad, her emotions would have settled down.

  “If the rest of my day goes as badly as the last few hours, I may consider closing this shop and finding a normal job!” she said, leaning against the edge of the counter.

  First thing this morning, the Miller brothers came in—without appointments, of course. Rufus and Alvin lived in an old shack just outside of town, and the mere sight of the tall, gangly men made Wendy’s stomach churn. Their clothes were always grimy and smelled like week-old dirty socks. The brothers’ greasy, matted hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed since their last cut, nearly eight weeks ago. It was a wonder they didn’t have a head full of lice!

  If that wasn’t bad enough, both of the men sported the foulest breath she’d ever had the misfortune of smelling. To add insult to injury, Alvin spit his chewing tobacco into the potted palm sitting in one corner of the barbershop.

  Jeffrey Peterson had been her next client, and what a time she’d had trying to get the active three-year-old to sit still! Even with the aide of the booster seat, he’d sat much too low. It was a miracle Wendy didn’t take off an ear instead of the unruly mass of bright red hair, glued together by a hunk of bubble gum that could only be cut out. To make matters worse, Jeffrey managed to leave another wad of sticky gum on the arm of her barber’s chair.

  “Now wouldn’t that give someone a nice bonus when they sit down, expecting a haircut or shave?” Wendy grumbled, scrubbing the gummy clump and wondering about the logic of buying that antique, claw-foot gum ball machine. “Maybe I should have gone to beauty school like my friend Sharon.”

  Suddenly the bell above her shop door rang, indicating another customer.

  She looked up from her gum-removal project and scowled. It was Gabe Hunter, the very man old Clyde Baxter wanted to link her up with. That will never happen, Wendy fumed. Gabe acts like a conceited creep, and the guy thinks he’s every woman’s dream come true.

  A quick glance at the wall clock told her it was eleven thirty. While she certainly wasn’t thrilled about this particular customer, she knew she could manage to squeeze in one more haircut before lunch.

  “Morning, Wendy,” Gabe said with a wink. “You’re lookin’ as pert and pretty as always.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Gabe,” Wendy said through clenched teeth. “At least not with me.”

  Gabe removed his leather jacket and carelessly threw it over one of the old opera-style seats in the small waiting room. “Aw, come on. You know you find me irresistible. I mean, how could you not? I’m p
robably your best-looking customer, not to mention the fact that I’m a great tipper.” Gabe plopped into the chair Wendy had been scrubbing and planted his hairy hand inches from hers.

  “Why don’t you sit in that chair?” she suggested, pulling her hand away and motioning to what used to be her father’s barber chair. “As you can probably see, this one has recently been initiated.”

  Gabe shrugged and moved to the other chair. “You know what?”

  “No, what?” Wendy shot back.

  “I don’t have to start work until two today. How about you and me going over to Pete’s Place and sharin’ a large pepperoni pizza?”

  “I’m working.”

  “Well, you’ve gotta take a lunch break, right?” he persisted. Moving away from the gummed-up chair, Wendy grabbed a clean cotton drape and hooked it around Gabe’s humongous neck. He’d been a star football player during high school, and now he worked as a mechanic for the only car repair shop in Plumers. Every time the brute came in for a haircut, he tried to come on to Wendy. Some of the town’s young single women might be fooled by his good looks and somewhat crass charisma, but not Wendy. She’d been burned once, and she couldn’t let it happen again. Especially not with some six-foot-two, blue-eyed charmer who didn’t have the good sense to know when to keep his mouth shut.

  “Well, how about it?”

  “How about what?” Wendy sidestepped.

  “Lunch—with me.” He gave her another wink.

  “I’m going home for lunch so I can check on Dad,” she said evenly.

  Gabe threw both hands in the hair, nearly pulling the cotton drape off his neck. “Whatever!”

  “How much do you want off?” Wendy ignored his childish antics and made a firm attempt to get down to business. If she didn’t get this guy out of the chair soon, not only would she be late for lunch, but what was left of her sanity would probably be long gone as well.