Love Finds a Way

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  He started to move toward her, then stopped. “If this is going to be a problem, I could make an appointment and come back a little later. This is my day off, so—”

  Wendy held up one hand. “No, that’s okay. The rest of my day is pretty full, so it’ll have to be now, I guess.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Kyle said with a grin. “If I wait much longer for a haircut, I might get fired for looking like a bum.”

  Wendy reached for a cotton drape cloth and snapped it open, nodding toward her barber chair. “Have a seat.”

  Kyle quickly complied. When he was seated, with his head leaning against the headrest, Wendy hit the lever on the side of the chair, tipping it back so she could begin the shave.

  “I’m sorry about the other day,” Kyle said while she slapped a big glob of slick white shaving foam against one side of his face.

  “Oh? What do you have to be sorry about?” she asked, keeping her tone strictly businesslike.

  “For upsetting you.” Kyle turned his head slightly so she could lather the other side as well. “You were upset when we started talking about fishing, right?”

  Wendy shrugged. “Not upset, really. I just don’t like it when someone gives Dad false hope.”

  “False hope? Oh, you mean about going fishing?”

  Wendy nodded curtly. “You’d better close your mouth now, or you might end up with it full of shaving cream.”

  Kyle could only nod at this point, because she’d just placed a pleasantly hot, wet towel over his entire face. He drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax. Wow! This felt like heaven. Too bad the cute little blond administering all this special attention didn’t seem to care much for him. She seemed distant, and if his instincts were working as well as usual, Kyle guessed her father might be right. Maybe Wendy did feel strapped, having to care for him and run a barbershop by herself. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for her to give shaves and cut men’s hair five days a week. From what he’d witnessed in other barbershops, some of the clientele could be pretty crass and rude at times.

  Kyle’s forehead wrinkled. I wonder if either Wendy or Wayne ever does anything just for fun. Maybe what they need is something positive to focus on. With God’s help, maybe I can figure out some way to help them both.

  Wendy let Kyle sit with the warm towel on his face for several minutes, knowing that the procedure would not only cleanse the face, but also soften his bristly whiskers. When she lifted it off, he opened his mouth as if he had to say something, but she quickly wiped his face clean and applied more shaving cream.

  “Phase two,” she explained at his questioning look. He nodded.

  Wendy began to use the straight razor on her client’s appealing face. She’d shaved a lot of handsome faces during her years as a barber, but none had ever evoked quite the response from her as Kyle Rogers. It was unnerving the way he looked at her—with dark, serious eyes and a smile that actually seemed sincere.

  That’s just it, Wendy groaned inwardly. He “seems” sincere … but is he really? Probably not, she silently acknowledged. Except for Dad, I can’t think of a single man who is truly sincere. She drew in a deep breath, bringing all the pain of the past right along with it. Dale wasn’t sincere, that’s for sure.

  “Are you okay?”

  She blinked. “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “You look like you’re distressed about something.”

  Wendy gave her head a slight toss. “Sure, I’m fine.” She hit the lever on the side of the chair, and it shot into a sitting position with such force, Kyle’s head snapped forward. “Oh! I’m sorry about that,” she said, reaching for a bottle of aftershave lotion on the shelf behind her. “This chair’s a genuine antique, and sometimes when the levers are messed with, it seems to have a mind of its own.”

  Wendy patted the spicy liquid onto Kyle’s freshly shaven face. He winced. “Do all your customers receive such treatment, or do you only reserve the rough stuff for guys like me?”

  “Sorry,” she said again. “Maybe your face is more sensitive than some.”

  “Guess so. That’s what happens when you rely on an electric instead of a razor blade.” He smiled up at her. “You sure have pretty blue eyes, do you know that?”

  Oh no … here it comes, she fumed. That lay-it-on-thick, make-a-move-on-Wendy routine. She should have guessed Kyle was too good to be true. “How much hair do you want cut off?” she asked evenly.

  He shook his wavy, dark mane. “Guess maybe you’d better take about an inch all the way around.”

  Wendy deftly began snipping here and there, never taking her eyes off the job at hand, trying to still the racing of her heart. Was she really dumb enough to be attracted to Kyle Rogers, or was her heart beating a staccato because she was irritated about his slick-talking ways and the silly, crooked grin he kept casting in her direction?

  “Did you drive your dad to church on Sunday?” Kyle asked unexpectedly.

  “No, I didn’t. Why do you ask?”

  “When I responded to Wayne’s first 911 call, he made some mention of not getting out much,” Kyle reminded her. “He said he can’t drive to church anymore, so I was thinking maybe I could—”

  “Well, don’t worry about it,” Wendy asserted. “If Dad wants a ride, he knows all he has to do is ask me.”

  “Do you go out much?”

  “Huh?” Just where was this conversation leading? She stopped her work and turned his chair so she could see both of their reflections in the antique beveled mirror. “Just so you know—I don’t date—period.”

  He frowned. “Really? In your line of work, I thought you’d probably have a bunch of guys standing in line.”

  “I’m far too busy trying to keep this shop running,” she said. “And as I’m sure you must have noticed, Dad needs my help at home.”

  “I realize that, Wendy, but you do have a life of your own, and—”

  “No, actually, I don’t!” She gave the chair a sharp turn so she could resume work.

  “Then I suppose you wouldn’t be interested in attending a Christian concert at my church in Grangely tonight?” Kyle asked.

  Wendy clenched her jaw so hard she could feel a dull ache. Never had she wanted to finish a haircut so badly. What was it about Kyle that affected her so?

  “I plan to spend the evening playing a few games with my dad,” she informed him. “I think he’s bored and needs me to spend more quality time with him.”

  “Maybe he needs to get out of the house more,” Kyle suggested.

  Wendy stopped cutting again and held the scissors directly over her client’s head. “I appreciate your concerns, Kyle, but my father’s needs are really my business.”

  He shrugged. “I just thought Wayne might like to go to that concert with us, that’s all. There’s a very special widow who goes to my church, and since your dad said he likes to fish—”

  “Fish?” She grimaced. “What’s fishing got to do with a church concert?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted. “Maybe everything.”

  Wendy started cutting his hair again. “I don’t follow you.”

  “Edna Stone—the widow I just mentioned—likes to fish,” Kyle explained. “In fact, she goes fishing nearly every week. If we could get your dad and Edna to meet, they might strike up a friendship and maybe even go fishing together.”

  So it really wasn’t a date he was asking her on after all. It was her dad he was trying to help. Wendy had obviously misjudged his intentions. However, that reality didn’t make her feel much better. In fact, she wasn’t sure how she was feeling about now.

  “So what are you?” she asked. “Some kind of 911 matchmaker?” Before Kyle could respond, she rushed on. “Really, the last thing Dad needs is some fisherwoman.” She made a few more scissor snips, then added, “And need I remind you that he is disabled?”

  “I know that, Wendy, but it doesn’t mean he has to stop living.”

  “He’s gotten along just
fine for the last ten years without a wife, and I don’t think he needs or even wants one now.”

  Kyle held up one hand. “I wasn’t insinuating that Wayne and Edna would soon be walking down the aisle together.” He grinned. “Of course, I suppose that could happen if the two of them should hit it off.”

  Wendy placed her scissors on the counter, then stepped in front of the barber chair. “I’m only going to say this once, and I hope you understand.”

  Kyle nodded. “I’m all ears.”

  Wendy blinked back threatening tears that had unexpectedly filled her eyes. “Dad doesn’t need a woman friend or a wife. He just needs me to help fill his lonely hours.” She inhaled sharply. “And I’m already working on that.”

  CHAPTER 5

  As Kyle closed the door of his Bronco and started up the engine, he fought the urge to go back to Campbell’s Barbershop. He dropped his head forward until it rested on the steering wheel. Am I treading on thin ice, Lord? he prayed. Am I interested in Wayne and Wendy Campbell because I see a real need, or am I merely experiencing some kind of unexplained physical attraction to the cute little blond barber?

  Kyle didn’t date much, mostly because of his crazy work schedule. However, if he were completely honest, he’d have to admit that he was concerned about establishing any kind of serious relationship that might lead to marriage. The life of a paramedic was far from ideal, and trying to balance his career with a wife and children would be difficult at best. He had no right to subject another human being to his “calling.” He really should only date women he would never be apt to become romantically involved with.

  “Wendy’s father says he’s a Christian, but I’m not so sure about Wendy,” Kyle said, lifting his head from the steering wheel and turning the key in the ignition. She’d made no profession of Christianity and apparently didn’t attend church. “She doesn’t seem to have any interest in men or dating either,” he murmured.

  He pulled away from the curb with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Wayne Campbell needs some help, and I’m pretty sure Wendy does, too, Lord. So if I am the one to help them, I’m asking for Your guidance in all this.”

  Wendy was closing the barbershop at noon when she heard the distinctive whine of sirens in the distance. As the sound drew closer, she felt a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. She uttered a quick prayer. “Not again, Lord. Please don’t let it be another false alarm.”

  Wendy grabbed her coat. “What am I saying? Do I want a real emergency this time?”

  She jerked the door open just in time to see the rescue vehicle fly past her shop. Stepping onto the sidewalk, Wendy could see clear up the street. She watched in horror as the truck came to a full stop in front of her house.

  “Oh no!” she groaned. Not sure whether to be angry with her father or concerned for his welfare, Wendy made a mad dash for home. She stepped onto the porch just in time to meet Steve and an older paramedic who identified himself as Phil Givens. “What’s the problem?” she asked breathlessly.

  Steve shook his head. “Not sure. When we received the call, the 911 operator said she could hardly make heads or tails out of the man’s frantic plea for help.”

  This had better be for real this time, Wendy fussed inwardly. But even as the words flew into her mind, she reprimanded herself. If Dad really was sick, he needed help, and she needed to be with him. She threw open the front door and spotted her father, sitting in his recliner. He didn’t look one bit sick. In fact, Wendy thought he looked more anxious than ill.

  “Where’s Kyle?” her father asked, looking past Wendy and the two rescue men who had followed her inside.

  “Kyle has the day off, Mr. Campbell,” Steve explained. “Phil always fills in for him on Tuesdays.”

  Before Dad could say anything more, both men had opened their rescue cases and donned their surgical gloves.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Phil asked in a businesslike tone. “I understand your call was pretty vague.”

  “I—uh—was feeling kind of dizzy,” he stammered. “I’m much better now though. Probably just got up too quickly.”

  “We’re here, so we may as well check you out,” Phil said with a curt nod.

  “I agree,” Steve put in. “It could be something serious this time.”

  Phil gave him an odd look. “What do you mean, this time?” Steve shrugged. “This is the third call to this house in two weeks.”

  “And I just can’t believe it,” Wendy moaned. “What’s the problem, Dad?”

  He hung his head. “Nothing. I mean, I thought I was feeling kind of dizzy before, but now—”

  “And now you’re feeling just fine and dandy? Is that it?” Wendy lamented. She dropped to her knees in front of his chair. “Dad, do you know how bad you scared me?”

  “We’ll check him over in case there is something really wrong,” Steve said before Dad could make any kind of reply.

  Wendy turned to face the paramedic. “Just so you know, I have no pizza today.”

  Phil’s expression revealed his obvious bewilderment. “Pizza? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything at all,” Dad cut in.

  “Maybe what you need is a cat, Dad,” Wendy muttered.

  Dad looked at her as if she’d completely lost her mind. “I think you men had better go now,” he mumbled. “My daughter and I have a few things to discuss.”

  Steve hesitated. “But you said you were feeling dizzy. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine, really.” Dad struggled to sit up again. “Sorry about the wasted trip to Plumers.”

  “You really should think twice about calling 911,” Phil said firmly. “We are extremely busy, and responding to unnecessary calls doesn’t set very well with me.”

  Wendy gave the man an icy stare. “Dad thought he was sick.”

  Phil shot her a look of irritation in return, then nodded to Steve. “Let’s get going.”

  “A cat or dog might not be such a bad idea,” Steve whispered as Wendy saw them out the door.

  “It’s either that, or I may have to consider moving Dad to the Grangely Fire and Rescue Station,” Wendy said with a faint smile. She closed the door and leaned heavily against it, wondering what she was going to say to Dad, and how to say it without hurting his feelings.

  “Look, Dad,” she began, moving back to the living room, “I know you’re probably lonely, and—”

  He held up one hand as if to silence her. “I’m afraid I have an admission to make.”

  “Oh, and what might that be?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

  “All three of my 911 calls were trumped up.”

  Wendy waved both hands in the air. “No? You think?”

  He laughed lightly, but she didn’t respond to his mirth. Those calls had frightened her, and she saw nothing funny about calling out the paramedics for false alarms either.

  He motioned her to take a seat. “It’s like this, honey—I thought Kyle Rogers would be working today, so—”

  “Kyle has the day off,” Wendy interrupted. “He came into the barbershop for a shave and a haircut this morning.”

  Dad’s face brightened considerably. “He did?”

  Wendy nodded. “Yes, but it might be the first and last cut he ever gets at Campbell’s Barbershop.”

  “Oh, Wendy! You didn’t scare him off, I hope.”

  “Scare him off? What’s that supposed to mean, Dad?”

  “Kyle’s a nice young Christian man, and I think he would make good husband material.”

  Wendy moaned. “Husband material? Oh, Dad, please don’t tell me you’ve been trying to set us up.”

  He shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, I won’t tell you that.”

  “Dad! How could you?”

  He hung his head sheepishly. “I thought you needed a man. I thought it might help—”

  The rest of his sentence was lost on Wendy. All she could think
of was the fact that everything had finally come into crystal-clear focus. Dad wasn’t really that lonely after all. The old schemer was trying to set her up. What in the world was she going to do about this?

  Right after lunch, Wendy convinced her dad to take a nap. He had seemed a bit overwrought ever since the paramedics left, and she thought he needed some rest. Besides, it would give her a chance to think things through more clearly.

  Wendy closed the door to his bedroom and headed across the hall to her own room. She grabbed the telephone from the small table by her bed and dialed the Grangely Clinic. Since Dad was feeling fine, she saw no reason for him to see Dr. Hastings this afternoon after all.

  A few minutes later, the appointment she’d scheduled had been canceled, and Wendy hung up the receiver. At least, she thought it was hung up. Preoccupied with thoughts of Kyle,

  Dad, and her own self-doubts, Wendy missed fitting the receiver completely into the cradle. She left the room quickly and took a peek at Dad. He was sleeping like a baby, so she grabbed her coat and headed out the front door.

  Outside the house, the air felt frigid. From the gray clouds gathering in the sky, it looked like it might even snow. Wendy stuffed her hands inside her pockets and hurried down the street toward her barbershop, hoping the storm wouldn’t be too severe.

  When she arrived at the shop, good old, joke-telling Clyde Baxter was waiting outside the door. He was leaning up against the building, just under the swirling, traditional candy-cane-style barber pole, blowing on his hands and stomping his feet up and down. “You’re late,” he grumbled, “and it’s gettin’ mighty cold out here. My eyes are sure smartin’, too.”

  When Wendy apologized, his irritation seemed to vanish as quickly as it had come. He chuckled softly and said, “Say, here’s a question for you, little lady. When are eyes not eyes?”

  Wendy shrugged and opened the shop door. “Beats me.”

  “When the wind makes them water!” Clyde howled as he stepped inside, then slipped out of his heavy jacket and hung it on a wall peg.