by Kimberly Rae
Ryan was gaping. “What?”
She continued, her eyes dreamy. “When I began writing, I was able to create my own name, and with it start my own life as whoever I wanted to be.”
She directed Ryan’s gaze through the cutout in the wall connecting the kitchen to the living room. Across the living room were several bookshelves. The shelf above the fireplace showcased a row of books all the same size and genre. “I’m a romance novelist,” she said, stretching out the syllables with pride. “Have you ever heard of Lavender Blossom? That’s my pen name.”
He shook his head, then added when her face fell, “I’m not much for reading romances, ma’am.”
Kayla coughed from her position in front of the stove to keep from laughing. She poured pancake batter onto the skillet while Ryan asked Laverne Bloom, or rather Lavender Blossom, “If you write romances all the time, why did you never get married yourself?”
Laverne Bloom’s eyes once again went off into the distance. “I could never find a real-life man who measured up to the ones I created for my books.” She sighed. “My heroes are so romantic, so chivalrous. Real-life men… well… no offense, dear, but they don’t always say just the right thing, and… well…” Her chin went up a notch, and Ryan noticed that for a moment, she and Kayla looked quite similar. “Some of them leave the toilet seat up and their socks on the floor, and I decided I’d rather live my life in my imagination than spend my days with a man who proved to be uncouth or sloppy, or just… just…”
“Just not like a guy in a romance novel?” Ryan offered.
“Exactly.” Laverne smiled. “I’m glad you understand.”
Kayla was biting her lip as she flipped the pancakes then turned toward the table. “Aunt Lav, why did you use your old name at Ryan’s — Mr. Cumming’s — church? You’ve never done that before.”
“Well, dear — watch those pancakes; I think you overdid the other side a little. At first it was just the fun of being someone new. With my old name, no one knew I was a writer, so I got to be just a person, which was a nice change. I had every intention of letting them know who I really am.”
“But…”
“Oh, those smell delicious, Kayla. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“It’s just pancakes from a boxed mix, Aunt Lav. Back to your story?”
“Oh yes. When I first visited the church and heard about their scheduled trip to Pakistan. I was so excited. I wanted to tell the group that you were my great-niece and ask them to take you some gifts and letters from me and find out how you were doing, but then when I heard this wonderful young man was leading the team, well, I certainly didn’t want to ask him to single you out and be forced to spend time with you for my sake. It would be much better if he met you and was attracted to you without my interfering.”
A burning smell filled the air. Kayla grabbed a hot pad and pulled the skillet off the stove. She growled at the burnt pancakes before scraping them into the trash. She did not dare look back at where Ryan sat. Was he as horrified as she felt?
She heard a choking sound. Seemed Ryan was suddenly having a hard time getting his glass of orange juice down.
Laverne Bloom’s smile was full, as if enjoying a good show. “When you wrote and asked about coming here, of course I was delighted. Since Mr. Cummings had decided to become the associate pastor, I knew suggesting another teen trip to Pakistan wouldn’t work because he likely would not go the next time, so you coming here was perfect. I couldn’t figure out how to get you two together again, and providence did it for me!”
Kayla slapped several only slightly-burnt pancakes onto a plate and set the plate down with a thud. “Not providence.” She jerked her head in Ryan’s direction. “Him.”
Laverne’s eyes lit up. “You invited her here?”
The stab of a fork into the pile of pancakes was Ryan’s initial answer. “She blames me for having to leave Pakistan,” he finally said.
“Why on earth would she blame you?” Laverne took dainty bites, setting her fork down between each bite.
“He told them all about… about…”
“About the fact that you have health issues that need to be dealt with!”
Kayla slammed the skillet back onto the stove. “Yeah, well do you want to take me to the doctor appointment I have today? Hold my hand while I get blood drawn and tests run? Listen to them ask me personal questions about my family history and—”
“What a wonderful idea!” the elderly woman chimed in. Kayla could not figure out if she was genuinely unaware of the sarcasm, or she was only pretending that Kayla had actually wanted his company and had seriously asked him to hold her hand during blood tests.
“My dear child.” The woman’s voice took on a serious note. “You needn’t worry about the family history, or even your own fears. The mission board has permitted you several months of medical leave, so you even have decent insurance coverage. Whatever is happening with your body, pretending it isn’t there will not make it go away. You need to find answers, and live with whatever they are.” She looked Kayla straight in the eye. “And not blame anyone who cares enough to say so.”
Kayla refused to start crying in front of them both. She rubbed her eyes, as if she was still tired, willing the tears to stay inside.
Ryan suddenly rose from his chair. Was he as uncomfortable as he looked? Or maybe angry at her outburst?
“I think I’ll be getting back to my work now.” He carried his plate and cup to the sink. Kayla noticed her aunt nod in pleased appreciation of his manners.
“Thanks for the pancakes.”
She looked down. “Sorry they were burnt.”
He almost smiled, then exited. In less than a minute she heard the hammering again. A sickly feeling spread through her and settled near her heart.
“Sounds to me like he really was trying to help.”
“Who?”
Kayla heard the smile in Laverne’s voice. “You know who. Our visitor with the dark eyes and dark, wavy hair.”
“It wasn’t any of his business.”
“Maybe he decided he wanted you to be his business. Maybe he cared.”
Kayla stood. “Well, he should have talked to me before caring me right out of the country.” She sat again, twirling a strand of hair absently with her fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“Your feelings about him are rather strong, aren’t they?”
Kayla stood again and approached the sink. “I’d better wash these dishes and go get ready for my appointment.”
Her aunt looked up from the table knowingly. “Is that the first thing you need to give attention to?” She rose and took the pan from Kayla’s hand. “Leave the dishes to me. Go talk to that young man. After all the time I spent planning work to be done around here, then hiring him to be working on it during your stay, it would be downright wasteful to run him off the first day.” She smiled and suddenly looked years younger. “Besides, did you see how that one section of hair keeps falling down over his one eyebrow? Very endearing.”
Kayla had to smile, if only for a moment. “Okay, I’ll go talk to him.”
The lattice was securely nailed in place, and Ryan was installing the swing when she approached. “I’m sorry about my aunt,” she said, a hesitancy to her voice. He stopped working, turned, and faced her. She focused on his chin, avoiding his unnerving direct gaze. “I had no idea she knew you, or that she hired you just because… I mean… oh good grief, this is ridiculous.”
He was smiling. A bland, polite smile that made her suddenly miss the teasing one from before. “She’s something else. Where’d she come up with a name like Lavender?”
“Her big writing break happened in the sixties — you know, flower power and all that.”
“Groovy.” He grinned and she caught herself smiling back, until she remembered her aunt’s words. Her face flamed again.
“Listen.” She stepped forward. “I know it’s obvious to both of us that she’s trying to set us up. That makes me feel totally
… totally…”
“Repulsed?” He wasn’t exactly frowning as he said it, but Kayla detected a hint of insecurity in his eyes.
“No, of course not.”
He leaned on the ladder again and grinned. “Happy?”
She shook her head. “Weird.”
He laughed, and something in Kayla relaxed.
“You know how to make a guy feel good.”
“Sorry.” She smiled, then sobered. “And I know I should say I’m sorry for blaming you for getting me sent home. You were just trying to help.”
He nodded silently, waiting for her to continue.
She bit her lip. “There’s a lot more to it than you know, but that isn’t your fault.”
Again he waited in silence.
Kayla looked down at the ground. “So how are the teens doing? How is Jainey?”
“They’re good, I guess.” Ryan’s shrug was noncommittal. “Jainey is… well, she’s thinner now than she was even a few weeks ago, but she still talks about being too big. I worry about her.” He tossed his hammer from one hand to the other. “You should come to church this Sunday. They’d all love to see you.”
Kayla crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back. “I’d — I’d better go get ready for my appointment. I don’t even remember where my own hairbrush is at this point.”
He nodded, and she turned away and headed for the screen door near her room.
“Kayla?”
She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “Yes?”
He took a step toward her. “Your aunt has several projects planned for me, so I’m going to be around a lot. In fact, I have a feeling she’ll keep coming up with work for me to do as long as you’re staying. Can we pretend she’s not planning our future and decide to be friends?”
She regarded him for several moments. “Maybe.” Then her eyes dropped to the tool in his hand, and her lips curved upward. “If you promise not to start hammering until I’m awake in the morning.”
“How will I know when you’re awake?” He grinned. “Will you come out in that pink blanket every morning to tell me you’re up?”
Once again, red came flashing up Kayla’s face and ears. “I’m ignoring that remark,” she said, lifting her chin and pulling on the screen door. It took three hard yanks before the ancient apparatus gave way and opened.
She shut the door behind her to block out his low laugh. The man was insufferable. But goodness, did he ever look good in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair mussed, and that one curl falling down onto his forehead.
She put a hand to her head. She was starting to think like Aunt Lavender. “Next thing you know I’m going to be saying ‘gracious sakes’ and calling people ‘honey’.”
When she heard Ryan outside her window, humming as he got back to work, the thought of calling him any version of “honey” brought a pink tinge to her cheeks. She gave the mirror a harsh look. “Well, now you match the blanket. What next?”
She scowled at herself then got busy. She had her own work to do — the job of getting to the doctor and finding out what was wrong with her, so he could fix it and she could move on with her life.
Back to Pakistan. Away from frilly curtains and pink blankets and infuriating, teasing men.
Chapter Seven
Ryan listened to the sound of the vehicle leaving the driveway. The noise of the motor faded away, but the mental pictures would not. Imagining Kayla at a doctor’s office, some stranger sticking a needle into her arm to draw blood from it, made him break out in a cold sweat. He wasn’t good around needles. Or blood.
Pulling his hammer from his jeans, he swung it, hard, through the air around him. He was glad Kayla was only being sarcastic when she’d suggested he come hold her hand during the blood draw. Had she seriously asked him, he would have had to refuse rather than admit his fear of passing out when the needle pierced into her flesh.
Ryan frowned. What a pansy he was. No good in a crisis.
His mind flew back to Pakistan, when the others in the team had caught a glimpse of the problems he had noticed Kayla experienced. He’d totally blown it that day, too…
****
He had been following Kayla like a lovesick pre-teen, helping her set out papers and craft supplies for the Bible Club as she’d talked about the different street children. “I feel such a desire to protect them, to give them a safe place away from the world out there.” She’d gestured toward the outer gate leading to the busy road. Her face had fallen. “Most of them don’t have shoes. I don’t think any of them have a change of clothes. I want so much to take care of them. But I can’t. I can’t even—”
He had involuntarily leaned closer to hear her words, but she’d suddenly stopped. “Oh, they’re coming. I need to go.”
She disappeared into a throng of over one hundred exuberant, brown-skinned children, all eager for her attention.
He’d felt his own sense of protectiveness kick him in the gut, but not for the children. For her.
What is wrong with me? he’d wondered. Back in North Carolina, the women in his home church were constantly after him to start dating, find some nice girl, or at least show some interest. Why was he — the guy who didn’t have time back home — suddenly feeling like something was missing from his life after one week around Kayla Madison, a girl who was only hanging around him because it was her current assignment?
Commitment phobia. That’s what it was. Just a few weeks earlier, one of the grandmothers in the church, who’d wanted him to date her extremely uninteresting granddaughter, had said he was avoiding even liking a girl because he was afraid of settling down.
Yes, that was it. He’d felt this strange pull toward the beautiful young missionary because there was no possibility whatsoever of pursuing her. No chance of a relationship meant there was no risk in being attracted to her.
He’d been chiding himself when he and several others noticed Kayla put a hand to her chest and lean over. A deep, wheezing sound came from her throat. Her other hand went to her head.
“Miss Kayla?” Jainey had rushed up first. “Are you okay?”
“I — don’t — know.” It seemed to take great effort to talk. “It — hurts.”
Ryan had felt his own chest hurting as he watched.
Cindy had taken charge while he stood in helpless confusion.
“Joe!” Her urgent tone had Joe at her side in three seconds. “See that pile of sawdust under the chair Miss Kayla’s leaning on? Get her as far away from it as possible.”
Several teens had helped Joe escort Kayla outside.
Ryan approached the chair. He pulled it up and ran a hand along the underside, jerking it away as several bugs fell to the floor. “Yuck. Termites.”
“She must be allergic to sawdust,” Cindy said.
“Thanks for your quick thinking.” Ryan set the chair back down. “I had no idea what to do.”
“Guess you’re not the one to call in a crisis, huh?” She’d grinned. “Or at least not when the crisis involves a pretty girl you’ve been following at a distance all day?”
Ryan had hoped he wasn’t blushing. “She’s the tour-guide person. We’ve all been following her all day.”
Cindy’s mouth had turned up on one side. “Mmm-hmm. Well, let’s go check on our pretty little tour guide.” She stopped. “Unless you want to stay in here and pretend you aren’t interested?”
“You’re worse than the kids.” He had walked ahead, hoping Cindy would stop laughing by the time they joined the others.
Kayla sat cross-legged on the grass outside the church, surrounded by hovering teens. His chest had filled with pride at their compassion and with something else. The sight of Kayla in pain had affected him more than it should.
She’d glanced up, saw him, and blushed. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea what that was all about.”
Her hand was still resting against her heart, her fingers absently rubbing a spot below her collarbone, but otherwise she appeared well.
; “Should we get you back to the guest house? Or take you to see a doctor?”
“No!” He saw her hands flutter. Ryan was no psychologist, but working with teens, especially Jainey, had taught him to pay attention to nervous gestures and certain expressions, and what they meant. If he’d had to guess at Kayla’s, as she jumped up and practically bounced back toward the building, he’d say she was working hard at pretending she was just fine. Which almost certainly meant she was not.
“Have you ever been checked for asthma?” Cindy had called after her.
Kayla’s response was so abrupt even the teens were taken aback. She’d spoken sharply, then turned her back and disappeared inside, closing the door behind her.
“Did you see her face?” Joe’s one eyebrow had gone up, and Ryan had known a sarcastic comment was coming. “It was like Cindy had asked her if she had a secret love child hiding somewhere!”
“Well, there’s definitely something wrong with her. Have you noticed how she tries to look so energetic, but the longer she works the more she has to sit down?”
“But she smiles and pretends she’s fine.”
Karl lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you think she’s pregnant?”
Ryan had felt his face fill with heat. He opened his mouth to protest, but another teen beat him to it.
“Um, yeah, like that’s going to happen with a missionary who told all of us not to even hold hands because it’s inappropriate in this culture.”
“True. Guess she’s probably not on drugs either.”
Ryan’s mouth had pinched into a thin line. “Let’s get back to work. There are a lot of kids inside who need our attention.”
Karl smirked on his way by. “And one sick girl, too. Right, Pastor R?”
Ryan had sighed. It was obvious Kayla was trying to keep her symptoms a secret.
He’d known what he needed to do. And he’d known she was not going to like it…
****
A deep heat on the back of his neck reminded Ryan he was outside. He gazed around, remembering he was on the job and had work to do. Climbing the ladder again, he kept his eyes on his hammer, his hand on the wood, and tried to keep his mind off Kayla Madison and what a doctor might be doing to her right at that moment.