by Cathy Bryant
“Yeah.”
“Trish and Little Bo witnessed the whole thing, and they’re having a difficult time getting past it.” She knotted her forehead. “And there’s something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. She should be doing okay financially, but I guess her business has taken a lot of money to get off the ground . . .”
“Dani, you ready to get the rehearsal under way?” The preacher called from the front, his microphone ringing.
“Definitely.” She shouted, then stepped past Andy, her eyes sparkling. “Later, ‘gator.”
Andy wandered to the front and sprawled out in a pew, his thoughts on the young widow and her son. She appeared to be doing okay, but things weren’t always what they seemed on the surface.
Trish entered the hall door, her son’s hand tucked in hers. “Have I missed anything?” She slid in beside Andy and pulled Little Bo into her lap, where he snuggled into her chest with a thumb in his mouth.
“Yeah, it’s over. Already gone through it a couple of times.”
Her wry expression brought a grin to his face, but the gold specks in her tawny eyes made his heart race. He forced his attention to the instructions the preacher spouted.
A few minutes later, the wedding party lined up at the back of the sanctuary to go through the ceremony. Dani had the groomsmen walk the bridesmaids down the aisle, and Andy was glad to be paired with Trish.
After making sure everyone was in the right place, Trish hooked her arm through his and turned toward Little Bo and the flower girl who stood behind them. “Hold her hand, Bo.”
Her son let out a disgusted sigh and wrinkled his nose. “Mo-o-om.” He stretched the word out in a pleading tone.
“It’s almost over, sweetie. Then you can go with Papaw to his house.” Trish turned her head back Andy’s way. “Ready?”
He glanced down at her bare feet. A grin spread across his face to match the one in his heart. “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am.” Past ready.
Trish and Little Bo caught Andy’s attention throughout the rehearsal. The boy had endured as much as he could take and was low on energy and patience. He yawned, and then looked at Trish with begging eyes. She met his unspoken pleas with encouraging smiles.
The silent communication between them stirred something inside him. This woman had lost the person she loved most. She could’ve emotionally abandoned her son and curled up in her grief. But she hadn’t deserted her little boy, like . . . Familiar thoughts tangled in his brain. He snatched a ragged breath to muster his strength and, like he’d done so many times before, stuffed the thoughts deep.
After they practiced the ceremony a second time, the preacher announced the end of the rehearsal. Andy plopped down on the front pew and yawned, the fatigue of a long day catching up to him.
Trish, still barefoot, climbed the steps to give directions for the following day, and then took time to answer questions. She continued to smile and joke, gifted with the rare ability to make each person feel important and recognized. But in one second, as a group moved away, her game face slipped, and she raised fingertips to rub her forehead. She was exhausted. To make matters worse, after everyone else left, she still had more to do. Time to come to her rescue.
Andy took a roundabout way to get up the steps, and moved in behind her to place a hand on her elbow. “You look ready to topple. Let’s go buy those globes so you can get home and rest.”
Weary lines wrinkled her forehead. “I’ll get my purse and meet you in the hall.”
Andy told Mama Beth his plans so she wouldn’t worry and left to find Trish. He spied her off to one side, wistful eyes trained on Dani and Steve as they exited the building, holding hands.
She turned as he approached and quickly plastered on the breath-taking smile she could make appear at a moment’s notice. “There you are. Ready?” She jangled her keys.
“I’m driving. You need the rest.”
“But—”
“But nothing.” He sent her a stern look.” You’ve spent all day helping everyone else. Let me help you for a change.”
Her lips opened like she wanted to say something, but then she clamped them shut. “Okay. Thanks.”
Andy pushed against the heavy wooden door and led the way through the honeysuckle-scented night to his BMW Z3, his mind on the woman at his side. The woman who lugged around a mountainous hurt and tried to pretend it didn’t exist.
“This is your car?” Her voice held surprise, and in the moonlight he saw her eyes grow round.
“Yes, ma’am.” He opened her door and waited while she took a seat, then stepped to the other side.
Trish ran her fingers over the leather seat and ogled the dashboard. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. You want the top up or down?”
“Down, of course.” Her face lit as he lowered the canopy, a starry Texas night above them. “The heavens declare the glory of God.”
“Huh?” Andy started the car, put it in gear, and backed out of the parking space.
“A Bible verse I learned as a child. It always comes to mind when I see daybreak, a sunset, a rainbow, or the stars.” She tilted her head back against the seat and fastened her eyes on the night sky, the fascination with his car long forgotten.
Andy chuckled to himself. Pretty cool that the stars impressed her more than the Z. With the people he ran with, that kind of woman was a rare find.
Beside him she sighed, her face contented. “Thanks, Andy. I needed this. I can’t even express how much.” She spoke the words so softly the wind almost whisked them away.
“Glad to come to your rescue.”
Her shoulders stiffened, and she wiggled up in the seat, the air suddenly charged with tension. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Uh oh, whatever he’d said had triggered some kind of female automatic-response mechanism. He was in big-time trouble judging by her scowl and clamped jaw. “Nothing at all.”
In the near darkness, her eyes glinted jet-black. Finally she spoke, anxiety loosening its grip on his windpipe. “Why do guys always think they have to fix things?”
His eyebrows notched up. “Fix things?”
“You know, the old rescue-the-damsel syndrome.”
He chuckled. “You mean the damsel in distress.”
“What makes you think I’m in distress?”
Great. Another impossible-to-answer question. “I think you do a marvelous job at covering up, but—”
“Covering up?” Her voice elevated.
“Your pain. Dani told me about the accident.” Andy racked his brain for a way out of this mess. The best thing to do was apologize. Even if you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for. “Sorry if I said something to upset you. If you need to vent, I’m a good listener.”
She didn’t answer at once, but her stiff shoulders soon sagged. “I’m the one who should apologize. I guess the stress of this wedding must be getting to me. But I have to ask. What did I do to deserve this special treatment?”
“You were born.” Her eyes held questions, so he continued. “I think God brings us what we need at the right time. Maybe He allowed our paths to cross so I could help. And I mean help, not rescue, if that’s what set you off.”
Her gaze softened as he spoke, then she laughed and closed her eyes. For a while she didn’t speak, but then released a sigh. “Doc was the love of my life. I knew the first time I met him he was the man I wanted to marry. He was good and godly, everything I’d always dreamed of in a husband.”
“So you asked him instead of the other way around?”
She smiled. “Let’s just say I convinced him I was the right woman.”
Andy chuckled, but didn’t comment.
“Early last fall, we bought a new stallion.” She hugged her arms close to her body, shuddered, and released a breath, her voice strained. “We both cautioned Little Bo to stay away from the horse, but we turned around for one second and he was in the pen. Doc hurtled the fence to step between the horse and Bo.”
Her breathing became shallow, and her face twisted in torment. “The horse spooked and kicked . . .”
His heart ached. God, help her speak the words.
Her expression contorted, but she continued. “Doc was in a coma the last month of his life, struggling to live, but the doctors told me he’d never get better, so I gave them permission to unplug the machines and told him it was okay to go on home.” She brought fingers to her face, then eyed her hand, seemingly surprised by the tears she found there. “A few minutes later he took his last breath.”
“No he didn’t, Trish.”
She cocked her head, her eyes questioning.
He sent a soft smile. “He didn’t take his last breath that day. Your husband took his first real breath. In heaven.”
The silence resumed. Had he upset her again? “I hope I didn’t offend you—”
“Not at all. I believe with all my heart that Doc’s in heaven, but . . .”
“But what?”
She tossed her head, her hair glinting with moonbeams. “I just can’t figure out why God took him. We need him.” Her simple words carried an ocean of heartbreak, and the waves crashed against his soul.
Chapter 4
Saturday afternoon before the wedding, Andy stood in the church parlor and studied a large-scaled painting. The piece of art was the one redeeming feature of the room, a diamond in the midst of dusty knick-knacks and avocado velvet.
In the painting, a battered cowboy hat rested on a cedar post. Bluebonnets grew along a barely-traveled rocky path, and the nearby barbed-wire fence was in sore need of mending. He cupped his chin. Something about the painting reminded him of his childhood at Grandpa’s farm.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve moved up beside him and sipped steamy coffee from a white Styrofoam cup, his gaze on the artwork.
“Not sure beautiful is a strong enough term.” Andy mono-toned the words and turned back to the painting to take in the intricate detail, down to the clump of prickly pear cactus in the left foreground. The painting was definitely an original, but there was no name, just an initial. “You know who painted this?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Andy’s interest ratcheted up a notch, and his eyebrows followed. “Really? Will you share the contact info? I’d like something similar for my office.”
Steve smiled. “I can do better than that. I’ll introduce you to the artist.”
“Awesome.”
Steve’s grin morphed into a chuckle. “Trish painted the picture. I’m sure she’d be happy to give you one, since she’s given her artwork to people around here for years.”
His eyes widened. Trish? A painter, too?
The tall cowboy blew on his coffee, a whooshing sound that sent the smell spiraling toward Andy. Then Steve took another sip and checked his watch. “Guess I’d better high-tail it outta here. Dani informed me not to be any place where I might see her today. Stupid rule, if you ask me.”
Andy laughed. “Yeah, I think the guy consensus on the you-can’t-see-me-before-the-wedding rule is pretty much the same wherever you live.” As Steve left the room, Andy sauntered to the nearby coffee pot to pour a cup of coffee.
Trish entered, chatting with a group of women, her hair done up with a few loose strands curling down her neck.
He blinked. She looked drop-dead gorgeous. With his eyes intent on trailing her, he over-filled his cup and sloshed the burning liquid down one arm. Ow! He danced in place, then grabbed a napkin, his attention back on Trish. He’d known her less than twenty-four hours, and already he was so impressed it scared him spitless.
But why was he so afraid? For one thing, he’d never met anyone so talented. Plus his last venture into the world of women hadn’t worked out so well, leaving him more than a little gun-shy. But scariest of all was the load of hurt she shouldered. How could he help her through it without losing himself?
She met his gaze and sent a charming smile that made his own lips curve upward. Then her expression converted to a light scowl, and she turned her back. What had he done this time?
Without thinking, Andy slurped in a deep drink, the scalding coffee setting the top of his mouth on fire. He resisted the urge to wave a hand in front of his mouth and sauntered back to the painting, intent on not looking too dorky, or worse, too interested. Better to play it cool. He swallowed, trying to rid the tinny taste from what was left of his tongue.
Trish drifted over to him. “You look a little more refreshed than you did last night. Mama Beth’s bed and breakfast agrees with you.”
“I’m not the only one who looks refreshed. Or should I say gorgeous?”
Her cheeks colored to a dusky pink. “Thanks.”
Andy angled his head toward the painting. “I understand you painted this.”
She nodded.
“Would you be interested in painting one for me? I’d be happy to pay you well for your time.”
Her eyes clouded and a vertical wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “Look, I truly appreciate all you did for me yesterday, but you’ve atoned for your mistake.”
“Excuse me?”
Trish crossed her arms and gave him a hard stare. “Knocking over the decorations was just something that happened. You helped make it right, so don’t feel obligated.”
A short laugh ripped from his throat. “Don’t flatter yourself, lady. I helped because it looked like you needed help. Not because I was trying to make up for anything.”
“That’s not a good reason either.” She shifted her weight to the other leg, her lips pinched.
Did girls attend a special class to learn the ancient and indecipherable language of womanese? “You’re mad ‘cause I helped? Wanna clue me in?”
Trish’s eyes flashed like gold-flecked daggers. “I don’t want sympathy. From you or anyone else.” She spat out the words, then spun around on one foot and marched from the room.
Mouth hanging open and hands on his hips, he stood there trying to decide his best course of action. The group of women she’d chatted with a few minutes earlier had grown silent and now stared. He let out a snort and stomped after Trish.
Out in the hall, he found her by the sound of her shoes clicking against the floor. Stiff-armed, she slung open the double doors with a bang that echoed down the empty tiled halls.
He raced down the corridor and out into the light. “Trish, wait up!”
She kept walking.
Andy quickened his pace to reach her and latched onto her bare arm. “Hey, what’s this all about?”
She stopped and cocked her head to one side, missiling a sideways glare. “I don’t want people to feel like they have to come to my rescue.”
“Is that what you think I was doing?” He matched her gaze, squelching his desire to holler the words. “Truth is, I enjoy your company. Truth is, I actually happen to love your artwork. Truth is, you need to learn to let people help you instead of pretending you’ve got your act together.”
Her eyes widened like she’d been slapped, then took on an icy coldness. She pivoted and headed back to the church.
Him and his big mouth. Once again he chased after her.
“Trish, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that last remark.”
Her shoulders sagged. “The truth hurts.”
Andy didn’t know how to respond, especially since he kept inserting his size 11s in his yapper.
Trish continued to walk, but crossed her arms and looked away, her lower lip tucked between her teeth. She took a ragged breath and faced forward. “I want so badly to prove I can take care of myself and my son. I know there are lots of single parents out there who are facing the same challenges as I am, but I never imagined it would be this hard.” She hoisted her chin, but still didn’t meet his gaze, her eyes filled with tears.
The sorrow on her face yanked at his gut. She was trying her best, even if her reasoning was a little skewed. He longed to tell her that she didn’t have to try so hard, but it wasn’t his place to say so. And he
definitely didn’t want to do anything more to upset her. Not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his body. “Take a walk with me?”
She nodded, her arms folded across her waist.
Maybe a different direction in the conversation would lessen the tension. “So what else do you do besides plan weddings, paint pictures, and be a mama?”
“Well, earlier today I let Coot railroad me into organizing the Chamber of Commerce banquet.” Sarcasm leaked from her words, and she looked off in the distance, her face as stony as the creek bed. “Sounds like a pretty puny resume, but I guess it counts.” They took a few more steps, and Trish sighed. “You think it’s wrong for me to want to take care of myself and Bo?”
Andy shook his head. “It’s actually a very noble goal.”
“But?” Her troubled gaze skipped across his face.
He steeled himself with a quick breath. “But you can’t question people’s motives or shut them out just because they want to help. Mind if I ask a personal question?”
She raked her bottom lip against her teeth. “Okay.”
It really wasn’t any of his business, but he wanted to know. “Did your husband have life insurance?”
Her expression flat-lined, and she didn’t speak for a long minute. “Yeah, but I accidentally let it lapse while he was in the hospital.” Her words ended in a whisper.
Andy released a silent breath between his lips, fairly certain she’d entrusted him with information her family didn’t know. He sensed her eyes on him, so he sent a reassuring smile.
“Please don’t say anything to Dani or Steve. I don’t want them to know.” Her plea was tinged with panic.
Why was she hiding the news from her family? He longed to ask, but judging by the concern on her face, she’d most likely reached her quota on sharing personal info.
They strolled in silence for a few more steps, the spring day smelling of sunshine and blossoms. Trish stopped in her tracks. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”
Not what he expected. There were some things he refused to share with anyone. No matter how pretty she was. “Okay.”
Doe-like eyes latched onto his. “Did you really want to buy my art, or—?”