by Cathy Bryant
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He searched her face. It wasn’t obvious—at least not to her. “Your painting is one of the most beautiful pieces of art I’ve ever seen, and I’m not just feeding you a line because I feel sorry for you or want to help. I really want to buy a painting.”
Trish resumed walking, but said nothing, her forehead puckered.
Andy stuck his hands in his jean pockets, his fingers scraping against the car keys. “You gonna make me beg?”
“No.” She clipped the word short.
His exasperation climbed, taking his pulse along for the ride. “Excuse me for being an obtuse guy, but I don’t get it. You need money to support your son. You have an undeniable gift. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what you should do.”
Her face reddened. “I can’t paint anymore, all right? I’ve tried, but nothing comes out.” She choked out words, and tears pooled in her eyes. “I’d love to paint again, but when Doc died he took that part of me with him, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it back.” She bolted for the red brick church building like a frightened deer, her sandals clicking against the pavement.
Chapter 5
Heart heavy, Trish plopped down on the steps in the sanctuary and cupped her face with her hands. After her most recent round of emotional backwash, it wouldn’t surprise her one bit if Andy steered clear during the rest of the festivities.
Of all the times for her fickle feelings to dump themselves in the streets of Miller’s Creek for public display. Why this weekend? And why Andy?
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows and washed the room with a cacophony of color. A boatload of flowers costing a yacht-full of cash had been delivered earlier, and she’d spent the morning adding floral touches throughout the room. Now stargazer lilies, white and pink baby roses, and lily-of-the-valley graced the archway and ends of the pews, spilling their fragrance into the air.
Mom would have been so pleased with the decorations.
She hugged her knees to her chest and released a slow breath in an attempt to steady her nerves. Why, oh why, had she told Andy about the life insurance? While it felt good to share her burden with someone besides Delaine, it also rattled her bones with fear. Could she trust him not to tell Dani?
The side door opened, and Andy entered the room, concern stamped on his features. “If you don’t want me here, just say so.”
Trish shook her head. “No, I want you to stay.”
He trudged closer and sank to the floor beside her. “I’m really sorry, Trish. I had no way of knowing about your painting. I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt you. It’s a miracle I can talk at all, considering I keep inserting both feet in my mouth.”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” The AC groaned and rattled, a sudden draft of cold air blasting from the nearby floor vent. She rubbed her bare arms against the surfacing chill bumps.
“Don’t give up on your painting. You’re too good. Give it time. It’ll come back.” The intensity in his emerald green eyes made his words almost believable. Then his left cheek dimpled in a lop-sided grin. “But when that time comes, I’d better be your first client.”
Trish attempted a feeble smile, but couldn’t muster a comeback. A holy hush descended. Oh, God, don’t let this moment of peace end. How tranquil to sit surrounded by the soft scent of flowers in quiet companionship. How rare and precious.
No, sacred.
Andy’s sonorous baritone broke the silence. “I love these kinds of moments when God surprises me with . . .”
“. . . with beauty?”
His soft gaze quickened her pulse. “Yeah.” He bent forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Those times when you feel like you’re drowning in grace.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Though it had been an eternity since she’d felt it—until today. She leaned back on one arm to view him better. Knowing that he knew God gave her hope that he’d keep her secret. “So how long have you been a Christian?”
He wagged a finger. “Wrong question. You should’ve asked how long I’ve been a committed Christian.”
“Okay. How long?”
His well-shaped lips pressed together, and he laced his fingers. “I gave my life to Christ when I was young and pretty much lived it during my growing up years. Then in college I wandered away.”
“What brought you back?”
Andy gave her a teasing, sideways glance. “You always so nosy?”
“It’s my turn.”
“Touché.” He grinned, then continued. “Actually, the situation with my fiancée brought me back. The whole experience served as wake-up call.” His tone was firm and to the point, and his eyes widened in sincerity. “I realized how close I’d come to marrying an unbeliever. I knew I needed to get right with God before I messed up a bunch of people’s lives, including my own.”
Trish stared at him a few seconds, impressed with his wisdom and at home in the honesty between them. Surely he was trustworthy. Besides, he lived in Dallas, not exactly a prime location for sharing her life-altering goof with people in Miller’s Creek. Except for Dani. “So what’s next for the great Andy Tyler?”
“Well, Andy’s waiting on God to show him. Quite honestly, being back in Miller’s Creek has kinda made me long for my small-town roots. I’ve been thinking about a move.”
Her stomach sank while her eyebrows rose. Surely not to Miller’s Creek. “You . . . uh . . . grew up in a small town?”
“Yep. Berringer.”
Berringer wasn’t that far away. “Really?”
He turned a quizzical look her way. “That so hard to believe?”
Trish was at a loss for words. “I—I guess not. You just seemed so cultured, and I thought—”
“Me, cultured?” He gave a curt laugh. “I’m not the one with all the artistic talent.”
The hall door swung open, and Mama Beth bustled into the room, her carefully coiffed gray curls indicating a recent visit to Jolene at Country Cutz and Curlz. “There you are! Do you two have any idea what time it is?”
Trish checked her watch. Already 5:00? Mama Beth continued to click her tongue and scold, then exited through the same door she entered.
Andy chuckled, rose to his feet, and held out a hand to help her stand. “Guess we’d better get ready before the boss lady gets even more perturbed.” He stretched his neck upward and scratched the area under his chin. “But I was sure hoping to wait until the last minute to put on that tux.”
* * * * *
Trish would’ve never guessed the entire population of Miller’s Creek could scrunch into every last square inch of the sanctuary. She stood at the back of the church, with only a few precious minutes to spare. Shoulder to shoulder the townspeople sat, dressed in their finest, a vivid reminder of why she loved this town.
A spark of hope ignited her insides, and she prayed that somewhere in the midst of this congregation was at least one person who needed her services. Then, as an afterthought, she added, And please help me keep my unpredictable emotions under control.
Chubby fingers tugged on her hand, and she glanced down into the liquid brown eyes of her son. Trish swished the silken hem of her pale pink bridesmaid dress out of the way and knelt to give him a hug. “Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good time with Uncle Steve and Papaw?”
“Yeah.” His voice was breathy with excitement, and his face took on that glow of wonder only found on the face of a child. “And Andy helped me with my catching. I think I can do it now.”
“Andy helped you?” When had he had the time?
A stocky pair of man legs with pants cropped much too short stepped beside them, patent black shoes a-gleam below black-socked ankles. She pulled herself to a standing position.
“See? Helping someone is supposed to be a good thing.” His tone held a challenge. The slow glance he took at her attire sent quick heat scurrying to her cheeks. “And please don’t thi
nk I’m feeling sorry for you or anything, but you look stunning.”
His comment sent pleasure rippling through her, but she had no intention of letting him know, especially since he’d already witnessed her earlier emotional meltdown. Instead of a comeback, she smiled her thanks and made sure everyone was in place. A few minutes later, she stepped up beside Andy and sniffed.
“What?” His brow puckered.
“I smell peppermint.”
He peeled back his lips to reveal a piece of chewed gum balanced between his teeth.
She shook her head and held a hand beneath his chin. “Oh no, you don’t. Spit it out. Absolutely no gum on stage. The last thing Dani and Steve want in their wedding video is a cud-chewing groomsman.”
“Make that a cud-chewing groomsman in a penguin suit,” he said, his teeth still clenched.
Trish waited for him to begrudgingly release the gum, then moved to a nearby trash can. She arrived back in position just as the string quartet began to play Pachelbel’s Canon in D. She hooked her arm in Andy’s, and they stepped toward the light-encrusted arch of white tree branches.
Trish leaned her head toward his. “By the way, please don’t think I’m feeling sorry for you or anything, but I absolutely adore those knickers you’re wearing.”
He turned his head toward her, his jaw agape. Camera flashes exploded from every angle as they stepped under the branches and laughed their way down the aisle.
Trish glimpsed Steve at the front of the church and immediately sobered.
He shot a quick wink, and then rocked back and forth on his heels, his gaze raised in hopeful anticipation.
Her heart swelled with joy. After years, he’d finally found the woman he’d waited for his entire life. The thought somehow brought comfort. The intensity of the pain she’d experienced over the past several months wouldn’t last forever. There was a brighter tomorrow. Right?
Once on stage, she turned to face the audience. The sight of Little Bo marching down the aisle made her insides cringe. Why did he suddenly seem so small? What was she thinking? Her baby was much too young for this. She blinked, and an image of him fifteen to twenty years down the road flashed to mind, only now he was a groom. A day she didn’t want to face alone.
Trish shook off the troubling thought and watched her son proceed between the pews, the flower girl’s tiny, gloved hand in his. He took his place beside his Uncle Steve, setting off a wave of motherly pride.
The Wedding March fanfare sounded, and the congregation rose to a flurry of flashes as Dani glided between the light-clad trees, her beaded lace dress rippling as she floated down the aisle. Her happy smile was focused entirely on her groom.
A sudden stab of jealousy forced Trish to lower her head. But when she finally fought off the feelings and lifted her chin, she made the costly mistake of looking at Andy. His gaze was trained on her, and it set off a powerful thump in her chest. Though it took every last ounce of the puny strength she had left, she forced her attention to the wedding and attempted to ignore the sight of Andy in her peripheral vision.
Try as she might, her thoughts were plagued by his presence. Good gravy, why were her emotions bouncing around like a yo-yo? The wedding—that had to be it. Weddings were a celebration of true love, something every female heart craved. Well, she already had a true love. He’d just gone home ahead of her.
The dam she’d built around her heart to contain the ever-constant threat of tears wobbled, and a slight crack formed. No! She wouldn’t cry and ruin this wedding. Trish sucked in a deep breath. Her resolve clung with razor-edged claws to the soft flesh of her heart, and bit by bloody bit, the unwelcomed emotions oozed away.
A few minutes later, Dani and Steve locked hands and gazes as Brother Mac read from his Bible. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”
A jolt shivered down her back. She felt it again—a sacred moment of God’s presence. What words had Andy used? She closed her eyes. Drowning in grace. The verse she’d known since childhood exhorted her not to lean on her own understanding, but to trust.
Easy to say. But actually doing it?
She lifted a silent prayer heavenward. Never had she had to lean on Him—to trust Him—like now. And oh, how she yearned for Him to direct her path. Especially when the path seemed plunged beneath impenetrable darkness.
In a blur the ceremony ended, and after photographs, everyone moved to the fellowship hall for the reception. Gasps of awe and delight fell from the open mouths of guests when they saw how Trish had infused the plain room with an atmosphere of elegance.
Dark paper covered the ceiling, and below it tulle and twinkle lights gave the effect of a starlit night. A huge fountain of wedding punch gurgled and flowed next to the multi-tiered wedding cake on a table near the back. Interspersed among the small trees, greenery, and scrolled iron benches lining the perimeter of the room, hidden up-lights cast soft shadows on the walls.
Andy came up behind her, his voice low in her ear. “You never cease to amaze me. This is by far the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Trish rubbed her damp palms together. Why did she suddenly feel like a shy schoolgirl talking to the captain of the football team? “Thanks. Excuse me, I need something to drink.”
Before she had a chance to escape, he handed her a cup of punch. “Already gotcha covered.”
She took the cup of sparkling grape juice and downed it. How did he anticipate her needs like that? And more importantly, why?
“You’re doing it again.” Andy took a sip from his own cup.
“Doing what?”
“Questioning my motives. Just let me be nice to you, okay? And while you’re at it, you might also let your family know you need their help.”
Red-hot anger surged through her system and spilled out before she could gain control. “And you might try minding your own business!”
Chapter 6
Andy hung the too-tight tuxedo back on the hanger, finished off his Dr. Pepper, and gazed around the choir room. It looked—and smelled—like a bunch of guys lived here. Piles of clothing, half-eaten sandwiches, and empty Styrofoam cups trashed the place. All they needed to complete the man-cave was a big screen TV and a couple of recliners.
Trish might stop him from helping elsewhere, but he could at least help out in the background. What made her so adamant about doing everything on her own? In a few minutes he had all the tuxedos hung, trash thrown away, and leftovers packed into grocery sacks. Then he straightened the chairs.
When he finished, he gathered his belongings and made his way to the car. One more night in Miller’s Creek and then he’d return to Dallas. The thought left him with an odd mixture of relief and regret, but he was too tired to figure out why. Instead, his mind fluctuated between the verse reminding him to trust God and a picture of Trish’s angry face.
Andy peered out over the darkened parking lot. Only a few cars remained. Now what? He couldn’t really return to Mama Beth’s house. She was still busy with the after-wedding clean-up. While he didn’t mind helping, the last thing he wanted was another run-in with Trish.
He mulled over the situation as he took in the starry sky, but the longer he thought about it the madder he got. So what if she got upset? Not everything was about her. Andy marched to the church in a purposeful stride, swung open the door, and headed to the fellowship hall. Let Trish fend for herself. He’d help Mama Beth instead.
It only took one glance around the kitchen to realize he was in a testosterone-free zone. Women doused with way too much perfume zipped past in a frenzy. They slammed cabinet doors and chattered like magpies, and no matter where he moved, he was in someone’s way.
Mama Beth, hands in the sink, smiled when she saw him. “Hey, Andy. Trish was just here looking for you. I think she’s in the sanctuary now.”
Looking for him? Could it be that Little Miss “Don’t-Help-Me” needed his help after all? He stro
de down the hall and entered the sanctuary just as she gave her father a hug. “Thanks for taking care of Little Bo for me again tonight, Dad. I promise not to make this a habit.”
He patted her back. “You know I don’t mind, sweetheart. We have a great time together. I just wish your Mom could’ve known her grandson.”
It was easy to see the older man adored his daughter.
Little Bo spotted him first. “Andy!” He shouted, ran toward him full force, and launched into Andy’s arms.
“Hey, buddy. You did an amazing job during the wedding.”
“Really?” Little Bo’s face blossomed with a big grin.
“Oh, yeah. By far the best ring bearer I’ve ever seen.” Andy glanced up to see a surly look on Trish’s face, and his muscles tensed. He swung Little Bo to the floor and made his way to the two adults.
The older gentleman shook Andy’s hand. “I’m Trish’s dad, Bo Miller. Glad you’re here. Trish is gonna need some strong arms to get all this stuff loaded. I’m taking the young ‘un back to the ranch to get him to bed.” Little Bo clamped both arms around his grandfather’s leg.
Trish frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. I’m sure Andy has other things to do.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Miller’s voice was gruff and paternal. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting when you need help. You’ll be up here all night if you try to do this by yourself.”
Her face darkened, but she made no reply. Instead, she stamped to the stage and began to take down decorations.
The older man sighed in frustration. “She really does need your help, no matter what she says.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t let her push you away. She can be a little stubborn sometimes.”
“I heard that.” Trish hollered over her shoulder.
A little stubborn? Compared to what? A balking burro? “I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“You’re in my prayers,” the older Bo whispered, his bushy gray eyebrows crawling up his forehead.
“I heard that, too.”