by Cathy Bryant
The older man slapped Andy’s shoulder, grabbed his grandson’s hand, and meandered to the door. “See y’all in the morning at church.”
Trish kept her back turned as she yanked flowers and greenery from the wedding arch. She dropped flowers in a pile at her feet while the greenery went into a box. Instead of risking her ire, Andy moved to one of the branch-tree thingies and removed Christmas lights.
The silence lasted for several minutes, until finally Trish spoke. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?” she snarled.
Andy raised his eyebrows. “And risk losing my head? No thanks.” He turned back to his work. Several more silent minutes ticked by. Once he’d removed all the lights from the trees, he headed to work on the pew decorations, following the same steps he’d seen Trish complete on the arch. Behind him came a loud crash.
He whirled about to see the arch on the floor and Trish clutching one arm. Andy hurried to her side. “You okay?”
She nodded, but a red trickle from beneath her fingers told him otherwise.
“Let me see.” Andy peeled back her fingers to reveal blood snaking down her bare arm. “That’s quite a scrape you’ve got there, but I think you’ll survive.” He escorted her down the steps and seated her on the front pew, then knelt and snatched a few tissues from a box. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
“No.” Her voice was thin and tight.
“Why?”
“Cause you’ll rub my nose in it.” Her bottom lip protruded, reminding him of a cranky child in need of a nap.
“Will not.”
“Will, too.”
He sent a teasing smile and pressed a wad of tissues to the wound. “Okay, then I’ll tell you. You were trying to do something yourself without asking for help, and it backfired. I’m right, aren’t I?”
One corner of her lips twitched, quickly replaced by a dark frown. “Told you you’d rub my nose in it.”
“Only ‘cause you deserve it.” He looked into her tawny eyes and waited.
She shifted and let out a huff. “Oh, all right, I admit it. Sorry I’ve been so—so—”
“Cranky and stubborn.”
Trish nodded. “It’s only because I’m—”
“Exhausted and overwhelmed.”
“And sick of people making me feel—”
“Incapable.”
Trish became perfectly quiet and still, her eyes searching his.
Andy’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, and he teetered on the verge of losing himself in her scent and the soft poutiness of her lips.
She blinked slowly, her voice throaty and warm. “How is it that you know me so well?”
He inhaled a heavy breath and stood. “I think the bleeding’s stopped now. We’d better get back to work.”
* * * * *
Trish slumped in the family pew Sunday morning and pretended to smooth imaginary wrinkles from her pink-flowered crepe skirt. Anything to be invisible. What she wouldn’t give to hole up in her house, crawl between the covers, and disappear for at least a week.
Over and over, she replayed the scene from last night until she wanted to scream. What had come over her? She moved a hand to the Big Bird bandage on her arm, remembering Andy’s gentle touch and teasing eyes, an image quickly replaced by his clenched jaw and detached aloofness. Clearly, she’d crossed some unseen boundary.
Andy entered the sanctuary through the hall door, his broad chest and shoulders pronounced by the baby blue polo he wore.
She slouched lower in the seat, a gamut of emotions roaring through her veins. Doc had been gone less than a year. She still loved him. Loved him with all her being and always would. God, what’s going on here? I need Your help.
Trust Me.
“May I sit with you?”
Andy’s smooth voice raised her head, and she forced a smile. “Of course. How are you?” Even before the question left her lips, she knew the answer from the shadowy bags rimming his eyes. Exhausted.
“Fine.” His tone served as evidence to the contrary.
How many times had she used the same word when she was anything but fine?
Mama Beth slid into the pew on the other side of her. “Lands alive, but I’m tuckered.” She yawned and looked at Trish. “What time did y’all get through last night? I didn’t even hear Andy come home.”
Trish yawned in return, the power of suggestion too strong to resist. “Around midnight. It would’ve been an all-nighter if Andy hadn’t been there to help.”
Mama Beth peered around her to Andy. “We sure do appreciate all you did.”
Trish cringed inwardly. Had she even remembered to say thank you? “Yeah, thanks.” Okay, that sounded distinctly less than heartfelt.
A pained expression flickered across his face. “Glad to help.”
Trish snatched her bulletin from her Bible and pretended to read, more confused than ever. Why had she been so snarky toward him, not just once, but the entire weekend?
Little Bo bounced into the room with his Papaw in tow. “Look, Mom!” Wide-eyed excitement lit his face. He scooted around Mama Beth and handed her the drawing he’d done in Sunday School.
She pointed to the scraggly lettering at the bottom of the page. “What does this say?”
“Jesus went about doing good.” He trailed the words with one finger as he pretended to read, his voice halting. “The picture shows people doing good like Jesus.”
Trish studied the stick figures and pointed to one. “And who is this?”
“That’s you doing the decorations for the wedding, and that’s Andy doing good by helping you.”
His words slapped her between the eyes. Okay, Lord, I get it. She owed Andy an apology and a huge debt of gratitude. He’d done so much to help, and there was no way she could return the favor. The least she could do was apologize after church.
An hour later the service ended, and Mama Beth latched onto Andy’s arm as they moved into the crowded aisle and exited the sanctuary. “We usually congregate at my house for Sunday lunch. Hope you can join us before you head back to Dallas.”
Andy sent Trish a questioning glance.
Had she made him feel so unwelcome that he needed her permission? She offered an apologetic smile. “We’d love for you to stay.”
His lips curved ever so slightly, a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds great. I’d sure hate to miss out on more of Mama Beth’s cooking.”
A few minutes later they arrived at the century-old farmhouse, complete with rose arbors, white picket fence, and fragrant spring blossoms. Trish climbed the steps to the wraparound porch and entered through the squeaky screen door, nostalgia settling over her like a handmade quilt. The tantalizing aroma of pot roast with wafted from the kitchen.
“Ooh-wee, that smells good.” Dad slapped a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Beth cooks the best pot roast in the county.” Little Bo raced to the kitchen, Dad and Mama Beth following at a slower pace.
This was an opportune moment to do what had to be done. Instead, her hands—and stomach—twisted and writhed. “Andy, I—I . . .” The words refused to budge from their hiding place behind her teeth.
“If you have something to say, it usually works best if you just say it.” Andy’s dimples didn’t show.
“I want to apologize again for the way I acted this weekend. I’m sorry I was so ungrateful. I guess it was just nerves and fatigue. I’m not usually so—” She blabbered words like a monkey in the zoo, until Andy stopped her by shaking his head, his blond curls a-dance.
“I enjoyed spending time with you, Trish. I’d have been lost without something to do or someone to talk to.”
Her heart softened. He was far too easy on her. “I was afraid I’d been horrid.”
“Nah . . . well, except for the tux.” His left dimple made an appearance. “Oh, and the thing about not wanting people to help you. And I almost forgot, the—”
“I get the picture.” She held up a hand, her tone almost as dry as her mouth.
Now his grin appeared with both dimples, her pulse on a rapid climb. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the smile vanished, the depths of his ocean eyes murky, as if his confusion matched her own.
Trish’s cheeks heated. How did she make sense of these unwanted and unexpected feelings? Was she sending out signals she didn’t mean or want to send? “I think I’ll go see if Mama Beth needs help with lunch.”
In a few minutes the meal was ready, the farmhouse table groaning beneath the weight of food. Besides the roast and vegetables, there were hot rolls and an Italian cream cheese cake she could down in a few minutes if given the chance.
Dad asked the blessing, immediately followed by serving spoons clanking against bowls and plates. “So, Andy, how’s your practice going?” Dad passed the bread, aromatic steam rising from the freshly baked rolls, then raised his eyebrows and peered at Andy over the top of his glasses.
That’s how she could return the favor. Without giving thought to her words, Trish barged in. “Andy told me he’s actually thinking of moving to a small town. Don’t you think he’d make a great replacement for the city attorney position? He grew up in Berringer.”
“Really?” Mama Beth beamed. “I have kin folk in Berringer. Next time I call ‘em, I’ll ask if they remember you.”
Andy twisted in his seat, his gaze focused on his plate. He grabbed a roll, tore off a big chunk, and crammed it in his mouth.
Dad paused mid-bite, a food-laden fork suspended in the air. “Our city attorney recently announced his retirement. We sure could use you here.”
It felt great to be in a position to help him for a change. The thought made her pause. She’d been upset with him for helping her, yet here she was doing the same thing.
“Yeah, and you could help me some more with my catching.” Little Bo brought a chubby-fisted fork to his mouth and shoveled in a huge bite, jabbering away the whole time.
A look of discomfort bathed Andy’s red face as he swallowed the clump of bread. “It’s just an idea I’ve been tinkering with. As appealing as small-town life sounds, I’m not sure I should leave Dallas. I’m still praying about it.”
Mama Beth patted his hand. “Good for you. God will show you what to do.”
Trish scratched her head. Great. Put another red slash next to her name for embarrassing him. He’d obviously not expected her to share the comment. She sawed off a bite of the tender roast and stuffed her mouth before she blabbed something else she regretted. Cut. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.
The cell phone in her purse jingled from its perch on the sunlit window seat. She snatched her napkin from her lap, tossed it beside her plate, and stood. Great time to make a getaway.
She retrieved the phone and escaped to the front porch with a glance at the display screen. Delaine. In the past few weeks, her friend’s calls had become less about comfort and more about pressure. What now?
“Hey, girlfriend.” Delaine’s voice contained the same chatty friendliness it had held during their high school days. “Hope I didn’t interrupt your lunch, but I’ve been dying to hear how the wedding went.”
Trish plopped down on the porch swing. “Except for a few minor mishaps everything went fine.”
“Any business prospects?”
The question she’d hoped to avoid. “Not yet.” Trish chewed the inside of her cheek. “But I did get a lot of compliments, so maybe there’s still a chance.”
“Well, this is Miller’s Creek we’re talking about.” Delaine launched into the spiel she’d heard untold times before—small towns didn’t want or need interior designers—and finished with: “You need to move to Austin.”
“I’ve told you before. I can’t do that to Bo.”
Delaine sighed. “I don’t get it. I thought you didn’t want to depend on your family.”
“I don’t, but I’m okay right now. I have a little left over from what Dani and Steve paid me for the wedding.” Precious little.
“And what are you going to do when that runs out?”
Good question. Trish wrapped an arm around her waist and hunched over. “I’ll think of something.”
“Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but I told a friend who owns a design firm in downtown Austin about you.”
Trish’s hackles rose. Why did everyone feel inclined to interfere in her life?
“She’s looking to hire a new designer within the next few months and wants to see your work. Could you send some photos and a resume?”
Trish straightened at the job prospect, then resumed her slouch. While a job in Austin would provide a chance to put her college degree to work, she couldn’t yank Little Bo away from all that was familiar. Nor could she imagine leaving Miller’s Creek. The designer position was nothing but a last resort. “I’ll think about it.” Oh yeah, she’d definitely think about it. Probably all night.
“Well, don’t think too long. This opportunity won’t last forever.” Defensiveness now sounded in her friend’s tone.
The conversation ended with terse goodbyes, and Trish trudged back to the dining room. Questioning eyes turned her way when she entered the room. She sank to the ladder-back chair, fidgeted with her napkin, and picked up her fork. “That was Delaine. She called to let me know about an interior design job in Austin.”
No one said a word. Finally Little Bo looked up from his plate, his bottom lip quivering. “Mom, can I go outside? I’m not so hungry anymore.”
His sad voice sliced her heart. She rubbed his back with her palm. “Sure sweetie, but stay out of Mama Beth’s flower garden, okay?”
“’kay.” He moved to Andy’s side, his brown eyes pleading. “Wanna play catch?”
Trish reached over and tousled his baby-fine hair. “Andy has to drive back to Dallas.”
Andy’s eyes hardened in a non-verbal reprimand. “But Andy wants to play catch first.” The words were soft, but the stiff set of his jaw held challenge. He held her gaze for a second more then smiled at Bo. “Let me finish my lunch, buddy. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Her son’s expression turned to instant glee. “I’ll get my glove outta the car,” Bo called over his shoulder as he darted to the living room and out the front door.
Mama Beth started in on her first. “Trish, you can’t move him away from his family right now. He needs stability.”
Her blood chilled. Since when was it Mama Beth’s call to say what she could and couldn’t do? With her son and her life? “I’m well aware of what Bo needs, but I also have to make a living. I’m not sure I can do that in a town the size of Miller’s Creek.” She somehow managed to keep her tone above the frost zone.
Dad’s fork clanked to his plate, and apprehension scuttled down her spine. She yanked her head toward him.
He cleared his throat and reached into his back pocket, his face drawn tight. “That reminds me. Dani mentioned you might be struggling a bit financially, so we all took up a little collection.”
A sick feeling churned her stomach to pure acid. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not in front of Andy. She sensed his gaze on her, but couldn’t make eye contact. “That’s really not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
Dad plunked down a wad of bills. “We love you, honey. We wanna help however we can.”
Trish couldn’t look up. Couldn’t touch the money. It was all she could do to squeak out a feeble “thank you.”
Chapter 7
Miller’s Creek grew tiny in Andy’s rearview mirror. With the top down and the air doused with the scent of bluebonnets, he puzzled over his conflicted feelings. He had a good life in Dallas. No, make that a great life. So why did it feel like he was leaving a chunk of himself behind?
He needed to figure this thing out. Needed to decide what he wanted. What God wanted for him. Trish had opened a can of worms with her comment about him moving, and Bo Miller had jumped on it like a big-mouthed bass. He sighed and pushed the thought aside.
A Texas spring day spread out before him in the open countryside, the wildflowers blowing in the breeze�
��a great day to fish, go horseback riding, or play baseball. Things he wouldn’t have time for in Dallas.
Thoughts of his last game of catch with Bo made his chest tighten. A boy that age needed a father. His own childhood proved it. A cold chill shivered down his back. No telling how his life would’ve turned out had it not been for Lester Hathcock.
On a whim, he inserted his Bluetooth and punched Lester’s number.
“Mmm-yello.”
Andy smiled at the familiar greeting. “Hey, old man.”
A contagious chuckle sounded. “Who you calling old? Have you forgotten whose birthday it is today?”
He widened his eyes. Oh, man, he’d forgotten the party his friends were throwing for him. “Yeah, actually, I did.”
“Then let me be the first to wish you Happy Birthday.” A muffled voice sounded in the background. “Denise says to tell you Happy Birthday, too.”
“Tell her thanks, and give her a hug from me.”
“Will do. What’s up?”
He swallowed a sudden rush of emotion. “Just wanted to call and say thanks for all you did for me when I was growing up.”
“Mind my asking what brought that on?”
Andy imagined Lester, his dark brows knit together, sprawled out in his recliner with the television remote in one hand. “I was at a wedding in Miller’s Creek this weekend.” He swerved to miss a long-eared jackrabbit loping across the road. “A little boy there lost his father this past year. I played catch with him, and it reminded me of you.”
“You know how I feel about that.” The older man’s voice took on a gravelly tone. “You and Matt are like the sons I never had. I got a lot more than I gave.” He changed the subject. “Ah, anyway, does that little boy have a mama?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact he does.”
“Maybe you should visit Miller’s Creek more often.”
Under different circumstances maybe. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How?”
“Her husband’s only been gone a few months. She’s not ready.” Besides, she was way out of his league.
“Is that your opinion or God’s?”