A Path Less Traveled Page 7

  Trish nodded and rubbed his hand, willing herself to believe. He was right. God wasn’t surprised by her situation. Nor was He unable to handle it. She just needed to trust Him more.

  Her phone buzzed against the oval-shaped maple table, and she flicked it open. “Hi, Delaine.”

  Dad lowered his head, his lips pressed together in a disapproving line. He’d made his opinion about the job in Austin well known.

  Her friend’s voice held concern. “Hi. You sound tired. What’s going on?”

  “Just been a long day.” Trish rose to her feet, sent her father an apologetic glance, and moved to the oak-canopied patio, out of her father’s hearing. “Can you give me a few more specifics on that design position?”

  * * * * *

  Andy’s brow crinkled into a frown, as gangrenous jealousy roared inside. What in the world possessed him to come back to Miller’s Creek one week after the wedding? His decision to check out the town as a possible place for a private practice was important, but ill-timed. Dani, Steve, and Mama Beth all entered Granny’s Kitchen ahead of him, the first two disgustingly happy.

  They entered the cafe, the aroma of burgers, fried chicken, and chicken-fried steak flooding the air. Hearty laughter and chatter rang out, with many comments directed at the others, leaving him as the odd man out.

  A few minutes later, they located an empty table near the back, right next to Steve’s cohorts, J.C., Coot, and the grouchy guy, Otis Thacker. Based on Otis’ scowling face, he hadn’t changed much in the past few months.

  “Hey, Mayor. Too good to sit with us today?” bellowed Coot.

  Steve appeared to take it all in stride. “Not at all, but in case you forgot, I’m a married man now.”

  The guys all guffawed, made comments about his being henpecked, and then guffawed some more. An elderly lady dressed in a long dress and apron, her wiry gray hair pulled back in a bun, delivered ice water and menus, while her identical twin worked the other side of the restaurant. “Be right back with your coffee, Steve.”

  “Thanks, Granny.”

  Andy warred with the instantaneous jealousy that shot through him. Must be nice to live in a place where people knew you and what you wanted before you even asked. He searched the menu. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here. What’s good?”

  “Everything.” Mama Beth and Dani answered in unison.

  “Don’t mind them,” Steve intoned, taking a sip from his filled cup, “even though their talking in stereo is a little scary.”

  Dani gave a sideways hug to her mother. “Great minds . . .”

  “. . . think alike.” The older woman finished the sentence, a broad smile splayed across her face.

  Steve shook his head. “Something tells me I’m in a lot of trouble. Just think, Andy, I used to be like you—happy, living the simple bachelor life.”

  Dani punched her husband’s arm. “Watch it, mister, or you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

  Andy laughed along with the rest of them, but it was a laugh he didn’t feel. The Granny lady returned to their table, stationed herself next to him, and asked for his order. “I’d like the catfish, cole slaw, and fries. And a cup of coffee, please.”

  “You shoulda said something when I was here earlier with the coffee pot.” She muttered and glowered.

  “Sorry.”

  The woman huffed and scribbled down the other orders, then came back a few minutes later with a cup and coffee pot. She clunked down the cup and sloshed coffee into it, obviously still agitated he’d neglected to follow some unspoken small town café protocol.

  After she left, Dani laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t mind her. Once she gets to know you, she can be really sweet.”

  Steve crossed his arms, rested them on the table, and looked Andy in the eye. “Dad tells me you’re thinking of moving to Miller’s Creek.”

  Andy swallowed a swig of the fresh, hot brew. “Not exactly. I’m thinking about setting up a private practice in a small town. Miller’s Creek might or might not be that place.”

  “Well, of course, you should move here.” Dani looked at her husband pointedly. “Don’t you think so, honey?”

  Steve frowned and shifted in his seat.

  “I’d do a lot of praying first.” Mama Beth stated the words matter-of-factly. “Just ask Dani. The adjustment to small town life isn’t easy.”

  Andy nodded. “I think I pretty much understand how small towns operate.”

  “Yeah, Dad mentioned you grew up in a small town.” Steve’s eyes narrowed, an unyielding expression that always made him feel like he was under interrogation. “Berringer, right?”

  “Yep. Born and raised there.”

  “C’mon, you two. You’re gonna scare him off.” Dani glared at Steve and Mama Beth, then returned her attention to him. “It is an adjustment, but you lived here long enough last year to know the challenges.”

  Andy’s heart rate quadrupled just thinking about the nightmare of the entire town’s suspicions and assumptions laid on his shoulders. He still found it hard to believe they suspected him of trying to torch downtown Miller’s Creek.

  Dani continued. “It’s difficult, but not impossible.”

  Her comment didn’t instill a lot of confidence. The food arrived, and Andy concentrated on his meal to allow him time to think. He took a bite of the mouth-watering catfish and glanced at Steve’s friends—what did he call them?—the old codgers? No, the old geezers. They all leaned forward and spoke in conspiratorial whispers. Why did he get the distinct impression he was already a rotten grape on the town grapevine? Or was his imagination making too much out of it?

  After lunch, Andy spent the afternoon driving around Miller’s Creek and settling into his room at Mama Beth’s, then drove to the Miller’s ranch as the sun lowered in the western sky.

  He stepped out of his car and peered up at the Colonial-styled house. Surrounded by giant oaks, the brick two-story seemed better suited to the Deep South—with antebellum plantations and trees dripping Spanish moss—instead of the rolling hills of central Texas. He wandered up the massive steps and rang the doorbell, still puzzled over why Steve had invited him for supper.

  The lanky cowboy answered the door, hand extended. “Hey, Andy, come on in.”

  Andy shook his hand and entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the enormous chandelier.

  “My mother was from Atlanta, Georgia.” Steve spoke the words like an excuse for the house and motioned for Andy to follow him across the marble floors. “Dad lives here alone now, so Dani and I are living with him while our house is built on the old homestead.”

  They stepped through the kitchen and onto the back terrace, an expanse of flagstone shaded by ancient oaks. The patio overlooked a large metal barn and wood-fenced horse paddock, and the entire family gathered around a large rectangular table.

  “Andy!” An apron around her waist and surprise in her voice, Trish jumped to her feet at the far end, her eyes wide and her smile even wider. Then, just as suddenly, her mouth clamped shut, and she plopped into her seat, as if his presence made no difference at all. “I didn’t know you were coming.” A glare directed at Steve accompanied her accusatory tone.

  “Sorry, Sis, I forgot to mention we needed to set another place for dinner. I’ll get it.”

  With the characteristic long strides of a man always in a rush, Steve entered the house, while Trish’s dad motioned for Andy to take a seat between him and his daughter. After he settled into the wooden chair, he sent a grin and a wink across the table to Little Bo. “Hey, buddy. Wanna play catch later?”

  Instead of the spunky response he expected, the boy slouched lower and jerked his head away without a word, refusing eye contact.

  Andy wrinkled his forehead, unease churning in his gut. He shifted his gaze to Trish. “Is he okay?”

  Her dark eyes contained sorrow. “He had a bad week.”

  Throughout the meal Andy kept an eye on Little Bo. Trish tried to coax him to eat, but he merely picked at t
he food, his expression empty and void. He stared blankly, his mouth pinched and drawn, almost as if he were there in body only. Like the rest of him had moved on to a very dark place. What had happened in a week’s time to bring about such change?

  The roasted chicken was delicious, but impossible to fully enjoy because of his concern. When he finished his plate, he scooted his chair away from the table. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “Thanks.” Trish sent him a faint smile, her face still carved with sadness. She’d eaten very little herself, her thoughts obviously preoccupied with her son.

  Andy reached for his glass, wet with condensation, and swigged his iced tea. “You cooked all this?”

  She smirked. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I’m not.” And he meant it. She was the most capable and accomplished woman he’d ever met. If only she could see it, too.

  Steve made a sound in his throat. “Andy, I talked to Bill Braddock, our city attorney, this afternoon. His last day is at the end of the month.” His voice all business, Steve leaned his chair back and steepled his fingers. “I told him you might be interested. Is it all right for me to have him contact you?”

  “Sure.” Andy reached for his wallet and procured a business card. “I’ll be here all weekend if he’d like to talk.” It wouldn’t hurt to at least look into the situation. After all, that’s why he’d come—to see if Miller’s Creek was where God wanted him.

  Trish rose to her feet. “Guess I’d better get this mess cleaned up.”

  “Let me help.” Andy bounded to his feet without thinking, then caught his mistake and grinned apologetically.

  To his relief, she smiled in return. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  He gathered dishes and followed Trish into the house. “So you and Bo live here, too?”

  She shook her head, turned on the spigot, and rinsed the plates, then deposited them in the stainless steel dishwasher. “No, I live a little way down the road. My house is hard to see from here because of the oaks. I’ll show it to you later if you’d like to take a walk.”

  “A walk would be great, especially after the delicious meal.”

  The work completed, Andy and Trish strolled down a well-worn path to her house, the area blanketed with oak trees and prairie grass and sprinkled with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush. Her house soon came into view. Made of Texas limestone, the rustic cedar posts and a metal roof completed the look of a Texas ranch house.

  They strolled around back to a large deck, which overlooked a grassy meadow. A cottage stood in a grove of trees to the right. “Who lives there?”

  “That’s my art studio.” Her voice turned solemn. “Right after were married, Doc built it for me.”

  “I’d love to take a look at more of your artwork.”

  Trish pressed her lips together, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and peered off in the distance. Finally, she released a heavy sigh. “Sure.”

  They made their way across an overgrown pathway, bypassing an equally unkempt flower garden. Trish looked the other direction and stopped short of the door. With a deep breath, she inched forward and twisted the doorknob, the door creaking out a groan that mirrored her face.

  The one-room cottage, decorated with cobwebs, smelled of musty disuse. A small kitchenette sat to the left, and an overstuffed chair to the right. Along the rear wall, natural light flooded in through a bank of windows, and dust danced in the beams.

  A variety of canvases leaned against the window frames. He drifted toward them, drawn by a combination of curiosity and fascination. One at a time, he examined them, more awed and impressed than ever. The artwork was every bit as spectacular as he’d imagined.

  Trish anchored herself near the doorway, like a frightened cotton-tail rabbit, torn between freezing and bolting. She clutched one elbow, her face pale.

  “Your work is beyond beautiful, Trish. Words can’t do it justice.”

  She made no reply.

  “You wanna leave?”

  Trish nodded and escaped out the door.

  As he exited the room, Andy gave one last look around. This room was Trish. From the decorations to the paintings . . . even the dust and cobwebs. Maybe one day the hurt and confusion could be cleared from her life, and she’d be able to return to the art she once enjoyed.

  Without speaking, she glided toward the beckoning pasture, now back-dropped by a gorgeous Texas sunset, apparently not ready for the stroll to end. Andy followed and allowed the beauty of the early May evening to wash over him.

  Trish finally broke the silence. “It was tough to open that door and go in. I haven’t been there since before Doc died.”

  Andy took time to think through his response. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her further. She seemed so vulnerable. So fragile. “I could tell it was difficult, Trish, but it was a major step in the right direction. I’m proud of you.”

  Her eyes swam with instant tears. “It used to be such a happy place. Now it seems . . . ruined.” Her words ended in a murmur.

  Andy seized her hand and halted, purposely not speaking until she looked him in the eye. “Not ruined, just in need of some TLC. One step at a time.”

  She withdrew her hand and continued the walk. They approached a wooded area, where a narrow path disappeared in dark shadows.

  Andy eyed the dense grove, old fears clawing his insides, his neck hairs bristling. He choked on the desert dryness that puckered his mouth and battled his desire to run. “We’re going in there?”

  Trish came to a standstill a few steps down the shaded path, her eyes full of questions. “It’s okay, Hansel. I brought bread crumbs, and I’ll make sure we’re not baked into gingerbread by a wicked witch.”

  He didn’t return her smile. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.” He hated that his voice quaked.

  “Okay.” She turned back, and they moved toward the house. “Wanna tell me why?”

  “No reason. Just need to get back. So tell me, what’s up with Little Bo?”

  Trish filled him in. She lowered her head and voice. “He hasn’t been back to school. I just don’t have the heart to make him go.”

  Anger swept over him at the callousness of Bo’s teacher. “He has to, Trish.”

  “I know. It’s just so hard to see my son . . . check out.” A muffled groan escaped her, and immediate tears spilled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

  Her knees started to give way, but before she crumpled to the ground, he pulled her into his arms while sobs shook her body. The scent of her shampoo drifted past his nose, her hair soft and silky against his cheek.

  God, please take away her hurt and pain. Show me how I can help her and Bo without making her feel inadequate. He stroked her back to offer comfort, overwhelmed by the tender feelings surging through him.

  Eventually she pulled away and swiped her wet cheeks, her lashes spiked with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize for your feelings.” He clutched both her hands and forced her to look at him. “Allow yourself time to grieve. Not just your husband’s death, but its impact on Bo. Holding it in will only create more problems down the road.”

  Trish nodded. “You’re right, bu—” Her cell phone jangled, and she retrieved it from her pocket. “Sorry, Andy, but I need to take this call.”

  She traipsed a few feet away and rested against the rough bark of an oak, her shoulders stooped and one arm curled around her waist. An overpowering urge to step in, fix her problems, and shelter her from life’s storms ballooned inside him. But how could he help when she wanted nothing more than to help herself?

  Her words wafted toward him on the breeze and sent a chill down his spine. “Thanks, Delaine. I’ll compile a resume and send it to her right away.”

  Chapter 9

  Andy parked his car in the popular West End district of Dallas and hurried to an upscale bistro to catch an early lunch. The past weekend had given him more questions than answers, and he was still no closer to a deci
sion on moving to Miller’s Creek. On top of everything, he hadn’t been able to get Trish and Bo out of his mind. Like a Texas-sized mosquito, it constantly buzzed in his thoughts.

  He entered the restaurant and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark interior, while enjoying the delectable aroma. Then a familiar voice caught his attention—one he hadn’t heard since the night before he was supposed to get married.

  Sheila.

  He turned his back and prayed she wouldn’t see him. Hoped she’d think he was just another person waiting for a table at the packed-to-capacity restaurant.

  “Andy?” The syrupy voice he’d once found adorable now curdled his stomach.

  He attached a smile to his face and pivoted to deal with her head-on. “Sheila. Sure didn’t expect to see you here.”

  The perceptive look that crossed her face let him know that his clumsy attempt to act surprised hadn’t worked. Sheila smirked. “Come on, Andy, we can be big people. There’s no way we’re going to avoid running into each other from time to time.” A predatory glint appeared in her eyes, and she stretched her red claws toward him.

  Andy shook her hand in a gesture of friendship then wiped his hand on his pants. Her grasp always had a clammy feel that freaked him out.

  “Andy, I’d like you to meet my friend, Chase.” She offered no further explanation.

  Not that he needed one. The way she had her arm possessively linked in his pretty much said it all. “Nice to meet you, Chase. Let me guess, you in banking?”

  “Close. Personal finance. How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess.” Educated guess based on Sheila’s expensive tastes.

  Chase, the all-American-guy type, grinned to reveal a toothpaste-commercial smile. “How do you two know each other?”