Catch a Falling Star (24 page)

Griffin reached up and gripped her hand. “Thanks, friend.”

“You're welcome, friend.”

She stood watching him for a few brief seconds, willing the words she'd spoken to be true. Of course, she was more than thankful Griffin agreed to let her pray for him. And he
was
her friend. He was. It wasn't his fault that at times her wish-I-may heart longed for more.

Friendship with Griffin wasn't “less than.” It should be enough. It
was
enough. Hadn't friendship been enough in times past with other guys? She wouldn't waste her time wishing for something else. She exited Griffin's bedroom, closing the door so he could rest in silence. She paused halfway downstairs. After all, there was Heath Parker. He had made it clear he was ready for more with her—ready to pursue romance with her. That he might even be falling in love with her. And who knew where that might lead?

Why was her heart tugging her toward the man determined to stay single?

She was being silly. Naive. Ungrateful. That's it, she was ungrateful. For so long, she wanted to have it all: career, marriage, kids. And then she became so focused on her career, so hurt by the one or two romantic rejections, she lost track of her hopes for marriage and family. She needed to realize God could very well be answering years and years of her prayers—through Heath. He was a believer. He wanted to help others, just as she
did. He understood the demands of medicine. He respected her as a physician. And he certainly noticed that she was a woman, too.

Sure, Griffin Walker intrigued her. Maybe even tempted her.

But she knew the right guy when she saw him—and Heath Parker was that guy.

G
riffin had known he would hate his job the moment he got his orders to transfer to Colorado Springs. He just didn't know how much.

Of course, he did the job. Went to the meetings. Read the emails. And at the end of every workday, he crossed another date off his desk calendar. Another twenty-four hours closer to the medical board. One less obstacle standing between him and flying.

He clicked the controller to the garage door, idling his Jeep until the door swung back and he could pull in next to Ian's Jeep Cherokee. Buying the vehicle had been a smart choice. Ian now drove himself to school. One less thing for Griffin to worry about.

Griffin grabbed the sack of groceries he purchased on his way home and headed into the house. Tonight his brother could choose the main course. “Hey, Ian. I'm home.”

No response.

“We've got options tonight for dinner. You want steak or chicken?” He set the bag on the kitchen counter, tossing his keys next to it before walking through the house and standing at the foot of the stairs. He was no longer on a first-name basis with all the cashiers staffing the fast-food drive-throughs within a three-mile radius of the town house. Now he was all about grilling. Maybe he should take the time to teach his brother how to handle the gas grill.

“Ian? You up there?”

More silence.

Ian had to be home—his Jeep was in the garage. Had he fallen asleep doing homework?

Griffin bounded up the stairs to Ian's room. If he was asleep, he wouldn't be for much longer. Ian wasn't the only tired Walker brother. Griffin would show Ian how to start the grill, get him prepping the chicken, and then go change out of his uniform. With a quick rap on the door, Griffin leaned into Ian's room—and found him sitting on his bed, knees pulled up to his chest, arms crossed on top, a pair of stormy hazel eyes zeroing in on him like a laser.

“Didn't you hear me call you?”

“I heard.” With the lower half of his face buried in his arms, Ian's words were muffled.

“If that was a yes, why didn't you answer?”

“Mrs. Jamison called.”

“Don't you mean that Mac called?” Griffin started to back up. Time was wasting.

“No.
Mrs. Jamison
called to tell me that she and Mr. Jamison were looking forward to having me move back with them.” His brother sat up straight, hurling the words across the room at him.

What?
Griffin stood in the doorway, his mind scrambling for words. Every sentence he latched onto felt like an evasive maneuver.

“She forgot to store your phone number in her cell phone, so she decided it was easier to call me. She said you can call her back and finalize the plan.” Ian recrossed his arms over his chest, never once looking away from Griffin.

“Ian, look—”

“When were you gonna tell
me
the plan, huh, Griffin?” Ian jumped off the bed and stood in the middle of the room. “When were you gonna tell me that you didn't want me here? When you handed me a plane ticket and drove me to the airport?”

“I hadn't made a final decision about this—”

“That's not what Mrs. Jamison said. She said you talked it all out. Me finishing up the school year here and then heading back to Panama City this summer. She said you told her I was having such a tough time here—”

“You are having a tough time—”

“I am not! I've got friends. I'm not flunking out. I'm sorry you have to feed me—but hey, other than that, I'm not that much of a bother. I didn't ask you to buy me the Jeep. And it wasn't your money anyway. I know Mom and Dad left me a trust fund.”

“Stop it, okay? Just stop it.” Griffin advanced into the room, resisting the urge to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake him. “I never said you were a bother.”

“Then why did you ask Mrs. Jamison to take me?” His brother pushed past him. “I get it. I'm not your real brother. Just somebody your mom and dad felt sorry for.”

“Ian—” Griffin heard his brother's footsteps thunder down the stairs. “Get back here so we can talk this out.”

“I'm not staying where I'm not wanted.”

The house vibrated with the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut. Where was Ian going? Griffin stood at the top of the stairs. What should he do? Ian needed time to cool down. He would probably walk around the block a few times. It wasn't quite dark yet, but the temperature was sliding into the thirties. Ian only had on jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. He'd be back within fifteen—still angry.

When Griffin heard the rumble of the garage door opening, he dashed down the stairs, straight for the garage. But by the time he threw open the door, Ian was backing the Cherokee out of the garage, the headlights arcing across Griffin's face as his brother spun the Jeep around.

“Ian! Stop!”

He ran through the garage and down the driveway, only to see the red glow of the Cherokee's taillights as Ian gunned the motor and sped down the street. Griffin stood with his hands on his hips and debated his next move. Should he chase the kid down? Let him go? Where was he going? To Jeff's? Probably best to give his brother some space.

Returning to the house, Griffin stashed the packages of chicken and steak in the fridge. He'd postpone dinner until Ian came home. They would sit down, eat, and talk things out. Griffin slathered peanut butter and tart cherry preserves on two slices of whole wheat bread, chasing the sandwich down with a few chugs from the milk bottle. The microwave clock read seven fifteen. He'd give Ian an hour—an hour and a half, tops. Then he'd call his little brother and tell him it was time to come home.

“You know I have to get rid of you now, dog.” Kendall scrubbed the already-damp towel across Sully's wet fur as the goldendoodle squirmed on the floor by the pool. “I told you if you ever got in my pool, I was done with you.”

Sully whimpered, as if apologizing for interrupting her evening swim by jumping into the water—
right on top of her.
What had the dog been thinking? That she needed to be rescued?

“You better say you're sorry.” She uncovered his face, staring into his sad eyes and shaking his soggy muzzle. “Now I've got to clean this thing.”

Once she was satisfied the dog was mostly dry, Kendall wrapped herself in a towel and took the stairs to her loft. So much for a relaxing swim to take her mind off the fact that Heath stood her up tonight. Well, he hadn't stood her up. Not exactly. It's not as if she sat at the Elephant Bar and waited for him to show up. No, he'd been the gentleman she knew him to be, calling and telling her that he couldn't make their date and rescheduling for a week later. He tried for something sooner, but between another round of wedding dress shopping with Rachel and the annual conference of the Colorado Academy of Family Physicians, Kendall was booked solid.

“No sooner than that?” Heath's disappointment almost convinced her to force something into her schedule.

“I'm sorry, Heath. I don't have a free moment all week. Maybe I'll see you at church?”

“Absolutely. I'm so sorry about this, Kendall. I'll miss you.”

She hung up, realizing he hadn't explained what had come up that caused him to cancel. Not that it mattered. She wasn't going to call the man back and ask,
So tell me, what's more important than our date?
Maybe something with the board? But if it was with his board, why didn't he include her?

Kendall ran her fingers through her moist hair. This was no time to overthink things. Heath needed to reschedule. Period. Moving on. And she had the rare commodity of a free evening. Now all she had to do was figure out how to spend the time. First things first. She refused to have the odor of wet goldendoodle permeate the night.

“Sully, go to your bed.”

The dog slunk to his corner where she had pulled his dog bed, casting a look at her over his shoulder.

“Don't even look at me like that. This is your own fault. Get on your bed and stay there until you dry off.”

Just to show him that she still loved him—and wasn't going to send him to the pound—she tossed him a dog treat on her way to her room to shower and change. The hot shower wasn't as invigorating as if she'd completed her swim, but it eased some of the tension of the workday from her shoulders and neck. She'd seen twenty patients today—and had the paperwork to prove it.

Fifteen minutes later, Kendall padded out to the kitchen in a comfortable pair of old jeans and a stretched-out gray sweater that had softened with age. She'd substitute whatever she found in her refrigerator for whatever Heath had planned for dinner tonight. And if that failed, she could go downstairs and raid the office fridge.

Now what?

Read a book on her Kindle? Watch something on Hulu? Call and check on Griffin and his vertigo?

Nope. She was not going to check on that man. He was a grown-up and if he needed something, he could call. Except Kendall knew he was too stubborn to call. His mind could be rolling like the Mind Eraser roller coaster at Elitch Park and he'd just sit there and take it. Or more like he'd lie on the floor, half dressed, and take it.

At least Ian was smart enough to call her when his brother had been reduced to crawling a few days ago. She never imagined seeing Griffin Walker—Mr. Strong and Silent—sprawled on the floor. Even flat on his face, the man was attractive, tattoo and all.

“And you are a wretched, wretched woman to even notice.” Kendall muttered the admonition as she pulled the foil cover off a yogurt, scooped out a spoonful, and then stuffed it in her mouth.

Well, then, what about his tattoo? Why did the guy have a crazy tattoo of a gray three-headed beast on his right shoulder blade? Was it a dog? A wolf? People got tattoos because they meant something—well, usually. But what could Griffin's tattoo mean? She could always Google it, but that felt like she was stalking the guy. Maybe she would ask Griffin the next time she saw him. Friend-to-friend.

Sure. And right after that she'd ask him why he wore two wedding rings on that gold chain around his neck. They were his parents' rings, right? Surely they weren't the wedding bands from his first marriage.

Standing at the breakfast bar, she riffled through the papers piled on the counter. There was a yellow sticky note reminding her about the date to go look for bridesmaid dresses with Rachel. Wonderful. And it was stuck to an online dating application Sonia talked her into filling out months ago. How ironic. She scanned the questionnaire. Was she content? Was she humorous? Was she efficient? What was her background like? Was she good at resolving conflict? Was her faith important to her? Was she looking for a serious relationship?