Love Finds a Way (23 page)

“They looked hungry,” he replied with a Cheshire cat grin.

“Yeah, right,” she countered. “You’re such a kidder, Dad.”

“I just thought it would be nice if we had some company for a change,” Dad said, giving her a look that resembled a little-boy pout.

Wendy came back to kneel in front of the couch. “Dad, if you’re really that bored, why not invite Fred or even good old Clyde over for lunch one of these days? If you give me some advance notice, I might even be willing to whip up something really nice.”

He scowled. “Fred and Clyde? You’ve gotta be kidding, Wendy. Why, those guys and their same old jokes are boring.”

“Dad!”

He smiled sheepishly. “Well, maybe not boring exactly, but certainly not full of vim and vigor, like those nice paramedics seemed to be.”

Wendy groaned inwardly. She just didn’t understand what had come over Dad. Maybe he was in his second childhood or something. Maybe he thought he needed to be around younger people in order to feel youthful.

She gave him a weak smile. “I
am
going out to the kitchen now. I think a bowl of chicken noodle soup might help both of our moods.”

O
h brother,” Wendy fumed as she closed the door behind what she hoped would be her last Friday morning customer. She needed at least half an hour to repair the damage left in the wake of little Jeffrey Peterson. Maybe by the time she’d eaten and checked on Dad, her emotions would have settled down.

“If the rest of my day goes as badly as the last few hours, I may consider closing this shop and finding a
normal
job!” she said, leaning against the edge of the counter.

First thing this morning, the Miller brothers came in—without appointments, of course. Rufus and Alvin lived in an old shack just outside of town, and the mere sight of the tall, gangly men made Wendy’s stomach churn. Their clothes were always grimy and smelled like week-old dirty socks. The brothers’ greasy, matted hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed since their last cut, nearly eight weeks ago. It was a wonder they didn’t have a head full of lice!

If that wasn’t bad enough, both of the men sported the foulest breath she’d ever had the misfortune of smelling. To add insult to injury, Alvin spit his chewing tobacco into the potted palm sitting in one corner of the barbershop.

Jeffrey Peterson had been her next client, and what a time she’d had trying to get the active three-year-old to sit still! Even with the aide of the booster seat, he’d sat much too low. It was a miracle Wendy didn’t take off an ear instead of the unruly mass of bright red hair, glued together by a hunk of bubble gum that could only be cut out. To make matters worse, Jeffrey managed to leave another wad of sticky gum on the arm of her barber’s chair.

“Now wouldn’t that give someone a nice bonus when they sit down, expecting a haircut or shave?” Wendy grumbled, scrubbing the gummy clump and wondering about the logic of buying that antique, claw-foot gum ball machine. “Maybe I should have gone to beauty school like my friend Sharon.”

Suddenly the bell above her shop door rang, indicating another customer.

She looked up from her gum-removal project and scowled. It was Gabe Hunter, the very man old Clyde Baxter wanted to link her up with.
That will never happen
, Wendy fumed.
Gabe acts like a conceited creep, and the guy thinks he’s every woman’s dream come true
.

A quick glance at the wall clock told her it was eleven thirty. While she certainly wasn’t thrilled about this particular customer, she knew she could manage to squeeze in one more haircut before lunch.

“Morning, Wendy,” Gabe said with a wink. “You’re lookin’ as pert and pretty as always.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Gabe,” Wendy said through clenched teeth. “At least not with me.”

Gabe removed his leather jacket and carelessly threw it over one of the old opera-style seats in the small waiting room. “Aw, come on. You know you find me irresistible. I mean, how could you not? I’m probably your best-looking customer, not to mention the fact that I’m a great tipper.” Gabe plopped into the chair Wendy had been scrubbing and planted his hairy hand inches from hers.

“Why don’t you sit in that chair?” she suggested, pulling her hand away and motioning to what used to be her father’s barber chair. “As you can probably see, this one has recently been initiated.”

Gabe shrugged and moved to the other chair. “You know what?”

“No, what?” Wendy shot back.

“I don’t have to start work until two today. How about you and me going over to Pete’s Place and sharin’ a large pepperoni pizza?”

“I’m working.”

“Well, you’ve gotta take a lunch break, right?” he persisted. Moving away from the gummed-up chair, Wendy grabbed a clean cotton drape and hooked it around Gabe’s humongous neck. He’d been a star football player during high school, and now he worked as a mechanic for the only car repair shop in Plumers. Every time the brute came in for a haircut, he tried to come on to Wendy. Some of the town’s young single women might be fooled by his good looks and somewhat crass charisma, but not Wendy. She’d been burned once, and she couldn’t let it happen again. Especially not with some six-foot-two, blue-eyed charmer who didn’t have the good sense to know when to keep his mouth shut.

“Well, how about it?”

“How about what?” Wendy sidestepped.

“Lunch—with me.” He gave her another wink.

“I’m going home for lunch so I can check on Dad,” she said evenly.

Gabe threw both hands in the hair, nearly pulling the cotton drape off his neck. “Whatever!”

“How much do you want off?” Wendy ignored his childish antics and made a firm attempt to get down to business. If she didn’t get this guy out of the chair soon, not only would she be late for lunch, but what was left of her sanity would probably be long gone as well.

“Same as usual,” came the casual reply. Then Gabe added with a wide grin, “You sure do have pretty blue eyes, Wendy Campbell.”

Wendy closed those pretty eyes briefly and offered up a pleading entreaty.
Oh Lord, please give me strength
. It wasn’t really much of a prayer, but it was the first one she’d petitioned God for since her father’s 911 scare three days ago.

Wendy had accepted Christ as her Savior at an early age. She’d attended Sunday school and church for many years, too. Prayer and Bible reading used to be an important part of her life.

It wasn’t until she began dating Dale Carlson while she was attending Bailey’s Barber School in Spokane that things started to change. Dale had been the perfect Christian … or so he’d let on. Dale’s mask of self-righteousness came catapulting off when he began making unwanted advances, asking Wendy to sacrifice her chastity. Not more than a week after putting Dale in his place, Wendy discovered he’d been seeing Michelle Stiles the whole time while coming on to her. The entire episode had shaken her faith in men and her own good judgment. Her relationship with Christ had suffered, as she was no longer sure she could even trust God.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get much hair taken off by just standin’ there frowning like the world is about to end,” Gabe declared, disrupting Wendy’s reflections.

She shook her head, trying to reestablish her thoughts and get down to the business at hand. The sooner she got garish Gabe’s curly black hair trimmed, the better it would be for both of them.

Half an hour later, Wendy had just taken the clippers to Gabe’s neck and was about to dust him off when he announced, “That’s not quite how I want it. Could you take a little more off the sides?”

Exasperated with this big hulk of a man, Wendy gritted her teeth, forcing herself as always to comply with the customer’s wishes.

“I wouldn’t mind having one of those neck rubs you’re so famous for,” Gabe said when the haircut was finished. “Yep, it sure would feel great to have your soft hands work some of the kinks out of my neck.”

Right here is where I draw the line with this guy
, Wendy reasoned silently. “I just don’t have time for that today, Gabe,” she said through tight lips. “I barely managed to squeeze you in for a haircut.”

“You’re sure not very sociable.” Gabe stepped down from the chair. “I’ve spent the last half hour telling you how great we’d be together, and all you’ve done is give me the silent treatment.”

Wendy chewed on her bottom lip, trying to hold back the words that threatened to roll off her tongue. She moved toward the cash register, hoping he would follow.

He did, but as soon as he handed her the money, Gabe blurted out, “If your mood doesn’t improve some, you might start to lose customers.” He shrugged into his black leather jacket. “Seriously, most folks don’t come in here for just a shave or a good haircut, you know.”

Wendy eyed him speculatively. “Oh? Why
do
they come in, Gabe?”

“A barber is kind of like a bartender,” he said with another one of his irritating winks.

“Is that so?” Wendy could feel her temperature begin to rise, so she took a few deep breaths to keep from saying the wrong thing.

“Yep,” Gabe retaliated. “Many barbershops—especially ones that operate in small towns like Plumers—are noted as places where folks can share their problems, tell a few jokes, and let their hair down.” He draped his muscular arm across her slender shoulders and smirked. “Get it, unfriendly Wendy? A good barber is supposed to be
friendly
and courteous to their customers.”

Wendy grimaced. Gabe had stepped on her toes with that statement. She really did try to be polite to her customers, no matter how much they might irritate her. With Gabe, it was different. She didn’t need men like him trying to put her down or take advantage. And she certainly wasn’t going to give him the chance to make a complete fool of her the way Dale had.

“Have a nice day, Gabe,” Wendy said in a strained voice.

He nodded curtly. “Sure. You, too.”

The door was closing behind Gabe when Wendy heard it—that ear-piercing whine of a siren. She shuddered and glanced out the window. An emergency vehicle sped past the shop and headed up her street.

“Oh no,” she moaned, “not again. Please, God, don’t let it be going to my house this time.”

Kyle Rogers couldn’t believe he was being called back to the same house he’d been to only a few days ago. The dispatcher said Wayne had called asking for help because he was in terrible pain. What really seemed strange was the fact that the 911 call had come in about the same time as three days earlier. He shrugged.
Probably just a coincidence
.

“Ready?” Kyle asked Steve, opening the door of their truck and grabbing his rescue case.

“Ready,” Steve said with a nod.

Kyle rapped on the front door. A distressed-sounding voice called out, “It’s open. Come in.”

When they stepped into the living room, they found Wayne lying on the couch.

“What is it, sir?” Kyle asked, kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He had just put on his gloves when Wayne reached out to clasp his hand.

“I–I’ve got a cramp in my leg, and it’s killing me! Wendy’s not home from work yet, but she should be here soon.” He drew his leg up and winced in pain as Kyle began probing.

“Is this where the cramp is, Mr. Campbell?”

Wayne shook his head. “No. I mean, yes—I think it’s there.”

“Do you get leg cramps very often?” Kyle inquired.

“Sometimes. It goes along with having rheumatoid arthritis, you know.” Wayne glanced at the door. “Where is Wendy, anyway? She should be home by now.”

Kyle gently massaged Wayne’s contorted limb. “Is this helping any?”

Wayne thrashed about. “No, no, it still hurts like crazy. I think it’s getting worse, not better!” He began moaning, then started gasping for breath. “I can’t take it! I can’t take any more!”

“Calm down, Mr. Campbell,” Steve admonished. “You’re only making it worse.”

“He’s hyperventilating, Steve. Get a bag.”

Steve reached into their supply case and quickly followed instructions, placing a brown paper sack over Wayne’s nose and mouth. “Do you think he could be having a panic attack,

Kyle?”

Kyle nodded. “It looks that way. Once he begins to relax, we can work on that leg cramp.”

The uncooperative patient pushed the bag aside. “Wendy—she—”

“I don’t think we should be concerned about your daughter right now,” Kyle asserted. “Let’s get you calmed down; then we’ll see if we can’t take care of that charley horse.” Kyle took the paper sack from Wayne and held it to his face again. “Breathe as normally as you can, and please, no more talking until we say.”

A red-faced Wayne finally complied, settling back against the throw pillows.

Steve had just started to massage the leg again when Wendy came flying into the house.

“What happened? Is my dad sick? He wasn’t playing with his fishing line again, I hope.” Her eyes were huge as saucers, and her face white like chalk.

Kyle eyed her with concern. “Steady now, Miss Campbell. Why don’t you have a seat?”

With an audible moan, Wendy dropped into the rocking chair. “Please tell me what’s wrong with Dad.”

“He called 911 because he was in terrible pain. When we got here, he said his leg had cramped up,” Kyle explained.