The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (14 page)

“I brought some of the wonderful coffee cake my cook makes. I know you’ll love that,” Adam heard Blossom say from the kitchen.

He glanced at Evelyn, who’d begun to straighten up the living room. He hadn’t wanted Blossom to bring her, but the other Widows scared George. How could a man be afraid of a bunch of women?

Adam grinned. The Widows had frightened him when he arrived here. Still did every once in a while, especially Miss Birdie, although Winnie could bark out orders nearly as well. Not that he’d ever let them know they intimidated him.

As Evelyn cleaned, Adam picked up toys and put them in baskets.

They couldn’t keep sending in women to do the housework. Evelyn was here really as a favor for Ouida, a mere stopgap measure so she wouldn’t worry about her family living in chaos. George had to step it up, either hire someone or do more himself.

A
s Mercedes insisted—my, how Birdie hated it when she got all pushy like that—the Widows had left the preacher alone for over a week. Those few days felt like forever in the life of a matchmaker.

Not that they had anything to discuss, really. Bree and Mac had told her that during the one night the preacher spent at church camp, no sparks had flown between him and Gussie; they’d spent no moments alone cuddling or even chatting with each other, from what the girls had said. Drat the man. She needed to get him moving.

She hadn’t pushed him or nagged about the opportunity gone awry because he
had
been called away to take care of the congregation and he’d been busy with his neighbors since Ouida’s terrible fall. Poor Ouida was suffering so much, and that husband of hers was nearly useless. Oh, Birdie knew that. She’d dropped in several times to bring food or to help with the girls. George nodded when she spoke and hurried to do whatever she asked but looked like he wanted to hide from her. Helpless and worthless.

However, Birdie had given the preacher enough time. If he believed he’d gotten away easy, ignoring his courting when the Widows had worked so hard to get him going and when they were all distracted by the plight of the Kowalski family, he had another think coming. Birdie knew she was exactly the person to set him straight.

She’d have to be cunning, Birdie reflected as she finished wiping the last table at the diner. Sneaky. Not let him know that she knew that he knew what she had in mind. She’d had a chat with the other Widows, which now included Blossom. She’d accepted the grass widow, realized that despite all her high maintenance, her expensive hair and clothing, she did have some good qualities, wasn’t all fancy hats and no cattle. But, poor dear, she wasn’t too bright.

Birdie had come up with a new plan of attack. She had an idea of exactly how to handle him.

Poor man. She laughed as she thought about what lay ahead.

Ten minutes later, she arrived at the church and opened the door. Maggie glanced up at her and froze.

“I’ll tell Reverend Jordan you’re here,” she said.

Before Birdie could say she’d announce herself, Maggie shouted, “Pastor, Birdie MacDowell is here.”

“Good morning, Preacher.” As she entered the office, Birdie turned her friendliest smile toward him.

Adam stood. “How can I help you?” he said with a smile that didn’t change the wary expression in his eyes or relax the tension in his shoulders. His face mirrored the same expression every minister who served the church wore when she arrived unexpectedly.

“Please sit down.” Adam gestured toward a chair.

Birdie did. As the preacher returned to his chair, she took a moment to sit back and relax, to rotate that darned shoulder. It would bother her the rest of her life unless she finally gave up and had surgery, which she refused to do because how would her family eat if she did that? Who would…Well, enough of that. She cleared her throat—the sound caused the preacher to jump nervously—and said, “Didn’t the young people have a wonderful time at camp?”

He nodded. “I heard they did.”

“Yes, yes they did.” She paused, attempting to act as if nothing were on her mind, but
subtle
was not one of her gifts. He watched her, clearly thought he knew where she was heading.

“As always, Gussie was wonderful.” Birdie paused for a moment because she really did enjoy watching him become more wary. Baiting the preacher, not a benevolent act but entertaining. “However, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

His relief was audible and visible. He released his breath and his shoulders relaxed. But he still had that uneasy flicker in his eyes. In an effort to calm him, she smiled again because she did have an important item to discuss. Didn’t work. He flinched.

“The other day, the Widows were talking about the Kowalskis.” Not what he’d thought she’d say, she knew. That counted as a plus. He wouldn’t suspect her real purpose.

He nodded, still wary.

“How’s Ouida doing?”

“I stopped by for a minute yesterday at the nursing home. She said she felt better and looked forward to coming home in a week or two.”

Birdie nodded. “That’s good.” She sighed, infusing worry and anxiety and concern and caring into that release of breath. “It’s George I’m worried about.” She leaned forward and allowed her most sympathetic look to cross her face.

“I can’t talk about that, Miss Birdie.”

“I know, I know. Privacy issues and all that, but I can.” She leaned back. “It seems that the man is not pulling his weight, that he’s not up to the task.”

“He has a wife recovering from surgery, two little girls to care for, and a business to run.”

“Exactly what I mean. George is like a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest.” The baffled expression on the preacher’s face told Birdie he had no idea what she meant. “That’s Texan for he’s not equipped for the job.”

“He has a lot on his plate.”

Birdie admired professional behavior in a minister. He’d said only what everyone in town knew, nothing more. She’d have to spell it out. “Yes, yes, we all know that, but he should do more. The girls aren’t home that much with school and day care and church. He should be able to handle his business with Ouida in the nursing home and the girls taken care of all day. We take him food, we drive the girls around.”

“I don’t know that he’s…”

Birdie kept speaking. “When she comes home, home health will come in to take care of Ouida. The Widows have scheduled neighbors and church members to sit with her. But, even with all those people pitching in, he acts overwhelmed.”

“It’s a big change for him.”

“But—” She sat forward again, a movement she knew always caught the attention of any preacher. “But the man is so passive.” She paused to make sure he picked up the adjective she used, then repeated it. “He’s so doggone passive.”

“It’s all new to him.”

“Oh, Preacher, I know that, but when I grew up, my daddy always taught me that if a man wants something, he should take action.”

She fixed her eyes on him and spoke very slowly. “A man shouldn’t sit around, passive, waiting for life to happen. If a man wants something, he should go after it.” She settled back in the chair and continued to watch him.

It took a few seconds before his expression showed comprehension, the realization that Birdie was no longer talking about George, that Adam had become the topic of her conversation. He blinked once.

“Interesting observation.” He nodded. “That’s what your daddy used to say?”

He couldn’t be teasing her, could he? Well, she didn’t know. Sometimes the young man baffled her. He didn’t behave like the ministers she’d trained in the past.

It hadn’t taken long for Adam to realize that Miss Birdie had left the topic of George Kowalski’s problems and faults behind several remarks earlier. His poor neighbor’s dilemma had been only a bridge, a jumping-off point, perhaps even a metaphor for the pillar’s favorite theme: getting her minister married in spite of his poor efforts at romance. He could—also metaphorically—all but feel her behind him, both hands on his back and shoving him toward Gussie.

Once she recognized that he understood exactly what she had
not
said but implied, she sat back, so pleased with herself that a genuine smile covered her face.

Lord, Adam loved the woman. Always consistent: scheming and underhanded and never afraid to try or say the most outrageous things, but she did everything because she cared. She knew that everyone would be much better off if they gave in and did things her way.

“You’re meddling,” he stated.

“I don’t believe expressing concern about the Kowalskis could possibly be considered meddling.”

Her smile became even broader, because there was no way he could tell her he knew good and well what she’d really been talking about. If he did, he opened himself up for advice about how to date Gussie.

His best course of action was to get her to leave. He needed a few moments of privacy to mull her words over. He stood, walked around the desk, and took her right hand, the one at the end of her good arm. “Thank you for dropping by.” He helped her to her feet—surreptitiously, of course—and shepherded her through the door. She couldn’t refuse to leave without crossing the line between aggressively helpful and what even she would consider downright rude.

With the pillar gone, Adam settled back in his chair and considered what she’d said, the hidden meaning in her words. As much as he hated to admit it, Miss Birdie was right. He had to become more assertive and less passive when it came to Gussie. When Sam and the pillar agreed, he should listen and act. He’d do that, as soon as he figured out what to do and how to do it. Although the Widows seemed unaware of the difficulty involved, Adam knew it too well. Gussie hadn’t displayed even an iota of interest in him.

But he’d hidden his attraction to her. Perhaps she’d done the same. Could it be that deep within, she harbored a fiery passion for him, an unbridled lust she hid behind her quick smile and let’s-be-friends exterior?

Oh, sure.

And even if she did, he saw obstacles he had no idea how to overcome. The most immediate: how to take action, to show interest in Gussie in case she felt anything toward him?

Should he call Sam? No, Sam had already given him the man-up lecture and expected Adam to act. His other friend was Mattie, but he’d never felt comfortable going to a woman for romantic advice.

He had to dive in and hope he could float. Better to know if Gussie felt the slightest bit of interest in him even if it meant facing rejection.

He pulled up his list of how to get the woman you want on the computer and studied it.

Unable to put the deed off any longer because he feared if he didn’t get a move on, Miss Birdie and Sam would visit him again with a stronger message, Adam ended up navigating the highways in South Austin the next day. A bouquet of roses lay on the passenger seat.

He’d picked up two ideas on the net: one, be spontaneous. Women adored spur-of-the-moment-ness. He’d decided to drop in, unexpectedly, to seem impulsive. Or, could be he was too cowardly to call.

Second, women loved flowers, but not red roses. Too clichéd, too obvious, too passé. Roses, yes. Red, no. So he’d headed toward the floral department at the H-E-B and chosen a mixture of yellow and melon and deep orange roses, four of each, because the bright colors reminded him of Gussie.

Because he had a tendency to get lost, he’d looked up the location of Gussie’s photography studio and printed off a map. Only a couple of blocks south of Highway 71. He’d chosen to arrive a few minutes before ten in the hope that she’d be between appointments or could find time to see him later, perhaps for lunch. Finding the address, he pulled into a lot, turned off the ignition, picked up the flowers, and got out of the car, which still sputtered behind him, a problem Rex hadn’t been able to diagnose and fix yet.

To his surprise, he found himself whistling. He hadn’t whistled in a long time. Probably had known instinctively that whereas Miss Birdie could handle a minister who played basketball, she would not approve of a basketball-playing minister who whistled.

Why had he allowed her to run his life? Probably because his life was a great deal easier if he gave in to her on the little things.

He stopped in front of the door to Gussie’s studio and gave a long whistle. Wow! She was really successful. Several pictures of Austin celebrities stared out of the front windows of a sleek, modern building: one of a guitar player with a ponytail; another of a well-muscled actor famous for taking his shirt off. He opened the door to a reception area with luxurious chairs, a thick carpet, and a gorgeous blonde at the desk.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked with a broad smile.

“I’m here to see Gussie?” he asked although he hadn’t meant it as a question.

“Was she expecting you?” Her smile became even more friendly, showing soft dimples as if she’d finally realized he was a man.

“No.” He glanced around. He was alone in the waiting area. “I thought I’d drop by. Hope to catch her.”

Justine—at least that was the name on her desk plate—grimaced. “Oh, dear. That’s not a good idea. Miss Milton never takes walk-ins. She’s too busy.”

Well, that was good for her business.

“Right now, she’s at a church down the highway.” Justine gestured behind her with her head. “Taking pictures for their directory.”

That was the problem with being spontaneous. People didn’t expect you and weren’t around to take note of the grand gesture.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Let’s see.” The blonde pulled up something on her monitor and studied it. “She has appointments until four, shooting all day. She’ll stay to finish the paperwork and clean up. After that, she’ll go straight home.”

He’d chosen to go to her office instead of to Roundville because, with her parents around, he didn’t feel a tryst could be either romantic or impetuous. Now driving into Austin in a failing car and not finding the object of his journey seemed foolish.

“Oh,” he said.

“Can I take a message?” She glanced at the roses. “I could put them in water so they’ll be pretty when she comes in tomorrow.”

“No, thank you.” What explanation could he possibly give for showing up with flowers? He obviously wasn’t a delivery boy. “I…” He stopped when he realized there really wasn’t one.

“You must really like flowers,” the receptionist tilted her head a little and winked.

“Oh, sure,” he agreed as if he carried them around all the time. “Yes, I do.” She winked again, which, he feared, showed an interest in him. Could this get any worse?

Of course.

He’d turned to leave when he heard a door in the back of the studio open.

“Justine?” Gussie called from another room. “One of the ring lights broke and I didn’t take an extra. I’ve got to grab a couple and take off again.”