The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (21 page)

“Did you say I’m getting old?” She bit the words off.

He grinned. For a second and before she—foolish, foolish woman—could stop the reaction, her heart began to beat faster.

“You don’t tell a lady that,” she said after a deep but not-in-the-least-bit-calming breath.

His grin deepened, and his eyes had a great squinched look. She not only couldn’t take a deep breath, she couldn’t breathe. What was happening to her? Levelheaded, that’s what she’d always called herself. Focused—actually much too narrowly focused—had been the description even her friends had used. Hard to get along with and not at all likely to forget who she was for a man. Her few former and short-term boyfriends had called her a sarcastic witch.

But at this moment with this man standing in front of her, she was tongue-tied. Sarcasm was the last thing she had on her mind.

The first and most important thing she had on her mind was unthinkable and yet she
was
thinking it.

She was falling. Oh, not in love, of course. She wasn’t the kind of woman who was ruled by fickle and frivolous emotions. However, she had to recognize that, as she got to know him, she’d moved past her initial bedazzled attraction and the internal paean she’d written to his beauty. She was maybe falling in lust or, perhaps, in deep infatuation with this man who was completely, absolutely, and recklessly the wrong person for her. Even if she wasn’t the kind of woman who did that, either.

“So,” she said in a voice carefully modulated to show no emotion other than hunger—for food—“thanks. I’ll go grab a tray. I can do this by myself. I know the way. You don’t have to come with me,” she babbled, but at least managed an unemotional tone.

“I know I don’t,” he said. “But I promised your brother I’d look out for you and I can hardly allow you to get lost in San Pablo High School or pass out on the way to dinner.”

Oh, he’d promised her brother? Anger at herself for thinking this guy was interested in her and fury with her bother collided.

“Wh…wh…who? What?” She turned toward Gabe, sputtering in rage. Then she made a huge mistake. Fists on her hips and fuming, she glared at him.

She should never have looked directly at him.

Unfair that a man should look like Gabe. Created to lead women away from their goals and concerns and their chosen work, endowed with so much of everything. Not even the injuries to his face seemed to dim that aura. “‘To whom much is given, much shall be required,’” she said.

Oh, she hadn’t really said that out loud, had she? His presence and that smile had destroyed every bit of the logic she’d always prided herself on and left quoting the Bible as her only means of communication.

“‘From the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.’”

Not fair. He even knew the Bible. He seemed almost as smart as she. Of course, he knew nothing about quantitative parasitology. The realization rebuilt a little of her ego.

“Don’t be impressed,” Gabe said. “Your brother has said that before, I picked it up from him.”

“Well, in all fairness, I know nothing about basketball,” she blurted. Why? She’d seldom considered fairness an important attribute. It was one of those nebulous concepts that couldn’t be scientifically proven.

She realized, as he nodded, that something was going on between the two of them and
both
of them felt it.

“That’s okay,” he said in a voice low and intimate, as if sharing a wonderful secret. “I can teach you.”

She felt her defenses slip even more. Regardless of what he’d said, from the tone of his voice he didn’t consider her an assignment from her brother. Something was happening between the two of them, but only he seemed to know exactly what.

For the first time in her life, she was bumfuzzled.

A
dam left San Pablo late Saturday afternoon in the hope he’d have time to rest a little and work on his sermon. He knew the congregation would understand what he’d been doing instead of sermon preparation. Despite fatigue and a sore body, he still felt the need to feed the flock.

Due to that exhaustion, he’d headed home while he could still stay awake. Hector snored behind him, sprawled out all over the backseat. Beside him, Gussie’s eyes looked as if they’d begun to close.

“What do you want to talk about?” he said.

When her head dropped onto the back of the seat, he gave her a gentle shove. “Come on, Gussie, you need to talk to me and keep me awake.”

“Okay.” She straightened, shook her head, and blinked. “Let’s talk about our wedding. What do you think?” She reached in her fanny pack and pulled out her cell. “Still okay with those weekends?”

“Hey, I’m okay with tomorrow.” Adam gave her a quick smile before he turned his eyes toward the road. “Those dates sound good. I’ll email my friends and family. But, if this is too much trouble, as Hannah said, we could run off.”

“You can’t do that to Miss Birdie,” Hector said from the backseat. “That would hurt her and the other ladies.”

“You’re awake.” Gussie twisted to look back at him. “We wouldn’t do that. They need a wedding to plan and to invite the entire town to attend.” She waited for an answer but none came so she turned forward again. “I think he’s already back to sleep.”

She put her hand on Adam’s shoulder. “We’ll need to discuss the dates with the Widows.”

Adam groaned. “I know we have to, of course. If we allow them a say in a few little details, maybe we can develop enough good will that you’ll get one or two of your choices.”

“My thoughts exactly. I refuse to have a pink wedding. Anything other than that is negotiable. We’ll start with the dates we chose, check with the church calendar…”

He laughed. “In case someone else is getting married in the church on those weekends?”

“We don’t want to leave this to chance. You know how I like to plan and make lists so I’m sure about everything.”

He didn’t say it but he believed Winnie could beat her in list making.

“Okay.” She squeezed his shoulder, which put pressure on muscles that were sore from the rescue work. Still, he didn’t mind—not when Gussie did the squeezing and not when they were discussing their wedding.

He grinned. This was going to happen. He and Gussie were going to get married soon. Life was good, unless, of course, one’s home had been leveled by a tornado. As much as Adam worried about those people, he still rejoiced that he and Gussie had set a date—or two—for the wedding.

Gabe attempted to pull Hannah away from triage at eight thirty. By the time he succeeded, thirty minutes had passed. “You haven’t slept for hours. Days, maybe.”

“I took a nap. I don’t need…”

“You took a very short nap and yes, you do. We all do.”

“Just because I gave in and ate dinner and took a break doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

“I’d never dare.”

He could see she didn’t believe him.

“Please listen to me for a minute, Dr. Jordan.”

She nodded.

“The staff has set up a rotation chart. You’re off until eight in the morning. Might as well get some sleep.”

“Did you…”

“Didn’t have anything to do with it.” He held his hands in front of himself palms forward. “To provide coverage, the staff set up a schedule: twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Some of the volunteers have to go home tomorrow evening. One of the doctors in town had a heart attack when the winds hit so he’s out of commission. Another doctor’s house blew away so she’s gone. You’re still needed until things get sorted out, but a rested doctor is a better doctor.” Was that stupid slogan the best he could come up with?

“You’re right.” She nodded. “Or the staff is right. Whatever.” She glanced around triage. All looked calm. “Okay.” When she pulled her duffel from under the exam table, he took it from her.

Must be really tired. She didn’t protest.

In San Pablo and other towns in the far west of the central time zone, darkness arrived late. As they left the building, the sun still shone but headed toward the horizon.

The wind had increased a little. Not nearly tornado velocity but strong gusts. In the heat of July when daytime high temperatures averaged over one hundred degrees, any breeze felt hot and dry, as if someone had opened a gigantic celestial oven and the hot air rushed out.

But tonight felt like a cool spring evening. In a few hours, the temperature would drop into the sixties, the plains would cool off, and they could sleep.

He glanced at Hannah. The brisk breeze couldn’t mess up her spiky hair but it cooled the dusky skin of her cheeks and flapped at her boxy scrubs. Then he pointed toward the middle school. “They set up cots for volunteers over there.”

She stopped and looked around. “Peaceful,” she said in a soft voice missing the edge of stress he’d heard earlier. “Can we sit here for a bit?” She pointed toward a bench on the edge of a grove of live oak trees. “I’d like to be outside awhile before I go into another building.” She lifted her head into the breeze and looked around the area.

“This reminds me of Africa a little.” She swept her hand above her. “The vastness of the sky here. The horizon’s bigger in Kenya because there’s nothing around the refugee camp, not for miles and miles. Deforestation’s a huge problem. Without trees, the sky in Africa stretches forever.”

Because emotion colored her voice, he didn’t say anything, only listened to her.

“There are sounds around the camp all night. You can hear lions roaring and elephants trumpeting. But there are also the sounds of people in pain and mothers sobbing.

“I miss it,” she said. “It’s the most beautiful place in the world and the hardest. The saying is that once you fall in love with Africa, she will never let you go.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and turned away.

He watched her walk to the bench, sit, take a deep breath, and lean against a tree. Even as he started toward the bench, she fell asleep. Just like that. He dropped the duffel and settled next to her, putting his arm around her to keep him from falling off, to give her a pillow. Only, of course, because he’d promised Adam he’d watch out for her.

When he sat, she changed positions, still asleep, and cradled her head against his shoulder. She obviously thought of him not as a man but a large, warm, and hard pillow that she hit several times to make more comfortable.

An hour later, she woke up and yawned.

“How do you feel?”

“Great.” Noticing his arm around her and her head snuggled against him, Hannah leaned forward and away to stretch, covering her yawn with one hand.

When she moved, he shook his cramped arm. His hand had fallen asleep holding her and his muscles had tightened, but he still wished she’d lean against him again.

Night had completely fallen a few minutes earlier. In the heaven that surrounded San Pablo, a thick stream of stars flowed across the sky in a radiance Gabe had never seen until he came to small-town Texas. No lights from the city intruded here to obscure the stars, just the dim illumination from the hospital a block behind them. With only a few trees silhouetted against the flat horizon, a depth and width of sky appeared, a vision no one could see through the buildings of town, even in Butternut Creek.

It had taken great effort for Hannah to straighten and lean away from Gabe. His arm around her shoulders had felt nice, warm. And his chest, well, it was a great chest. Although a little hard for comfort, she’d slept against it contentedly. She’d probably drooled and snored and knew she’d hit him several times, thinking as exhaustion overcame her that he was a pillow. When she woke up again, she realized she hadn’t been sleeping against a pillow because, when she thumped it again, it whoofed. She felt awkward and embarrassed. After a few words and some time breathing in the beauty of the nighttime sky, she made that same terrible mistake. She looked into his eyes. As if they were alone in the world, the two of them, as if an unknown power directed her actions, she raised her hand and put it on his cheek.

Why?

To thank him, she reasoned, although she knew that wasn’t true.

He’d taken the gesture as an invitation—why wouldn’t he? He leaned toward her. Slowly, little by little dropping his head, giving her the opportunity to pull away, even to hit him with a hard right cross if she wanted.

Not that she wanted to. In fact, she wanted to stay right there, even to lean into the kiss.

But she couldn’t. Even during this magical moment, her mind kept churning out rational thoughts. She couldn’t forget who she was and who he was and that this was not logical behavior. No, this was a capricious coming together, and Hannah never did anything on a whim. Despite the longing, despite the wish to act without thinking, she couldn’t cross that barrier.

With great but reasoned regret, she put her hand on his chest to stop him at the same time she kept her gaze on his face. “Why do you want to kiss me?” she whispered.

“What?” He straightened.

“Why…do…you…”

“No, I heard you,” he said, his voice colored with confusion. “I just didn’t understand.” When she started to explain, he held a hand up. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Why did I want to kiss you?” He waved toward the sky. “Moon.” Then he pointed at himself, then at her. “Man, woman, romantic night.”

She considered his words. “You mean you’d kiss any woman who was sitting here? You don’t necessarily want to kiss
me
, right?”

“Well, yes, I wanted to kiss you.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, bewildered. “No one’s ever asked that. I guess they wanted to kiss me as well.”

“
That
I can understand.” She nodded her head vigorously in complete agreement. “You are very charming and I bet you’re a terrific kisser. Any woman would want to kiss you, but I don’t understand…”

He didn’t say a word. She wished she could see his face. As poorly as she read people, expressions did help. Here trees filtered out most of the light and hid those details.

“What I don’t understand is why me? I’m coming off a long shift, probably smell like a hospital or worse, and, on my best days, I could only be considered somewhat attractive.”

“So?”

“Well, I’d think you’d prefer tall blondes. Beautiful women.” She paused to consider her next words. “Of course, there isn’t much choice here. Am I the best alternative?”

He still didn’t speak. When he leaned back and away from her, the hand Hannah had placed on his chest slipped into her lap.

“You think I’m really shallow,” he said.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean to insult you, but I’m a scientist. I like—no, I need to know reasons, motivation. I’m expecting you to be truthful.”

“Am I a rare virus you’re studying?” With those words, he started to laugh. For a while Hannah thought he’d never quit. She feared that in the morning, they’d find them here, Gabe still laughing while Hannah slept.

But he did stop. Then he took her hand and stood, pulling her to her feet. “We’d better go inside. You need to go to bed. You’re worn out and I’m completely baffled.” He picked up the duffel bag and, still holding her hand, tugged her toward the dorm space.

At that moment she realized with deep disappointment that Gabe didn’t want to kiss her anymore.

“Is it okay if I hold your hand?” he asked as they neared the gym. “I have to tell you I cannot explain scientifically or logically
why
I want to hold your hand.”

She did that to people, bewildered them. She didn’t know why. She didn’t speak in difficult words or convoluted arguments because she’d learned long ago that people didn’t understand them. Even with her effort to express herself more clearly it often seemed as if she and the person she conversed with spoke completely different languages.

“The truth is that I want to make sure you’re heading in the right direction and won’t fall down because the ground is uneven.”

Ouch. That hurt. She realized he could be as snarky as she—which she admired in an odd way.

When they entered the middle school gym, he dropped her hand. They both showed their IDs to the man on duty, then she followed him around a curtain. Almost half of the cots were empty. He stopped at one, dropped the duffel, and helped her stretch a sheet across the bed before he said, “Good night.”

She slipped off her shoes, lay down, and remembered no more.

Gabe couldn’t sleep. The cot was too narrow and too short for him. His shoulders hit the hard sides and either his head or his feet had to hang off. He chose his feet.

His face hurt, especially the cut close to his lip. If he slept on his back, the cuts on his back hurt. If he slept on his stomach, curved like a big bowl, the cuts on his face hurt. When he slept on his side, he had an irrational fear the cot would tip over.

But his whirring brain was the main reason for his insomnia. It kept playing that scene with Hannah. What was he thinking? Adam had asked him to look out for his sister and he’d hit on her. She’d been right about the tall blondes he usually dated. He hadn’t made a move on her, at least not like he would have with those experienced and sophisticated women who knew exactly what his words and actions meant, who interpreted his move and responded without asking for a reason. But she
had
put her hand on his cheek.

He felt no attraction toward Hannah. Too skinny, too bossy, and too not his type of woman.

He shifted on the cot. It almost tipped over. Once he steadied it with a hand on the floor, he had to admit it. He was full of baloney. Oh, sure, he could
tell
himself he didn’t find her attractive but he’d be lying. He’d really wanted to kiss her and not only because he was a man and she was a woman and the moon shone above them.

Yes, he was shallow. Yes, he pretty much wanted to kiss any woman—young and attractive—who cuddled against him.