A Path Less Traveled (6 page)

She took the cup
of sparkling grape juice and downed it. How did he anticipate her needs like
that? And more importantly, why?

“You’re doing it
again.” Andy took a sip from his own cup.

“Doing what?”

“Questioning my
motives. Just let me be nice to you, okay? And while you’re at it, you might
also let your family know you need their help.”

Red-hot anger
surged through her system and spilled out before she could gain control. “And
you might try minding your own business!”

Chapter 6

A
ndy hung the
too-tight tuxedo back on the hanger, finished off his Dr. Pepper, and gazed
around the choir room. It looked—and smelled—like a bunch of guys lived here.
Piles of clothing, half-eaten sandwiches, and empty Styrofoam cups trashed the
place. All they needed to complete the man-cave was a big screen TV and a
couple of recliners.

Trish might stop
him from helping elsewhere, but he could at least help out in the background.
What made her so adamant about doing everything on her own? In a few minutes he
had all the tuxedos hung, trash thrown away, and leftovers packed into grocery
sacks. Then he straightened the chairs.

When he finished,
he gathered his belongings and made his way to the car. One more night in
Miller’s Creek and then he’d return to Dallas. The thought left him with an odd
mixture of relief and regret, but he was too tired to figure out why. Instead,
his mind fluctuated between the verse reminding him to trust God and a picture
of Trish’s angry face.

Andy peered out
over the darkened parking lot. Only a few cars remained. Now what? He couldn’t
really return to Mama Beth’s house. She was still busy with the after-wedding
clean-up. While he didn’t mind helping, the last thing he wanted was another
run-in with Trish.

He mulled over
the situation as he took in the starry sky, but the longer he thought about it
the madder he got. So what if she got upset? Not everything was about her. Andy
marched to the church in a purposeful stride, swung open the door, and headed
to the fellowship hall. Let Trish fend for herself. He’d help Mama Beth
instead.

It only took one
glance around the kitchen to realize he was in a testosterone-free zone. Women
doused with way too much perfume zipped past in a frenzy. They slammed cabinet
doors and chattered like magpies, and no matter where he moved, he was in
someone’s way.

Mama Beth, hands
in the sink, smiled when she saw him. “Hey, Andy. Trish was just here looking
for you. I think she’s in the sanctuary now.”

Looking for him?
Could it be that Little Miss “Don’t-Help-Me” needed his help after all? He
strode down the hall and entered the sanctuary just as she gave her father a
hug. “Thanks for taking care of Little Bo for me again tonight, Dad. I promise
not to make this a habit.”

He patted her
back. “You know I don’t mind, sweetheart. We have a great time together. I just
wish your Mom could’ve known her grandson.”

It was easy to
see the older man adored his daughter.

Little Bo spotted
him first. “Andy!” He shouted, ran toward him full force, and launched into
Andy’s arms.

“Hey, buddy. You
did an amazing job during the wedding.”

“Really?” Little
Bo’s face blossomed with a big grin.

“Oh, yeah. By far
the best ring bearer I’ve ever seen.” Andy glanced up to see a surly look on
Trish’s face, and his muscles tensed. He swung Little Bo to the floor and made
his way to the two adults.

The older
gentleman shook Andy’s hand. “I’m Trish’s dad, Bo Miller. Glad you’re here.
Trish is gonna need some strong arms to get all this stuff loaded. I’m taking
the young ‘un back to the ranch to get him to bed.” Little Bo clamped both arms
around his grandfather’s leg.

Trish frowned.
“I’m perfectly capable of doing this myself. I’m sure Andy has other things to
do.”

“Nonsense.” Mr.
Miller’s voice was gruff and paternal. “There’s nothing wrong with admitting
when you need help. You’ll be up here all night if you try to do this by
yourself.”

Her face
darkened, but she made no reply. Instead, she stamped to the stage and began to
take down decorations.

The older man
sighed in frustration. “She really does need your help, no matter what she
says.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t let her push you away. She can be a little
stubborn sometimes.”

“I heard that.”
Trish hollered over her shoulder.

A
little
stubborn?
Compared to what? A balking burro? “I’ll do what I can, sir.”

“You’re in my
prayers,” the older Bo whispered, his bushy gray eyebrows crawling up his
forehead.

“I heard that,
too.”

The older man
slapped Andy’s shoulder, grabbed his grandson’s hand, and meandered to the
door. “See y’all in the morning at church.”

Trish kept her
back turned as she yanked flowers and greenery from the wedding arch. She
dropped flowers in a pile at her feet while the greenery went into a box.
Instead of risking her ire, Andy moved to one of the branch-tree thingies and
removed Christmas lights.

The silence
lasted for several minutes, until finally Trish spoke. “Well, aren’t you going
to say something?” she snarled.

Andy raised his
eyebrows. “And risk losing my head? No thanks.” He turned back to his work.
Several more silent minutes ticked by. Once he’d removed all the lights from
the trees, he headed to work on the pew decorations, following the same steps
he’d seen Trish complete on the arch. Behind him came a loud crash.

He whirled about
to see the arch on the floor and Trish clutching one arm. Andy hurried to her
side. “You okay?”

She nodded, but a
red trickle from beneath her fingers told him otherwise.

“Let me see.”
Andy peeled back her fingers to reveal blood snaking down her bare arm. “That’s
quite a scrape you’ve got there, but I think you’ll survive.” He escorted her
down the steps and seated her on the front pew, then knelt and snatched a few
tissues from a box. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“No.” Her voice
was thin and tight.

“Why?”

“Cause you’ll rub
my nose in it.” Her bottom lip protruded, reminding him of a cranky child in
need of a nap.

“Will not.”

“Will, too.”

He sent a teasing
smile and pressed a wad of tissues to the wound. “Okay, then I’ll tell you. You
were trying to do something yourself without asking for help, and it backfired.
I’m right, aren’t I?”

One corner of her
lips twitched, quickly replaced by a dark frown. “Told you you’d rub my nose in
it.”

“Only ‘cause you
deserve it.” He looked into her tawny eyes and waited.

She shifted and
let out a huff. “Oh, all right, I admit it. Sorry I’ve been so—so—”

“Cranky and
stubborn.”

Trish nodded.
“It’s only because I’m—”

“Exhausted and
overwhelmed.”

“And sick of
people making me feel—”

“Incapable.”

Trish became
perfectly quiet and still, her eyes searching his.

Andy’s heartbeat
thundered in his ears, and he teetered on the verge of losing himself in her
scent and the soft poutiness of her lips.

She blinked
slowly, her voice throaty and warm. “How is it that you know me so well?”

He inhaled a
heavy breath and stood. “I think the bleeding’s stopped now. We’d better get
back to work.”

* *
* * *

Trish slumped in
the family pew Sunday morning and pretended to smooth imaginary wrinkles from
her pink-flowered crepe skirt. Anything to be invisible. What she wouldn’t give
to hole up in her house, crawl between the covers, and disappear for at least a
week.

Over and over,
she replayed the scene from last night until she wanted to scream. What had
come over her? She moved a hand to the Big Bird bandage on her arm, remembering
Andy’s gentle touch and teasing eyes, an image quickly replaced by his clenched
jaw and detached aloofness. Clearly, she’d crossed some unseen boundary.

Andy entered the
sanctuary through the hall door, his broad chest and shoulders pronounced by
the baby blue polo he wore.

She slouched
lower in the seat, a gamut of emotions roaring through her veins. Doc had been
gone less than a year. She still loved him. Loved him with all her being and
always would.
God, what’s going on here? I need Your help.

Trust Me.

“May I sit with you?”

Andy’s smooth
voice raised her head, and she forced a smile. “Of course. How are you?” Even
before the question left her lips, she knew the answer from the shadowy bags
rimming his eyes. Exhausted.

“Fine.” His tone
served as evidence to the contrary.

How many times
had she used the same word when she was anything
but
fine?

Mama Beth slid
into the pew on the other side of her. “Lands alive, but I’m tuckered.” She
yawned and looked at Trish. “What time did y’all get through last night? I
didn’t even hear Andy come home.”

Trish yawned in
return, the power of suggestion too strong to resist. “Around midnight. It
would’ve been an all-nighter if Andy hadn’t been there to help.”

Mama Beth peered
around her to Andy. “We sure do appreciate all you did.”

Trish cringed
inwardly. Had she even remembered to say thank you? “Yeah, thanks.” Okay, that
sounded distinctly less than heartfelt.

A pained
expression flickered across his face. “Glad to help.”

Trish snatched
her bulletin from her Bible and pretended to read, more confused than ever. Why
had she been so snarky toward him, not just once, but the entire weekend?

Little Bo bounced
into the room with his Papaw in tow. “Look, Mom!” Wide-eyed excitement lit his
face. He scooted around Mama Beth and handed her the drawing he’d done in
Sunday School.

She pointed to
the scraggly lettering at the bottom of the page. “What does this say?”

“Jesus went about
doing good.” He trailed the words with one finger as he pretended to read, his
voice halting. “The picture shows people doing good like Jesus.”

Trish studied the
stick figures and pointed to one. “And who is this?”

“That’s you doing
the decorations for the wedding, and that’s Andy doing good by helping you.”

His words slapped
her between the eyes.
Okay, Lord, I get it.
She owed Andy an apology and
a huge debt of gratitude. He’d done so much to help, and there was no way she
could return the favor. The least she could do was apologize after church.

An hour later the
service ended, and Mama Beth latched onto Andy’s arm as they moved into the
crowded aisle and exited the sanctuary. “We usually congregate at my house for
Sunday lunch. Hope you can join us before you head back to Dallas.”

Andy sent Trish a
questioning glance.

Had she made him
feel so unwelcome that he needed her permission? She offered an apologetic
smile. “We’d love for you to stay.”

His lips curved
ever so slightly, a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sounds great. I’d
sure hate to miss out on more of Mama Beth’s cooking.”

A few minutes
later they arrived at the century-old farmhouse, complete with rose arbors,
white picket fence, and fragrant spring blossoms. Trish climbed the steps to
the wraparound porch and entered through the squeaky screen door, nostalgia
settling over her like a handmade quilt. The tantalizing aroma of pot roast
with wafted from the kitchen.

“Ooh-wee, that
smells good.” Dad slapped a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “Beth cooks the best pot
roast in the county.” Little Bo raced to the kitchen, Dad and Mama Beth
following at a slower pace.

This was an
opportune moment to do what had to be done. Instead, her hands—and
stomach—twisted and writhed. “Andy, I—I . . .” The words refused to budge from
their hiding place behind her teeth.

“If you have
something to say, it usually works best if you just say it.” Andy’s dimples
didn’t show.

“I want to
apologize again for the way I acted this weekend. I’m sorry I was so
ungrateful. I guess it was just nerves and fatigue. I’m not usually so—” She
blabbered words like a monkey in the zoo, until Andy stopped her by shaking his
head, his blond curls a-dance.

“I enjoyed
spending time with you, Trish. I’d have been lost without something to do or
someone to talk to.”

Her heart
softened. He was far too easy on her. “I was afraid I’d been horrid.”

“Nah . . . well,
except for the tux.” His left dimple made an appearance. “Oh, and the thing
about not wanting people to help you. And I almost forgot, the—”

“I get the
picture.” She held up a hand, her tone almost as dry as her mouth.

Now his grin
appeared with both dimples, her pulse on a rapid climb. Then, just as suddenly
as it appeared, the smile vanished, the depths of his ocean eyes murky, as if
his confusion matched her own.

Trish’s cheeks
heated. How did she make sense of these unwanted and unexpected feelings? Was she
sending out signals she didn’t mean or want to send? “I think I’ll go see if
Mama Beth needs help with lunch.”

In a few minutes
the meal was ready, the farmhouse table groaning beneath the weight of food.
Besides the roast and vegetables, there were hot rolls and an Italian cream
cheese cake she could down in a few minutes if given the chance.

Dad asked the
blessing, immediately followed by serving spoons clanking against bowls and
plates. “So, Andy, how’s your practice going?” Dad passed the bread, aromatic
steam rising from the freshly baked rolls, then raised his eyebrows and peered
at Andy over the top of his glasses.

That’s how she
could return the favor. Without giving thought to her words, Trish barged in.
“Andy told me he’s actually thinking of moving to a small town. Don’t you think
he’d make a great replacement for the city attorney position? He grew up in
Berringer.”