Tumbleweed Weddings (47 page)

“Don’t tell the waiter it’s my birthday.” Cheyenne whispered the words to Callie, using her tall menu to not only guide her words across the table but also keep Derek and Lane from hearing. “All the servers will sing to me.”

“But they’ll give you a free cake.” Callie spoke so softly that Cheyenne had to read her lips.

Cheyenne lowered her own voice to almost nonexistent. “That’s the problem. I’m trying to lose weight.”

“You don’t have to eat it.” Callie motioned sideways with her head. “Give it to Derek.”

“But if it gets too close to me, I won’t be able to help myself.”

Derek cleared his throat. “What are you girls whispering about?”

“Nothing.” Cheyenne laid her menu on the table as she glanced at Derek sitting beside her. “I think I’ll order the soup and salad.” She took a sip of her water.

He looked back at his menu. “I’m getting the lasagna.”

“Sounds good to me.” Across the table, Lane closed his menu and looked at his wife. “What about you, Callie?”

She was hidden behind her menu. “I’m still deciding.”

The waiter, a short man with a mop of black hair and a thick mustache, stopped at their table. “Are you ready to order this evening?” He had a charming Italian accent.

Derek motioned toward Cheyenne. “She’ll have the soup and salad, and I’ll take the lasagna.”

“Very good.” The waiter pulled a pad from his white apron pocket and wrote it down.

Cheyenne’s heart swelled. Derek had ordered for her, like they were on a real date! She had been apprehensive about how he would react to this double date, but now she relaxed, leaning a little closer to him.

An hour later the waiter came to collect their dirty dishes. Cheyenne could have eaten more, but she wanted to leave hungry, hoping it would make her a pound or two lighter.

The waiter glanced around as he picked up the salad bowl. “Did you save room for dessert?”

Callie shook her head. “I’m too full.”

“So am I,” Cheyenne agreed, even though it wasn’t quite true.

Like a common hitchhiker, Derek pointed his thumb at Cheyenne as he addressed the waiter. “It’s her birthday today.”

Cheyenne gasped. “Derek! You would have to bring that up!”

He grinned at her.

The waiter inclined his head toward her. “It will be our pleasure to sing to such a beautiful woman.”

What a flirt!
Cheyenne smiled at him. “Thanks.”

In a few minutes, seven people surrounded their table, all dressed in white aprons. Instead of singing the traditional birthday song, they sang some other ditty, accompanied by hand clapping and feet stomping. When they finished, the waiter set a tiny cake in front of her, complete with piped frosting and a red rose in the center.

“Thank you.” She smiled at the servers as they offered their congratulations before leaving.

Derek threw his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “We got you good, Cheyenne.”

She smiled back at him, his face only inches away. If only they were a bona fide couple! But in another second his arm lifted, and she felt the loss.

The waiter stood at the end of their table. “Would you like anything else for dessert?” His dark-brown eyes glanced between Lane and Derek.

Lane frowned. “Don’t you have some type of cream puffs on the menu?”

“Ah yes, the cannoli.” The waiter wrote it down and turned to Derek.

He shrugged. “I’ll have the same.”

When the waiter left, Cheyenne forced her fingers to slide the cake in front of Derek. “You can have this, too. I’m”—
on a diet
—“too full to eat it.” “Thanks.” Derek picked up his extra fork then looked at Lane. “Want a bite?”

“Nah.” Lane eyed the cake. “It’s only big enough for one person.”

“A single serving.” Derek raised his eyebrows. “Just like my Sunday school class, the Single Servings. Too bad you two aren’t in my class anymore. We miss you.”

Callie looked at her husband with a sly smile. “I’d rather be married.” Lane waggled his eyebrows at her. “We’re not single servings anymore, are we, Callie? We’re double portions.” Derek laughed.

“I just realized …” Cheyenne looked at Derek. “Tonya and Murray won’t be in the Single Servings anymore either. If your class members keep getting married, you soon won’t have a singles class.”

“I’ll be there.” He leaned toward her, a pleading expression in his dark-blue eyes. “Don’t leave me, okay?”

Before she could reply, the waiter brought two plates of cannoli to the table.

Cheyenne glanced at Callie, who hid a smile behind her water glass. Cheyenne smiled back, a little thrill running through her.

Someday she and Derek would be double portions—and by the end of this year, if she had anything to say about it.

O
n Sunday morning, Cheyenne adjusted the waistband of her black skirt as she opened her bedroom door. Dad’s collie ran down the short hallway of their one-floor home and jumped on her, his nails scratching against her favorite gray blouse with silver hearts. He barked out a greeting as his tail wagged.

“Marshal! Get down.” Cheyenne brushed her hand across her skirt. “Oh great. Now I’ll have dog hair on me when I go to church.” Her fingers slid across something wet. “Yuck! Dog slobber is even worse.”

The collie sat down and panted, his almond-shaped eyes gazing up at her.

Cheyenne’s heart melted. “Okay, I forgive you—especially when you smile at me like that.”

Marshal came from a litter of collies from the Rocking B Ranch. The Brandt family always used collies as their sheepdogs, and Jake and Yvette had given Marshal to Dad as a birthday gift three years ago. Patting the dog on his head, Cheyenne walked past him and entered the kitchen. Her dad sat at the table, reading the Sunday paper. She perused her father. Jim Wilkins was dressed for church in a dark-green shirt with the cuffs rolled back, exposing his meaty hands and thick wrists.

Why did I have to inherit a Wilkins body?
All her dad’s brothers and sisters had big bones. On the other hand, her mom, who had died from leukemia when Cheyenne was eight years old, had been of average height and weight.

Opening a cupboard, she pulled out a coffee mug. “Good morning, Dad.”

Glancing up, his blue eyes met hers. He ran his hand over his full head of gray hair. “Morning, baby girl.” His booming voice echoed in the small kitchen. “Sleep good?”

“I guess so.” Cheyenne poured herself a cup of coffee. Dad had called her “baby girl” ever since she could remember.

Folding the paper, he laid it on the table and stood. A pink-flowered tie blossomed on his barrel-like chest. What decade had that tie come from? “Dad, why aren’t you wearing the tie I picked out for you last night?”

Frowning, he lifted the end of the tie. “I like this one.” He glanced at the clock on the stove. “I need to leave. I’m the greeter at church this morning.”

She sighed. “Okay, Dad. I’ll see you when I get there.”

He pulled her into a quick bear hug before grabbing his keys. “See ya.”

Dad was tall—six foot five. At least Cheyenne hadn’t grown to
that
height. It was bad enough being almost six feet tall. And she was thankful she hadn’t inherited his loud voice.

As she sipped her coffee, she glanced out the kitchen window. Dad backed his Town Car out the short driveway and roared off down the street toward church. Cheyenne fingered the ruby necklace Dad had given her yesterday—the necklace that had belonged to her mom. A melancholy feeling swept over her. She missed her mom. Dad had been a widower now for twenty years.

In the quiet, she heard her cell phone ring. Taking a quick walk back to her bedroom, she pulled the phone from her purse and glanced at the number. Marshal padded to her side as she flipped it open. “Hi, Callie!”

“Cheyenne, I need your help.” She sounded agitated.

“What’s up, girlfriend?”

“Lane is really sick this morning.”

Cheyenne raised her eyebrows. “He was okay last night at the restaurant.”

“That’s the problem. I talked to my dad this morning, and Derek is sick, too. It was those cannoli. They must have been spoiled.”

“Oh no.” Cheyenne sank down to her bed, and Marshal laid his head in her lap. She stroked his tan fur. “What can I do to help?”

“Lane could use some ginger ale, but your dad’s store is closed today. Could you possibly go over and get me a can? I’ll pay him tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about paying. I’ll get a two-liter bottle for you.” Cheyenne stood and grabbed her purse. “In fact, I’ll give one to your dad for Derek.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Chey.”

They said their good-byes, and Cheyenne locked up the house, leaving Marshal inside. She walked back to the detached one-car garage. Dad let her park in the garage since her car, an olive-green Dodge Dart, needed to be babied. It broke down at least once every six months, but she’d bought it secondhand in high school and couldn’t imagine getting rid of her classic antique.

After picking up two bottles of ginger ale at Wilkins Grocery and dropping off one at Callie’s house, Cheyenne drove to the Brandt home and knocked on the back door.

Jake opened it. “Hi, Cheyenne.” He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses as he stepped back. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” With a smile, she followed him through the mudroom. He was tall but not big like her dad, and he looked dignified in his Sunday suit.

Cheyenne stepped into the kitchen. “I got a call from Callie this morning. She said Lane and Derek are both sick.” She held up the bottle of ginger ale. “I thought this might help Derek.”

“Callie called me, too.” Jake lifted a large black Bible from the kitchen table. “Derek wants me to teach his Sunday school class. Since Yvette’s in Casper this week, I’m glad you came by.” He took a set of keys from his pocket. “Would you mind staying? I really don’t want to leave Derek alone all morning.”

Cheyenne’s lips parted before a thrill buzzed through her. “Sure! I’d love to stay and help Derek out if he needs anything.”

“That’s great!” Jake motioned toward the living room. “He’s out there on the sofa. Don’t know if he’ll want any ginger ale, but you can ask.” He walked to the door. “I appreciate it, Cheyenne. See you later.” He entered the mudroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

She grinned, reveling in the turn of events.
Thank You, Lord!
Maybe God let Derek get sick so they could spend another day together. Perhaps she could meet the conditions of Grandmother’s will sooner than she thought.

Opening the ginger ale bottle, she poured some into a glass and added ice from the freezer. Then she walked through the dining room and into the living room. Derek lay on the sofa, dressed in sweatpants and a blue T-shirt. Dark circles rested under his closed eyes, and his face looked pale—except for the dark stubble on his jaw.

“Derek?”

His eyes opened and focused on her face. Her heart fluttered.

“Oh, Cheyenne,” he murmured. “Why are you over here?”

“Callie told me you were sick.” She held up the glass. “I brought you some ginger ale.”

He moaned. “No thanks.” Closing his eyes, he tightened his arms around his stomach. “I’ll be okay.”

Cheyenne set the glass on the end table. “Your dad asked me to stay with you this morning. I hope you don’t mind.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t tell her to leave.

“Yeah, whatever.” He shivered.

“Are you cold?” Leaning over him, she placed her palm on his forehead. His skin wasn’t burning, but it was warm. “You might have a fever. I’ll get you a blanket.”

She ran upstairs to the second floor, knowing she’d find extra bedding stashed in the hall linen closet. Pulling out a soft yellow blanket, she headed back downstairs. She covered Derek with the blanket and tucked it around his shoulders.

“That’s better,” he murmured. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want some ginger ale?”

He screwed up his face. “Won’t be able to keep it down. I found out at breakfast this morning—must have thrown up the last three days’ worth of food in ten minutes.”

“Oh.” His words made Cheyenne a bit queasy herself. “I’m sorry those cannoli were spoiled.”

“Yeah. They tasted a little strange, so I only ate one.” Derek closed his eyes. “Good thing.”

“Why don’t you rest, Derek? I’ll be out in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Okay, thanks.” He closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes lowering on his pale cheeks.

Cheyenne gazed at his handsome face. The day’s growth of beard made him look like a pirate. With a wistful sigh, she turned toward the kitchen.

“Cheyenne?”

At Derek’s voice, she jumped up from the kitchen table. She had spent the past hour looking through Yvette’s cookbooks and had decided to test a soup recipe. Turning to the stove, she lowered the burner before walking into the living room. Derek still lay on the sofa, but the color had returned to his face. “Do you need something?”

“Since we’re missing church today, I wondered if you could read some scripture to me.”

“I’d love to, but I left my Bible in the car.” She glanced around. “Where’s yours, Derek?”

“Upstairs. Next to my bed.”

Again she climbed the stairway to the second floor, puffing a little as she reached the top.
I’m going to get rid of these extra twenty pounds!