The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (15 page)

“You have…,” Justine began.

Trapped. He was trapped. Maybe he could escape before Gussie knew he’d dropped in. Adam shook his head at Justine in an ineffective and ultimately unsuccessful effort to quiet her. He even held a finger to his lips. It didn’t work and he looked like even more of an idiot.

“You have a visitor,” Justine finished. “A man.”

“What?”

Could he hide? As he looked around him, Adam realized that action would look stupid and be useless. Oh, he’d never been cool around women, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling this inept, not even when he and April Gonzalez had locked braces during a seventh-grade party.

“Hi,” Adam said when Gussie pulled a curtain aside and glanced into the reception area.

The glow of her smile nearly blinded him. That moment made the entire mortifying experience nearly worth it. Then the brilliance faded and she looked confused.

“Adam? Was I expecting you?” She shook her head. “Did you have an appointment? If you did…”

“No, no. I thought I’d drop by. I was in Austin to…” He couldn’t think of a reason. “And I thought I’d drop by.”

“With flowers?”

He nodded and straightened his arm to thrust the roses toward her.

“How nice of you.” She smiled as she accepted them. “They’re lovely.”

They stood looking at each other for a few awkward seconds before she said, “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. There are people waiting for me to take their pictures.”

“I didn’t realize you took church pictures,” he said in an effort to dazzle her with his scintillating conversation skills.

“Oh, yes, as well as weddings, yearbook photos, quinceañeras, bar and bat mitzvahs, school pictures. All of those pay the bills to keep this place profitable.”

“Well, then I’ll be going.” He waved and nearly ran out.

What a complete idiot he was.

“Cute guy.” Justine grinned at Gussie.

“Put these in water.” Gussie handed the flowers to Justine. “Please. I have to get back to the church.”

She headed toward the back running nearly as quickly as Adam had, hoping to get out before Justine could ask anything. Not that her quick exit would make any difference; she’d have to return to her studio tomorrow and Justine would be here, still curious, still commenting and digging and asking questions.

“I think he has a crush on you,” Justine shouted.

Gussie reached the back door before she realized Adam’s appearance had flustered her so much that she hadn’t picked up the lights. She opened a cabinet, grabbed a couple, and took off.

Once in her car and headed back toward the church, she allowed herself to ponder her ill-at-ease reaction to Adam’s appearance and his rapid departure.

Why had Adam been there?

Oh, she knew. She didn’t want to face the reason, but she knew. A man didn’t stop by with roses unless he had a deep interest in a woman. The realization made her want to smile and scream in frustration. She didn’t want him to care about her. She didn’t want to care about him.

But those last two internal comments were a load of baloney because yes, she did, and yes, she already did. She couldn’t force herself to believe she had no interest in Adam. She had to stop lying to herself.

After what Lennie had done to her in college, she’d never trusted a man again. But Adam…Adam seemed different. What she hated was she’d treated him rudely, as if she didn’t appreciate his interest or the flowers. She did but had trouble, lots of trouble, reacting to a man normally.

Once she arrived at the church, she shoved the thoughts back and attempted to concentrate on taking photos. But she couldn’t get rid of images of Adam holding the flowers and looking embarrassed and how guilty it made her feel.

In fact, as soon as she left the church, started her car, and pulled out of the parking lot, they came back in full force. What should she do? First, as usual, she refused to think about the unpleasantness and her failure to act like a normal person. Instead, she picked up her cell and called her mother to tell her she’d left Austin. But then, she found herself back at her office. It was after six so Justine had left long ago. She wouldn’t have to try to explain to her about Adam, not today, at least.

She unlocked the door, turned on a light, and found the vase of flowers on the reception desk. She took the flowers from the vase and wrapped them in paper towels. After that, she carried them back to the car, headed west, and allowed herself to think about Adam. A sweet man. A kind man who took homeless children in. A minister. A safe man.

Oh, crap. Certainly she didn’t find him attractive because he was non-threatening, did she? If so, those years of counseling had been a waste of effort and money. Besides, the exact moment the attraction had hit her, he’d been sweaty and intense and so masculine that the awareness of the chemistry had rocked her. The unexpected reaction had felt almost threatening but good, really good. Exciting. As if she were ready, finally, to trust a guy, to care for him as a woman cared about a man.

For a moment, she took her eyes off the road that she traveled so often she could probably turn the driving over to her little yellow Focus and take a nap. She glanced at the roses in the passenger seat. Yellow and orange and—how to describe that third color? Orange sherbet? Lovely, exactly the colors she would have chosen. Turning her eyes back to the highway, she rubbed her fingers across the soft, velvety surface of the petals, then picked up the bouquet to bury her nose in the blooms. The softness against her nose tickled.

How would she explain the flowers to her parents? If she told them they came from a man, her father would worry and her mother would be filled with hope. She didn’t want to raise their hopes or expectations or encourage them to dream, but she refused to hide the flowers. Let them decide how to feel. She couldn’t protect her parents from hope or trauma forever.

Had she been protecting them as well as herself? The thought had never—well, she’d never considered that before. Obviously, she needed to think this through because she was contemplating a thaw in her relationship with the male half of the world, or, at least, one man in the Texas Hill Country.

She sat in her car in the driveway for a minute after she pulled off the road. As usual, her father’s truck sat in front of the house. As long as she could remember, her father had a truck. Even though getting into it posed problems with his bad hips and knee, he refused to give it up. As long as she could remember, he’d never used the back of the truck to carry anything, so why had he always bought this type of vehicle? Because in Texas, a man drove a truck, and usually in the passing lane on the interstate.

Aware that her contemplation of her father’s reasoning only put off the inevitable—a skill Gussie had perfected—she picked up the roses and her purse, got out, closed the car door, beeped it locked, and headed toward the house.

“Hello, darling.” Her mother greeted her from the sofa where she was watching
Jeopardy!
and knitting. As many sweaters and scarves as she’d made for her daughter, they should have lived in the Arctic. Fortunately, now she’d started knitting tiny blankets for newborns at Seeton Hospital.

Her mother had always looked fragile. Now, with blue-white hair and ivory skin covered with a net of wrinkles, she looked deceptively sweet and frail but she had a will as strong…well, as strong as Gussie’s.

“Hi, Mom.” Gussie kissed her cheek.

“Hello, Gus,” her father said as he entered the room. Gussie still struggled to accept the difference between the buff and hearty father of her childhood memories and this thin, stooped man.

“What do you have there? Where’d you get the flowers?” he asked.

Gussie could tell them that a client had given them to her, but she couldn’t lie.

“A man gave them to me,” she said. “Aren’t they lovely?” She held the bouquet up.

“Oh.” Her mother’s eyes opened wide and her lips trembled. “A man?”

Her father dropped in a chair, so surprised, Gussie thought, that he couldn’t stand up any longer, although it was probably that his bad hips bothered him. “A man?” His voice echoed the shock of someone who’d given up on his daughter’s ever receiving flowers again from a man.

“Yes, a man.”

“One of those elderly men who come up with their society wives to get their portraits taken?” her mother guessed. “They do adore you.”

“Mother, those men are flirts but harmless. They’d never give me flowers. They’re afraid of their wives.”

“Could be that man who owns the office next door. You’ve always been nice to him,” her father suggested. “Watched his store when he went out of town.”

She knew what they were doing, her dear parents. To protect her, they were in as deep a state of denial as she was, and she’d allowed it for years. Time to stop.

“The flowers came from Adam Jordan, the minister of the church in Butternut Creek.”

“Oh,” her mother said. “A thank-you for all your work with the young people.”

Gussie hadn’t thought of that. Had she allowed her attraction to Adam to color her opinion here? Had the flowers been a mere gift of appreciation? No, probably not. After all, he’d delivered them himself when he could have ordered them from a florist in Austin. Also, he’d looked nervous, and the dozen roses in her favorite colors must have cost more than a young minister could really afford. A note would have said thank you.

“No, the flowers mean more than that.”

Her parents turned in unison to study each other. Although they said nothing, they didn’t have to. Their ability to communicate silently had always amazed her. In fact, she put that trait high on the mental list she’d labeled
What I’m Looking for in a Husband
back when she’d expected to find one.

Knowing the futility of interrupting the transfer of information between her parents, Gussie waited.

Finally, her mother, with visions of grandchildren dancing in her eyes, said, “Tell us more.”

Her father, who looked far less pleased and much more protective of his daughter, said nothing.

“Not much to tell.” Gussie struggled to think of words to explain. She’d tried to come up with something on the drive home but hadn’t, and inspiration didn’t strike now.

After a long pause, her father said, “What do they mean?” He glared at the flowers as if they were a solicitation for something he preferred not to consider.

“What do flowers usually mean, Henry?”

“Back when I was courting you, they meant the young man had an interest in the young woman.”

“That’s still what it means,” Gussie said.

“How interested is he?” her father asked.

Gussie shrugged because she had no idea. More than she’d realized, obviously.

“Now, dear, let them work this out. Although”—she turned back toward Gussie, her face glowing—“I would love to have grandchildren.”

For a moment, Gussie was almost angry with Adam. He’d made her mother look toward the future. She wished she could reach out and caress the lines of worry from her father’s face and lower the level of hope that gleamed in her mother’s eyes.

But wasn’t hope good?

“I’m thirty-one, probably too old to conceive a baby. I read the other day…”

“I had you when I was thirty-eight. What a surprise you were to everyone.”

Her father had been forty-two. Now they were seventy and seventy-four, so dear but not elderly, truly. The age she considered
elderly
had been pushed back every year as they grew older.

“Are you considering having children with this man?” her father demanded.

“But first, you’ll get married, won’t you?” her mother asked. “Nowadays, that doesn’t seem to be the norm, but I hope you’d…”

What had she started? How had the discussion gotten away from her so quickly and irrevocably?

“Adam brought me flowers. I accepted them.” She shook them a little to make a point. Not a good idea. A few petals flew into the air. “Right now, I’m not considering commitment for life, neither of us is.” Both parents watched her and she had no idea what to do or say. How could she ease their fears when hers played havoc with her usual logic?

“Let me get a vase for these.” Gussie started toward the kitchen. “I’ll put them on the coffee table where we can all enjoy them.”

“Wait a minute, missy.”

When her father used that tone, she had no choice but to stop, turn, and listen. Well, she did have a choice, but ignoring him would hurt his feelings, make him feel like an old man with no purpose in his life.

Also, she needed to figure this out—her feelings, Adam’s motive, the entire situation. Maybe if she talked about it, if she attempted to explain, she’d figure out how she felt. For years she’d hidden her emotions deep inside, tamped them down firmly and ignored them. Perhaps it was time to feel again.

She sat down, primly and meekly, to answer their questions and, maybe, a few of her own.

“Adam brought me the flowers today at the studio,” she said. “He came into town and dropped them off. I’m not sure exactly what they mean.” Oh, that was weak.

“Gussie, are you saying that he traveled all the way from Butternut Creek to South Austin to bring you flowers?” her mother asked.

“He probably was making hospital visits.”

“Do you think he picked these up from a member of his congregation recovering from surgery?” her father asked as sarcastically as he allowed himself to be.

“No, of course not.” She closed her eyes and attempted to sort out her feelings again. How to explain what confused her? Finally she opened her eyes and said, “I met Adam in Marble Falls a few months ago, to discuss the retreat.”

“You often do that, with several of the youth workers.” Her mother cocked her head. “You mentioned Reverend Jordan. I didn’t think this Adam was anything different or special.”

“I didn’t, either.” Oh, she should not lie but couldn’t explain this now, not when she felt so uncertain.

“But?” Her father prompted. “I take it he’s unmarried.”

“Of course.”

She glanced at her parents. They watched her, not saying a word but waiting. “Then, when we were at the retreat, I felt a hint of…” Oh, she really didn’t want to share her chemical reaction to Adam with her parents. “I felt a slight…um…attraction.”