Overwhelmed by an urge to kiss her, he tilted her chin and eased down. Close enough that her breath warmed his skin. He paused. What was he thinking? How could he pursue a relationship with this woman, considering his past — his connection to her sister?
Angered that he couldn’t outrun his mistakes, he let go abruptly and stepped away, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. Mattie’s home was in Kansas, his was in California, and that’s how it needed to stay. Better to keep his distance from this woman who could turn his thoughts to mush.
The river gurgled behind them, and a huge snowflake landed on Mattie’s cheek.
“Looks like the weatherman was right.” Gil held out his hand and two more snowflakes landed on his palm, melting instantly. “I’d best take you home before you turn into an icicle.”
Otherwise, he might be tempted to change his mind and indulge in the feel of her lips against his.
TWENTY-SIX
DRESSED IN FLANNEL PAJAMAS, MATTIE STARED OUT THE CABIN window and watched the giant snowflakes swirl in the yard light’s illumination. Her evening with Gil replayed in her mind as she considered his words and behavior. She pressed a finger to her lips and regarded her reflection in the icy glass, sure Gil meant to kiss her. He’d held her so close, his face inches from her own.
But then he’d let go, and from that moment until they awkwardly said good-night, he’d been as cool to her as the crisp evening air.
Mattie turned from the window and added another log to the fire. Warming her hands against the hot flames, her temper flared. Was she not good enough for him? Too short, too many freckles?
She clenched her fists. Why should she care?
Gil might be strong and good-looking, but the man had issues, and oh, how he got under her skin with his casual interest toward the Lightning M. That he wouldn’t consider returning to his childhood home gave her enough reason not to care. Then there were moments when she was sure he kept something from her. But what?
Mattie hopped beneath the thick bedcovers, eager to talk to another woman about her conflicting emotions. She knew for certain that she couldn’t confide in her mother or sisters. They’d blow this way out of proportion. As she settled against the pillow, the firelight glowed on the ceiling. A flickering flame beckoned to another, then embraced as one. Her lips parted as she allowed herself to imagine what Gil’s kiss might have been like.
THE NEXT MORNING AFTER CHURCH, MATTIE GRIPPED CLARA’S ARM and pulled her to the side as people filed out of the pews. “We need to talk . . . in private.”
Confusion spread over Clara’s face as she shifted Sara to her other arm. “What’s got into you? You’re more restless than all three of my kids.” She turned to reprove Jeremy and Nathan, who argued over who would carry their mama’s Bible.
Mattie pursed her lips at the comparison, but Clara’s assessment was right. She’d been as fidgety as a cat in a cage and had caught only portions of the pastor’s sermon. “I need a woman’s advice.”
This captured her friend’s attention.
Clara shooed her boys off to play with their friends in the fellowship hall. “Sounds serious. What sort of advice?”
“Not so loud.” Mattie eased them into a deserted alcove, away from the many ears passing by. It was hard enough talking to Clara about her personal life without having anyone else listen in.
“You know . . . female stuff.” Mattie felt so out of her element, she practically had to force the words from her mouth.
Clara’s eyes lit with amusement. “I see. What’s on your mind?” She made a face at the toddler in her arms and stuck out her bottom lip, showing no sensitivity to the weight of this conversation, or to Mattie’s distress.
Mattie took the girl from Clara’s arms to gain her friend’s full attention. “Do you think I’m ugly? Too hotheaded? Overly interested in my work?”
Clara blinked. “You’re talking nonsense.”
Mattie exhaled the turmoil building inside. “I’m serious. Look at me — I’m practically thirty years old. Do you suppose there’s a reason men aren’t attracted to me?”
“All men, or one in particular?”
“Gil McCray.” Mattie mouthed the words and her cheeks grew warm.
Clara’s eyes widened. “Why would you care what that man thinks? Didn’t he accuse you of having a thing for his dad? The nerve of some men.” She chuckled, but when Mattie didn’t join in, her eyes narrowed.
Mattie practically heard the siren go off in her friend’s head.
“Is something going on between you two?”
Mattie shrugged, still not sure herself.
At her sign of indecision, Clara grasped Mattie’s arm. “You’d better be careful with that one. He’s rich, good-looking, and used to getting his way.” She immediately clammed up, her eyes fixed on something beyond. “We’ll talk later,” she said through the side of her mouth. “You-know-who is walking this way and is almost to your back door.”
GIL SPOTTED MATTIE AS HE SHOOK HANDS WITH RANCHERS AND neighbors from the community. The site of her long red hair against the green sweater made his heart quicken — made him long to touch the wispy curls that escaped her braid once again. Best to continue walking to the door with the rest of the men — make his escape without tempting another awkward moment, but that would seem rude, wouldn’t it?
He edged through the departing crowd to where Mattie and another lady stood.
“Good morning, Doc. I didn’t realize you attended New Redeemer.” At his words, Mattie turned and smiled, though her features appeared strained. She held a curly, brown-haired child who pointed a pudgy finger at him.
“Gil.” Mattie spoke his name, and his stomach clenched. He felt like an awkward schoolboy in her presence, and he didn’t like it.
“I didn’t know you did either.” She handed the child to the other woman and repositioned her sweater.
“I’m sure there’s much we don’t know about each other.” He cleared his throat. Of course there was much she didn’t know — things he wanted kept hidden — for her sake and for his. He offered his hand to the woman behind Mattie. “Clara, isn’t it? From the café?”
“That’s right.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as though sizing him up. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Could she see right through him?
Mattie fidgeted with the leather purse on her shoulder and glanced about, her restlessness palpable. His presence obviously made the doc uncomfortable, and after last night, who could blame her?
“Do either of you have plans for lunch?” Gil clenched his jaw. Was he a dimwit? Better to have chucked his loss and walked away.
The two women exchanged odd expressions. “As a matter of fact, we do,” Clara said. “Mattie and I were just discussing how we never have a chance for girl talk.”
Gil hadn’t been around many females in his life, but he knew when something was up.
“Between Mattie’s practice and my restaurant and the kids . . . I’m sure you understand.”
Relief flooded his chest. “Another time, then.” As he stepped backward, a hint of regret flashed in Mattie’s eyes.
Like a dope, his next words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Mattie, if you don’t have anything scheduled this afternoon, maybe you’d like to drop by and watch the Super Bowl with Dad and me.”
What am I doing?
Why did he feel the need to spend time with the woman? “Never mind, I forgot you don’t care for football.”
Nice save.
Gil closed his eyes and turned to leave, this time for good.
“Should I bring some chips and dip?” she asked.
His feet stalled in the aisle.
He looked back at Mattie, feeling as though he’d just scored a touchdown pass. “Snacks would be good, or don’t worry about it and just bring yourself.”
“YOU’RE PLAYING WITH FIRE,” CLARA SAID A FEW MINUTES LATER AS she bundled the kids to go out in the snow. “I should know, considering my own failed marri
age.”
Mattie offered Clara a lopsided smile. She respected her friend’s opinion, whether it was something she wanted to hear or not. “C’mon, you gotta help me. How do you know when a guy’s interested? I mean, one minute Gil seems attracted, and the next he doesn’t.”
“He’s probably playing a game with you.” Clara bent to zip Sara’s coat and tie her fuzzy hood at the neck. “My advice is to take things slow — real slow. Make sure you know the guy really well before you give him any part of your heart. Because once you do, all rational thought flies out the window.”
She took out two pink mittens and shoved them on Sara’s hands, then called to her oldest son. “Take your sister outside to play and keep an eye on her.”
Mattie watched the little girl toddle down the church steps with her older brother. “Flies out, huh?” Mattie considered herself a practical woman, a bit stubborn and impetuous at times, but for the most part a clear thinker. “I can’t imagine myself brainwashed and googly-eyed over a man. That’s a trap for a teenager, not a twenty-eight- year-old veterinarian.”
Clara rose from her knees and frowned. “Whatever you say. But don’t cry that you were never warned.”
“That’s just it. I hear warning bells every time I look at Gil.” Mattie wrung her hands, tired of analyzing. “This entire situation with Gil seems hopeless. He doesn’t get along with his dad and is determined to own a ranch in California, of all places. For the life of me, I can’t understand why, when he could operate the Lightning M and probably own it someday. A part of me knows better than to get involved, but I’m so attracted to him, it’s like this huge magnet is drawing us together.”
Clara stretched her arm around Mattie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Trust me on this one. You can’t change a person, no matter how much you think it possible. Only God can change the heart, so love a man for who he is, not who he might be.”
Mattie considered her friend’s words as they eased their way over the snow-packed ground to their vehicles. She didn’t want to change Gil, she only wanted him to appreciate the hills and his home the way she did. That wasn’t changing a man, was it? She preferred to think of it as helping him see the error of his ways. Doing him a favor, really, which is the only reason she agreed to spend the afternoon with him and his father.
Watching football.
What on earth had she gotten herself into?
TWENTY-SEVEN
GIL EXCHANGED HIS FOOTBALL FOR THE TELEVISION REMOTE AND SET the leather ball beside him on the couch. “I hope you don’t mind my asking Mattie over for the game.” He flipped to the channel that hosted the pregame show and relaxed against the couch.
John McCray laid his newspaper on his lap. “Why would I mind?” he grumbled. “It’ll give me someone to talk to, now that you gave Mildred the day off.”
Gil sat up, reminded of his chili on the stove. “Mildred doesn’t need to work every day of the week, especially now that I’m here. She’s not your slave.” He shook his head and got up to check the soup simmering in the kitchen.
Clutching a wooden spoon, he stirred the thick tomato base, his very own recipe, and the peppery blend of spices drifted to his nose. It made his mouth water, and he lifted the spoon to taste the fiery concoction.
More salt.
He sprinkled the seasoning over the pot of bubbling chili and thought of his teammates who used to like when he’d cook for them. What were the guys doing now, the rowdy bunch?
Drinking beer and eating submarine sandwiches, Gil figured, as he assembled a platter of cheese and crackers. All of them watching to see which team would win this year’s title. But it wouldn’t be them. He shook his head and tried to concentrate on something else, anything but failure . . . that it could have been his team competing for Super Bowl rings.
When he returned to the living room, déjà vu hit him square in the face as he spotted Mattie beside his dad’s recliner, her hand on his. This time Gil knew better than to challenge the doc’s compassionate nature. Instead, he grinned, thinking she was the perfect person to ease him out of this sour mood. She stood from her stooped position and returned his smile.
“John says you gave Mildred the day off. Whatever you’re cooking in the kitchen smells wonderful.”
His dad snorted. “It’ll probably give me heartburn. You know I’m not supposed to eat spicy food.”
Gil set the crackers and cheese on the coffee table. “If you can’t take the heat, I’ll fry you an omelet.”
Mattie stepped between him and his dad, thwarting the arrows. She handed him a sack of potato chips and plopped on the couch. “What teams are playing today? Green Bay Packers and Baltimore Patriots?”
Gil chuckled at her attempt to show interest in the sport, guessing his dad didn’t know the difference between teams either. “New England Patriots,” he corrected and set the chips on the table with the other snacks before taking a seat beside her. “You do understand the basic concept of the game, right? Two teams meet in the middle of the field. One side is offense, one defense, both try to gain possession of the ball?”
At her blank expression, he decided to go over a few fundamentals and ended up charting it out for her on a piece of paper.
“Why don’t you leave the girl alone?” his dad said. “I’m sure she’ll catch on once the game starts.”
Mattie opened the bag of barbecue chips and laughed. “Don’t bet on it. When it comes to football, I’ve never paid much attention, not even in high school.”
His dad lifted the newspaper on his lap. “Sounds like you had more sense than some people I know,” he grumbled from behind the front page, but Gil heard every word.
He stifled the anger that threatened to boil to the surface like his pot of chili on the stove. Why couldn’t his father try to get along? Why did he always have to stir up trouble? Tempted to lash out, Gil bit his words and concentrated on the woman beside him.
She’d changed into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair still bound in a braid. To his relief, she no longer emitted the anxiety that surrounded her earlier, but instead, seemed her natural self again.
“Did you and Clara have a nice lunch?”
Mattie popped a chip in her mouth, and it made a loud crunch. “Short but sweet. We ate a quick meal and visited until her mother came to babysit so Clara could go to work.” She offered him the bag of chips, and he grabbed a handful.
“She seems like a nice woman. Busy, and I take it not married?”
“Divorced, with three children.”
Gil thought of the toddler Mattie held in the church, barely two years old and cute as a doll. How could a guy give up a great wife and kids? His own family had its share of problems, but at least his dad never abandoned them.
“Clara’s blessed to have her mother help with the kids.” Mattie crunched on another chip.
“Good mothers are a blessing from God — dads too, I suppose.” Gil smiled, then considered his father stretched out on his recliner. The anger that burned a short while ago dimmed. He wiped the barbecue residue from his fingers and reached into his front jean pocket for the watch his coach had given him, felt the smooth metal beneath his skin, and was reminded how precious time could be.
As the second hand ticked against his fingers, the big screen roared to life, and the commentators announced the starting lineup. The players ran onto the field, and Gil’s excitement grew.
“Do you know any of these guys?” Mattie shifted to the edge of the couch and seemed half-interested in the game.
“Yeah, the Packer’s star quarterback for one.” He named the various players he respected or in some cases, didn’t. Within minutes, Green Bay won the coin toss, and the other team started the game with the kickoff. Gil seized the football on the couch and gripped the laces, wishing he could have been the one throwing the ball.
MATTIE NEVER UNDERSTOOD THE ATTRACTION FOOTBALL HELD FOR people, but she wanted to try and appreciate the game for Gil’s sake. He clutched the ball with his thick
, wide hands, and she flinched when he faked a pass, patterning his motions after the guy on the television.
“Throw the ball, your split end’s wide open!” Gil rose from the couch.
Last Mattie knew, a split end meant you needed a haircut. She regarded John, curious whether he had any interest in the game and discovered he’d fallen asleep on the recliner, the newspaper a tent over his belly.
On the big screen the crowd thundered as the broadcaster announced first down. Without the televised commentary, Mattie would be lost.
“That’s more like it.” Gil dropped to the couch, football in hand.
“Okay, tell me again what first down means.” She expected Gil to complain about having to explain things twice. Instead, his eyes crinkled in a grin, and he referred once more to the sheet of paper on the coffee table.
“The quarterback decides to run, pass, or hand the ball off to another player. No matter what he chooses, the team has four chances to go ten yards. If they fail, the other team gets the ball.” He drew a bunch of zeros on the paper and commenced to outline various playing strategies.
Mattie shook her head, trying to compare Gil’s words to what she saw on the television. The ball moved too fast on the screen for her to keep up. How Gil had memorized all these plays and employed them in the blink of an eye was beyond her. It seemed like the man had two identities — the one who rode a horse and the one who threw a football. That he could do both so well caused her estimation of him to climb a few more notches.
She noted their close proximity, how his leg rested against hers, and her attention wavered. Her thoughts drifted to the spicy scent of his cologne, to how he’d held her the night before.
Gil must have noticed her inattentiveness. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Show me what?” Mattie had no idea what he’d been talking about before her preoccupation. He took her hand, causing her skin to tingle.
Snow Melts in Spring Page 13
