The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek

by Jane Myers Perrine

  “Okay, now I understand why you didn’t take advantage of that week of camp. You weren’t there, but buddy, what are you doing now?” Sam moved to stand in front of Adam and studied him as a marine captain would scrutinize a raw recruit.

  Adam should’ve known Sam was unignorable. As an ex-​marine, he homed in on his objective and kept up his attack until the target had been won.

  “Tell me something, Adam. Have you ever dated a woman?”

  “Of course I have. I was even engaged.” He deked and took a step toward the parsonage, but Sam’s voice and his smoothly executed military turn cut off that route.

  “Tell me about them. How many, when?”

  “Ummm.” Adam thought back over the past ten years. “Not that many. A couple of girls in high school, a few in college, then I asked Laurel to marry me when we graduated.”

  “What happened with this Laurel?”

  “She didn’t want to marry a minister. Said she wasn’t into teas and good works.”

  “And the others? Did you have to pursue them?”

  “No, we were friends first, then began to date.”

  “So, you’re telling me you don’t know a thing about courting a woman?”

  “No, they always just threw themselves at me.”

  Sam’s glare told Adam both that he didn’t believe those words and that humor did not fit here.

  “All right,” Adam confirmed. “I know nothing about this. I dated women I already knew and was attracted to and comfortable with.”

  “Then we’re starting with the basics.” Sam straightened. Not that Adam had seen his posture sag in the least, but he’d pulled himself up so he looked even taller and tougher. “Welcome to boot camp for the romantically challenged.”

  No escape. The parking lot had emptied out. Willow waited in the car, reading. Even Leo and Nick had headed toward the grass behind the parking lot. Looking for dead animals, maybe. Not that any of that family’d be of assistance in any way. Adam bet they didn’t interfere or interrupt when Sam addressed the troops.

  “Phase one: If you don’t have a plan,” Sam lectured, “you cannot execute it. Phase two: If you want Gussie, you can’t be some passive grunt who lets life go past him. Take action. Man up.”

  “Man up,” Nick shouted from the lawn. Sam glanced at his sons, pointed, and watched the kids move several yards farther away before he turned his iron gaze back at Adam.

  “Yes, sir,” Adam said, but he refused to stand at attention, even though that’s what Sam’s voice and posture demanded.

  “I don’t care what you do or what your plan is, but you have to get started. Take charge. Boot camp is over.” With that, Sam turned, motioned toward the kids, and all three marched toward the yellow Mustang. Adam almost saluted.

  After they drove off, Adam was left alone in the parking lot. He knew Sam was right. He walked back toward the parsonage contemplating the situation. What to do? How to approach this relationship problem?

  Maybe he should pick up a copy of a men’s magazine and read a few articles, but he thought of at least two arguments against that. To preserve anonymity, he’d have to drive all the way into Austin. Butternut Creek’s only bookstore consisted of a rack at the H-E-B. At the bookstore in Marble Falls, those kind of magazines were kept behind the counter and had to be requested. If he went there, he was sure to run into someone who knew him and would spread news of his purchase all over the county. Ministers didn’t and shouldn’t read racy magazines was the consensus of parishioners.

  Second, many—okay, all—of those magazines were way too steamy for him, past his depth. He wasn’t looking for pointers on how to…well, those activities covered in risqué magazines were written for people with far more experience than him.

  Maybe he’d look for help online.

  That evening, he searched for “What do women want?” The experience both amazed him and opened his eyes to another world. He discovered women wanted many things he’d never thought they’d openly discuss.

  Then he Googled “How to get the woman you want.” The first topic he explored listed ways to get a woman into bed within fourteen minutes of meeting her. Not what he was looking for. Finally he found a couple of very helpful lists and made notes. He pondered the pages, reread them, underlined a few ideas, and put stars in the margin on others. Oh, Sam might tell him to man up, and he was fixin’ to, once he decided exactly how to do that.

  But first he had to drive to Austin.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, Adam and Blossom and her housekeeper, Evelyn, knocked at the Kowalskis’ front door. When George opened it, his hair stood straight up, almost as if he were a punk accountant—if such people even existed—who’d used too much gel.

  “Good morning.” He opened the door and waved them inside.

  “Did you get much sleep?” Adam asked.

  “Oh, a few hours. After Carol finally fell asleep about midnight, I slept until Gretchen got in my bed at, oh, maybe four thirty.”

  “She probably wanted some attention,” Adam said. “Having her mother away from home is frightening for a child.”

  “No, she wanted breakfast. I convinced her to wait and she fell asleep.” He paused. “I’m not certain, but I may have promised her a puppy to get her to let me sleep. The kids have wanted a puppy forever.”

  “Puppies can be messy,” Blossom said.

  George sighed. When he did, Adam wanted to shout, Man up. He didn’t, of course. Wouldn’t be neighborly or Christian, and he couldn’t carry it off like Sam, but George needed to take control of the situation.

  A judgment easily made by a man with no children.

  With a glance at Adam as if she’d read his mind, Blossom said in a voice as soothing as a pat on the hand, “George, let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll get you a nice cup of coffee.”

  “I don’t know where it is,” George mumbled. “There is no order to the way Ouida stores things. If I’d planned the kitchen, I’d put it over the coffeemaker, but…”

  “I have some, a lovely blend from Costa Rica.” She pulled a thermos from her purse and headed to the kitchen with George following like a puppy.

  But the man wasn’t a puppy and he needed to…okay, maybe for now, for a few minutes, he needed to be treated like a puppy because finding his wife in a heap had been a shock. He’d been taking care of the children and the house for only two days.

  Still, he should have adapted by now. Shouldn’t he? But, no, as Miss Birdie had said, they’d all coddled George. That was why Blossom had come. She excelled at coddling, and George had begged Adam never to set Miss Birdie loose on him again.

  However, with Ouida being released soon from the hospital to the nursing facility a few blocks away, George would have to perform the tasks ahead of him. Even when she came home, she’d be laid up for eight weeks. Blossom couldn’t pamper him forever.

  “I brought some of the wonderful coffee cake my cook makes. I know you’ll love that,” Adam heard Blossom say from the kitchen.

  He glanced at Evelyn, who’d begun to straighten up the living room. He hadn’t wanted Blossom to bring her, but the other Widows scared George. How could a man be afraid of a bunch of women?

  Adam grinned. The Widows had frightened him when he arrived here. Still did every once in a while, especially Miss Birdie, although Winnie could bark out orders nearly as well. Not that he’d ever let them know they intimidated him.

  As Evelyn cleaned, Adam picked up toys and put them in baskets.

  They couldn’t keep sending in women to do the housework. Evelyn was here really as a favor for Ouida, a mere stopgap measure so she wouldn’t worry about her family living in chaos. George had to step it up, either hire someone or do more himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  As Mercedes insisted—my, how Birdie hated it when she got all pushy like that—the Widows had left the preacher alone for over a week. Those few days felt like forever in the life of a matchmaker.

  Not that they had a
nything to discuss, really. Bree and Mac had told her that during the one night the preacher spent at church camp, no sparks had flown between him and Gussie; they’d spent no moments alone cuddling or even chatting with each other, from what the girls had said. Drat the man. She needed to get him moving.

  She hadn’t pushed him or nagged about the opportunity gone awry because he had been called away to take care of the congregation and he’d been busy with his neighbors since Ouida’s terrible fall. Poor Ouida was suffering so much, and that husband of hers was nearly useless. Oh, Birdie knew that. She’d dropped in several times to bring food or to help with the girls. George nodded when she spoke and hurried to do whatever she asked but looked like he wanted to hide from her. Helpless and worthless.

  However, Birdie had given the preacher enough time. If he believed he’d gotten away easy, ignoring his courting when the Widows had worked so hard to get him going and when they were all distracted by the plight of the Kowalski family, he had another think coming. Birdie knew she was exactly the person to set him straight.

  She’d have to be cunning, Birdie reflected as she finished wiping the last table at the diner. Sneaky. Not let him know that she knew that he knew what she had in mind. She’d had a chat with the other Widows, which now included Blossom. She’d accepted the grass widow, realized that despite all her high maintenance, her expensive hair and clothing, she did have some good qualities, wasn’t all fancy hats and no cattle. But, poor dear, she wasn’t too bright.

  Birdie had come up with a new plan of attack. She had an idea of exactly how to handle him.

  Poor man. She laughed as she thought about what lay ahead.

  Ten minutes later, she arrived at the church and opened the door. Maggie glanced up at her and froze.

  “I’ll tell Reverend Jordan you’re here,” she said.

  Before Birdie could say she’d announce herself, Maggie shouted, “Pastor, Birdie MacDowell is here.”

  “Good morning, Preacher.” As she entered the office, Birdie turned her friendliest smile toward him.

  Adam stood. “How can I help you?” he said with a smile that didn’t change the wary expression in his eyes or relax the tension in his shoulders. His face mirrored the same expression every minister who served the church wore when she arrived unexpectedly.

  “Please sit down.” Adam gestured toward a chair.

  Birdie did. As the preacher returned to his chair, she took a moment to sit back and relax, to rotate that darned shoulder. It would bother her the rest of her life unless she finally gave up and had surgery, which she refused to do because how would her family eat if she did that? Who would…Well, enough of that. She cleared her throat—the sound caused the preacher to jump nervously—and said, “Didn’t the young people have a wonderful time at camp?”

  He nodded. “I heard they did.”

  “Yes, yes they did.” She paused, attempting to act as if nothing were on her mind, but subtle was not one of her gifts. He watched her, clearly thought he knew where she was heading.

  “As always, Gussie was wonderful.” Birdie paused for a moment because she really did enjoy watching him become more wary. Baiting the preacher, not a benevolent act but entertaining. “However, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”

  His relief was audible and visible. He released his breath and his shoulders relaxed. But he still had that uneasy flicker in his eyes. In an effort to calm him, she smiled again because she did have an important item to discuss. Didn’t work. He flinched.

  “The other day, the Widows were talking about the Kowalskis.” Not what he’d thought she’d say, she knew. That counted as a plus. He wouldn’t suspect her real purpose.

  He nodded, still wary.

  “How’s Ouida doing?”

  “I stopped by for a minute yesterday at the nursing home. She said she felt better and looked forward to coming home in a week or two.”

  Birdie nodded. “That’s good.” She sighed, infusing worry and anxiety and concern and caring into that release of breath. “It’s George I’m worried about.” She leaned forward and allowed her most sympathetic look to cross her face.

  “I can’t talk about that, Miss Birdie.”

  “I know, I know. Privacy issues and all that, but I can.” She leaned back. “It seems that the man is not pulling his weight, that he’s not up to the task.”

  “He has a wife recovering from surgery, two little girls to care for, and a business to run.”

  “Exactly what I mean. George is like a one-legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest.” The baffled expression on the preacher’s face told Birdie he had no idea what she meant. “That’s Texan for he’s not equipped for the job.”

  “He has a lot on his plate.”

  Birdie admired professional behavior in a minister. He’d said only what everyone in town knew, nothing more. She’d have to spell it out. “Yes, yes, we all know that, but he should do more. The girls aren’t home that much with school and day care and church. He should be able to handle his business with Ouida in the nursing home and the girls taken care of all day. We take him food, we drive the girls around.”

  “I don’t know that he’s…”

  Birdie kept speaking. “When she comes home, home health will come in to take care of Ouida. The Widows have scheduled neighbors and church members to sit with her. But, even with all those people pitching in, he acts overwhelmed.”

  “It’s a big change for him.”

  “But—” She sat forward again, a movement she knew always caught the attention of any preacher. “But the man is so passive.” She paused to make sure he picked up the adjective she used, then repeated it. “He’s so doggone passive.”

  “It’s all new to him.”

  “Oh, Preacher, I know that, but when I grew up, my daddy always taught me that if a man wants something, he should take action.”

  She fixed her eyes on him and spoke very slowly. “A man shouldn’t sit around, passive, waiting for life to happen. If a man wants something, he should go after it.” She settled back in the chair and continued to watch him.

  It took a few seconds before his expression showed comprehension, the realization that Birdie was no longer talking about George, that Adam had become the topic of her conversation. He blinked once.

  “Interesting observation.” He nodded. “That’s what your daddy used to say?”

  He couldn’t be teasing her, could he? Well, she didn’t know. Sometimes the young man baffled her. He didn’t behave like the ministers she’d trained in the past.

  * * *

  It hadn’t taken long for Adam to realize that Miss Birdie had left the topic of George Kowalski’s problems and faults behind several remarks earlier. His poor neighbor’s dilemma had been only a bridge, a jumping-off point, perhaps even a metaphor for the pillar’s favorite theme: getting her minister married in spite of his poor efforts at romance. He could—also metaphorically—all but feel her behind him, both hands on his back and shoving him toward Gussie.

  Once she recognized that he understood exactly what she had not said but implied, she sat back, so pleased with herself that a genuine smile covered her face.

  Lord, Adam loved the woman. Always consistent: scheming and underhanded and never afraid to try or say the most outrageous things, but she did everything because she cared. She knew that everyone would be much better off if they gave in and did things her way.

  “You’re meddling,” he stated.

  “I don’t believe expressing concern about the Kowalskis could possibly be considered meddling.”

  Her smile became even broader, because there was no way he could tell her he knew good and well what she’d really been talking about. If he did, he opened himself up for advice about how to date Gussie.

  His best course of action was to get her to leave. He needed a few moments of privacy to mull her words over. He stood, walked around the desk, and took her right hand, the one at the end of her good arm. “Thank you for dropping by.” He he
lped her to her feet—surreptitiously, of course—and shepherded her through the door. She couldn’t refuse to leave without crossing the line between aggressively helpful and what even she would consider downright rude.

  With the pillar gone, Adam settled back in his chair and considered what she’d said, the hidden meaning in her words. As much as he hated to admit it, Miss Birdie was right. He had to become more assertive and less passive when it came to Gussie. When Sam and the pillar agreed, he should listen and act. He’d do that, as soon as he figured out what to do and how to do it. Although the Widows seemed unaware of the difficulty involved, Adam knew it too well. Gussie hadn’t displayed even an iota of interest in him.

  But he’d hidden his attraction to her. Perhaps she’d done the same. Could it be that deep within, she harbored a fiery passion for him, an unbridled lust she hid behind her quick smile and let’s-be-friends exterior?

  Oh, sure.

  And even if she did, he saw obstacles he had no idea how to overcome. The most immediate: how to take action, to show interest in Gussie in case she felt anything toward him?

  Should he call Sam? No, Sam had already given him the man-up lecture and expected Adam to act. His other friend was Mattie, but he’d never felt comfortable going to a woman for romantic advice.

  He had to dive in and hope he could float. Better to know if Gussie felt the slightest bit of interest in him even if it meant facing rejection.

  He pulled up his list of how to get the woman you want on the computer and studied it.

  * * *

  Unable to put the deed off any longer because he feared if he didn’t get a move on, Miss Birdie and Sam would visit him again with a stronger message, Adam ended up navigating the highways in South Austin the next day. A bouquet of roses lay on the passenger seat.

  He’d picked up two ideas on the net: one, be spontaneous. Women adored spur-of-the-moment-ness. He’d decided to drop in, unexpectedly, to seem impulsive. Or, could be he was too cowardly to call.

  Second, women loved flowers, but not red roses. Too clichéd, too obvious, too passé. Roses, yes. Red, no. So he’d headed toward the floral department at the H-E-B and chosen a mixture of yellow and melon and deep orange roses, four of each, because the bright colors reminded him of Gussie.