A Marriage In Wyoming (The Marshall Brothers 3)

by Lynnette Kent

  He would be fine, she decided, as her SUV rumbled down the gravel drive. Between the ranch and the church and the kids, his life couldn’t accommodate more commitments. A complicated relationship, as theirs must surely be, simply wouldn’t fit.

  Rachel decided she would be fine, too…as soon as she forgot the warmth of his smile, the strength in his hands, the taste of his mouth. His care and concern for others, his good-natured humor and his sense of responsibility—once she’d put those out of her mind, she’d be back to normal. Back to her rational, predictable, safe…

  …excruciatingly lonely…new life.

  Chapter Twelve

  Garrett parked himself on the porch Tuesday evening while the kids played flashlight tag in the dark.

  “How was your day at the office?” Caroline sat down in the rocker next to his.

  Not a question he wanted to answer. Honestly, at least. “Busy. Phone calls, sermon notes. The usual. How did the farrier visit go?”

  “Really well. Each of the kids got a chance to make noise on the anvil and they all took a shot at trying to hammer in a nail. Jo went into a lot of detail about the importance of hoof care, and she held their interest pretty well. This afternoon we worked on riding bareback in the corral. Everybody stayed on at the walk. But we now have seven pairs of jeans in the wash.”

  He managed a brief smile. “To be expected.” Her concerned gaze predicted more uncomfortable questions. Garrett searched for a diversion. “Actually, I got three strange phone calls today. Three different people, all asking me to dinner.”

  “On the same night?”

  “Different nights of this week. Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. And that’s after lunch with the Bolans on Sunday. In five years, I’ve never had so many invitations so close together.”

  “It’s not your birthday.”

  “Nope. And I just visited with them all at the party last Friday.” A mental wince greeted the memory. There didn’t seem to be anything he could call to mind that didn’t evoke an image of Rachel. Eventually, he supposed, he would get used to the pain.

  Caroline didn’t say anything for a few minutes as the laughter and screams of the teenagers chasing each other filled the silence.

  Then she put her hand on his arm. “I have to let you know—Ford talked with Rachel yesterday on the way home. About you.”

  “Well, damn him. He had no business butting in.”

  “He’s concerned. We all are. I had dozed off, but I woke up to hear some of what they said… I’m sorry, Garrett.”

  “So much for suffering in silence.” He put his hand over hers. “Thanks, Caroline. The odds were against me going in. I knew that.”

  “I wish I could do something…”

  “Don’t bother Rachel about this, please. If Ford questioned her, she’s been badgered enough.”

  “Of course.” She got to her feet. “So you’ll be away tomorrow night, plus Friday and Saturday?”

  “Sorry. I said yes to the first call, and then couldn’t refuse the other two.”

  “We’ll exact our revenge. The kids didn’t get around to writing the thank-you notes for Dave. You can have the pleasure of encouraging them to do it after breakfast tomorrow.”

  His smile turned wry. “An even trade.”

  In fact, monitoring the teenagers as they cooked three meals was probably easier than convincing them to write neat, articulate letters. Lizzie and Nate listened to the guidelines and settled to the task, but the rest of the kids, even Becky, balked. Those with the most to be grateful for—the steer riders—complained loudest and longest.

  “I understand you don’t enjoy writing,” he told them. “I don’t care. This is the right thing to do and you will make the effort. Or else instead of going fishing, you’ll spend this afternoon cleaning up the barn. I noticed lots of cobwebs in there this morning.”

  That threat earned the objectors dirty glances from the four kids who were working on their letters. Still grumbling, Marcos, Thomas and Lena bent over their papers. Most of the morning had passed before Garrett collected a readable, tidy note from each of them. Operating on yet another restless night, he was as drained by the process as if he’d written all seven messages himself.

  At the creek that afternoon, Lizzie still refused to fish, but otherwise the trip kept everyone entertained.

  Garrett appreciated having something to do; otherwise he tended to get lost in his thoughts—a desolate place to be lately. His life would continue to follow the path he’d chosen, enriched by his family, his congregation and their town, and, always, his absolute faith. Only two weeks ago, he’d have said he couldn’t ask for more.

  Then he’d met Rachel and fallen in love with her, and he’d discovered how much more he could want. How much more he could need. How the whole of his happiness could come to rest in the presence of one person…

  “Hey.” Dylan had come up beside him. “We have a problem. Watch Lena.”

  Garrett focused on the girl, who was baiting her hook. Trying anyway. She dropped the bait, bent slowly to pick it up and staggered, putting out a hand to recover her balance. When she straightened, she stared at her hands in confusion, as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

  In seconds he was standing beside her, and he could see moisture on her golden skin. “Lena? What’s wrong?”

  “Not feeling good.” She swayed, putting a hand on his arm to steady herself. “Dizzy.”

  Warning flares went off in his head. “Did you take your insulin at lunch?”

  “I did.” Her eyes closed as she frowned. “Maybe.”

  Test, was all he could think as fear vibrated in his head. She has to test her blood. “Where are your supplies?”

  “In…the truck.”

  Justino joined them. “What’s the matter? Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Dylan tried to redirect him. “You can keep fishing.”

  The boy shook off his hand. “I’m not leaving.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Follow us, then. We’re going to the truck.” Setting an arm around the girl’s waist, he walked her to the vehicle. The backpack lay on the passenger-side floorboard. “Lena, we have to test your blood. Can you handle that?”

  She leaned against Justino, who put his arm around her. “What did I do wrong?”

  Her question pierced his heart. “Nothing, sweetheart. We’re just going to check your blood sugar.” Equanimity, he recalled, hearing Rachel’s voice. First take your own pulse.

  He pulled in a deep breath and prepared to manage this crisis.

  The process, with Lena dazed and practically helpless, seemed to take a long time. Cleaning her hands, preparing the meter, pricking her finger… Garrett had to will his own hands to stop shaking. The five seconds waiting for results lasted forever.

  “Fifty-three. You’re hypoglycemic, Lena. You need sugar.” Delving into the bag again, he found a can of orange juice. “It’s warm, but it’s sweet.”

  She made a disgusted face at the first sip. “Yuck.”

  “Drink the whole thing.”

  Once she’d finished, he handed her one of the cookies they’d brought along for a snack. “This will taste better.”

  “Not after juice,” she protested, but surrendered when he glared at her. “Okay, okay.”

  Checking his cell phone while she ate, he found that he had no service—he couldn’t call Rachel for advice. He and Lena would have to handle this on their own.

  They tested twice more as she sat in the truck, head back and eyes closed.

  Justino hovered beside her, his face anxious. “Is she going to be all right?”

  “Eighty-eight,” Garrett said, reading the third test. “You’re coming into the normal range. Are you feeling better?”

  “Not so dizzy. Or hot.” She rolled her head from side to side on the seat. “Why did this happen to me?”

  “Maybe you took too much insulin at lunch. Or didn’t eat enough. Or for no reason at all that you can figure out.”

&nb
sp; Opening her eyes, she gave him a serious look. “I mean the diabetes. Why? Is God punishing me?”

  “Absolutely not. God doesn’t single out people to punish or to bless.” Wishing Rachel were there, he called upon the medical information he’d absorbed. “Researchers believe diabetes is a genetic problem—you’re born with the…the tendency. And then it’s triggered by something—a virus, maybe, a minor illness you might not even have noticed, that messes up your pancreas. At least, that’s what I’ve understood. But you haven’t done anything to deserve diabetes. It’s just what is.”

  “Lucky me.” Lena sighed. “Can I go back to fishing? I think I’m okay.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s late. We should head home. Why don’t you sit and recover while I get the rest rounded up?”

  By the time they reached the barn, Lena seemed almost normal. A little tired, maybe, but more or less herself.

  “Take it easy tonight,” Garrett advised. “Be sure you test before dinner and double-check the dosage. Your system has to regain its balance.”

  She rolled her eyes, indicating she’d at least recovered her attitude. “I know that.” Then she smiled at him. “I should write you a thank-you note, too.”

  “Not necessary.” But he went into the house to change for dinner with less of a cloud hanging over his head. His first instinct was to call Rachel and fill her in on what had happened—the emergency he’d dreaded had arrived and he’d coped successfully, with calm if not actual equanimity. He valued the boost to his confidence.

  But he didn’t make the call. That kind of sharing would only deepen a connection she didn’t want. He wouldn’t burden her further. After checking in with Caroline and reporting on Lena’s situation, he headed into town, wondering during the drive why so many people suddenly wanted his company for a meal.

  The answer waited for him at his destination, a nice two-story house not far from the church, where a green SUV with Washington state plates was parked on the shoulder of the road.

  Rachel had been invited, too.

  Taking into consideration the arch glances he’d received on Sunday from Martha Bolan, he didn’t require help to figure out what the members of his congregation had planned. They’d observed their pastor with the new doctor at the party and decided to do a little matchmaking.

  Garrett banged his forehead on the steering wheel. His instinct for self-preservation urged him to bolt, to get as far away as fast as possible. He could make his apologies over the telephone—a sudden violent stomach bug or a bad case of poison ivy. A rattlesnake bite. Anything to avoid the confrontation ahead of him.

  The front door of the house opened. His host, Luis Alvarez, stepped out on the stoop and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at Garrett in the truck. Then Luis motioned for him to come in.

  Trapped.

  As reluctant as a condemned man on the way to his execution, Garrett crossed the grass and climbed the front steps.

  “Good evening, Luis,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Thanks so much for having me over.”

  “Our pleasure, Pastor. Come on in.” Leading the way through the house, Luis kept talking. “The weather’s been so nice, we hated to waste the evening inside, so we decided to light the grill and enjoy dinner on the deck. Here we are.” He opened a French door. “I’m going to bring the steaks. You just step on outside.”

  “Sure.” Garrett squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Then, since he didn’t have a choice, he crossed the threshold.

  Alma, Luis’s wife, jumped up from the table to give him a hug. “Welcome to our home.” She stepped away, smiling. “And, of course, you know our other guest. We thought it would be fun if the four of us enjoyed dinner together.”

  “Definitely.” He met Rachel’s bright blue gaze with his own. “Glad you could come, Rachel.”

  “You, too.” She appeared as uncomfortable as he would expect.

  She also seemed to him to be the embodiment of summer, bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, wearing a sleeveless yellow dress that skimmed her curves and left a nice stretch of slender legs bare, along with white sandals that showed off her pretty feet. Her toenails were polished bright orange.

  Not a sight he would forget, for a long time to come.

  *

  “DID YOU PLAN THIS?” Rachel asked him when Alma went inside to get drinks.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Garrett said, bristling. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

  “It’s not that. I just… What would put this idea into their heads? They clearly believe we’re a couple.”

  “I have my suspicions. Have you received other invitations? For this week?”

  “Friday and Saturday.” She stared at him in horror. “You, too?”

  “We’re the target of a plot.” He pivoted as Alma stepped out carrying a tray of glasses. “Let me help you with that.”

  Luis appeared with a platter of steaks and the conversation centered on their family—they had a son in the army and a daughter living in California. Garrett seemed completely at ease—these were his church members, after all, and he’d served as their pastor for years. His genuine interest and enthusiasm for the details of their lives demonstrated why he was so well liked…so loved…by his congregation.

  But if she and Garrett tried to have a relationship, not sharing this important part of his life would only create a chasm between them. It was also possible her rebuff of the church would create problems for him. And when they broke up—as they surely would—the church members would lay the blame squarely on Rachel’s shoulders. What kind of negative effect would that have on her medical practice?

  “Do you have family, Rachel?” Alma asked as they ate. “I understand you grew up near Laramie?”

  “I did, but my mother passed away a couple of years ago.” She took a sip of water. “There’s no one else.”

  “Oh, you poor thing.” The older woman put a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m so sorry. We’ll adopt you. You can be part of our family.” She sent a mischievous glance across the table. “Of course, Garrett has three brothers. I’m sure they’ve taken you in already.”

  “The Marshalls have been very kind.” Rachel searched in desperation for a change of subject. “I taught a first-aid course for their camp kids last week. What’s going on at the ranch has made a big difference in those young lives.”

  “I’m sure you two will work well together.” Luis nodded at Garrett, and then at Rachel. “Bisons Creek is lucky to have you both.”

  “We’re not—” Rachel started, then stopped when Garrett gave her a warning glance.

  Alma stood up from her chair. “I’ll clear these dishes so we can have dessert. I made your favorite, Pastor—chocolate fudge cake with chocolate ice cream. And chocolate sauce.”

  “Can we help?” Garrett asked. “The sooner to arrive at the cake?”

  Laughing, Luis got to his feet. “You two just sit here and enjoy each other’s company. We’ll be right back.”

  Once the Alvarezes left, Rachel glared at Garrett. “Why did you stop me? We should clarify the situation.”

  The smile he’d been wearing since he arrived disappeared. “Why?”

  “Because it’s uncomfortable, having them assume that we’re…that we’re a couple. Embarrassing.” And painful. But she kept that part to herself.

  “If you tell them, they’ll be uncomfortable and embarrassed. A nice evening will be spoiled. They mean well, so let’s just leave them with their illusion. Eventually…” He took a deep breath. “Eventually they’ll figure out the truth.”

  He was tired, she realized. Without someone to perform for, all the energy of his personality had waned.

  Garrett was suffering as much as she was.

  “Here we are.” Alma emerged from the house with the cake and set it down in front of him. “For you.”

  In a moment, he recovered the facade. “Wow! It must be six layers high.”

  “Eight.”

  “Incre
dible. I can’t wait to take a taste.”

  “I’ll give you the recipe,” Alma told Rachel. “It’s much easier than it appears.”

  She summoned some energy of her own. “I can’t wait to try it out.”

  At the end of the evening, she stood with Garrett outside the Alvarezes’ front door to say good-night.

  “You two shouldn’t wait too long to seal the deal,” Luis said them, shaking Garrett’s hand. “You’re not getting any younger.”

  “Autumn is a lovely season for a wedding.” Alma folded Rachel into a hug. “We were married in October and couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day.”

  Once they reached the street, Rachel found her voice. “I suggest a notice on the bulletin board at Kate’s Diner. Simple, succinct. ‘Dr. Vale and Pastor Marshall are just friends.’”

  “Just casual friends,” Garrett added.

  “Right.” She reached her car and leaned against the fender, closing her eyes. “I’m exhausted.” Garrett’s truck was parked behind hers. So at least he’d been prepared, when he came in tonight, to see her.

  “And we have another two dinners to endure.” His gaze was bleak. “With more, I’d bet, in the planning stages.”

  Another risk occurred to her. “If they learn the truth after the fact, they may think we deliberately deceived them.”

  “A definite possibility.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Anyway, it would be rude to try and get out of Friday or Saturday night. Maybe Dylan can spread the word on Sunday that we broke up. A mutual decision.”

  “I suppose it’s the best we can do.” She attempted a smile. “At least they care about you.”

  Garrett blew out a short breath. “Sometimes people care too much.” Turning on his heel, he went to the door of the truck, but then hesitated and retraced his steps. “I wanted to let you know—Lena had a low blood-sugar episode this afternoon. While we were fishing. Dizziness, confusion, clammy skin. I couldn’t get a call to go through.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’d brought her supplies, so I tested her and got some juice and a cookie into her. She recovered pretty fast.”

  “What was her reading?” Hearing the number, she blew a silent whistle. “Now that she’s experienced the sensation, let’s hope she won’t wait as long to deal with it.”