by Amanda Cabot
“So, tell me about your trip,” Kate encouraged.
Though Gillian would have preferred to talk about the baby, she knew how single-minded Kate could be. Until Gillian satisfied her curiosity, there would be no discussion of anything else.
“The trip was uneventful,” she said, trying but failing to keep her voice even, “until a man crashed his motorcycle.” Gillian shuddered at the memory.
“That must have been scary.”
“It was.” Gillian closed her eyes for a second as the memories threatened to erupt. “TJ was lucky. The bike’s in bad shape, but he doesn’t seem to have any permanent damage. Greg’s taking care of him, probably putting him up in a cabin tonight.” It was easier—far easier—to talk about TJ than to relive the moment when the motorcycle spun out of control.
“What about you?” Kate tightened her grip on Gillian’s waist in what Gillian knew was an attempt to comfort her.
There was no reason to lie. This was Kate, the woman Gillian had called even before she told her father what had happened on that New York street last September. “I had another flashback. It didn’t help that TJ’s bike is the same color as the other one. For an instant, I thought it was happening again.”
“Oh, Gillian.” Kate reached for Gillian’s right hand. “I’m so sorry.” She turned Gillian’s hand over and began to inspect the back. If the web of scars that had yet to fade shocked her, she gave no sign. “What did the new doctor say?”
“The same as all the others. I’ve regained 90 percent of my mobility, and that’s all I can expect.” Gillian tried to keep the bitterness from her voice as she said, “It’s enough to do almost everything except play on a concert stage again. Gillian Hodge, the woman who won the Brooks and was touted as the new Van Cliburn, is no more.”
As tears filled her eyes, Gillian brushed them away. “I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t come here to cry on your shoulder. It’s just some days the fact that I have no idea what to do next is scary. Music was my whole life for more than twenty years, and now there’s nothing.”
This was the first time Gillian had voiced those words. Though the psychologist her father had insisted she consult had told her that anger and depression were normal stages in the healing process and had urged her to vent her feelings, she had not. Despite his impressive degrees, he was a stranger, and Gillian did not confide in strangers. She hadn’t even shared her deepest feelings with her father once she’d realized that his anger still hadn’t subsided. Dad’s stock answer was to make the motorcyclist pay, even though Gillian had told him she saw no point in suing the rider, that money wouldn’t restore her hand. Dad didn’t understand that what she wanted most was to put the accident behind her and build a future. But Kate had always understood.
Kate nodded. “I won’t offer platitudes, because I’m sure you’ve already heard a lifetime’s worth. I just wish there were something I could do.” That was Kate, the woman who was born to solve problems.
“You already have.” Gillian turned to gaze out the window, admiring the way the sun sparkled on Bluebonnet Lake. “You gave me a place to escape. I love my father, but you know what he’s like—as opinionated as ever. He’s convinced the only thing that makes sense is for me to find a nice man—his words, not mine—who’ll take care of me for the rest of my life.” Gillian shook her head in exasperation. “I don’t need a husband, and I most certainly do not need a caretaker. What I need is a new career.”
Kate’s eyes took on a distant look, telling Gillian she was searching for the right words. “Your dad loves you,” she said slowly. “He’s only trying to help.”
“I know.” Gillian had never doubted that, though as a teenager she’d chafed at what she considered her father’s overprotectiveness. It was only when she’d become an adult that she’d realized how difficult it must have been for him, becoming a parent for the second time when he was over forty. Many men would have considered that enough of a challenge, but for Dad the challenge had been multiplied many times by Mom’s death. Single parents had a tough life.
“Did I tell you he invited me to go on the cruise with him?”
Kate shook her head. “Obviously, you refused.”
“Obviously. It’s a singles’ cruise. I still don’t understand why he picked that one, other than that it’s going to places he wanted to see, but it’s definitely not the cruise for me. The last thing I need is professional matchmakers helping my father find the perfect man for me. At least I don’t have to worry about that here.”
Kate’s lips twitched as if she were trying to repress a smile. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Gillian raised an eyebrow. “And that would be . . .”
“Dupree has a trio of matchmakers that would put those professionals to shame.”
Just what Gillian didn’t need.
4
God had a strange sense of humor. TJ closed the door and looked around. He could practically hear heavenly laughter as God watched him settle into a cabin named Moses. There was definite irony in a man who used to be called the RV Reverend being stranded at a Christian resort within walking distance of two dozen RVs. The cabin’s name was a nice touch too. Moses might have led the Israelites out of Egypt and delivered the Ten Commandments to them, but he’d also been prevented from entering the Promised Land.
Some would say there was a message in all this, and perhaps there was. TJ was no Moses, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that after everything that had happened in the last eighteen months, he had no right to enter the Promised Land.
He shook his head. There was no point in remembering the past. The present was all he had, a present that included a damaged motorcycle and a surprisingly comfortable cabin.
The furnishings were simple but tasteful, with one of the most beautiful quilts TJ had ever seen covering the bed and a smaller one hanging on the wall. No doubt about it; sleeping in a bed would feel good, and the small but spotlessly clean bathroom looked inviting too.
As TJ walked into the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and did a double take. He hadn’t realized how scruffy he looked. It was a wonder Gillian offered him a ride and that Greg hadn’t pretended they had no vacancies. If he’d been the innkeeper, TJ would have had second and third thoughts about renting to someone who looked like him, especially when he’d admitted to being short on cash. The beard had to go.
Five minutes later, TJ stared at his reflection. Better, but now his hair looked wrong. If his bike weren’t wrecked, he’d have ridden into Dupree for a haircut. Not styled, just cut. Now there was only one choice. He dug into his pack and pulled out the scissors. It wouldn’t be perfect, but he wouldn’t look like a homeless vagabond, even if that was exactly what he was.
His spirits restored by a shower that felt even better than he’d expected, TJ slid into clean jeans and a western-style shirt before heading for the dining room. A quick glance at his watch confirmed he would be on time. Greg had explained that there was only one seating for supper, adding that the meal was served family style. If TJ had had any doubt about God’s sense of humor, that would have clinched it. He no longer had a family.
Though part of the same building as the office and reachable from the long hallway on the east side, the dining room also had an outside entrance. As TJ entered the room, he barely had time to register the coffered ceiling, the beautifully paneled walls featuring more of the finely made quilts he’d seen in his cabin, and the unusual tables before Greg clapped him on the shoulder.
“Looks like you did more than take a shower. I almost didn’t recognize you,” Greg said as he directed TJ toward one of the tables. There were five of them, all round and seating eight each. Nothing unusual about that, but what appeared to be lazy Susans laden with pitchers and serving bowls in their center did surprise TJ. He’d never seen tables like these. Of course, he’d never been in a resort like Rainbow’s
End before.
As he approached the table, Gillian’s eyes widened, probably in a reaction to TJ’s new appearance. Her self-confessed bossiness seemed to have vanished, and she had been engrossed in an animated discussion with a pretty blonde whose rounded belly left no doubt that she was pregnant.
“This is my wife Kate.” Greg gave the blonde’s shoulder a gentle squeeze that sent pain ricocheting through TJ. How many times had he touched Deb in the same way? Though the first raw grief had faded, there were still times like this when the memory of all he’d lost ambushed him. He took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the pain.
“Of course you know Gillian.” Greg was still speaking. “Let me introduce you to the others at our table.” They turned out to be two brothers and their wives, who spent at least one vacation together each year and who’d come to the Hill Country in search of wildflowers.
TJ gave them a perfunctory smile as his pulse returned to normal. Fortunately the attacks, as he referred to the waves of sorrow that turned his legs to rubber and made him feel as if his heart were being squeezed by a vise, now lasted only seconds rather than debilitating him for hours.
When everyone was seated and TJ found himself between Gillian and Kate, Greg rose to give thanks for the food as well as Gillian and TJ’s safe arrival.
“You picked the perfect day to arrive,” Kate told TJ after the amen. Like Gillian’s, her voice bore no trace of a Texas drawl, confirming Gillian’s story that Kate was a transplant. In her casual maternity clothes, she did not look like a former Manhattan advertising executive, but what did TJ know about Manhattan advertising executives?
“Tonight’s one of my favorite meals,” Kate told him.
A soft chuckle was Gillian’s response. “Don’t let her fool you. I’m sure she says the same thing every day.”
“Can I help it if I like Carmen’s cooking? Besides, I’m eating for two, and right now everything tastes wonderful.” Kate spun the lazy Susan slightly and reached for a biscuit. “Don’t be shy, TJ. I know for a fact that there’s at least one more tray of biscuits in the oven in case anyone wants second helpings.”
It was ordinary conversation, the gentle banter of friends and family, and though he hadn’t expected it, TJ found himself relaxing as the meal progressed. The food was delicious and more plentiful than any he’d had in the past year. Chicken fricassee on top of what were probably prize-winning flaky biscuits, accompanied by bowls of peas, glazed carrots, a green salad, coleslaw, and a molded salad. It might not be a gourmet meal, but TJ couldn’t recall when he’d enjoyed one more.
He was savoring the delicately flavored fricassee when Kate turned to him. “Tell us a little bit about yourself, TJ. What do you do when you’re not riding your motorcycle?”
The last thing TJ wanted was to talk about himself. That was one of the reasons he’d avoided campgrounds for the last year. Folks in campgrounds were friendly, their questions as well-meaning as Kate’s. There had been a time when TJ had enjoyed that friendliness, when he’d gone out of his way to encourage it, but not now. Still, he had to give Kate an answer. He doubted she’d believe the truth, that the bike had been his life for a year.
TJ had broken the lease on his apartment, sold his belongings, paid off his bills, bought the bike, and headed out, determined to finish Deb’s bucket list. There was no need to share that or that traveling alone had occasionally been lonely and that there were times when he wondered what he’d do next.
He split another biscuit as he said, “I used to teach high school. History.” There. If he was lucky, that would be enough to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. He wasn’t lucky.
“And you’re on sabbatical.” Gillian’s expression reflected surprise and something else. If he’d had to describe it, TJ would have said it was disdain, but that made no sense. Why should she care how he used to earn his living?
“Not exactly, but I am taking some time off to see this country.”
If he’d wanted to discourage conversation, TJ had failed. Interest shone from Gillian’s green eyes, erasing the fleeting moment of disdain or whatever it had been. “Have you seen a lot?”
He nodded. “Every national park in the lower forty-eight except for Big Bend. I was on my way there when I took a detour and wound up here.” TJ slid a forkful of peas into his mouth, hoping that would end the discussion.
While the two couples on the opposite side of the table discussed the lack of nighttime activities in Dupree, Greg leaned forward to address TJ. “I’m glad you took that detour. Your being a teacher is an answer to prayer.”
“And how would that be? I can’t imagine that history lessons are part of the entertainment here.” He also couldn’t imagine being the answer to anyone’s prayer.
Greg reached for the pitcher of water and refilled Kate’s glass. “You’re right about that, but the fact that you know more about teenagers than either Kate or me just might solve the problem you and I discussed.”
TJ had to admire Greg’s tact. Instead of saying that whatever he had in mind would be a way for TJ to pay for his stay here, he simply alluded to a problem.
“How?” TJ took another bite of fricassee, hoping the answer wouldn’t destroy his appetite.
“Kate and I are worried about the kids living in Firefly Valley. That’s where the RVs are parked,” he explained. “There’s no TV or cell coverage there, and that’s rough for the kids, especially the teenagers who can’t drive. They’re bored.”
“Greg and I’ve invited them to come here,” Kate interjected, “but no one seems interested.”
“And you think I can help.” His day just kept getting worse. It was bad enough knowing all those RVs were so close. Now he was expected to go over there and face the memory of the summers he and Deb had spent traveling the country in their motor home. If TJ agreed to Greg’s suggestion, he’d be surrounded by kids and even more memories. Still, how could he refuse when he was here, eating Greg and Kate’s food, planning to sleep in one of their cabins?
Before he could respond, Gillian touched his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
Why had she said that? Gillian could have kicked herself for volunteering to have anything to do with teenagers. She knew as little about them as Kate and Greg, and yet she couldn’t help feeling sorry for TJ. She’d seen the pain in his eyes when he admitted he’d been a teacher, and that had touched a chord deep inside her.
“Those who can, do.” Her father’s words reverberated through her brain, reminding Gillian of the day she’d announced that she wanted to be a music teacher. Dad had scowled, his expression forbidding as he continued. “Those who can’t, teach. Only losers teach, and you are not a loser, Gillian. You’re a Hodge. You’re meant for better things than teaching.”
Had TJ heard similar disparaging remarks? Gillian didn’t know. What she did know was that something was wrong, something TJ did not want to discuss, something tied to teaching. There had been a note of finality when he’d said “used to teach,” a hint of melancholy that made her imagine herself pronouncing similar words.
“I used to be a concert pianist.” Though she’d never actually said that, she knew that one day she would have to, and it would undoubtedly be painful. TJ was already at that point, and the anguish she’d seen before he lowered his eyes made her wish there were some way to ease it.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be,” she told him, trying to keep her voice light, “but I’ve always heard there’s safety in numbers.”
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?” Though he didn’t sound thrilled, what could she expect? The man was having a bad day. Not only had he crashed his bike, but he was now sporting the worst haircut Gillian had ever seen. She had to admit that the clean-shaven look was an improvement over the scruffy beard, but that naturally curly hair of his needed more than a rough hacking.
When her nephew’s hair had shown a tendency to wave, her brother
George and sister-in-law Lisa had searched for the right stylist to tame it. Of course, George and Lisa were more concerned about appearances than TJ seemed to be. Gillian suspected the man had never worn, much less owned, a tuxedo. His clothing was clean and serviceable but bore none of the designer labels that were so important to her brother.
“The image you project is important,” George used to say, parroting their father. If TJ had heard the adage, he either disagreed or had a very different image in mind. Rough rather than refined. To Gillian’s surprise, she found rough appealing.
As the conversation switched to Texas politics, she said little, content to watch the way TJ challenged the others. Though never confrontational, he asked probing questions that elicited surprising responses. She doubted even George, a proud graduate of Harvard Law School, could have done a better job of changing the other guests’ opinions.
“You win.” One of the men raised his hands in surrender.
“It’s not a matter of win or lose,” TJ said. “It’s a matter of thinking. I just wanted you to consider the other side. The truth is, I agree with your position.”
After a second of shocked silence, everyone laughed. “Good job, TJ.” The man lowered his arms and grinned, obviously pleased by the apparent U-turn.
Good job indeed. Who would have guessed that the rough-around-the-edges man was a skilled orator?
5
The meal ended with the best chocolate pound cake Gillian had ever eaten, leaving her feeling as if she wouldn’t need to eat again for a week. She rose and told TJ she’d meet him in front of the office in ten minutes. To her surprise, though TJ had taken seconds of almost everything, he emerged holding a large bag of groceries.
“More food?” She groaned at the thought.
“Take a look.” TJ tilted the bag so she could see the contents. “Carmen had everything I needed in her pantry.” Gillian smiled. The food wasn’t for them. It was for the bored teenagers. Though she would not have thought of providing food, TJ’s knowledge of kids was evident.
