A Wedding for the Widower (Brush Creek Brides Book 1)

by Liz Isaacson

  Tess dismissed the thought. She didn’t believe in signs. She embraced hope for the future. She had faith in—

  She stopped there.

  She had faith. A sense of peace filled her, and though she didn’t know if things would work out or not, she knew there was a Master in charge of everything.

  And she had faith in Him.

  Chapter Five

  “No, I need to go to Evanston,” Tess said from Walker’s passenger seat.

  “It’s too far,” he said. “They can at least make sure you’re stable here.” He pulled into the hospital in Vernal, only a forty-five minute drive from Brush Creek, as compared to the three-hour drive to Evanston. He’d wondered why her oncologist was in Evanston instead of Salt Lake, where she’d moved from. Even Rock Springs would’ve shaved a whole hour off the drive for her appointments and treatments.

  “Come on.” He flipped the truck into park and hurried around the front of the truck to be there for Tess. He’d carried her from where she’d collapsed on his front sidewalk to Megan and Landon’s house, and then to his truck once it was decided that the boys would stay at Brush Creek, in Landon’s basement. Megan had been blowing up air beds and digging sleeping bags out of the closet when Walker had left.

  He wasn’t worried about Michael and Graham. No, all of his care and concern rested on Tess. She’d dozed on and off as he made the drive toward civilization, and he didn’t like the gray color of her face.

  He swept her into his arms, glad when she didn’t protest but instead wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. He breathed in the soft scent of her skin, which smelled like baby powder and fresh cotton, and hurried through the automatic doors of the emergency room.

  “I need help here,” he said and people seemed to materialize from the very walls themselves. “She has breast cancer,” he explained to a man who brought forward a wheelchair. “Her treatments have all been done in Evanston.” He leaned down. “Who’s your doctor, Tess?”

  “Lipman,” she said. “Sylvia Lipman.”

  Walker nodded at the nurse, who moved away with Tess. He watched helplessly as the big plastic door swung closed behind them, removing her from his sight. Everything inside him collapsed, and he wondered what in the world he was doing. If this had been like every other Sunday, he’d be sitting down to dinner with Landon and Megan, not a thought about Tess anywhere near his mind.

  Of course, that was also a lie. Tess had been on his mind for the past six months, even before he consciously knew it. Now he was pacing in a hospital waiting room, his nerves frayed after an hour-long nightmare where one of his best friends had fainted. Before, he would’ve heard about her fainting spell and texted her to see if she was okay, but it wouldn’t have disrupted his entire evening.

  Best friends rang in his mind as someone said, “Sir, can we get some information from you?”

  “What?” He blinked and looked down at the nurse. “Oh, yeah. As much as I can tell you, sure.” He stepped over to the check-in desk and filled out as much of the forms as he could, which admittedly wasn’t much. He didn’t know Tess’s social security number. Or her insurance information. Or her emergency contact. He ended up putting himself for that and thought she could just change it later.

  He finished and found a chair in the corner, swiping off his hat and rubbing his hands through his hair as the events of the day washed through him. Pastor Peters had spoken about staying close to the Lord through trials.

  Walker had learned that when Libby died. He hadn’t been much of a church-goer before that, though he tagged along with Libby if he was in town. After her death, he found solace and comfort in the music he heard at church. The sermons weren’t always rousing, but as soon as the choir stood up, Walker’s soul was awakened.

  Before Libby’s death, she’d requested he play the song Homeward Bound at her funeral. He’d practiced it for hours on the piano though he could sit down and sight-read almost anything. No one had sung, but the words still hung in Walker’s mind.

  Bind me not to the pasture. Chain me not to the plow.

  Set me free to find my calling and I’ll return to you somehow.

  Was the Lord calling Tess home too? Now?

  Frustration rose through Walker. It didn’t seem fair that he’d have to suffer through the deaths of two wives.

  “She’s not your wife,” he whispered to himself, relieved no one sat close enough to hear him talking to himself. He didn’t even love her; he hadn’t even kissed her. Why then, did his heart feel like it was cracking in half?

  Twenty minutes passed before someone came to get Walker. He jumped to his feet when his name was called, and he met a doctor about his age at the plastic door. “I’m Walker Thompson.”

  “Tess is asking for you.”

  “So she’s awake?”

  “She took some heavy pain medication earlier today, got overheated, and was severely dehydrated. That’s why she fainted.”

  “And her cancer?”

  “We’re running some tests, but she perked up once we got the IV in and regulated her body temperature. I can’t speak about her cancer with what we’ve done so far.”

  Walker nodded and thanked the man, stepped past the curtain he indicated to find Tess propped up in a hospital bed. The air went right out of his lungs as if he’d been kicked in the chest.

  He blinked and Tess’s pixie cut morphed into Libby’s luxurious curls. Curls that had turned limp near the end of her life. Curls Walker had thought of often in the first year after Libby’s death. He hadn’t imagined them for a while now and confusion made his stomach squeeze.

  “Hey,” Tess said, breaking the spell that had fallen over Walker.

  He moved toward her, apprehension consuming him. He didn’t want to walk away from her, but he wasn’t sure how he could weather the strong storms it would require to be with her. And he had Michael to think about too.

  He sank into the chair next to her bed. “Feeling better?”

  “A lot better.” Her fingers knotted in the corner of the sheet and her eyes flitted around the room, landing on various items—the clock, the curtain, the IV machine.

  “I’m glad.” He clasped his hands and let them hang between his knees. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but the older, wiser part of him wanted to protect himself. Needed to maintain distance.

  “They’re going to keep me overnight.” She finally trained her eyes on his, and Walker marveled at the strength he found in her gaze. “You don’t need to stay. I’ll call Paige, and she’ll go get Graham.”

  “He can stay at Megan’s,” Walker said. “I’ll take him down to Paige in the morning. Or he can just stay with us, roam at the ranch. Michael knows where he can go and where he can’t.” He needed something to drink in order to get his next sentence out, but he had nothing. “Maybe Paige can come pick you up tomorrow.”

  She flinched like he’d slapped her, her head falling back against the pillow and her eyes blinking, blinking. “I—I’ll ask her.”

  Walker hated the raw pain in her voice. Despised that he was the one who’d caused it. He exhaled and stood. “I’ll keep Graham until you get back tomorrow. Let me know about the tests, okay?”

  It took every ounce of strength Walker possessed to walk out of the room, leaving Tess behind in that hospital bed.

  He held his head high, his emotions storming and his cowboy boots banging against the worn tile in the hospital. On his right, he spotted a piano, and he detoured that way. He played every Sunday night, and this one should be no exception.

  As he sat at the keys, the tension and frustration drained from him. His mother had insisted all of her children learn to play every hymn in the hymnal. After that, they could quit. Walker had never fought his mother about the piano lessons, and he actually enjoyed his time on the bench.

  His first thought landed on Libby, and the song he’d played at their wedding. His fingers twitched, but they didn’t play. He thought of Michael’s favorite song—Consider
the Lilies of the Field—but bypassed that too.

  His favorite song floated through his mind. A popular tune, usually accompanied with the guitar, The Man Who Could Not be Moved, rose into the air, soothing Walker from the inside out.

  Chapter Six

  Tess stared at the spot where Walker had last been. Had he really just walked out? Was he really going to make the forty-five minute drive back to Brush Creek without her? Did she really have to sleep in this emergency room alone?

  Fear struck her full in the chest, the same voltage as the day she’d first heard those two terrible words. Breast cancer.

  She felt disconnected from her body, almost like she was floating above it. All the familiar and annoying smells that came with a hospital muted. Someone walked by with a doctor, and their mouths moved, but Tess heard no sound.

  Then beautiful music from a piano infiltrated the numbness surrounding her. Tess seized onto it and let the tune wash over her, cleanse her. Without thinking and without wasting another moment, she leapt from the bed, annoyed when the plastic tube of her IV prevented her from moving too far.

  She grabbed the metal IV stand and towed it with her, uncaring that she was wearing a hospital gown. It was secured everywhere, and everyone here wore one. She scanned the hallway for Walker, like maybe he’d be leaning there, his cowboy hat pulled low over his face as he agonized over what to do.

  He wasn’t. Tess continued toward the sound of the music, drawn to it by an otherworldly force. The piano sat against a wall in a small waiting room that was completely empty except for the musician.

  Tess paused at the sight of tall, athletic, Walker sitting on the bench, his large hands moving over the keys with gentle strokes. She breathed because it was involuntary. She couldn’t seem to make the pieces of Walker line up. How could he tame wild horses and produce such beautiful music? How could he walk out on her, only to come here and make something so lovely and worthwhile?

  She closed her eyes and basked in the tonalities of the piano, sure she’d never been soothed so completely. Finally, the last notes were pressed and the sound from the piano strings faded into silence.

  Tess opened her eyes. “That was wonderful,” she breathed.

  Walker startled and twisted toward her. “Tess.” With the fluidity of a man half his size, he rose from the bench and swept her into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay.”

  She let him hold her, because it felt right to be in his arms. And she needed his strength to stay on her feet. She didn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t. She hugged him back and said, “Come back and let’s talk.”

  He kept one arm securely around her as they walked back to her corner of the emergency room. A nurse met her there, and said, “There you are. We’ve got a room on the second floor for you. Are you ready to go up?”

  She nodded. A room would be better suited for a private chat, and Walker would surely have more than a folding chair to sit in.

  “I won’t know the room number until we get up there,” the nurse said. “Climb on in, and we’ll go.” She glanced at Walker. “Since you two aren’t related, you’ll have to check in at the second floor reception desk. I would give her about twenty minutes.” She smiled apologetically as Tess watched Walker’s reaction.

  He flashed the nurse a smile so quickly, Tess could barely catalogue it. When his attention returned to her, all the hard edges of Walker Thompson softened. “I’ll call Paige. Make all the arrangements for the boys.” He lifted his phone, pressed a kiss to Tess’s forehead, and walked out. At least this time, Tess knew he’d come back.

  Walker didn’t show up in twenty minutes. Or thirty. Tess let the IV work its magic and though her stomach growled, she managed to doze off. A sound outside of her dreams brought her back to consciousness, and she blinked open her eyes to see a guilty look traipse across Walker’s face.

  “Sorry,” he said as he finished sliding a tray onto the rolling table that would extend over her bed.

  “Is that…?”

  “Chicken noodle soup,” Walker said. “I know you like it, and I tried it in the cafeteria, and it’s really good.”

  Tess straightened, and used the remote to sit the mattress up further. “I’m starving.” She beamed at him. “You always seem to know what I’m thinking, or what I need.”

  He chuckled. “I just knew I was hungry, and I figured you might be too.” He sank into the recliner beside her bed, a long exhalation escaping his mouth.

  She reached for the spoon and stirred the delicious-smelling soup. Her mouth watered as she thought about the salty broth and the chewy noodles. But she couldn’t put a bite in her mouth quite yet.

  “Look,” she said. “I think I have a pretty good idea of why you left earlier.” She looked right into his dark eyes, hoping he’d understand everything she didn’t say. “But my cancer isn’t back.”

  “Have you gotten the test results back?”

  “Not yet.” Desperation and frustration combined, creating an emotional cocktail that didn’t sit well in Tess’s veins. “So if I’m sick, you don’t want to be with me, is that it?”

  Walker’s jaw twitched. He blinked. He studied her with a quiet stillness that unnerved her. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “That sounds really bad when you say it like that.”

  “I don’t know how else to say it.”

  “I’m not as strong as you are,” he said, catching her by surprise. She gaped at him, the soup forgotten.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means losing my wife nearly destroyed me, and I don’t know if I can handle losing someone else I care about.”

  A smile flickered across her face, but it didn’t last long. She took a bite of soup, sure he had more to say and would need time to say it. Sure enough, by her third taste of the fantastic soup he’d brought her, Walker continued.

  “And I have Michael to think about. If he…if I introduce another….” He shook his head, a nervous chuckle accompanying the movement. “This sounds stupid too. It’s not like we’re engaged or anything.”

  Tess’s insides iced. Walker hadn’t seemed like the type to date perpetually. But maybe that was what he’d do here. She wasn’t sure when everything in her life had turned upside down. Or why she didn’t really want to go home to Brush Creek without the possibility of having Walker by her side.

  “No,” she finally said. “We’re not engaged.”

  “I’m scared,” he said. “Because I really like you, and I think we could probably get to engaged pretty fast. But like I said, I’m not as strong as you are, and seeing you in that hospital bed really freaked me out.”

  Tess appreciated his honesty, also liked that the seemingly impenetrable Walker Thompson had fears and insecurities. It made him more human. More attractive.

  She finished her soup in silence, one more question weighing on her mind. She leaned back, feeling better than she had in days. Feeling brave. “So now what?” she asked.

  Walker took off his hat and scrubbed his hands through his hair. Thick, dark hair Tess would like to run her own fingers through. Her face heated and she nearly coughed, finally able to tear her eyes from Walker.

  He said, “I don’t know, Tess, but I learned something when I left you earlier.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I don’t like the idea of not being with you.”

  Happiness exploded through her, settling into excitement when he reached over and threaded his fingers through hers. “So maybe we can just see how things go? What do you think of that? You might get sick of me in a couple of days.” He punctuated his statement with a smile Tess felt all the way to the bottom of her stomach.

  “I doubt I’ll get sick of you in a couple of days.” Tess laughed. “I’ve put up with you for four years already.”

  “Oh, wow.” He laughed, the sound bouncing around the tiny hospital room. “Put up with me, huh?”

  She squeezed his hand, relishing in the so
und of his laughter and the warmth from his skin. Her mind flew to thoughts of kissing him, and everything inside her tightened. She imagined his strong hands on her back, or maybe cradling her face, as his lips touched hers. Fireworks popped in her mind with the fantasy, and suddenly every breath was filled with the masculine smell of Walker.

  She fanned herself with her free hand, prompting Walker to ask, “Are you okay? Is it hot in here?”

  She dropped her hand to the bed. “No,” she managed to gurgle. “I’m fine.”

  But, oh, she wasn’t fine. She was in so much trouble if the mere thought of a kiss with Walker had her this wound up.

  A week later, Tess bumped over the gravel lane in front of Walker’s cabin, just like the previous Sunday. She’d sat next to him in church, endured a twenty-minute discussion with Alison and Paige in the shade on the sidewalk, and then taken a two-hour nap. She’d promised Walker she’d take care of herself; get the rest she needed; eat enough; drink enough water; all of the above.

  And she had. She wanted to “see how things could go” with Walker too. Wanted it more than anything else she’d wanted since the death of her husband.

  They hadn’t been able to enjoy the chocolate cheesecake she’d made, and she’d instructed Walker how to wrap it in plastic wrap and then tin foil so it could be frozen. She turned off the ignition, Graham already running across the lawn toward Michael and the dogs.

  Bruce and Wayne ran in circles around Graham, and then the older of the two—Bruce, the yellow lab—trotted over to Tess and nosed her thigh.

  “Hey, boy.” She scratched the dog behind the ears, crouching low so he could lick her chin. She laughed and pulled back, the slobber a little more than she was anticipating.

  “Come on, Bruce,” Walker called, and the dog immediately turned and ran back to the porch, where Walker stood with his hands stuffed in his shorts pockets, leaning against the post. She couldn’t read his expression across the distance and under the cover of the shade, but his magnetism drew her feet toward him.