As he passed her chair, Traci caught his arm. “I heard them in the bathroom, and well, I get it now. Avoid Tara if you can. She has on her war paint.”
For the next fifty minutes, Nolan danced and evaded. Mike and Traci occasionally crossed his path, and each time Nolan danced with a new woman. He waltzed with each partner around the floor, mentally cursing the genius who decided to make the evening a “tribute to Strauss.” As he whirled, Nolan tried to ignore the barrage of pushy females shamelessly angling for an invitation to dance.
Between partners, Mike leaned in and said, “Gives new meaning to dodge ‘ball,’ doesn’t it?”
~*~*~*~
On Sunday morning, Nolan prayed all through the worship service. The sermon escaped his notice, he didn’t sing, and he almost missed the communion trays as they passed by him. His heart was heavy with the feeling that there was something terribly wrong with him. He’d been curt with several women and hardly cordial to others.
Pastor Zimmerman found Nolan waiting in his study an hour after the congregants disbursed. “Um, Burke, you look awful.”
“Sums up how I feel, if you want the truth.”
Tim Zimmerman sat in his chair behind an immense desk and propped his feet on the top. “Tell me about it.”
“Do you mind? Will Kathy—”
“We don’t eat lunch together. Sundays are our free days. Talk.”
“I’ve got female troubles.”
“PMS or PPD?”
Nolan laughed. “Thankfully, PPD isn’t an issue, but I seem to cause PMS anyway.”
“PMS? I really don’t think you’re responsible for the hormonal rages of biologically timed-out women.”
“I’m speaking of the lesser known, but just as dangerous, Pre-Marital Syndrome.”
Chuckling, Tim reached into his drawer and pulled out an insulated lunch bag. “Here, have a sandwich. I have a feeling we’re going to get hungry. There are water bottles in that fridge next to you. Pass me one, will you?”
For the next hour, Nolan described the constant influx of eligible females that flocked to his side. He was embarrassed at how conceited he sounded, but desperation called for strict honesty about both the situation and his dismay over it. “Am I doing something to encourage this? Is there something I should do to prevent it? I don’t want to attract this kind of attention—”
“You can’t prevent it all, Nolan. Women, many of them anyway, find money and power very attractive. You could be Quasimodo in the looks department and still attract attention. Unfortunately, you don’t even have the Quasimodo thing going for you.”
“So, do I just disappear into the wilds of Colorado and hope some cattle rancher’s daughter likes me?”
Tim stifled a laugh and said, “Nolan, rancher’s daughters, coal miner’s daughters, and welfare-dependent single moms. You know there will always be women who will throw themselves at you.” He frowned. “You know, maybe a change of scenery would do you good. Go somewhere where you aren’t well known or recognized. At least you’d have a little time before your reputation and financial information became household gossip.”
“I thought about moving, but I just assumed it’d be the same thing anywhere I went.”
Tim sat thoughtfully considering Nolan’s concerns. “I really think moving might be the best thing, but where you move counts. Don’t stereotype women by locale. Find a place with a high percentage of single women and get to know them. Visit the churches in the cities and towns around the loop. Check out Hillsdale, Marshfield, New Cheltenham, Westbury, and even Fairbury. I always thought Alexa Hartfield would be a good match for you.”
“I know her brother…”
“Talk to him,” Tim insisted.
“Call him and say, ‘Hey, you’ve got a sister, and I’m looking for someone, so how about fixing us up?’ That’s insane.”
Tim leaned forward on his forearms and rubbed his knuckles with his thumb. “Nolan, tell your friend your problem. Tell him the kind of woman you’re looking for, tell him you’re looking at the towns on the loop, and you want any information he has about Fairbury. If he thinks you’re good for his sister, I’ll bet he says so.”
“Tim, he tried to fix me up with her in the past, but there are a few problems. I want a family. She doesn’t.”
“Well, that is a problem, but it doesn’t negate his knowledge of Fairbury. Call him. I think the church needs to start helping one another in this area.” Tim’s eyes earnestly urged Nolan to step out of his comfort zone and take the first step toward his future.
“Maybe I’ll do it. Thanks.”
~*~*~*~
“Wes, good to see you, man. Where’ve—” Nolan paused to acknowledge a couple passing their table, “—you been lately?”
“Just got back from Afghanistan.”
“You know, I’ve never asked. How does your family feel about those trips to Afghanistan and Iraq?”
Wes grinned. “My parents don’t ask. Alexa gets concerned, but I tend to be vague with her. This time I said, ‘I’m off to one of those ‘istans,’ and I hope she assumes that it’s one of those lesser-known ones.”
“A little deceitful, but understandable.”
Wes signaled for another Coke and leaned back in his chair. “So, what is up with you? Found that dream woman yet?”
“No, that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about.”
“I still think you and Alexa would hit it off nicely,” Wes asserted.
“When we talked at her house last January, we both knew that it wouldn’t work. It’s too bad though, she was one of the nicest, most real women I’ve ever met.”
“And I’m sure it didn’t help that she didn’t throw herself at you.”
After a few moments of concentrated eating, the conversation picked up as though it’d never paused. “Well, if I didn’t know you want children so badly, I might be a bit insulted on her behalf, but as Alexa’s only brother, I can say that your life is safe from death at my hands for not being interested. For now.”
“So, what about the rest of Fairbury? You’ve been around a lot lately, is it worth checking out?” Nolan felt like a desperate teenager looking for a date to the prom.
“Lots of singles in Fairbury, if that’s what you mean. They have a movie night once or twice a month there. People come from Brunswick, Marshfield, New Cheltenham— even Rockland. I don’t know who fits with Fairbury and who is an outsider half the time, but it’s a healthy mix.”
“I’m considering a move.”
The statement hung in the air, as though daring either of them to touch it. Wes sighed and shoved his plate away from him. “Nolan, I know you’ve always wanted to have a family of your own. I know that you miss your parents and want what they had, and until recently, I didn’t really get it but—” Wes continued in spite of Nolan’s raised eyebrows and alert expression. “I want to ask one question before you make life altering decisions.”
“Shoot.”
Wes tossed him a “you asked for it” glance and said, “Is this move a consideration because you want a wife or because you want the women you don’t want to leave you alone?”
Chapter Three
Labor Day
London and Mickey tore through the living room, squealing and squirting water pistols at one another.
“Take it outside!” Traci ordered in a stage whisper. “The baby is trying to take his nap.”
London turned her gun on her mother and squeezed the trigger. A stream of water splashed across the photographs Nolan had spread out on the coffee table. Mike jumped and raced for a towel. Traci wailed, trying to save the pictures as she scolded her daughter.
“It’s ok, Traci. I can print more. Don’t worry about it.” He beckoned to London, who raced for her “Uncle Nolan” and buried her face in his chest.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Nolan! I didn’t mean to—”
“I know you didn’t, sweetie—”
Traci interrupted angrily. “London Finch! You march y
ourself up to your room right now, young lady. You know better than that…”
The irate mother’s voice followed her daughter out of the room, up the stairs, and to the opposite corner of the house. A door slammed and then the cry of a disoriented toddler followed.
“Oh great, there’s Parker,” Mike groaned and disappeared up the stairs after his wife and daughter.
Mickey gave Nolan a smug look. “Little kids are always messing things up.”
“It seems like I remember something about a can of acetone and a not-so-shiny paint job last week. I think mistakes are ageless, Mickey.”
Indignant, Mickey protested hotly, “I thought it was the wax. It was a surprise for Daddy’s birthday.” Embarrassed, the child raced from the room into the back yard.
“A fifteen hundred dollar surprise. Happy Birthday to Mike from Mickey,” Nolan muttered.
Mike and Traci hobbled downstairs, Parker on Mike’s arm and a sobbing London holding Traci’s hand. London dragged her feet to Nolan’s side and said, “I’s sorry, Uncle Nolan.” Before Nolan could respond, the child thrust her hand in her pocket, pulled out a handful of change and dollar bills, and dropped it in his lap. “I have to pay for it.”
Nolan began to protest, but one glance at Traci’s face silenced him. Something in her eye told him he’d better take the money. “Thank you, London. That’s very responsible. I’m proud of you.”
While London skipped off to continue the water fight outside, Nolan gathered his ruined photos and threw them in the garbage. Traci picked up a package and pulled the prints from inside of it. “These are fine—” She stopped abruptly. “Why are there pictures of houses? You do trees, animals, insects, flowers—you know, natureish stuff. Why the suburban sprawl?”
“That’s the other reason I wanted to talk to you and Mike.”
Mike accepted the pictures from his wife and flipped through them quickly. “You’re investing in rentals?”
“I’m thinking of moving.”
“Out of state?” Traci’s dismay was heartening.
He shook his head. “No, one of the cities around the loop. I’ve considered Brunswick, Marshfield, and Hillsdale. They are all close enough for a commute into Rockland. Marshfield is the largest, but it’s packed with planned communities. I don’t want a covenant or association to dictate if my vehicle is too large to park in my driveway.”
Mike and Traci Finch looked over the information Nolan spread before them. “Have you attended any of the churches?”
Nolan shook his head. “I’ve spoken to several pastors and ministers and found that Brunswick has a few doctrinally solid churches, both denominationally and non-denominationally. It’ll be hard to choose there I think. I’d hate to choose a church based upon the percentage of single females—”
“Why not?”
Nolan looked askance at Traci. “Choose a church because of the number of single women? Are you crazy?”
“Once you’ve determined doctrinal agreement, why not? Why do we play these games as if it is somehow more spiritual to pretend we don’t know how many eligible females are present? If ‘he who finds a wife, finds a good thing,’ then why isn’t it a good thing to go where the highest potential for finding a wife is?”
Mike looked at Nolan and back at his wife. “Traci, I think you are onto something. I wonder if that is what is wrong with modern dating. It is taboo to admit that you are looking for someone to marry.”
“Exactly,” Traci nodded, “we are in the market for a spouse, but we’re not even supposed to say we are window shopping; we’re just supposed to be passing by and the right one drops in our lap. The fact that we set up the meeting, paid someone to push them into our lap, and made sure we were perfectly situated to impress at that particular moment is just a deliberate accident of pure happenstance.”
Mike shoved his open laptop across the coffee table and pointed to the results of a Google search. “Brunswick. The per capita of single females in Brunswick is eleven percent higher than Marshfield or Hillsdale.”
“Brunswick it is,” Nolan agreed.
Chapter Four
Mid-September
“… And what are the prices on the pears this year?” Grace Buscher mentally tallied her large order. Suffering a short-term financial famine, she mentally kicked herself for taking a weekend trip to Mackinac the previous month. The money spent on that trip would have covered her groceries for months.
Each year she struggled with the idea of taking a vacation. In prior years, her father had been the one to insist that they go. “Vacations are medicine for the heart, soul, and body. It’s preventative maintenance—kind of like an oil change or tune-up on a car.”
Grace stopped her reminiscing, confirmed her order with the orchard, and hung up the phone. The Buscher family bought their fruit from Stead’s Orchards every fall. Often, the orchard also gave Grace many boxes of seconds that they couldn’t sell at their trips to Farmer’s Markets in nearby Rockland and Fairbury. Canning the fruit would take the next two weeks, and though it was hard work, Grace loved it and had customers who paid well for freshly canned fruit. Few things, in her opinion, produced a greater feeling of accomplishment than seeing glistening fruit lining her pantry and mudroom shelves.
Grace opened the front door and sniffed the brisk afternoon air, as autumn rushed at her in the breeze. In a matter of weeks, she’d wear her sweaters and her favorite corduroy skirt. Geese flew overhead and she looked up at the sprawling oak tree in her front yard. The leaves were already turning colors. Before long, the streets would be a riot of color, with leaves crunching under the tires of her neighbors as they drove home after a long day at work.
The living room clock chimed the hour. Humming Glen Miller’s “In the Mood,” Grace cleared her budgeting from the table and headed for the kitchen. Cade was coming soon, and on Fridays he tended to have extra homework. She pulled lasagna from the fridge and set it in her pre-heated oven. Cade’s mother, Mrs. Crenshaw, paid Grace extra every other Friday for two-thirds of a pan of her excellent lasagna.
As she returned to the front of the house, she saw Cade and waved through the window. The careless boy dashed between two cars, waving a handful of papers jubilantly. She tried to call out a warning but was too late. A metallic midnight blue SUV hit Cade before the driver could brake. His papers fluttered across the street, much like the leaves of the overhead trees. Grace rushed from the house and raced across the street, arriving just after the vehicle stopped. Cade moaned as Grace felt his limbs and head.
“You okay, buddy?”
“Hurts, but…”
The driver hurried from his vehicle, calling for help on a cell phone. “Is he ok?”
“He will be.”
Grace listened as he explained what happened and received instructions from the dispatcher. At each of his questions, she shook her head or nodded in response. When they heard sirens in the distance, the 9-1-1 dispatcher disconnected the call, and Grace asked permission to use his phone.
“I need to call his mother. She’s usually not here until after six on Fridays, and he could have internal injuries. It looks like your bumper might have hit his belly. It’s the perfect height.”
The driver sighed and kneaded the back of his neck with his fingers. “I don’t know where he came from. I didn’t even brake.”
Briefly, Grace focused her attention on the driver. The man was visibly upset. Her voice gentle and firm, she reassured him. “It wasn’t your fault. Cade had something to tell me and didn’t look.” She smoothed the boy’s hair out of his eyes and winked as she added, “I’ve told him a thousand times to look first, and he was careless—again.” She stretched out her hand. “I’m Grace, by the way, Grace Buscher.”
“Nolan Burke. I’m moving in this weekend, I just— Do you really think he’s going to be ok?”
Grace nodded and dialed the boy’s mother. Staring confused at the phone in her hand, she mumbled, “It’s not ringing.”
Nolan looked a
t the screen and smiled. He reached over, pushed the send button, and nodded at her before kneeling beside the whimpering boy. “Hey, buddy, the ambulance is here to help you. I’m very sorry that I hit you.”
The boy’s voice was soft but steady. “It’s my fault. Miss Grace is right; I didn’t look.”
The paramedics edged Nolan from their space as they examined the child. An officer pulled him aside and questioned him, while Grace tried to relay messages from the paramedics to his frantic mother.
“Cade, honey, your mother is going to meet us at the hospital. They’re taking you there just to make sure nothing is wrong inside. Ok?” Grace smiled at the young boy as he grinned and nodded.
She ran inside the house and grabbed her purse and medical authority note. Dashing back out the door, Grace barely remembered to lock it. She climbed into the back of the ambulance with a wave and a reassuring smile to Nolan as they drove toward the hospital.
Once the officer finished with his report, Nolan realized that Grace might not have a ride home and asked directions to the hospital. Though he hardly expected her to accept it, he felt obliged to make the offer. If nothing else, it was a good excuse to find out if Cade was truly fine.
~*~*~*~
“Miss Buscher? Is Cade’s mother here yet?” Nolan saw the strain in Grace’s eyes, and it bothered him. He thought it probable that she felt responsible, however impossible it was for her to prevent the accident.
Grace jumped at his voice. “I didn’t know you were here!”
“I was concerned that you might not have a ride home. I know you don’t know me, but I had to offer.” Nolan’s eyes twinkled as he joked, “I can provide references, if that helps. I had to bring them for the realtor.”
A shrill woman’s voice interrupted them before Grace could reply. “Grace, where is he? Is he going to be ok? What am I going to do with that boy?”
Turning from Nolan, Grace spoke quietly and calmly to Mrs. Crenshaw. Cade’s mother listened intently and watched her son as he waited for an ultrasound. Grace introduced the worried mother to the doctor, told her the investigating officer’s name, and then left her alone with her son.
Noble Pursuits Page 2
