She sighed as she stacked books on a cart to reshelve. Catching a movement from the corner of her eye, she glanced toward the stairway. Lane Hutchins descended, a huge stack of books in his arms.
He approached the desk and set the volumes on the counter.
Miss Penwell frowned. “You’re checking out all those books?”
He grinned. “I have more.” He ran back up the stairs and disappeared around the corner.
“He can’t check out all these.” Miss Penwell counted the books with her pencil. “He has eleven books here, and he’s going to get more?”
Callie winced. Lane was going to catch the wake of Miss Penwell’s bad mood. “But we don’t have a rule about how many books a person can check out.”
“We do for him! This man is a stranger, and who knows where he came from? My intuitions often prove correct, you know.”
No, I didn’t know.
Lane descended the stairs with an equally tall stack of books. “This should do it.” He set them beside the other books.
“Young man.” Miss Penwell pursed her lips. “You may either go upstairs and study these in one of the conference rooms, or you may check out five books.”
Callie’s mouth dropped open. “Five books? But, Miss Penwell—”
“Miss Brandt!” The head librarian turned her frown on Callie. “You stay out of this. I believe you have some reshelving to do.”
Callie folded her arms. I’m staying right here.
“Now then.” Miss Penwell raised an eyebrow at Lane. “What will it be?”
Lane tapped his fingers on his chin. “I didn’t realize I could only check out five.” He looked at the two stacks. “Guess I’ll take five out and put the rest back.” He lifted the top five books from the first pile.
“Good.” Miss Penwell looked at the computer. “Your library card.” She held out her thin palm.
Lane’s eyes met Callie’s as he took out his wallet. She shook her head. She wished Bruce MacKinnon was still here to talk some sense into Miss Penwell.
He handed over his card. “I’ll take the rest upstairs while you’re checking these out.”
“And I’ll help you.” Callie grabbed an armful of books before Miss Penwell could stop her. She marched up the stairs behind Lane.
As they entered the Wyoming room, she glanced around to make sure no one was there. “Lane, I’m so sorry.” She looked at the call number on a book spine. “Miss Penwell seems to thrive on being mean.”
He put back one of his volumes. “That’s one thing I’ve learned about living in small towns. The townspeople don’t trust strangers.”
“Miss Penwell doesn’t trust anyone!”
“It’s okay. I’ll come back on Monday and get the information I need.”
Callie shelved another book. “If I were you, I’d come in the mornings. Miss Penwell works from two o’clock until the library closes at nine.”
“And you work in the mornings?” He leaned against a bookshelf and thrust his hands into his pockets.
Callie gazed at his tall, relaxed stance and closed her mouth to keep in a wistful sigh. “I work from when we open at ten until six at night.”
“Six days a week?” He looked concerned.
“We’re closed on Wednesdays—and Sundays, of course.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, closed on Wednesdays. I’m glad you told me.” He smiled at her before moving toward the door. “I guess we should face the music, as the saying goes.”
They descended the stairs. Lane took his five books and thanked Miss Penwell for her time. His sweet attitude didn’t improve her sour disposition.
Callie watched him walk out the door. She probably wouldn’t see him again until Monday morning.
It was a depressing thought.
Chapter 4
Lane glanced at the vintage sunburst clock on the kitchen wall. Six o’clock. He wasn’t fond of the decor in his little yellow and orange kitchen, but it didn’t matter. At least the clock worked. What mattered was that it was supper time, and he had nothing to eat.
He had a sudden craving for a frozen dinner—something quick and easy. That was how he defined good food when he had to make it himself. Good thing he brought his microwave. As with most furnished apartments in small towns, that appliance was missing. And a microwave was a necessity for Lane Hutchins.
It took him all of three minutes to walk across Main Street to the grocery store. A bell tinkled overhead as he pushed the door open.
“Hello there!” The man behind the cash register had a booming voice. His barrel-like chest, covered with a white shirt and green grocer apron, had plenty of lung power. “Welcome to Wilkins Grocery.”
“Thanks.” Lane glanced down the long, narrow aisles that extended all the way to the back of the building. The shelves were crowded with boxes and produce. “Uh, do you have any frozen dinners?”
“Sure thing!” The man nodded his full head of gray hair and moved down one of the aisles.
Lane followed him.
“By the way, the name’s Jim Wilkins.” He stuck out his meaty hand.
Lane shook it, which was difficult since the man kept walking. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilkins. I’m Lane Hutchins.”
“Call me Jim. I hear you’re new in town.”
“Yes, sir. Just moved here a few days ago.”
“You’ll love Fort Lob. It’s a great place to live.” At the back wall, Jim stopped at a row of upright freezers with glass doors. “All the frozen stuff is back here. If you need milk, the dairy case is over there to the left against the wall. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
Jim walked to the front of the store as Lane glanced over the frozen dinners. He seemed to be the only customer. Probably everyone was at home eating supper. He picked out three dinners and stowed them under one arm, then he meandered to the dairy case.
The bell over the door jangled.
“Hey there, Callie!” Jim’s voice boomed out.
Lane froze.
“Hi, Jim. I need to pick up a gallon of milk and a few other things for Mom before I go home. Be right back.”
Yep, that was Callie’s voice. And she’s headed straight toward me! Lane sneaked over to the aisle of canned vegetables, hoping she wouldn’t see him.
The dairy case door opened.
This is too close. Lane turned, and his elbow bumped a can of green beans. It fell to the floor with a thud.
Callie peered into the vegetable aisle, her magnified eyes widening behind her glasses. “Lane?”
“Oh, uh, hi, Callie.” He picked up the can and placed it on the shelf. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Well, it is a small town.” She glanced at the frozen dinners under his arm. “Are you, um, shopping?”
He shrugged. “Just picking up something to eat tonight.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Well, you know, if you’d like a home-cooked meal, you’re welcome to come over to our house. Mom always has plenty of food. She wouldn’t mind at all if you popped in.”
Just what I need…. “Uh, no thanks. I have some work to do tonight.”
“Are you sure? My mom’s a great cook. One of the best in Fort Lob, in fact.”
He chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better turn you down.” He strode off to the front of the store. “See you later.”
“Lane, wait!”
He stopped and turned toward her.
“I was just wondering… .” She bit her lip. “Are you going anywhere to church tomorrow?”
“Church?” That was right, tomorrow was Sunday. He hadn’t been inside a church since his uncle died. “I don’t know of any churches around here, so—”
“Then I’ll invite you to ours!” She smiled. “We have a great fellowship, and all the folks are real friendly.”
Lane hadn’t noticed any churches in the area. “Where is it located?”
“On Bighorn Avenue, two blocks west of here. Turn south on Bighorn and go about a half mile. It’s
a little white church with a thin steeple. You can’t miss it.”
He nodded, intrigued again with the way her mouth moved when she spoke. “So there’s more to this little town than just the businesses on Main Street?”
Callie huffed out a breath. “Of course! We have three churches, a school—even a jail! Fort Lob is way bigger than it looks.”
Lane grinned. “Don’t get your dander up, Callie. I was just teasing.”
“Oh.” She adjusted her glasses. “Well, anyway, our church service starts at eleven o’clock. Of course, if you want to come to Sunday school at ten, you’re more than welcome. My brother teaches the singles’ class. We have fifteen members right now—every single adult in the congregation.”
Overwhelmed, Lane shook his head. “I’ll just go to church maybe. Thanks for the info.”
“Hope you can make it. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Yeah. See you.” Lane walked to the cash register. Church? He didn’t want to go to church, and he wasn’t about to go just because Callie invited him. He set down the frozen dinners at the checkout.
“Is this it?” Jim ran the first box over the scanner. “We do have a great church. You should come and meet some of the town folks. You’ll enjoy it.”
Lane sighed. He should have known that Jim, with the booming voice, would have good hearing, too. And of course, ironically, he would attend the same church as Callie in this little town.
Jim packed the dinners in a grocery sack. “That’ll be nine dollars and forty-two cents.”
Lane pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed over a ten-dollar bill.
“We have a great preacher.” Jim took the money and opened the cash drawer. “Every Sunday he feeds us with the Word. I’ve learned more under Pastor Reilly’s teaching than any other man of God. A Christian can really grow in our church.” He handed Lane his change. “Hope to see you tomorrow.”
Lane nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He took the bag, and the bell jingled as he left the store.
Crossing Main Street, he mused over Jim’s words. They awakened memories Lane hadn’t thought of in seven years. A sudden longing came over him—a longing to hear a good sermon. A longing to get back in fellowship with God.
I think I’ll go tomorrow. He could sneak in just as the service was starting and sit in the back. No one would even know he was there.
Callie paced in front of the church building, looking down the road. Where was he? She had spent a half hour in prayer last night, specifically praying that Lane would come to church today. Oh, Lord, please make him come. Push him, Lord!
The strains of the organ floated outside, playing the introduction to “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.” The congregation started singing.
A warm summer breeze blew a strand of hair across her glasses. She brushed it away then smoothed her skirt down with both hands, hoping the wind wouldn’t pick it up.
A motorcycle rumbled down the street toward her.
Callie shrank against the building. She didn’t like motorcyclists and didn’t want this one to see her. She had known a few boys in college who roared through the streets of Laramie on their cycles. They seemed to have a penchant for black leather jackets and earrings.
The motorcycle slowed. The driver wasn’t wearing a helmet.
Callie’s mouth dropped open. Lane?
He pulled into the parking lot across from the church. He wasn’t wearing a black leather jacket and earrings; he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tie.
He looked good.
The congregation was on the third verse as Lane approached the church. He ascended the stairs and stopped short when he saw Callie.
She stepped forward. “Good morning, Lane.”
“Callie.” He hesitated, a question in his brown eyes. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here. Thought I’d just sneak in the back.”
“I was waiting for you, and I’m glad you came.” She looked down, suddenly feeling like a love-struck girl in junior high. But it was too late to backtrack. “Would you like to sit with me?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Lead the way.”
She opened the door. The congregation was standing, sustaining the last note. She led Lane down the side aisle.
Halfway down, the song leader seated the congregation. The air rustled as they took their seats. Callie saw her parents in the middle of the fourth pew from the front. She slid into place next to Mom. Lane settled beside her.
Lane glanced around, feeling conspicuous. Callie would have to sit way up here in the front. The auditorium was crowded, but it was a small room. He estimated there couldn’t be more than seventy people in attendance.
A man with stooped shoulders welcomed the crowd. He looked fragile, probably in his sixties, but he had a strong voice.
Callie leaned toward Lane and whispered, “That’s Pastor Reilly.”
She looked back at the pastor, and Lane took a moment to study her. From this angle, he could see her eyes in profile behind her glasses. They looked like pretty eyes, and her lashes were long. He wished he could see what she looked like without those awful spectacles.
“And I see we have a visitor.” Pastor Reilly looked straight at Lane. “Introduce yourself, young man!”
Startled, Lane glanced around. Was he the only visitor?
“Stand up!” Callie whispered.
He stood, restraining the desire to straighten his tie, and looked at the sea of expectant faces. “I’m Lane Hutchins.”
“Lane Hutchins,” the pastor repeated. “Where are you from?”
“I just moved here from Gridley, Illinois.”
“Ah, Illinois! I’m from the Chicago area myself.”
Lane nodded and sat down. Fortunately, after a few comments about Chicago, Pastor Reilly moved on to the announcements.
“Illinois?” Callie whispered. She gazed up at him, but as the light reflected off her glasses, he couldn’t see her eyes.
He gave her a nod. What am I doing here? He wished he had stayed in his apartment. The town of Fort Lob was too tiny for his venture; the people were too nosy. Perhaps he should move to a larger town in Wyoming. Either Pinedale or Lusk, each with a population of fourteen hundred or so, would be better suited for his purposes.
While he was musing, the ushers came forward to collect the offering. As they passed the plates down each row, piano music began—a rendition of “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”
Lane glanced at the piano player and drew in a sharp breath. What a beautiful girl!
With dark hair that was fashionably messy, the girl looked to be in her early twenties. She had an oval face with perfect skin and full lips.
She played with passion, concentrating on the music, weaving about on the piano bench. One moment she leaned into the piano, her eyes never leaving the music. The next moment she leaned away, her eyes still glued to the notes. After striking a chord, she would lift her left hand—with manicured red nails—in the air and crash it back down, amazingly, on the right keys. Despite all her theatrics and the fact that the music sounded difficult, she played the piece to perfection.
At the end, the audience gave her an enthusiastic round of applause. Lane joined in.
The girl smiled and nodded at the audience. Her beautiful dark-blue eyes glanced around and then stopped at Lane’s. She locked her gaze with his until he looked away.
As the pastor came back to the podium, Lane leaned over to whisper to Callie. “That piano player’s really good.”
Callie stared straight ahead. “That’s my sister, Tonya.”
After the service, Callie introduced Lane to Mom and Dad, and Mom invited him over for lunch. For the next twenty minutes, the church people surrounded him, introducing themselves. He shook hands with them, one by one, until his smile began to falter. Callie felt sorry for him.
“Come on, Lane.” She pulled him away from old Edna Beazer. That woman would be talking nonstop on her deathbed. “We’ll see you later, Edna. Mom invited Lane over f
or dinner, so we’d better get going.”
“Well, my goodness!” The older woman stopped to suck in her dentures. “I was going to invite him myself, but I know your mother is a good cook. She always brings something wonderful to our church potlucks.”
Callie nodded, wiping a drop of Mrs. Beazer’s spit from her arm. “Maybe some other time.” She pulled Lane toward the door.
The church building was empty, and most of the cars had left. But several people were still talking in the parking lot, including Callie’s brother, Derek.
She walked down the steps with Lane. “I noticed you were riding a motorcycle.”
The church door slammed shut behind them. “Callie! Wait for me!”
Oh no! Callie pivoted at her sister’s voice.
Tonya, in her tight knee-length skirt, gracefully descended the stairs. She looked at Lane. “Hi there! I didn’t get to meet you earlier. I had to attend a meeting after the service.”
Lane smiled and stuck out his hand. “Lane Hutchins.”
Callie sighed. He looked entirely too interested.
“I’m Tonya Brandt.” She shook his hand, moving closer to him. “I’ve heard all about you, Lane. You just can’t keep a secret in a small town like Fort Lob.” She twittered her signature laugh—the one she used for impressing guys.
He grinned. “Great to meet you, Tonya.”
Callie noticed they were still shaking hands.
Lane continued. “I enjoyed your piano playing. Not many people can play that well. It sounded like a difficult piece.”
“Thank you so much!” Tonya finally released his hand. “I love playing the piano for our church services. It’s such a joy.”
Such a joy? Callie wanted to throw up. Instead she jumped into the conversation. “We’d better get going. Mom invited Lane for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Tonya batted her thick, dark lashes. “Why don’t I ride over with you, Lane?”
“Well …” He glanced down at her skirt.
“He has a motorcycle.” Callie turned to Lane. “You can follow our pickup truck. We’re riding home with Derek—our brother.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
Tonya pouted. “Oh, I wish I could ride over with you. We live seven miles east of Fort Lob on Antelope Road. My dad’s a sheep rancher.”
Tumbleweed Weddings Page 3
