“Do I have everyone’s card?” Derek’s eyes circled the seventeen chairs. “Now here’s the reason I’m collecting this information. Our class has been studying Christian charity and friendship during the past two months, and for the next six weeks, from Christmas until Valentine’s Day, we’re going to show some of that friendship by doing something totally different.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone is going to get a secret pal.”
“Secret pal?” several voices asked in unison, followed by moans—mainly in the bass timbre—and an outbreak of conversation.
A little thrill shot through Tonya at Derek’s great idea. She looked around. Why all the complaining? She loved secrets, and what could be more fun than secret pals? Smoothing her red skirt, she crossed her legs, letting her black stiletto-heeled boot swing back and forth. She looked at her brother, thankful that once he made up his mind, he usually didn’t change it.
Derek held up his hand. “Yes, we’re going to do this. Sometimes single people get lonely and need encouragement, especially over the holidays. That’s where Christian charity comes in.”
“But I don’t get it.” Corey Henning folded his arms across his lanky torso. “Are we supposed to send flowers to the other person or something?”
“Yeah.” Matthew Werth slid down an inch in his seat. “What do we have to do?”
Derek straightened his tie. “Send that person a card in the mail to encourage him or her. Pray for that person every day, and let them know you’re praying. You could even send a gift, or several gifts, if you want.”
Corey smirked. “What if we don’t want?”
Tonya glared at him. “Don’t be a party pooper, Corey. It’s only for six weeks.”
She hoped she didn’t get Corey or Matthew as a secret pal. She had dated each of them one time, and once was enough. All Corey wanted to do was kiss her, and Matthew had barely said a word.
On the other hand … Tonya glanced across the room at Reed Dickens—the hottest guy in the Single Servings, and she had never dated him. Of course, he had only been attending their church a few weeks. He worked at the county hospital in Lusk and, she wasn’t sure, but he might be a doctor.
“All right.” Derek lifted his hand to stop the undercurrent of chitchat. “Let’s try it out and see what happens. This week I’ll select—at random—a secret pal for everyone. I’ll give these cards back next week, and remember to keep that person’s name to yourself. As a secret pal, you need to encourage and pray for your, uh, person.” He grinned. “I’m not sure what the recipient of a secret pal is called.”
“How about your chosen one?” Horace called out.
Tonya rolled her eyes. She sure hoped she didn’t get Horace. Of course, some unfortunate person would get the fifty-year-old bachelor.
“I don’t know, Horace.” Derek scratched his clean-shaven chin. “In this case, you’re not choosing the other person. And remember, if you happen to get someone of the opposite gender, there’s nothing romantic about being secret pals. We’re doing this as friends.” He looked at Tonya as if he wanted to make sure she got the point.
She did not appreciate her brother’s unspoken message.
“What about a receiver?” Wearing a suit and tie, Reed Dickens looked like a model in a men’s fashion magazine.
Derek raised his eyebrows. “A receiver?”
“Like a football receiver.” Reed pantomimed catching a football. With those broad shoulders filling out his suit, he was definitely football-player material. “The person is on the receiving end of the encouragement or gifts of the secret pal, so he or she would be called a receiver.” He looked around, his green eyes stopping at Tonya.
She smiled at him. What a gorgeous guy!
Cheyenne Wilkins, sitting three seats from Tonya, raised her hand. “Derek, the recipient is called a secret pal also.”
“But that doesn’t make sense.” Reed frowned. “I think the recipient should be called a receiver.”
Derek shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, but for the sake of being clear, maybe we should take Reed’s suggestion. All in favor?” He waited while a few heads bobbed. “So you’ll all be secret pals and receivers.” He wrote something down. “Don’t forget about our Christmas party on the twenty-third. Everyone needs to come. For the gift exchange, each receiver will get a present from his or her secret pal. So don’t put your name on your gift.”
A murmur of conversation broke out. Tonya glanced from Reed to Murray Twichell, who was also wearing a suit and tie. He looked at her with his close-set eyes and smiled, showing his straight white teeth.
Returning a faint smile, she looked away. His haircut made him look better than usual, if she must say so herself. But seeing Murray reminded her of his childhood pranks.
Forgive and forget. She sighed. I’m trying, Lord!
While Derek answered a few more questions, Tonya glanced over her crimson-red fingernail polish and noticed a bump on her left thumb. She drew in a quick breath. A wart? How had she missed that? She would have to make a quick trip to the dermatologist tomorrow.
The Sunday school bell rang, signaling an end to class. As soon as Derek closed in prayer, Tonya stood, determined to talk to Reed.
Cheyenne touched her arm. “Hey, girlfriend! What do you think about the secret pal thing?”
“Oh, I love it!” Tonya looked up into Cheyenne’s clear blue eyes. “I can’t believe Derek got an idea like that, can you?”
“It wasn’t his idea.” Cheyenne grinned as she smoothed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Callie and I came up with it a couple months ago. I thought he’d completely forgotten about it.”
“Evidently you girls made an impression.” Tonya leaned toward Cheyenne. “I’m sure that makes you happy.”
Cheyenne had been in love with Derek since high school. Almost six feet tall, she looked good standing beside Derek, who was six-three. Of course, he had never noticed girls. He was more interested in working on the ranch than going out on a date.
“Well …” Cheyenne lowered her voice. “I wouldn’t mind being his secret pal.”
Tonya giggled. “I’m going to be the best secret pal ever. My receiver guy is going to be the happiest man in the world.”
“How do you know it’s going to be a guy?”
“Well, I don’t, but I’m praying for a certain person.” Tonya glanced at Reed. He was deep in conversation with Laurie Smullens, and they were standing awfully close. No! She couldn’t lose Reed before she even had him. “Excuse me, Cheyenne. I need to talk to someone.”
Tonya strode toward Reed like a well-thrown football but was intercepted by Murray Twichell. His aftershave tackled her senses, and she sneezed.
Murray took a step back. “Gesundheit.”
“Murray!” Tonya’s eyes flashed as she sniffed. “You really shouldn’t wear such strong aftershave. It’s overpowering.”
He clenched his jaw. “Sorry. Just wanted to thank you for the great haircut.” He’d actually gotten a few compliments, and that had never happened before.
“You’re welcome.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows formed a V in the middle of her forehead. She stepped to the side of him. “Now if you’ll excuse me …”
“Don’t mean to keep you, Tonya.” He gazed into her beautiful dark-blue eyes, which were level with his own. Too bad she had such a prickly personality. “I know what an important job you have—playing the piano for the morning church service.”
“It is important.” Her eyes flashed again—like dark lightning.
“I suppose you’re right.” He felt the tension between them and couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “No one else can play the piano like you.”
She planted her hands on her thin hips. “Mrs. Langston is out of town, so we won’t have an organist today.”
“Ah!” Tilting back his head, he studied her. “So it’s just you in all your glory.”
She turned her back on him. “Later, Murray.”
He watched her stri
de out of the now-empty room. She sure had a good figure. Amazing how he had never noticed before. Of course he had always wanted to marry Callie, but now that she was married to someone else, Murray was beginning to view Tonya as more than Callie’s younger sister. And he liked the view.
As he exited the Sunday school room, a scrap of scripture popped into his mind. “Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” Tonya’s outward appearance was fantastic, but did anyone know the real Tonya? For some reason she brought out the worst in him, and he seemed to bring out the worst in her, too. He wondered what she was really like—in her heart.
It would be intriguing to find out.
Tonya’s fingers swept over the piano keys as the parishioners entered the sanctuary. A low buzz of conversation accompanied her playing of “Nothing but the Blood of Jesus.” Keeping one eye on her music, she glanced out at the audience every few measures.
Her eyes paused at Reed Dickens. His brown hair was cut perfectly, and Tonya wondered who had styled it. He must have gone somewhere besides Clint’s Barbershop. He sat on the back pew—next to Laurie Smullens. Tonya pressed her lips together, determined that Dickens-Smullens would not be a couple for long. Not if I can help it!
“No other fount I know …” The wavery soprano voice with the slow vibrato could only belong to old Edna Beazer. Her singing got louder as she walked to her spot on the second pew.
Tonya took a deep breath, trying to quell her irritation. Mrs. Beazer used to have a good singing voice, but it had taken a dive with her increasing age. Every Sunday as Tonya played the prelude, however, Mrs. Beazer sang along, loud enough for the entire church to hear. Amazing that her dentures don’t fall out.
Pastor Reilly strode to the piano, his wrinkled face pale. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Tonya, we have a problem.”
Since she couldn’t talk and play at the same time, her fingers stopped. Self-consciously she covered her left thumb with her right hand. She would have to hide that wart until she got rid of it.
She looked up at the pastor’s concerned face. “What’s wrong?”
“Wayne Holland’s wife just called. He’s really sick and won’t make it. Who can I get to lead the singing?”
“I have no idea.” Few of the church members were musical, and Pastor Reilly was completely tone-deaf. She hoped he wouldn’t have to lead the singing.
The pastor twisted the lapel on his suit coat. “I’ll find someone.” He dropped his voice. “I have to—we have a visitor this morning.”
Tonya watched him walk down the aisle of the crowded auditorium. She switched to another hymn, hoping Mrs. Beazer wouldn’t know this one. Before she started verse two, the pastor came back.
“Okay, we’re all set.” He rubbed his hands together, seemingly more relaxed. “Do you have a list of hymns for the song leader, Tonya?”
Again she stopped playing. “Who’s leading the—”
“So what are we singing?”
Not again. Tonya would recognize that baritone voice anywhere—and the aftershave fragrance that accompanied it. She had to admit that Murray knew music. Every few months he sang a solo in church. Secretly she had always loved his singing voice—and that was the only thing she loved about him.
She handed him a service schedule. “Just follow this.”
He cracked his knuckles before he took the paper. “Oh, these hymns are easy.”
Tonya sighed. Murray needed a lesson in humility.
Five minutes later, he stood behind the pulpit and welcomed everyone to the service.
“Let’s all turn to number 496 in your hymnbooks. Number 496.” He smiled, exuding confidence. “ ‘Victory in Jesus.’ ”
From his chair on the platform, Pastor Reilly leaned forward. “Have the congregation stand, Murray.”
“Oh.” Murray flashed another smile. “Let’s all stand, please.”
The audience rustled to their feet as Tonya played a rousing introduction, clipping along at a fast tempo. She ended the intro with a bouncing run up the keys.
Murray looked at her as if he wasn’t sure she was finished. She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
“Okay.” He lifted his right hand. “All together now on verse one.” He waved his hand as he began singing.
Tonya took off at a brisk pace, but by the third measure Murray lagged behind. The people followed him. She slowed down her playing and then—fuming—slowed down some more until the music dragged at a slow tempo.
Only Murray could turn “Victory in Jesus” into a funeral dirge.
At the chorus, she gritted her teeth and sped up the pace, hitting the keys as hard as she could. A few voices in the crowd followed her, while the rest stayed with Murray.
At the end of the first chorus, he stopped the music. “Let’s all stay together.” He looked pointedly at Tonya. “A little slower on the tempo.”
She expelled a hot breath. How slow did they have to go? She played the second verse at a quicker pace than she usually did. Murray glanced at her a few times and she mouthed, “Faster!” At the end of the second chorus, he seated the audience.
What? He wasn’t going to sing the third verse?
Murray took a seat on the platform. He set his hymnbook on the little table beside his chair, then looked toward the piano. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. Now she knew what that phrase if looks could kill meant.
“Would you set the table, Tonya?” Mom opened the oven, and the delicious smell of roast beef wafted out.
Tonya knew exactly what she would look like when she was fifty-five years old. Yvette Brandt was still beautiful with her dark-blue eyes, perfect facial features, and dark hair, and Tonya looked just like her mother.
Mom straightened up. “We’ll have five for Sunday dinner.”
“Five? Who’s the fifth person?” Since Callie had married Lane Hutchins more than a week ago, the family only included Mom and Dad, Derek, and herself.
Tiny crow’s-feet edged her mother’s eyes as she smiled. “I invited Murray to eat with us.”
“Mom! Did you have to invite him?”
Her mother raised her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with Murray?”
Tonya opened the silverware drawer more forcefully than necessary. “I’ve seen an awful lot of him this weekend.” Awful being the key word.
“Now don’t blame Murray for your speeding ticket.” Mom took the roast out of the oven. “Actually, I feel sorry for him. With his father dead and his mom in a nursing home, he’s really all alone in the world. He has a lot of responsibility for a young person.”
“He’s twenty-six. That’s not so young.”
“Yes it is, Tonya.” Mom took the meat platter from the cupboard. “It’s too bad he doesn’t have any siblings. He must be lonely, living in his parents’ house all by himself.” She speared the meat and lifted it from the pan. “Some of the women at church are taking turns inviting him for dinner when he’s not working on Sunday. Today it’s our turn.”
Tonya selected five forks from the silverware drawer. How could she argue with Christian charity?
Murray glanced around the large oval dining room table. Jake Brandt, as patriarch of the family, sat at the head with Tonya and Derek seated on his right. On the left, Murray sat beside Mrs. Brandt—Yvette. She insisted he use her first name, but habits were hard to break. He enjoyed eating with other church families, but his favorite place was right here, at the Brandts’ table. Passing the food around, he half listened as Jake told about the rare visitor at church that morning.
“He lives up in Canada—Saskatchewan, just over the border from Montana.” Jake took a helping of mashed potatoes and passed the dish to Murray. “I invited him for dinner, but he’s driving down to Denver this afternoon.”
As the conversation flowed around him, Murray took a spoonful of potatoes from the dish and passed it on to Yvette. He was content to eat and listen—and reminisce.
He sat in this very spot
one summer as a ten-year-old boy. Callie, who was also ten, sat across the table beside Derek, a year younger. Their twin sisters, Molly and Melissa—whom he could never tell apart—must have been around thirteen, and joined them at the table for warm cookies and milk.
And then there was Tonya, who turned seven years old that July. Her sisters called her baby sis, and she was still the spoiled baby of the family.
Murray took a bite of potatoes, glancing up at Tonya as she elaborated about the secret pal idea.
“So I wrote on the card that I was interested in old movies and classical music and that I like the colors blue and purple.” She thought for a moment. “I should have put down that I love poetry, too, and also cooking and sewing but—oh well.” She raised one shoulder in a slight shrug. “So some guy—or girl—will send me gifts and encouragement, and even pray for me, but that person will remain a secret for six weeks. Isn’t that a great idea? I just love surprises.”
Murray stopped chewing. It’s all about her.
Tonya’s dark eyes glowed. “I already have some thoughts on what I’m going to do for my secret pal.” She turned to her brother. “I’m surprised you thought up that idea, Derek.”
He shrugged. “I had a little help.”
Tonya giggled. “I know. Cheyenne told me.”
Murray popped a piece of roast beef in his mouth. As Tonya continued to dominate the conversation, he thought back to the way she had dominated the song service that morning. Instead of following his lead, Tonya insisted on having her own way, playing the tempo way too fast. It shouldn’t be surprising that she’d break the speed limit and then try to argue her way out of a ticket.
He took another bite of meat, savoring the flavor. He had always wanted to belong to this family. Maybe that was why he wanted to marry Callie. But Tonya was the only girl left, so he’d never belong to the Brandt family now. No way would he marry Tonya, no matter how beautiful her face was.
Tumbleweed Weddings Page 17
