Texas Whirlwind

by Bonnie Blythe

  "Still worried about the twins?" Travis asked, leaning forward.

  She tried not to notice his deep brown eyes and sweet smile. "Um, yes. I mean, I'm not worried, I just feel weird about being separated from them." She laced her fingers together on the tabletop. "I'm kind of surprised that they didn't freak out when I left. Since coming to Galveston, we've never been apart."

  "It's a credit to your mothering that they're so obviously secure."

  Emma felt her cheeks heat. "Or maybe they don't really care who's with them."

  "You don't really believe that, do you?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know what to believe. I guess I worry that I might not be doing something right."

  He smiled. "Something I'm sure all parents experience. You love the girls, and you're doing your best. God can help with the rest. That's the most anyone can hope for."

  Emma wondered if his profession made him so confident. Surely he'd seen less than ideal parents during his practice. She decided not to ask, not wanting to take the conversation to parenting horror stories. “Tell me what made you decide to go into medicine. I seem to remember you wanting to be a rancher.”

  He grinned. “Not much future in that here in town. In the first couple of years in college, I switched majors several times.”

  “At least you finished something. I just kind of drifted from one thing to another.”

  “Not surprising considering your vagabond lifestyle.”

  Emma laughed softly. “It was vagabond. My parents could never figure out why I wasn’t thrilled every time we had to move. They looked on it as an adventure. I looked on it as another goodbye to the few friends I’d managed to make.”

  “And I remember wishing I could travel, thinking that Galveston was boring—” Travis leaned close, “until I met you.”

  She tried to brush off the deeper meaning of the comment. “You were my first friend here.”

  “We quickly became more than friends.”

  His low voice played havoc with her heart. It wasn’t fair for him to remind of her what turned out to be such a painful period in her life. “It was a long time ago,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel.

  “And yet it feels like fourteen years never happened.”

  “But they did.”

  Travis leaned back and surveyed her from under heavy lids. “But they did.”

  Emma detected disappointment in his gaze. What does he expect? For me to jump into his arms, with both of us on the rebound from other relationships? It would be just another disaster—I’ve had enough of those already.

  Travis suddenly smiled and began telling her about the people he worked with. Emma sensed he was making a monumental effort to change the direction of the date. She was both relieved and sad. Marshalling herself, she made her best attempt to respond in a like manner. After a while, their camaraderie no longer felt forced.

  The food was great, and Travis kept up a steady stream of funny stories from his experiences at the clinic. While watching him talk, Emma suddenly thought about Lucy. What was she doing right now? Would they have gone out on a date if not for her? The thought troubled her, dampening some of her growing pleasure in the evening.

  After dinner, Emma called Charlotte to check on the girls. The older woman sounded almost injured, telling her in a curt voice that the twins were just fine.

  Travis put his arm around her. His warm gaze telegraphed that he understood her qualms. Emma was glad he didn't tease her or make her feel like a fool. She smiled at him with a rush of affection. What would it be like to have him around all the time, bolstering her confidence, supporting her efforts?

  Don’t go there.

  Emma eased out from under his arm. She didn't need a husband or a helper. She was a single mother by choice, at least in her decision to adopt the girls. She'd known she was heading into the wind when she started the process. Pining for a helper, even one as sweet and handsome as Travis Taylor, was a waste of emotional energy.

  Emma bit her lip. So how am I ever going to make it through this night?

  9

  The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer.

  —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  When they were back in the truck, Travis turned to Emma. “I hope you enjoy this next place as much as I do. Every Saturday night, old timey musicians get together and have a jam session. It’s not a performance per se, but the music can’t be beat.”

  Emma smiled and hoped she looked interested. She liked music, of course, but it was the company that sent up a maelstrom within her.

  Dusk blanketed the town and the first stars winked in the dark blue sky. Travis drove across the causeway connecting Galveston to Houston. She watched the passing watery scenery, noticing the way the lights shimmered on the bay. The deepening darkness lent a sense of intimacy in the confines of the cab. She wished her pulse would calm down.

  In an old neighborhood on the outskirts of Houston, Travis pulled into a gravel drive along side what appeared to be an aged clapboard schoolhouse nestled in a grove of oak trees. Colored lights hung between the trees and along the trim of the building. Dozens of vehicles, mostly dusty pickup trucks, crowded a clearing. Travis parked beside a battered Cadillac Seville.

  When he helped her from the passenger side, Emma heard strains of fiddle music wafting from the building. They walked to a doorway where light and music spilled out into the night air. Travis put his hand at her back and nudged her inside.

  She looked around the old schoolhouse with delight. A black pot-bellied wood stove crouched in one corner and a huge handmade quilt hung on the wall at the front of the room. Wooden pews lined the walls, filled with older ladies knitting, visiting, or nodding off to sleep.

  In the center of the room, twenty or so people sat on folding chairs arranged in a circle playing what Travis had called old timey music, consisting of a mixture of banjos, mandolins, lots of fiddles, guitars, and even a stand up bass. The faint smell of dry rot and coffee mingled with the heavy summer air seeping in from openings at the top of long windows.

  Travis found a couple of empty chairs in the section for spectators near the rear, behind several rows people who looked liked they’d been blown in from all four winds. Children threaded through the rows, congregating at a refreshment table replete with homemade cookies, lemonade, and a huge industrial coffeepot. A little sign requested donations be put in a dented coffee can.

  Travis leaned close. “You wouldn’t necessarily know it by looking, but several of these musicians are well known. Many of the ones who aren’t are just as good. I like it because they come for the love of music, not a performance.”

  Emma watched him while he spoke, admiring the way his enthusiasm lit up his expressive features. When he rested his arm on the back of her chair, she forced herself to relax and listen to the music.

  A man with black thick-framed glasses played his banjo with frenetic skill next to a woman who plucked on a mandolin. A fiddler with a fluffy white beard leaned back in his chair and sawed away with his eyes closed. A man with a guitar tapped his foot on the bare wooden floor and sang in a twangy voice that accented the music.

  Emma understood why Travis enjoyed coming here. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. After a fast song she didn’t recognize, another musician began a slow song that spoke of love and yearning. Next, they played a Virginia Reel. She was amazed that the musicians started in on each new song, apparently from memory, without missing a beat.

  As one song blended into the next, she leaned back against Travis’s arm, aware of the warmth from the contact. The plaintive tunes made her feel sentimental, even a little wistful. How simple life would be if it were like a song. Boy and girl fall in love, and either end up together or break up. Nice and clean, and lasting only about three minutes. A smile quirked the corners of her mouth. She looked up to find Travis regarding her.

  “What are you smiling about?” he whispered.

  Emma shook her head, not want
ing to talk and spoil the moment. He seemed to understand. Instead, he took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. She held her breath when he didn’t release it, and couldn’t quite bring herself to pull away.

  The next set of songs had a romantic flavor that as Travis would say got her whipped up in a lather. Emma sent a sidelong glance at him, wondering if this was his ploy. He watched the musicians, humming under his breath and occasionally tapping his foot to the beat. During a classic number that spoke of lost love and regret, she saw a couple sitting near the side of the room get up and begin a slow waltz. A few others followed suit, as space allowed. Most were content to listen, smiling at the dancing couples. Travis tugged her hand, sending her a beseeching gaze.

  Her eyes widened at his implication. “No way,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I don’t dance.”

  Besides, the music was causing mayhem with her emotions, making her want to forget her earlier admonitions to keep things platonic.

  “Emma, you have to dance this one with me.”

  She tilted her head to listen—and widened her eyes as the words beckoned her, coaxing long-buried memories to the surface.

  “From the prom,” Travis said. “You remember, don’t you?”

  He stood, drawing her up alongside. In a pocket of space by their chairs, Travis pulled her close and began a short box step. Emma bit her lip, avoiding his gaze, and concentrated on not bumping into anyone. What were the odds they’d play this song? Had Travis prearranged it? Maybe that was an arrogant thought. At any rate, she couldn’t think clearly while pressed up against him in front of so many indulgent gazes.

  As if sensing her embarrassment, he slowly waltzed her in the direction of the door and outside. She took a deep breath as the night air hit her cheeks. Travis took her hand and pulled into the shadow of an oak tree.

  “Can you still hear it?” he whispered.

  Somehow she did, despite her thundering heart. The warm air picked up the tune and sent it in lazy waves around her brain.

  The lovers’ wind tempts and teases

  whispered words ride on the breezes

  wending ways to the longing ear

  tender hearts drawing near

  love so sweet, yearning eases

  When he put his arms around her to resume dancing, she didn’t resist. The past pulled too strongly, taking her back fourteen years to the prom when Travis told her he loved her, and had kissed her under the moonlight. She blinked and took a dizzy look at her surroundings. No moon tonight, just old, paint-chipped Christmas lights glowing in the darkness. Travis was no longer a stammering, unsure high school boy, but a confident man who appeared to have a repeat performance of that night in mind.

  And I’m no longer a girl full of hopes and dreams, but a woman tempered by pain and heartbreak.

  His hands tightened at her waist. Emma made a desperate attempt at reason and logic, but her grappling mind found nothing to hang onto. Travis’s head blotted out the lacy shadows of the trees behind him. She gripped his shoulders in a feeble effort to hold herself up.

  The moment his lips brushed across hers, she knew she’d made a mistake. His kiss, and the sweet lament of the fiddle music, seared her heart and mind. At the small of her back, his hands pressed her closer. Emma wound her arms around his neck, returning his searching kisses measure for measure, bound to the moment by a force stronger than herself. For a heartbeat, she was the seventeen-year-old, secure in the love of her beau, anchored by whispered promises.

  Travis feathered kisses from her lips, across her cheek, and up to her temple. He held her close, swaying slightly to the music. Emma slid her hands down to rest on his chest. She felt his pounding heartbeat beneath her fingertips. When she chanced a look at him, she saw the colored lights reflected in his dark gaze. The music changed from the ballad to a quick-tempo Scottish reel. She blinked as if coming awake from a dream.

  “Emma—”

  She looked away and pulled back, terrified of what he might say. “Please don’t.”

  He regarded her with a gentle expression. “Don’t what?”

  Good question. Did she imagine he would declare love for her on a first date after a fourteen-year absence? Heat swept into her face at her presumption. “I, um, just think this is going too fast.”

  Travis reached up and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Really? As for me, if I felt any better, I’d drop my harp plumb through the cloud.”

  Before she had a chance to answer, he bent his head and kissed her again. Emma responded for a moment, helpless against his honeyed onslaught. A burst of laughter from inside the building pierced the fog of her longing.

  She pushed lightly against his chest, panic eclipsing the need for his embrace. “Maybe we should go.”

  A car turned into the driveway. Its headlights illuminated them before swinging away as it parked.

  The light extinguished from Travis’s eyes as he stepped away. Emma followed him to his truck in silence. During the drive back to her house, she peeked at his expression, trying to discern his emotions in the soft glow from the dashboard lights. She felt as if she'd failed him somehow. As if she'd failed herself. Emma rubbed her ring finger, suddenly needing to escape the close proximity of the man next to her.

  When they parked at the beach house, she didn't wait for Travis to help her out. She slid from the truck and headed up the stairs, aware of his presence just behind her. Using her key to unlock the door, Emma entered the house, squinting at the bright light. Travis came in and stood at her side.

  Charlotte looked up from an afghan she was crocheting. Her brows inched up her forehead. “It's a little early, isn't it?”

  “What time is it?” Emma asked.

  Charlotte gave an unladylike snort. “Barely ten.” She shot a meaningful glance to Travis. “You're losing your touch, Sonny.”

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Evans, for being available to baby-sit.”

  She gave him a look that could wither fruit on the vine. Rosemary appeared from the hallway.

  “Oh! I didn't expect you two back so soon. I just checked on the girls. They're sleeping.”

  Emma angled a glance at Travis before going to the bedroom to check on them. Kendra and Katrina lay snuggled together in a tangle of arms and legs. She tiptoed over and gave each a light kiss. Her eyes grew hot, blurring her vision. She blinked away the tears. The girls were the only thing in her life that was real. Solid. For sure. Everything else seemed like leaves scattering in the wind.

  Swallowing, she returned to the living room. Charlotte stared at her until Emma worried that the older woman could discern all her secrets. “Did the girls give you a hard time?”

  The older woman shook her head. “They were absolute angels. It was a real pleasure. Makes me realize I don't see my own grandbabies enough. That's the trouble with young people these days—always leaving their hometowns. Forces an elderly woman to baby-sit other people's children. Ridiculous.” She waved at Travis with a crochet needle. “You're about the only one left from the neighborhood. You'd better not be leaving, too.”

  Travis smiled. “No, Ma'am. That is unless the Lord wills it. Then I reckon I’d better listen.”

  She nodded. “Your momma taught you well. You'll make a good daddy some day.”

  He said a strangled thank you, sending Emma a pleading look.

  “Thank you, ladies, for looking after the girls tonight. I really appreciate it.” She smiled, half wishing them gone, half hoping they'd stay to delay what was sure to come.

  Charlotte eased up to her feet, tucking her afghan into a tote bag. Rosemary gathered her purse and a backpack filled with toys and books, her curious gaze darting back and forth as if trying to determine the undercurrents in the room.

  Travis escorted them down to their car. Emma stood by the picture window, watching him as he waved while they drove away. When their taillights glowed red in the distance, he turned and glanced up at the house, catching her eye.

 
Emma moved away from the window. Breathless, she began to tidy the room. She heard his footsteps as he climbed the porch stairs, felt the vibration of his movements as he walked across the carpet toward her. She wasn't ready for any kind of conversation.

  “Emma.”

  She felt his hand on her arm. Emma turned and faced him, taking a deep breath, forcing her gaze away from his lips.

  She looked at the wall. “Thank you Travis, for a wonderful evening.”

  He stepped closer, tilting her chin with his thumb, forcing her to look at him in the eye. “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

  Emma licked her lips, deciding she'd let him speak first. Anything she'd say would come out garbled anyway.

  “Why are you fighting me?” He kept his hand on her chin, and the warmth of his fingers made it hard to think.

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed and dropped his hand. “Emma honey, as far as I'm concerned, you're back in my life for a reason; a reason I'd like to explore. But sometimes I'm getting the feeling you don't want me around.”

  She clasped her hands together, trying to form her thoughts into a cohesive order. “Travis, your friendship means the world to me.” She looked up at him, into his soulful brown eyes. “I guess I'm just not ready for anything more than that.”

  “Your kisses tonight told a different tale.”

  “That's not fair,” she said hoarsely.

  His gaze challenged her. Emma hated the feeling of being cornered. “I only came back to Galveston because my parents had an empty rental here. I never imagined you might still be in town.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Yes, you are.” She sighed, praying for guidance. “And you've already been such a help to me. I can't thank you enough—”

  “But?”

  “But, I'm fresh off a broken engagement. And you aren't with Lucy anymore. I feel guilty about that.”

  “Don't.”

  Emma firmed her lips against a rising tide of emotion. “Please understand it’s nothing personal. Right now, all I want is to make a life for myself and my daughters. It's a big enough undertaking without adding...complications.”