Love Finds a Way

by Wanda E. Brunstetter

  Hanging up her own coat, Wendy let out a pathetic groan. “Sorry, Clyde, but I’m afraid I’m not in much of a laughing mood today. Things got a little confusing at home during lunch, and I ended up staying longer than usual.”

  “Everything okay with your dad?”

  Wendy nodded. “Besides his arthritis, the only thing wrong with Dad is a very bad case of meddleitis.”

  Clyde’s bushy white eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged. “Never mind. You probably wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  “Try me,” Clyde said as he took a seat in Wendy’s chair and leaned his head back in readiness for a shave.

  Wendy drew in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “For some reason, Dad thinks I need a man, and he’s been making 911 calls in order to play matchmaker.” She grabbed a handful of shaving cream and was about to apply it to Clyde’s face when he stopped her.

  “Whoa, hold on just a minute, little lady. I wholeheartedly agree with the part about your needin’ a man, but what’s all this about Wayne calling 911?”

  Wendy bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Wincing, she replied, “In the past two weeks, he’s called the Grangely Fire and Rescue Department three times, and they were all false alarms.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, maybe his arthritis is gettin’ the best of him, and he just can’t cut the mustard no more,” Clyde defended.

  Wendy shook her head, patting the shaving foam into place on the old man’s weathered cheeks. “They were planned false alarms, believe me.”

  Clyde squinted. “Even if they were, what’s that got to do with Wayne becomin’ a matchmaker?”

  “He’s trying to pair me up with one of the paramedics who’s been responding to his fake calls,” Wendy replied. “It took awhile to learn the truth, but now that I know just what Dad’s little game is, I’ve got a few games up my own sleeve.” She shot him a playful wink. “We’ll just see who wins this war.”

  “I thought you said it was a game,” Clyde mentioned as she dropped a hot towel over his face.

  “It is,” she said with a wry grin. “A war game!”

  CHAPTER 6

  Wendy lifted her weary head from the small desk where she sat. “When will the pain go away, Lord? Please make it go away.” A nagging headache had been plaguing her for hours. She was grateful her workday had finally come to an end. Her last customer, a teenager named Randy, had nearly driven her to distraction. The pimple-faced juvenile had asked for a special designer haircut with the initials PHS for Plumers High School cut and shaped into the back of his nearly shaven head. This took extra time of course, which meant she wasn’t able to leave the shop until five thirty.

  Grabbing her coat and umbrella, Wendy stepped outside. It was snowing hard. A biting wind whipped around her neck, chilling her to the bone. Caught in the current, the umbrella nearly turned inside out. With an exasperated moan, she snapped it shut. “Can anything else go wrong today?”

  Wendy shivered and tromped up the snowy sidewalk toward home. Today had been such an emotional drain. First, Kyle Rogers coming in for a shave and a haircut, which had evoked all sorts of feelings she’d rather not think about. Then another 911 scare, followed by her father’s admission of the false calls. After she’d returned to the shop, there had been joke-telling Clyde waiting, then several walk-ins, ending with Randy Olsen, who had just about made her crazy expecting such a ridiculous haircut! It would be so good to get out of her work clothes and into a sweat suit. After she fixed an easy supper of canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, she would collapse on the couch for a well-deserved rest. Hopefully, after a good night’s sleep, she could come up with a game plan. She needed to figure out something that would keep Dad busy enough so he wouldn’t have time to think about her needing a man.

  As Wendy approached her house, she noticed there were no lights on inside. She thought that was a bit strange. Dad may not have been able to do many things, but he always managed to have several lights on in the living room.

  As usual, the front door was unlocked. Wendy turned the knob and stepped inside. Everything was dark and deathly quiet. Believing Dad to still be asleep in his bedroom, she tiptoed quietly into the living room and nearly tripped over something. She bent down and snapped on a small table lamp.

  Wendy let out a startled gasp as the sight of her father came into view. He was lying facedown on the floor, with one bloody hand extended over his head. “Dad! Can you hear me, Dad?” She dropped to her knees and shook his shoulder. “Dear Lord, please let him be okay.”

  Suddenly Dad turned his head, and his eyes shot open. “Oh, Wendy, I’m so glad you’re finally home,” he rasped, attempting to roll over.

  “What’s wrong, Dad?” Wendy’s voice shook with fear. “Why are you lying on the floor? What happened to your hand?”

  “After my little stunt earlier today, I wanted to make amends,” he said, wincing as she helped him roll over and then lifted his hand for inspection. “I was going to make savory stew for dinner, but I’m afraid the knife got the better of me.”

  “Knife?” she shrieked. “Dad, you know better than to try using a paring knife.”

  “Actually, it was a butcher knife,” he admitted. “I couldn’t get my stiff, swollen fingers to work with that little bitty thing you always use.”

  “So what are you doing on the floor? Did the blood loss make you dizzy?”

  He struggled to sit up. “I guess maybe it did.”

  “Let me get a towel for that hand; then I’ll help you get to the couch,” Wendy said as she stood up.

  “It’s a pretty deep cut,” her father acknowledged. “I think it might need a few stitches.”

  “Just stay put until I get back,” she insisted.

  Wendy returned with a hand towel, which she quickly wrapped around her dad’s hand. “Why in the world didn’t you call me, or at least call—” She stopped in midsentence. “I guess after our little discussion earlier today, you weren’t about to call 911 again, right?”

  “Actually, I couldn’t call you or the paramedics,” he replied with a scowl.

  “Why not?” she asked, leaning over so she could help him stand.

  “No telephone.”

  Her head shot up. “No phone! What are you talking about, Dad?”

  He nodded toward the phone, sitting on a small table across the room. “I never even considered calling 911 this time, but I did try to call you. The phone seemed to be dead though.”

  Wendy led him to the couch, then moved to the telephone and picked up the receiver. She frowned. “That’s funny. It was working fine when I used it earlier today.” Before her father could open his mouth to comment, a light seemed to dawn. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” he called to her retreating form.

  “To check the extension in my room.”

  A few seconds later, Wendy returned to the living room, tears filling her eyes. When she knelt in front of the couch, Dad used his uninjured hand to wipe away the moisture on her cheek. “I’m gonna be okay, honey, so please don’t cry.”

  “The phone was off the hook,” she wailed. “How could I have been so careless?” She blinked several times, trying to tame the torrent of tears that seemed to keep on coming. “What if you had bled to death? What if—”

  “But I didn’t, and I’m going to be fine now that you’re here.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

  “We’d better get you to the hospital. I’m sure that cut will require stitches.”

  “In a minute,” he replied. “First I want to say something.”

  “What is it, Dad?”

  “My actions over the past few weeks have been inexcusable, and I owe you a heartfelt apology, Wendy girl.” He grimaced as though he were in pain.

  She nodded. “You’re forgiven.”

  “I made those phony calls so you could meet a nice man, but I was meddling,” he acknowledged. “Matchmaking and matters of the h
eart should be left up to the Lord.”

  “You’re the only man I’ll ever need,” Wendy said softly.

  “I’m holding you back,” he argued. “If you didn’t have to take care of me, you’d probably be married and raising a family of your own by now. If it weren’t for my disability, I’m sure you’d be going out on all kinds of dates instead of staying home and playing nurse-maid to a fully grown man.”

  Wendy shook her head. “I’m not interested in dating—or men, Dad.”

  “Why the ‘I don’t like men’ attitude?” he pried. “You work on men’s hair five days a week. I would think by now one of your customers might have caught your eye.”

  Wendy moaned. “Remember when I was away at barber’s school?”

  Her father only nodded in response. “I dated a guy named Dale Carlson for a while. He treated me awful, Dad.”

  “Physical abuse?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  She shook her head. “No—uh—he wanted me to compromise my moral standards—if you get my meaning.”

  “You should have dumped that guy!”

  “I didn’t have to—he dumped me. When I wouldn’t give in to his sexual advances, Mr. Self-Righteous, Phony Christian dropped me for Michelle Stiles.”

  “I guess I must have had my head in the sand,” her father said in obvious surprise. “I didn’t know you were that serious about anyone, much less realize some knucklehead was treating you so badly.”

  “I really didn’t want to talk about it,” Wendy admitted. “I made up my mind after the Dale fiasco that I was done with men.” She shrugged. “So many of the guys who come into the barbershop are either rude, crude, or lewd.”

  “I understand your feelings of betrayal and hurt,” her father said, “but you’re not right about your interpretation of all men. One bad apple doesn’t have to spoil the whole barrel, you know. You can just pluck out the rotten one and choose a Washington State Delicious.”

  Wendy smiled at her dad’s little pun, then went to the hall closet, where she retrieved his jacket. “The roads are getting bad. I hope it won’t take too long to get to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think I’ll bleed to death,” he said with a sardonic smile. “If I thought it was really serious, I might have you call 911.” His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think those paramedics would be too happy to get another call from here today though.”

  “You’re probably right,” she agreed. “That older guy didn’t respond to you at all like Kyle Rogers, did he?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. I think he was more than a bit irritated with me for wasting his precious time today.”

  “Well, just put it out of your head,” Wendy said with a smile. “Tonight, I’m going to be your rescuer.”

  The roads weren’t quite as bad as Wendy expected, and they made it to the hospital in twenty minutes. Fortunately, there weren’t too many emergencies that evening, so Dad was called to an examining room soon after filling out some paperwork.

  “Would you like me to go along?” Wendy gave Dad’s arm a little squeeze as a young nurse began to usher him away.

  He shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Why don’t you go out to the waiting area and try to relax?”

  Relax? How on earth was she supposed to relax when her nerves felt taut and her stomach was playing a game of leapfrog? The headache, which she’d acquired around noon, was still pulsating like a jackhammer, too. She would give anything for a cup of hot tea and an aspirin.

  Wendy found a chair in the empty waiting room. She rested her elbows on her jean-clad knees and began to methodically rub her forehead. At least Dad isn’t seriously injured, and now that he’s agreed to quit playing matchmaker, I don’t have to rack my brain to come up with any plan to steer him in some other direction either.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Wendy jumped at the sound of a deep male voice. Kyle Rogers stood a few feet away, smiling down at her. “Kyle! I—uh—Dad cut his hand.”

  “Another 911 call?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  She shook her head. “Not this time.” She didn’t bother telling him about the call her father had placed around noon. If the Grangely grapevine was as active as the one in her small town, then Kyle had probably already heard the whole story from the other paramedics.

  “What then?” he asked, taking the seat beside her.

  “Dad was trying to make supper, and the knife he was using slipped,” she explained. “He has a pretty nasty cut on his left thumb, and it bled quite a lot.”

  “It’s a good thing you were home when it happened.”

  Wendy blinked several times. “Actually, I wasn’t. He did it while I was still at work. I found him lying on the floor.”

  Kyle grimaced. “You drove him to the hospital yourself?”

  “Of course,” Wendy replied. “After today, I wasn’t about to call 911.”

  “What happened today?”

  Wendy shrugged, realizing he must not have heard anything after all. “It’s not important.”

  She eyed him curiously. “Say, what are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were planning to take in a concert tonight. Shouldn’t you be there and not here at the hospital?”

  He chuckled. “I changed my mind about going. It didn’t seem like such a good idea when I thought about attending it alone.” He studied Wendy for several seconds, causing her mouth to suddenly go dry. Then he added, “I came here to check on a patient Steve and I brought in yesterday.”

  I wish he’d quit looking at me like that, she mused. What are those serious brown eyes of his trying to tell me? How do I know if Kyle is really what he appears to be? I misjudged a so-called Christian once, and I—

  “It was a little boy who’d been mauled by a dog,” he said, interrupting her unsettling thoughts.

  “What?” Wendy shook her head and shifted restlessly in her chair, trying to force her thoughts back to what Kyle was saying.

  “The patient I came to see,” he explained. “A five-year-old boy was playing at his neighbor’s house and got in the middle of a cat and dog skirmish.”

  “How awful!” Wendy exclaimed. “Is he going to be all right?”

  Kyle nodded. “He’ll probably undergo extensive plastic surgery, but I think the little tyke will be fine.”

  “It’s—uh—thoughtful of you to care so much about the patients you bring to the hospital,” she stammered. “I think you go over and above the call of duty as a paramedic.”

  In a surprise gesture, Kyle reached for Wendy’s hand. “I do care about my patients, but I also care about you and your father. In fact, I’ve been thinking that I might stop in and see you both from time to time—when I’m not on duty, that is.”

  She swallowed hard. “You’ve been thinking that?”

  He nodded. “I really believe your dad could use some company, and since you’re so opposed to me playing matchmaker—”

  “Don’t even go there,” she warned.

  He shrugged. “Okay, but I could sure use a good barber.”

  She pulled her hand sharply away. So that’s all he sees me as—just a good barber. In spite of my misgivings, I was actually beginning to think—hope, really—that Kyle was interested in me as a woman, and not merely someone to give him a shave and a haircut. I knew Mr. Perfect Paramedic was too good to be true. He’s probably no different than Dale or Gabe after all.

  Just when I’m beginning to make a bit of headway, Wendy pulls into her shell, Kyle thought, letting his head drop into his hands. What’s it going to take to break down her wall of mistrust and get her to open up to me?

  “Dad thinks you’re perfect, you know,” Wendy blurted out, interrupting his thoughts. “He wants us to get married.”

  Kyle’s head jerked up. “What? Your dad wants what?”

  “He tried to set us up.” Wendy’s face contorted. “That’s why Dad kept calling 911.”

  Kyle chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “All the calls were phony?”


  She nodded. “Every last one of them. He even made a third call around noon today, saying something about feeling dizzy. I thought you might have heard about that one.”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t. How do you know he was faking it?”

  “He admitted it,” she said. “After Steve and Phil left this afternoon, Dad confessed that he’d been trying to play matchmaker all along.”

  Kyle sucked in a deep breath and expelled it with force. “But today was my day off. I didn’t even respond to his 911 call, so—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “He was really upset when you didn’t show up. That’s when I began to get suspicious. Up until then, I just thought he was trying to get attention or simply needed someone to talk to.”

  Kyle mopped his forehead with the back of his shirtsleeve. “Whew! This is pretty heavy stuff.”

  She nodded. “My feelings exactly!”

  “And here I was trying to come up with some way to fix your dad up with Edna Stone.” Kyle shook his head slowly. “Wayne was one step ahead of me all the way, wasn’t he?”

  “Dad’s a pretty slick operator, all right,” Wendy admitted. “Guess that’s why he did well in business for so many years.”

  Kyle’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you saying that Wayne was dishonest in his business dealings?”

  Wendy waved one hand in the air. “No, no, of course not. I just meant—”

  “You can see your father now, Miss Campbell,” a woman’s soft voice interrupted.

  Kyle and Wendy both turned to face the nurse who had just entered the waiting room. “Would you like me to go with you?” Kyle asked.

  Wendy shook her head. “No, thanks. Dad’s my problem, not yours.” She stood up and left the room before Kyle could say another word.

  “Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?” he moaned.

  CHAPTER 7

  Over the next several weeks, some drastic changes were made at the Campbell house. Dad no longer spent his time playing matchmaker, which was a welcome relief for Wendy. She was sure it had taken a lot of energy for him to scheme and make those false 911 calls. Even though he’d done it out of love and concern for her, she was glad that whole scenario was behind them. Wendy still got goose bumps every time she heard a siren, but she felt a small sense of peace knowing that if the ambulance should ever go to her house again, it would be for a “real” emergency and not some trumped-up illness.