A Path Less Traveled

by Cathy Bryant

  The sadness on her face made his breath stick in his throat. He’d been in Miller’s Creek less than an hour and had already goofed things up. “I’ll go with you and pay for them since it’s my fault.”

  Trish’s shoulders rose, then fell. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just something that happened.” Her tone was flat and lifeless. She returned to the branches and hoisted another one back into position.

  Just something that happened. A shaft of light streamed through the stained glass windows and rested on her, and she slumped over like she couldn’t bear the weight of the world any longer. Was she remembering the accident? He removed a pack of peppermint gum from his shirt pocket and popped a piece in his mouth. Her problems made the mess with Sheila seem trivial in comparison. What could he do to make things better?

  She turned her gaze his way. “Dani told me you’re engaged. When’s the big day?” Trish strung lights along a tree branch. Perfectly.

  He shifted his weight to the other leg, then squatted to pluck glass from the carpet. “Uh, we’re not . . . I mean . . . well, it’s over between us.”

  She raised her head, and her brown hair shimmered under the light. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Don’t be.” He stood. “It’s for the best.”

  “How so?”

  Andy let out a half-laugh. “Turns out she still had a thing for her ex-boyfriend.” Thank the Lord he’d found out in time. A wife would be wonderful, but not the wrong wife.

  For a moment she didn’t speak, but her face took on a knowing look. “That must’ve been painful.”

  He nodded, his lips pressed together. “It was hard, but God can bring good from hurt.”

  Trish stared at him like she was trying to get a read on him, and then turned back to the lights. “So neither one of us is really in the mood to celebrate—especially a wedding.” Her expression matched her cynical tone.

  Out in the hallway, muffled voices grew closer. The hall door swung open, and the smell of Mama Beth’s home-cooking made his mouth water. A little boy who looked like Trish raced toward them, then stopped, his dark eyes round. “Whoa! What happened here?”

  Dani and Mama Beth followed, their mouths ajar. After them came Steve Miller, the mayor of Miller’s Creek, and Dani’s soon-to-be husband.

  “It’s all right. Don’t worry.” Trish rushed to the two women and laid a hand on each of their arms. “It’s nothing that can’t be fixed, I promise. We just had a little accident.”

  Andy watched through narrowed eyes at how Trish comforted the two women, when just a few minutes before she’d been in tears. A good way to get a severe case of whiplash.

  Steve sauntered toward him, his boots scuffing against the carpet, a friendly grin on his face.

  He shook Steve’s hand. “How you doing, Mayor?”

  The other man’s grin expanded as he tucked his fingers in his jean pockets. “I’ll be doing a lot better in a couple of days.” The little boy streaked by. Lightning fast, Steve untucked one hand and grabbed his arm. “Hold on, tiger. I don’t think you have any business up there. Have you met Aunt Dani’s friend?”

  The boy skewed his lips in a thoughtful pose and shook his head.

  “This is my nephew, Bo.”

  Andy stretched out a palm. “Give me five, buddy.”

  Bo reared back and delivered a hearty slap.

  “Ouch!” Andy pretended to shake off the sting. “Man, I’ll bet you can throw a baseball really far with that kind of muscle power.”

  The boy nodded, his face creased with a grin. “Yep, but I can’t catch so good.”

  “Well,” corrected Trish as she came to stand with them. “You can’t catch well.”

  Andy assumed a catcher’s position beside him. The little guy had to be missing his daddy. Maybe he could help. “I used to be a catcher, so I can give you some pointers later. Would you like that?”

  Bo’s eyes lit. “Yeah.”

  “Yes, sir.” Trish’s tone held a warning.

  “I mean, yes, sir.” He looked toward his Mama. “Is it okay if we play catch, Mom?”

  She sent Andy a tight-lipped smile, her expression cloaked with reserve, but when she turned toward her son her face softened, and she tousled her son’s hair. “Of course, but it might be tomorrow since Mr. Tyler’s already promised to help me clean up this mess.”

  “Almost looks like a tornado touched down in here.” Steve rocked back on his heels and jangled the coins in his pocket.

  “A tornado named Andy.” Trish gave a play-by-play account.

  Steve laughed at the story, but Mama Beth and Dani still fussed about like a couple of hens. “That’s one way to get out of carrying more boxes.” Steve winked. “I’ll have to remember that move.”

  “Hey, look at me!” Little Bo perched on the piano railing, one foot in front of the other, his arms out to balance. Andy’s heart moved to his throat. One wrong step would hurdle him toward the slivers of glass still embedded in the carpet.

  All of them raced for the railing, but Andy arrived first. He grabbed Bo by the waist and slung him over one shoulder, amused at the boy’s contagious belly laugh. “Come here, buddy, before you fall and hurt that amazing pitching arm.”

  Trish joined them, eyes wide with panic, her face pale and strained. She gripped Little Bo’s arms. “How many times do I have to tell you not to pull stunts like that?” Her voice shook as she knelt, her face inches from his.

  The boy said nothing, and his lips stuck out in a pout.

  Steve laid a hand on her shoulder. “Sis.”

  Volumes passed between the brother and sister before Little Bo bolted for the door. Trish raced after him, her dark eyes full of hurt.

  Both men faced the door, an awkward silence between them. Steve cleared his throat and turned, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Sorry about that. Trish is . . . uh . . . going through a rough time.”

  Andy nodded. An understatement if he’d ever heard one. Based on what he’d seen, he was pretty sure not even Steve knew exactly how rough.

  Chapter 2

  “We’re in trouble, Sis.” Steve peered at Trish, his voice edged with fatigue.

  She released a sigh and leaned back against the cool metal chair to view the crowded room. The outdated church parlor hadn’t been her first choice for the rehearsal dinner, but with elaborate reception decorations already in place in the fellowship hall, the parlor won by default. Mom would’ve insisted on redecorating the place before she’d have allowed one of her children to have a rehearsal dinner here. In fact, she probably would’ve insisted that it be held at the ranch.

  At least there would’ve been more space. The room swarmed with people, and from the look of things, everyone had already finished eating while she’d barely had time to fix her plate.

  The aroma of brisket, mashed potatoes, and homemade bread rose from the table and set off a long grumble in her belly. She could taste the delicious food from the aroma alone, but the pleasing smells did nothing to relieve her nothing-since-breakfast hunger.

  Trish winced when Steve sat down to her right and bumped against her sore feet with his boots. She steeled herself against his news. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I just got a call from Jake. He can’t make it.”

  A cold chill scuttled up her arms. “What do you mean he can’t make it? He’s a groomsman, for Pete’s sake!”

  “He broke his ankle in three places in a four-wheeler accident. He’s having an operation tomorrow to put in pins.”

  “Great. Just great.” Trish’s fork dropped to the plate with a clang. She brought one hand to the bridge of her nose, aware of Little Bo’s eyes on her. Why couldn’t she have just one normal, uneventful day? She and Andy had finished the sanctuary less than an hour ago, and now this.

  Mama Beth scurried by, breathless. “Trish, will you check to see if anyone needs more tea?” She walked backwards, one finger in the air. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Is the groom’s room ready? If not, would you take
care of it?” Without missing a step or a word, the older woman pivoted and continued to chat with the people milling about, like a bee buzzing between blossoms.

  Trish took a cleansing breath and looked at Steve. “Well, we’ll just have to find a replacement, won’t we?”

  Her brother’s expression was incredulous. “Any idea who?”

  Conversation and laughter bounced off the painted brick walls. Her eyes rested on Andy, deep in discussion with J. C. and Coot, two of Steve’s old geezer buddies. Andy had been a big help with the wedding decorations, but even better, he was easy to talk to. “What about Andy?”

  Steve shook his head. “Don’t know if the tux will fit. Jake’s a big guy, but compared to Andy, he’s scrawny-looking.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” She slapped her napkin down on the table beside the plate she hadn’t had time to touch, pushed her chair out with instructions to Little Bo to finish his food, and made her way through the crowd, Steve on her heels.

  Andy frowned when she approached. “What did I do this time?”

  Trish arched an eyebrow. “Guilty conscience?”

  “Not at all, but by the look on your face I’d say you’re looking for someone to kill. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t me.”

  Before she could answer, Coot spoke, his thumbs hooked beneath his bright-orange suspenders. “Don’t worry. Her bark’s worse than her bite.” He bellowed the words, then wheezed his way into a hearty round of laughter, as if his words were A) original, and B) funny. Trish bit back a snarky retort and silently checked C) none of the above.

  “Actually, we have a favor to ask.” Steve explained the situation.

  A good-natured grin emerged on Andy’s face. “You know I’ll be glad to help. You have the tux here?”

  “Yes.” Trish grabbed his arm and herded him and Steve to the hallway, almost certain she’d logged a million miles in one day’s time. “It’s in the music suite, also known as the groom’s room.”

  Once in the choir room, Trish moved to the first level of chairs, grabbed the plastic-encased tuxedo, and swished it toward Andy. “There’s a restroom through those doors, on the right.”

  A few minutes later, Andy waddled into the room like a penguin, his purple face reminding her of an over-ripe grape. “This outfit was meant for someone a little less healthy than me.”

  Trish rolled her lips together to contain a smirk. “You think?”

  Andy assumed a cocky stance. “You’re making fun of me after I spent all afternoon helping you?”

  “You mean helping me re-do—”

  He held up his hands, the jacket sleeves near his elbows. “Okay, okay, don’t remind me.” Andy tugged at the collar of the shirt. “I think the tux will work, except for cutting off my air supply.”

  Relief spilled from Steve’s eyes. “You’ll do it then?”

  “Of course.” He spoke as if there’d never been a doubt.

  “Thanks, pal. I owe you.” Steve slapped him on the back. “I’d better pass the news on to Dani before she hyperventilates.” He strode from the room with a happy whistle.

  Trish smiled her appreciation. “Another crisis averted, thanks to you.”

  “Just remind me not to bend over tomorrow, or we’ll have an even bigger crisis on our hands.” He winked and disappeared through the doorway.

  Trish laughed and busied herself with preparing the room. She emptied the plastic grocery sacks she’d dropped off earlier, set water and soft drinks on one counter, and arranged the snacks in a separate location. The door creaked, and she whirled around as Andy sauntered over to view her work. “You never stop, do you?”

  The soft tone of his voice flustered her, but she ignored the feeling and returned to her task. “Who has time to stop?”

  Andy laid an arm across her busy hands. “You do. Did you stop long enough to eat supper?”

  Trish frowned. “Does fixing a plate count?”

  “No.” He steered her out the door and down the fluorescent-lit hallway. “I can tell I’m going to have to keep an eye out for you, lady.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Um-hmm.” His tone held doubt. “I’m sure you can, but will you?” Back in the parlor, Andy guided her to the table, pulled out a metal folding chair, and motioned for her to sit. Then he grabbed another chair, straddled it backwards, and rested his chin on one fist.

  A creamy pile of mashed potatoes beckoned from her plate. She stuffed a forkful in her mouth and closed her eyes in rapture. Mama Beth made the best mashed potatoes in all of Texas—even if they were now cold.

  “How long since you’ve eaten—two weeks?” Andy’s eyes held a bemused twinkle.

  “I had breakfast.” She opted not to elaborate.

  “Today?”

  Trish glared. “Yes, today.” She stuck another bite of potatoes in her mouth and swallowed, already revived. “Are you going to sit there and stare at me while I eat? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure it’s not good for my digestion.”

  Andy’s cheeks dimpled in a way that made her insides churn. “I promise not to stare if you promise to eat all that food before you head down to the sanctuary for the rehearsal.” He pointed to the plate to emphasize his words.

  She raised her gaze to the ceiling and sighed. “All right. Now go pester someone else so I can eat in peace.”

  He stood, whirled the chair around to scoot it under the table, and moved a few feet away where a group of men congregated.

  She basked in the momentary opportunity to relax, but also did a quick check of the room to locate Little Bo. He stood nearby with Dad and J. C., so she returned her focus to Andy. Completely relaxed, he chatted like he’d known these people his entire life. The return to Miller’s Creek must be difficult for him considering the false accusations leveled at him during his first stay. Within her, interest and admiration arose as he relayed a story, the dimple on his left cheek winking. He finished his tale, and the men around him burst into laughter.

  Mama Beth hurried past again. “Trish, dear, don’t forget about the tea.”

  Trish huffed out a sigh, shot an acidic arrow into the imaginary bull’s eye on the older woman’s retreating back, and made a move to stand.

  Andy caught her attention with a stern shake of his head. “Got it. You eat.” He grabbed a metal pitcher from the drink table and started making the rounds.

  Out of the corner of one eye, she noticed Dani headed toward her, a determined set to her chin. Sheesh, couldn’t she have a few minutes to eat?

  Like a frog devouring a fly, Andy snagged Dani’s arm as she passed. She made a one-eighty and faced the table where he poured tea. Within a minute, the guests had her engaged in conversation. Andy pointed to Trish’s plate and gestured with a fist to his mouth, then finished the game of charades with a wink.

  A smile curved her lips. She hated to admit it, but having someone look out for her felt good. Addicting good.

  Chapter 3

  Andy’s blood pressure climbed through the roof, along with a Texas-sized hankering for his boxing gloves and punching bag. He folded his arms, leaned against the back wall of the church, and crunched the peppermint he’d discovered in his pocket. The rehearsal was scheduled to start at 7:00, and his watch now read 7:20. He’d been in no-telling how many weddings, so it wasn’t like he didn’t already know the routine. Walk in, assume the fig-leaf stance, walk out. Nothing complicated. So why did wedding rehearsals have to take longer than a baseball game in extra innings?

  A hen party gathered to his right, their voices lowered. At the mention of Trish’s name his radar zoomed to high alert. He leaned closer.

  “Trish did all the decorating. I’m sure she’s trying to drum up business for that interior design shop she has downtown.” The muscled woman with shiny blue eye makeup and forearms bigger than his snickered. “Like she’s gonna be able to make a go of that in Miller’s Creek.”

  “Why did she start a business in the first place?” asked another membe
r of the group.

  A third woman jumped in. “Seriously. Her Daddy’s got enough money to take care of her and Little Bo for life. Then with Doc being a vet, and her selling his practice. He prob’ly left a chunk of life insurance when he died.”

  Andy’s blood boiled. Who gave them the right to make assumptions about the private details of someone else’s life? Didn’t they realize how hurtful it was? Sounded like jealousy and spite to him. He still bore the scars of small-town gossip from his childhood, but thankfully, he’d proved them all wrong and risen above their gloomy forecasts.

  Down in front, Trish finished talking to Dani and headed toward them.

  “Shh,” one of them hissed, “here she comes with that phony baloney smile.”

  Trish gave Andy a little wave as she passed, then moved on to the women. “Hi, y’all. Mama Beth told me you’ll be serving the food for the reception tomorrow. We sure appreciate your help. Let’s go to the kitchen.” She motioned for them to follow. “I’ll show you where everything is and talk you through the plans. Carla, Mama Beth asked that you run the kitchen tomorrow, but if you hit any snags just come find me and I’ll do what I can to help.”

  An urge to protect Trish rose inside him. A big part of him longed to run after her and beg her to be careful. Why? He rubbed down the creepy-crawly feeling on the back of his neck and thought about the question. He knew how it hurt to lose those you loved. Then to have to deal not only with the loss, but also people’s hurtful words.

  Dani edged up and elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, guy. Sorry I haven’t been able to spend more time with you. How are you doing?”

  “Better than the last wedding rehearsal I attended.” Sheila’s image rose to his mind.

  “Glad to hear it. When I think about how Sheila treated you, I still get livid.”

  “Please don’t. I’m just glad I found out before it was too late.” He watched Trish and the other women exit the sanctuary. “Tell me about Trish.”

  Her eyes grew troubled. “I’m really worried about her, Andy. She lost her mother a little less than a year ago. I think I told you about the accident?”