Plain City Bridesmaids

by Dianne Christner

  Flying was in the family genes, and he could get the same adrenaline high working as a mission pilot. His job, with its life-and-death situations, provided the adventure he relished; only he was helping people instead of killing them. Not that he regretted what he’d done in the air force, because somebody had to do it for the sake of the country. He’d had his personal fill of it and gotten out of it before it resulted in nightmares and a need for counseling. He’d done his part for the country, and now he wanted to invest his talents in something that brought instant gratification—relief and healing for hurting people.

  He rose to head for the coffeepot. He hoped that back in Ecuador, the rookie who was taking his place for the next sixty days—mostly to rack up some flying hours for his résumé—wouldn’t make too many mistakes. Outside his office, his thoughts and steps came to a screeching halt.

  Whoa! Chance slackened his jaw and riveted his gaze on the female headed his way. Who was that babe? As he stood and gawked at the lovely creature, his gaze moved in confusion from the little net cap to her boyish shoes. Why the odd getup? The baggy clothing? It wasn’t black or gothic, exactly. His mind scrambled to sift it out, quickly going over his conversations with Randy until it clicked. He remembered, with disappointment, that she must be the chick who Randy had warned him not to touch. The one who was off-limits because she was Conservative Mennonite.

  Chance had hardly paid any attention—conjuring up a vision of staid homeliness, similar to an old maid stereotype—even though Randy had been adamant and even made him swear on the Cessna’s name that he would leave her alone. At the time, he thought it was just a joke, a jab at his bachelorhood. He’d passed it off without a second thought, assuming the obvious; he wouldn’t pursue a Mennonite woman. Not that he knew anything about them.

  But now he understood why Randy had pushed the issue. If Chance recalled correctly, he and this woman would be working closely together. And Randy had known that this woman’s face and figure would rev Chance’s engine.

  Tall, check. Thin, check. Blond, check. Definitely his type. Only something else was striking about her. An aura of purity. Too much so, for his taste.

  His mind backtracked. This wasn’t the woman who had gotten Randy’s life all entangled? No, that was his previous assistant. But Randy obviously regretted what he had done and was worried, not wanting Chance to make the same mistake that he’d made. But why on earth would he have hired a gorgeous replacement after he’d just succumbed to temptation? The only explanation was their Campbell genes. His father’s fault. Women and planes.

  The pretty face suddenly reddened. The slim shoulders squared, and the angel started toward him. His mouth went dry.

  “I’m Megan Weaver. You must be Mr. Campbell?”

  He reached for the feminine hand that was extended toward him. Her touch affected him. “In the flesh,” he blurted out, letting his hormones speak for him. And he shouldn’t be joking with this type of woman.

  She pulled her hand away with understanding and frowned. “Nice to meet you. I am your assistant. My station is right here outside your office.” She watched him warily and moved toward it. He followed her, rested his hand on her desk as she placed her purse in her right-hand drawer then looked up at him again.

  “Yes, Randy warned—told me,” he quickly corrected, “about you.”

  “Oh?” She straightened her mouse pad and didn’t look happy.

  “No worries. He said you’re very … qualified. That you’d be a big help.” He was acting like a brainless idiot. Giving a terrible first impression. He took a deep, steadying breath, whipped his hand off her desk and into his pocket. At the same time, he gave her a practiced and usually foolproof smile. “I’ll need it, you see. I’m at home in the sky.” He shrugged. “Not so much here.”

  He watched her face. Her cheeks were pale, pale peach with no makeup. They looked soft and fresh, like a child’s. Her eyes studied him, unlined, blue, and vulnerable. The way she wore her white-blond hair up in that bun-thing exposed a delicate, tempting neck that definitely didn’t belong to a child. That neck would surely provoke him for the next sixty days, but the silly net cap that perched on top of her head gave her a standoffish appearance. Too pious. It was an off-limits warning and would definitely keep her safe from his advances.

  She smiled back. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. What can happen in eight weeks?”

  He knew what he wished could happen. He’d like to see that net cap removed. See what happened then. But he had too much honor to act on that. No, God wouldn’t want him messing with His Mennonites. “I was browsing through the mountain of instructions Randy left me, and saw that on Mondays he meets with Tate in Operations. Do you have anything on your calendar for me?”

  “On Friday there was a dispute between Jon, director of maintenance, and some of his flight line technicians. You should probably make sure that got resolved. Usually Jon can manage them, but sometimes Randy …” He nodded, so she moved on. “I’ve got some PR calls to make. From there, as Randy says, we wing it.” She talked like a businesswoman, only her voice carried a husky accent that he couldn’t identify. Possibly a touch of German?

  “Great. Do you sit in on the meetings?”

  “No. Randy gives me instructions afterward.”

  “Well today, I’d like you to join us. The two-ears-better-than-one thing. You have time?”

  “I’ll make do.”

  “Great. I was headed for coffee. Can I get you a cup? Though I gotta warn you, I made it. It’s probably plenty strong for a sweet thing like you.” He suddenly stopped, and this time, good grief, he felt his cheeks heat. He was asking a Mennonite about coffee? Calling her a sweet thing? “I’m sorry. Do you drink coffee?”

  She arched a blond brow at him. “Yes. And I drive a car, too.”

  Her tone carried a disapproving sting. Up to this point, she’d been tolerant of his blunderings and his roving, staring eyes. So she was touchy about her religion. “Look. I don’t mean to offend you. Why don’t you just make me a list, whatever I need to know about you … with your”—he glanced up at her net cap.

  She tilted her head, studying him as if he were a bug splatter on a clean Cessna windshield then lifted her chin. “My beliefs haven’t interfered with my job so far. They won’t while you’re here, either. But you’re welcome to examine my employment application. It has everything personal you need to know. Summer’s our accountant. She keeps employee records, too.”

  Now she was ticked. Women. He raised his palms. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to make you mad. That’s what I’m trying to avoid, here. We’re gonna be working close. I’ll need your cooperation, and I’m not the type who even knows how to walk on eggshells.” He pointed at his shoes. “Big feet.” He gave her his smile again, coaxing her to forgive him and get with the program.

  Her expression instantly softened, but she didn’t smile. “Just treat me normally. Like all the other employees. Really, I don’t get my feelings hurt easily. That is, as long as you don’t forget the creamer and sugar in my coffee.”

  “You got it.” He winked then turned on his heels, glad to escape to the coffee bar. Just like in the fighter plane’s cockpit, it was better to make a hit then zoom it out of there. He needed to regroup was all. She’d caught him off guard. All he’d wanted when he stepped out of his office was a lousy cup of coffee, and then bam, there she stood, looking all pretty and vulnerable and catching him unawares. But that wouldn’t happen again. Anyway, there was nothing he liked better than a good challenge. Especially a pretty one.

  Megan glanced at the clock and realized she’d been staring at the speckled texture of her bedroom ceiling for twenty minutes, unseeing and going over every exchange she’d had at work with Chance Campbell. She rolled onto her stomach and retrieved her pen and journal from the top drawer of her nightstand, and started writing:

  Jo,

  Chance Campbell has curly, sandy hair, broad shoulders, and a disarming, if not conceited, smile. He’s older
than I am. Early to midthirties. He looks a lot like Randy. Of course, I won’t give in to the attraction.

  I don’t have him figured out yet. He’s harsh and sweet at the same time. It’s sadly amusing, the way he flounders around the office. I can’t help but jump in to keep him out of trouble.

  Today I made peace between him and Tate, when Chance wanted him to reserve more planes for the charity flights. Everybody at Char Air knows that although the charity flights are important to the company, they use volunteer pilots and aren’t profitable. We need all our charter flights. But I could have hugged Chance, with his love for missions.

  Something underlies his smile and clear blue gaze that makes me scared. It seems to imply that he gets what he goes after. He won’t go after me. He treats me with caution, like I’ll set off an allergic reaction.

  That first day when he asked me to make him a list, I almost slapped his face. My anger shocked me more than him. I’ve never felt that way about an outsider’s curiosity. For once, I could relate to Lil. When I snapped at him that I drive a car and he could get anything more personal off my employment application, that was straight outta Lil’s mouth.

  Megan stopped writing when a classroom discussion from her psychology class at Rosedale Bible College came to mind. Angry because I’m fighting the attraction. She felt her face heat with the realization that she might be in real trouble. Aye, yi, yi. Her pulse quickening, she tore a page out of the back of her journal and tossed the journal in her drawer. She grabbed her Bible. Where was that verse? Then she remembered she’d penned it inside the back cover. It had been special at the time because her dad had been so sweet when he gave it to her. There: “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?” 2 Corinthians 6:14.

  It referred to oxen, but she’d been to some Amish pulls. Seen a team of draft horses yoked together. They made a beautiful sight, working together. Her dad had talked to her about it and quoted that verse right before she started college. He had explained that even getting involved with a man from a more liberal Mennonite church would be problematic. She’d taken it to heart. She’d witnessed that with Lil and Fletch. Eventually Lil left the Conservative church.

  Chance was a Christian, but he wasn’t a Mennonite. That was even worse than Lil’s situation. This verse definitely applied. At least, the way her dad had explained it. She thought sarcastically she should make it into a poster and pin it to her wall. Her ceiling. But seriously, she needed a reminder that wouldn’t give away her attraction. She tapped her pen against her lips. She needed a place where she could see it every day. On her car’s visor!

  With summer’s glare, she usually flipped it down every time she drove. It would remind her on the way to work when she most needed it. She would meditate on it on the way home from work, too. She would not be unequally yoked, even with a handsome missionary pilot with sandy, wavy hair and gentle blue eyes. Even if he pursued her. Which he wouldn’t.

  After copying the verse to paper, she jumped up to take it to her car. Gliding her hand along the freshly waxed stair rail, she paused when her feet hit the bottom landing and she heard her dad say, “The professor had a recommendation for a preacher candidate.”

  Megan knew the professor in question was Noah Maust, a member of their congregation who taught Old Testament at Rosedale Bible College. She crossed the hand-braided rug and quickened her steps. On her way back in from the garage, she’d join her parents and catch up on what all was happening with the search committee.

  CHAPTER 4

  On Thursday Megan hurried across the hot, sticky asphalt of Volo Italiano’s parking lot. It was the swanky Italian restaurant where Lil worked. The establishment was on the airpark outskirts, practically across the street from Char Air. About once a week, Megan got a take-out lunch, always calling first to be sure Lil had time for a quick chat. Time spent with Lil was never dull. She faced issues head on, presenting her opinions quickly and openly. The best part was that Lil was not judgmental.

  As soon as the hostess recognized Megan, she went to the kitchen after Lil. Appearing almost breathless in a white chef’s uniform, Lil gave her a quick hug and shoved a Styrofoam take-out container in her hands. They went to their usual corner in the foyer, settling in on an imitation stone bench next to the window.

  “Hi, Green Bean. How’s it going with your new boss? Spill it. You have exactly eight minutes.”

  Megan giggled, knowing they could cover a lot of ground in eight minutes. “It’s been quite the week. I’m exhausted.”

  “I suppose he’s gorgeous?”

  “Aye, yi, yi. One of God’s masterpieces.”

  “You’re right to say one of. You haven’t met your masterpiece yet.”

  “I suppose so. But if Chance was Mennonite”—Megan released a dreamy sigh—“I’d snap him up. He’s perfect, otherwise.”

  “Chance? That’s an unusual name.”

  “Suits him though.” Megan shrugged. “Work-wise, it was hard at first. It would be easier to do the work myself rather than explain everything to him. But it’s getting better. I’m making do.” She leaned toward Lil. “He’s full of interesting stories about Ecuador. But for that, we need more than eight minutes. We need to get together soon.”

  “Ecuador! We should swap stories. I’ll have you over for dinner before Fletch and I go on our mission trip at the end of the month.”

  Megan gave a mildly envious sigh, remembering her childhood diary entry that she’d recently read. It hardly seemed fair. She was the one who was supposed to marry a missionary or preacher. Lil hadn’t even been interested in such things until she met Fletch. In fact, for a while they’d even broken up over his interest in missions. Lil was into cooking and working at the restaurant. But she’d fallen hard for Fletch.

  He was a veterinarian, now involved with an organization of vets who went on worldwide mission trips to teach people how to care for their livestock. So far, Lil had been able to go along. She had made such a favorable impression at the restaurant, that the owner, Camila Battelli, had given Lil permission to take leaves of absence as long as she plugged them into the calendar at least six weeks in advance. The head chef, Giovanni, had a good working relationship with Lil, too.

  “I’ll miss you.”

  “I know. I guess there could be a lot of changes while I’m gone. Have you heard anything new about the search committee?” Even though Lil attended another church, most of her family remained at Big Darby Conservative Mennonite.

  “They have two candidates. Actually, they’ll stay at our house.” It didn’t bother Megan that she still lived with her parents. It was the norm for an unmarried Conservative woman. She had been fortunate to have gone to Rosedale Bible College, and she had even lived a few months with Lil in a doddy house that they had renovated. But once Lil married, Megan was content to move back home. Being an only child, she’d always had plenty of space and privacy; in fact, right now she had the entire upstairs. And Char Air kept her occupied.

  Lil wrinkled her nose. “You poor thing. A preacher at your house?”

  “Two. Maybe more.” A sudden image of the graveside service shot through Megan’s mind, bringing a pang of sadness over losing Brother Troyer and talking about his replacement.

  “I’ll invite Katy and Jake, too.” Lil glanced through some Romanstyle pillars and urns filled with artificial greenery toward the back of the restaurant. “I’d better get back to work. I’ll see you soon. Thanks for stopping in to see me.”

  Megan nodded and looked at her food container. “What’s in here?”

  “Lasagna.”

  “Yum. Did you talk to your boss yet about not using Styrofoam?”

  Already disappearing around the corner, Lil chirped, “She claims it’s cheaper. I’ll keep trying.”

  Regardless that promoting the use of Styrofoam made her a poor steward of God’s creation, Megan lifted the container to her nos
e and smiled. She needed to get back to work before Chance got himself in trouble. Her steps faltered. Should she have gotten him something? He usually left the office each day at lunchtime. He might already be gone. This was the first time she hadn’t packed her lunch. She shook her head. No. Absolutely not. She wasn’t starting that.

  Back at the office, Megan barely made it to her desk before Chance’s tan, rugged face popped around the corner. “That was fast. Oh. You brought lunch back.” He sauntered to her desk, uninvited, and she felt a lump in her throat. Surely, he wasn’t going to stand there and watch her eat? If she’d brought him back something, maybe he would have taken it into his office.

  “Did you eat?”

  “Not yet. I was just heading out. What do you have there?”

  “Lasagna from Volo Italiano. My friend’s a chef there. You should try it. She’s there now. Tell the hostess I sent you, and Lil will give you something special.” And she’ll get to sneak a look at you.

  “I’ll do that. As fast as you got back, it must be close?”

  Megan scribbled the address on a yellow sticky note, hoping he’d hurry and leave before her own lunch grew cold. Instead, he perched one hip on the corner of her desk. “I’ll probably get fat working here. At my real job, I don’t eat much. There are usually so many emergencies, I don’t get time to eat. He touched his belly. But I guess I make up for it on rainy days. Sometimes I eat at the villages to be polite. If there’s time …”

  He looked trim enough. Not that she’d looked too closely. Most of her evaluations had been snatched while he walked away from her desk. But usually she tried not to watch him at all. She should have read her Bible verse on the way back from the restaurant. She tried to recall it from memory, but her mind wouldn’t focus.

  “… But the missionary wives, they cook the best. Whoa. You aren’t even listening to me.”