A Path Less Traveled (2 page)

Her eyebrows rose
as she made her way to the pile of greenery on the front pew. Dani’s friend was
more handsome than she’d remembered. Trish burrowed through the tangled mess,
remembering the promise she’d made Dani to help Andy feel welcome. As if she
needed a man to take care of along with her other responsibilities.

The door slammed,
Andy’s eyes and forehead barely visible above the box he white-knuckled. She
ran to him. “Let me help. I know that’s heavy. I loaded it this morning.”

“Nah, I got it.”
The words wheezed out. “You loaded this by yourself?”

She ignored the
question and pointed to the stage. “Can you bring it up the steps?”

He shot her a
you’ve-got-to-be-kidding glare then labored up the steps, his face red, his
breath coming in agonized spurts. As he reached the last step, the toe of his
leather lace-ups snagged the extension cord snaking along the edge of the
stage.

Trish tried to
speak, but the words congregated behind her locked lips.

Andy stumbled,
and the box flew from his arms, the candles launching like small missiles. He
hit the floor with a thud, the box crash-landing at the base of the first tree.

In slow motion,
like carefully-placed dominos, the trees rippled to the floor in a sickening
staccato of crashes and breaking glass. As if to punctuate the effect, the
white metal archway in the center creaked and leaned, as it teetered, then
toppled forward with a bang.

Her mouth hinged
open, and her hands flew to her cheeks. All her hard work . . . ruined. In her
shock, it took a moment to realize Andy still lay face down on the carpet. She
hurried over to him.  “Are you all right?”

He pushed himself
up on all fours and surveyed the devastation.

Assured he was
okay, she moved to the top step and slung herself down. The scene replayed in
her mind. A giggle gurgled out, and then burst forth in an almost-maniacal
laugh.

Andy chuckled and
crawled to sit beside her.

Without warning,
her laughter turned to sobs. She covered her face with trembling hands, rage
surging at yet another unexpected crying jag. Now she’d never be ready on time.
No one would be impressed. No one would want her services. No business. No
money.

“I’m sorry. I’m
so sorry.” Andy slid a hand down her arm. “I’ll fix it, Trish, I promise. I’m
so sorry.”

Trish fisted her
hands, then straightened her spine and swatted at the tears on her cheeks.
“Will you
please
stop apologizing?” There was no controlling her
snappish tone. “For Pete’s sake, it was an accident. I’m not gonna sue.” She
clamped her lips, rose to her feet, and waded through the ruins. Fingers
against her lips, she knelt to retrieve shattered slivers of glass from the
broken globes. These weren’t even paid for.

Andy stooped
beside her, his eyes boring a hole into her skull. “Here, let me get that. You
start putting things back where you want them.”

Trish could only
nod at his softly-spoken words, a knot wedged in her windpipe. She lifted a
tree into position, the light strands dripping from the branches like a child
had thrown them in place. So far her determination to prove herself capable had
been met with nothing but industrial-strength resistance.

* *
* * *

It’s all your
fault.
The familiar words in Andy’s head relentlessly accused, ushering
forth memories and ghosts from the past. Trish obviously had spent hours on the
wedding decorations, and he’d managed to undo her work with one false step. He
forced the finger-pointing voice to the back of his mind and attempted to burn
off the chill that now hung in the room. “You live here in Miller’s Creek?”

“Yes.” She
pinched off the word. “My son and I live here. At least for now.” She didn’t
look at him while she maneuvered the lights back on the branches with agile
fingers.

Son? Now he
remembered. Dani had mentioned something about Steve’s sister losing her husband
in a freak accident. A cow kick—or was it a horse? And how long ago? “You’re
leaving town?”

“I don’t want to,
but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

True, but
sometimes what you thought you wanted wasn’t what you needed. Andy rose to his
feet, his hands cupped to contain the glass shards. “No, we don’t. You have a
trash can?”

Trish’s tawny
eyes looked his way. She grabbed an empty box and hurried to him. “Here.” She
glanced around the stage, her face gloomy, her shoulders slumped. “Are they all
broken?”

“Don’t know.” He
dumped the pieces in the box, where they pinged against each other. “Is there
some place I can buy replacements?”

She rubbed one
arm and shook her head. “No. I had them shipped. I’ll drive to Morganville
tonight after the rehearsal to see if I can find something that’ll work.”

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

“W
e’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.