North Dakota Weddings (23 page)

Uncertain if Gladys was still listening or simply multitasking, Amber pushed the coffee-stained acceptance letter forward on the counter. That would explain everything.

Gladys lifted it and read through the bottom half of her bifocals. “Amber McKinsey. Why didn’t you say so?”

Amber nearly sagged under the weight of relief. “I’m sorry. I should have told you my name.” And she would have except she hadn’t thought a store clerk would be the one reviewing her internship acceptance letter.

“That’s all right. I should have realized who you were. I’ve been expecting you.” Gladys came from behind the register. “I’m desperate for some help in the museum store. We’ve wanted someone who has an interest in the past, rather than someone who doesn’t know and doesn’t care.”

Amber frowned. “What…what did you say? The museum
store?
I think there’s been a mistake.” The letter accepting her as a volunteer to intern at the Harrington Natural and Cultural Museum was from the museum director. She grabbed the paper from the counter where Gladys had put it and handed it back to her.

Gladys read the letter again. “It says you’ve been accepted for a volunteer position at the museum.” Gladys held out the letter and shrugged. “I was told you would be helping me in the store.”

Gently, Amber tugged it from the older woman’s fingers and stared at it again. “I…I don’t understand.”

Gladys placed a hand on Amber’s shoulder. “Didn’t you request a volunteer position at the museum?”

Amber nodded.

“The museum store is a part of the museum, don’t you know?”

Amber pulled her stunned thoughts away from the acceptance letter to look at Gladys who scrunched her face. Slowly, her expression softened.

“I suppose so,” Amber said. Gladys hadn’t made a great first impression, but Amber could see she meant well.

“Let’s get you settled, then. You can explore the grounds today, then tomorrow see me back here at eight o’clock sharp.” Gladys handed her a map then opened a small cabinet on the wall. “You’re in cabin B-3. Here’s the key.”

Amber took the key from her and smiled, attempting to mask her frustration. Though Amber wanted to further discuss what she believed was a mix-up, a line of people waiting to make their purchases had formed behind her. Not the best time.

Adjusting her glasses again, Gladys winked. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out. You’ll see.”

Only able to offer the smallest of smiles, Amber left Gladys to attend to her customers.

Ignoring the offerings of replicas, toys, and games, Amber pushed past a family with rambunctious children who waited in line behind her to purchase robotic dinosaurs and imitation Native American pottery. Exiting the store, Amber entered the museum lobby and drew in a ragged breath.

She always loved the peculiar smell in museums—a blend of fresh paint, commercial-grade carpet, and musty oldness. But…what had just happened in there? She was to present the letter when she arrived, validating her acceptance to work under museum director and notable paleontologist, Brandon Selman. Dr. Young, her professor at the University of North Dakota, had advised her that by working under a professional with a broad field of expertise, Amber could better evaluate her goals. And they had her working in the museum store?

Amber pushed through the double glass-paned doors of the main entrance. When the door swooshed closed behind her, a gust quickly whipped strands of hair into her face. The reflective glass confirmed her long, black tresses were in a mess. Another blast of air ripped the letter from her fingers, sending her chasing it across the grass and sidewalk.

Red hair whipping around her face, Cams leaned against her silver Prius, laughing. “You’d better catch that before it escapes into the North Dakota Badlands.”

Finally snatching the errant slip of paper, Amber made her way to Cams, her roommate at UND for the last two years. Somehow, over that course of time, Amber had given Carmen Milewski the nickname. But Cams didn’t seem to mind.

Amber held up the key to the cabin. “You ready?”

Cams smiled and nodded as she made her way around to the driver’s side. She would take Amber and all her junk over to the cabin. Amber’s car simply wasn’t long-haul worthy, so she’d left it parked at a friend’s house in Grand Forks. Cams had brought her across the state, loaded down with her bicycle and enough personal belongings to last for the summer.

Thankfully, Amber had gotten permission to bring Josh, her ruby-eyed white Netherland dwarf rabbit, as long as he was in an appropriate cage.

“Okay, so where is this cabin?” Cams asked as she drove to the nearest parking lot exit.

Amber pulled the map out and directed Cams. The museum offered cabins free of charge to college volunteers and interns on a first-come-first-serve basis. As the Prius bumped slowly down the one-lane gravel road, Amber spotted a trail. Perfect. She could take a jog later.

“That building didn’t look big enough, on the outside at least, to be a museum,” Cams said.

“You should have come in with me so you could see for yourself.”

“I didn’t want to cramp your style or anything.”

Amber chuckled. If Cams only knew—her “style” had been cramped anyway. At the moment, Amber felt like the size of a tiny unimportant fossil. “There’s a few thousand feet of floor space, though even that is considered small for a museum. And though I didn’t get a chance to browse, I’ve heard the exhibits feature fossils and dinosaur replicas, period displays, and dioramas of local history themes, including Western and American Indians.”

“Sounds…uh…interesting.”

Amber laughed again, knowing full well Cams had no interest in history.

“Here we are.” Cams stopped the car in front of a genuine log cabin, nestled behind a copse of trees.

Amber carried her luggage to the door and unlocked it. Unsure if her cabin mate had arrived yet or not, she strolled in cautiously.

“Hello?” Other than furniture, the place looked empty, devoid of life.

Breathing hard, Cams rushed in behind Amber, loaded down with a couple more bags. “I’m glad you’re not into fashion.” She dropped the luggage on the old wood floors. A large colorful rug rested in the center of the room. Cams looked around. “Nice.”

Amber plopped onto one of the burnt orange sofas. “Not too bad. It’s even cushy.”

Cams smirked a little. “Probably got these at the Salvation Army or something.”

“Who cares.” Amber rose from the sofa. “I’ve got to find my room and a place for Josh.”

“Okay, I’ll get your bike off my car.”

Amber found a room she claimed for her own in the two-bedroom, onebath dwelling. After she finished unloading everything and getting Josh settled in his cage, she spotted Cams opening a kitchen cabinet.

“Good. You’ve got a few dishes, too.” Cams pulled out a glass and filled it with tap water.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you driving me here.” Amber spread her hands over the small island counter, feeling the smooth, white Formica. At least it was clean.

“Hey, I was going in the same direction.”

“Not hardly,” Amber said. Cams had gone out of her way to drop off Amber at the museum before heading home to Watford City. “When are your parents expecting you?”

Cams glanced at her watch. “Not for a couple of hours. Listen, it was really no trouble to bring you here. If you change your mind, call me. I’ll come pick you up.”

“And then what? I can stay at your parents’ with you until you go back to Grand Forks?”

A laugh escaped Cams. “Who knows, maybe I’ll have changed my mind, too, and we can go back together.”

“You’re terrible.”

“But you still love me. Besides, I’ll only be there a couple of weeks.”

“I know, I know. You have to get back to that part-time job,” Amber said. Cams held on to a hopeless dream that her boss would ask her out. Amber would never let herself fall for a guy she worked with. That could get messy.

“You know me.” Cams smiled. “Got to go. Call me if you need a ride.”

“Okay.” Amber waved at Cams, who climbed into her car and backed from the small driveway, if you could call it that.

Amber sighed and sank into the sofa. Maybe she should have told Cams what happened, that she wouldn’t be working in the museum like she thought. But with Cams’s generosity, Amber couldn’t bear to tell her she’d brought her all this way for nothing.

How could this happen? She’d come to a crossroads regarding courses for her undergraduate degree at UND. Though she’d taken classes in geology and biology, as she progressed, she became less certain about a future in paleontology. Dr. Young had strongly recommended she get hands-on experience this summer. He’d even written a recommendation for her to include in her application for an intern position at the Harrington Natural and Cultural Museum.

She’d been accepted. But with news she’d be working in the museum store?—there went her rare opportunity to intern under Dr. Selman.

Brandon rushed down the corridors of the museum offices, barely aware that someone called his name in the distance. He tuned out the annoyance while he finished reading through the numbers. Though the museum was a nonprofit organization, it still had to make ends meet.

The bottom line? He needed more donors. And to get more donors he had to socialize and dine and come up with more brilliant ideas, projects, and initiatives, all within their conflict-of-interest guidelines, of course.

He entered his office and sat in his office chair, then looked up from the report to see his desk piled high with catalogs, requisitions for display materials, and the information he’d requested from a talented replica artist who’d come highly recommended. Though it was Harrington Museum’s policy to avoid displaying inauthentic artifacts, at times the measure was deemed necessary. When replicas were exhibited, the authentic artifact would be kept safely in the museum’s vault.

He loved his job, but at times like these he’d give anything to go back to his old love and dig in the dirt. Feel the exhilaration of discovering a fossil. Other than that, he’d often considered teaching. He’d even put an application in at UND. Then if the museum endeavor didn’t fly this time, he’d have something he enjoyed to fall back on.

But right now the museum teetered on the verge of soaring, and Brandon needed to clear everything off his plate to make sure that happened. For the last three years, he’d worked toward gaining accreditation for Harrington in the American Association of Museums.

Once the museum had passed its three-year mark, they’d worked to accession, or formally acquire, the rest of their permanent collection. He sucked in a sharp breath. All that was left now before the formal application was to assemble the needed documentation.

Soon
, he told himself.

After losing his good standing in the professional community, he needed this museum to gain recognition and credibility. Without validation, he had no value to anyone.
Not even God
.

His cell rang. Brandon read the caller ID and answered.

“Dad, thanks for returning my call.” Not the best timing, but his parents often went to bed before Brandon even got home from work, preferring to rise very early. It was now or never.

“Your mom and I were grocery shopping. Sorry we missed your call. What’s up?” Despite the fact his father was well into his eighties, his voice remained bold and strong.

“I like to check on you every once in a while, that okay?”

“You called to say you won’t be coming this weekend. Am I right?”

Was he that predictable? Brandon sighed into the phone, instantly regretting it. His parents only lived an hour away. “Sorry to skip out on you again. I have too much on my plate this week. I’ll have to work through the weekend.”

“Son, your mother and I were talking about this today. We’re more than proud of your accomplishments. But when are you going to settle down?”

Brandon squashed his sigh this time. He was thirty-nine, and he’d heard the same lecture the last fifteen years at least. “Dad, we’ve been through this.”

“Find yourself a wife before it’s too late. Your mom wants grandkids before she dies. We need someone to carry on the family name and legacy.”

Legacy?
Brandon wasn’t sure he had much to offer in terms of legacy given his failures. His dad, the great Chappell Selman, had been head curator of a large nationally recognized museum. Attempting to follow in his footsteps had been a daunting task. In fact, Brandon was still trying.

“Okay, Dad. I’ll consider your advice. On another topic, how are you doing?”

“I’m as healthy as a horse, or so the doctor said. I know you’re busy. Come see us when you can. I’m starting to think that God will have to throw a good woman in your path and make you trip over her.”

They said their good-byes, and Brandon stared at his cell, wishing he had time to get away and see his parents. A stack of applications at the corner of Brandon’s desk caught his attention. He slid the papers toward him.

“You’re going to thank me for this.” Jim Russel stood in the doorway.

In his midforties, thin and athletic, Jim had premature silver hair. Even though Brandon was younger by six years, Jim could squash him on the tennis court on Brandon’s best day.