The Reluctant Bride (3 page)

“Five minutes,” she said as she knelt beside Rob. “The emergency squad is on its way.”

After the next series of compressions, Rob stopped to check the janitor's pulse. “Still nothing.”

“I can help. I think I remember the two-man compressions,” Micah offered.

Rob nodded, and Micah leaned forward to give the next series of breaths. Less than five minutes later, help arrived. The counting and compressions continued until Rob and Micah were relieved by the rescue team and a pulse was reestablished.

Everyone acted promptly and precisely, and it took only a brief time to transport the man into the waiting emergency vehicle. Soon the squad pulled away, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

“We did it,” Micah said softly in near disbelief as tears filled her eyes. They stood, alone, on the steps outside the school building.

“Don't cry, Micah,” Rob offered as he placed an arm around her shoulders. “We did it. He's still alive.”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can't believe I actually remembered what I was supposed to do, and did it!”

Rob smiled. “That's what the training is all about.”

“And you…you seemed so calm.”

Rob shook his head. “No, I'm just a good actor. I was as scared as you were.”

They turned and Rob moved his arm away from her as they walked into the gym.

“Have you used CPR before?” Micah inquired.

“No, but the senior partner at the law firm I'm with has a heart problem. He requires all staff members to participate in CPR classes every year. I think he's afraid of dying,” Rob commented with a wry smile while bending over to help pick up the papers and books Micah had dropped when the crisis began. “Some people are, you know.” He looked over at her. “You really did a good job today.”

“Thank you. I think I'll call the hospital tonight to find out how he's doing.”

After all of her belongings had been retrieved, they walked out the side door and entered the gravel parking lot. A sudden gust of wind caught Micah's hair and blew it around her face. “The station wagon is mine.” She pointed to her car while pushing back her hair.

He walked her to the old, well-worn wagon and opened the door for her. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Micah climbed into the driver's seat and looked up at him. “We just saved a man's life together. I
guess that entitles you to one personal question.” She smiled.

“You have no husband or children…right?”

“Right.”

“So what does a young, pretty woman like yourself need with a vehicle that seats ten people?”

Micah turned around and pulled back a sheet that covered some of her art supplies. “People aren't what I'm transporting. I need room to haul these supplies and my paintings back and forth to the different art classes I teach and to the festivals where I work in the summer and fall.”

“Festivals? You travel around to festivals?”

“Yes,” she answered, and she draped the sheet back over her frames and other paraphernalia. “Windmill Days, Fourth of July carnivals, Scarecrow Festival…I've sold quite a few paintings that way, and I make some extra money on caricatures.”

“You're an interesting woman, Micah Shepherd,” Rob commented as he closed the car door for her.

“Thank you…I think,” she replied as she picked up her sunglasses from the dashboard and pushed a handful of auburn curls over her shoulder. He was interesting, too. Good manners, thoughtful, caring…

“Could I convince you to have dinner with me?” he asked.

His words might or might not, but those blue eyes definitely could. Sliding her sunglasses into place,
the effect of his gaze was not quite as shattering. “I still think Mrs. Winslow drives likes a maniac.”

He smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion. Seven o'clock?”

Seven o'clock. After all, Micah reasoned, he had agreed to come to the job fair because his sister needed him there. He seemed harmless enough. What kind of man was this she was nearly ready to refuse? For heaven's sake, the guy even knew CPR.

“What do you like? Seafood? Steak? Chinese?” he asked.

“Pancakes,” she answered. They could have dinner. Just dinner.

“Pancakes?” Rob repeated with a frown darkening his expression. “That's what you want?”

“That's what I was going to have at home tonight. Pancakes and orange juice. I already owe you a meal for lunch at the restaurant. So will you join me tonight for pancakes?”

“Sounds good,” Rob responded.

“Seven o'clock?” she said.

“I'll see you then.” He waved, and then turned to walk away.

“You'll need my address,” she called after him.

“It's 793 Spring Blossom Avenue. The Winslow file. I have a good memory,” he replied.

Micah drove from the lot and watched his medium-size maroon car follow her a few blocks or so until he turned off on a path of his own. Micah thought briefly of the symbolism. Ultimately, they
would go their separate ways. They had to; the choice was not theirs to make. But one dinner with her could not hurt his career or break her heart. Could it?

Micah turned onto a brick street leading through the Village and drove past the numerous shops, restaurants and offices that lined the familiar route to her apartment. Usually she enjoyed looking at the well-kept homes and remodeled brick buildings, but tonight her mind was on her nearly empty refrigerator and cluttered apartment. She hoped he really did like pancakes and orange juice because, except for a possible package of sausages and a bowl of tossed salad, pancake ingredients were virtually all she had on hand.

Her large station wagon took up enough space for two smaller cars, she thought as she pulled up to the curb. She shut off the engine and moved her parking permit from the dashboard to its place on the rearview mirror. Then she hurried from the car, through the iron gate and into her small but immaculate courtyard.

Her apartment was in the rear of the complex and quite secluded. Micah appreciated the privacy and quiet when she worked on her paintings. Sliding the key into the lock, she pushed open the door, hoping she hadn't left too big of a mess that morning. Reaching into the straw basket mounted just outside the doorway, she pulled several items of mail from the wicker container.

“Good evening, Patches,” she said to the cat who ran down the sidewalk to greet her. The pet rubbed around her ankles and had to be held back to be kept from entering the apartment.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw that the place was fairly neat. She placed the mail and her books on the end table beside her small floral-print sofa in the living room then went to the kitchen to gather up sections of the morning newspaper strewn over the table. Grabbing the coffee cup and saucer left from breakfast, she plunked them into the dishpan, and after checking the refrigerator for the items she needed and finding a package of sausage that she had hoped was there, she headed for the bathroom to shower and change. Then, right on time, the doorbell rang.

“Hello, again,” Rob said as she opened the door.

“Hi. Tulips?” she commented, admiring the bouquet he handed to her. “Thank you. They're beautiful, Rob, but a pancake dinner hardly justifies flowers.”

“We worked well together this afternoon, Micah. We have reason to celebrate. I hope I selected a kind you are not allergic to.” He paused. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her soft casual dress had swirls of pastel colors making up its design. She knew it was lovely. That's why she wore it, even after a tenminute argument with herself about her choice. “The flowers are perfect Please, come in.”

Rob stepped into the living room. “Your apartment wasn't easy to find, tucked away in this little courtyard.”

“It is secluded. That's one of the reasons I like it.”

“I checked with the hospital,” Rob said as she closed the front door. “The janitor is doing better. He's in ICU, and his name is Donald Lacey.”

“And he's still alive. That's wonderful!” Micah exclaimed, so excited by the report that she nearly hugged Rob. But she caught herself in time and kept her feet firmly planted where they were. Suddenly, she felt awkward, standing there with him. “I'll start the pancakes. The sausage is nearly ready.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, thanks. The table is set, and the batter is made. Just make yourself comfortable.” Micah motioned toward the sofa, offering him a seat Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Pulling a large white vase from the cabinet below the sink, she filled it with water and the fresh-cut flowers and set it on the table.

Micah listened to the sound of several books being pulled from her oak bookcase and then, after a moment, being returned one by one.

“You have a nice apartment”

She looked up at the nearness of his voice. Rob stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her pour pancake batter onto the hot griddle.

“Thanks. It's small but I like it.” She pulled a spatula from the silverware drawer.

“Yellow must be your favorite color,” he commented as he glanced around the narrow white room accented with yellow curtains, yellow canisters and various other brightly colored kitchen accessories, including the yellow flowers she had stenciled across the top of the walls.

“Favorite color in general, but not a favorite in clothing.” She turned the pancakes. “All this red hair and yellow just don't mix.”

“I've yet to see a color that you wouldn't look lovely in,” Rob stated.

Micah's green eyes widened in surprise at his statement She looked over at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you,” she offered quietly.

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “It's just a statement of fact.”

Micah returned her gaze to the browning sausage rather than look into his eyes. No one had ever said anything like that to her. At least, no one over the age of eight.

“I'll bet you've broken the hearts of quite a few little guys in your classes.”

Micah glanced up, and smiled. “One or two, I'm afraid.” She turned down the burner under the meat. “It seems easy for them to develop a crush on a substitute teacher.”

“I can understand that,” he commented.

Micah continued, “Anyway, it can sometimes be
awkward.” Just as awkward as this moment in her kitchen with Robert Granston. “I'm usually left wondering if I handled the situation well.” When she stacked the first pile of pancakes onto a small plate, Micah accidently knocked the empty measuring cup from the counter and both she and Rob reached for it. But she was closer and quicker.

“I've got it,” she said quietly as they leaned together momentarily. They were so close, Micah felt his breath flow across her cheek, and for an instant she wondered if he was about to kiss her. But he only touched the softness of her hair that swung freely around her shoulders. Then he stood up, moving away from her.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Micah commented and returned to the job at hand.

Within a few minutes they sat down at the kitchen table. Then came the moment Micah knew would be difficult. It always was. Even after a decade of dealing with it. She bowed her head and offered a brief prayer, in front of this man she hardly knew. When finished, she looked up to meet his gaze and found nothing questioning or negative in his eyes. Only acceptance, and maybe approval, which was more than she expected. Micah smiled and passed the syrup, and they shared a late-evening breakfast.

“So, how long have you been a Christian?” Rob asked.

“Ten years. That obvious, huh?” she replied between sips of orange juice.

Rob smiled. “Well, you quietly prayed your way through Mr. Lacey's heart attack, and you audibly thanked God for our dinner, not knowing what my reaction would be. That's pretty strong evidence.”

“And just what
is
your reaction?” Micah asked.

“One of respect,” he responded as something cold—no, sad—flickered through the blue eyes that held her gaze too easily. His smile slowly faded.

“To give your life to God or not, it's a choice we all eventually make, Rob.”

“I've tried it, Micah. It didn't work for me.” Rob turned his attention to the coffee cup in his hand.

“What went wrong?”

He shook his head. “It would take less time to tell you what didn't go wrong.” His smile returned. “And I don't want to spend this evening talking about something unpleasant that happened years ago.”

So Micah left the subject alone, hoping… knowing that sometime they'd come back to it. In the meantime, Micah's school stories and Rob's tales of unusual cases kept conversation and laughter flowing freely throughout the meal.

“So when she asked me to come to the job fair, I couldn't refuse. I have a hard time saying no to my little sister,” Rob said as Micah poured a third, or maybe it was the fourth, round of coffee. She had lost count.

“It must be nice,” Micah said and took a sip from the cup she cradled in her hand.

“Having a sister to talk you into things?”

“Having a sister, period.”

Rob looked at her silently for a moment. “You don't have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My parents weren't young when they had me, so I am their only child.”

“Then you must be very close to your parents,” he commented,

“Dad and I were close for a long time.” Her fingers moved instinctively to the heart locket that hung loosely around her neck today and most days, and Rob's eyes followed her movements. “But now…” she began, and then hesitated.

Rob studied her wary gaze and waited.

“…we're not,” she concluded with a half-hearted smile.

Rob started to respond, but then apparently changed his mind and returned his attention to the piece of gold jewelry Micah touched so lovingly.

“That's a beautiful locket. I think you've worn it every time I've seen you,” he remarked. “Was it a gift from him?”

“Yes, from years ago.” She cleared her throat nervously and attempted to move on. “Being an only child wasn't so bad really. I had lots of friends around when I was very young. But if I ever have any children of my own—”

“‘If’ you have children? You're a teacher. You must love kids. I'd think you'd want a whole houseful,” Rob remarked.

Micah stared at her empty plate. Now they were venturing into territory better left alone. Why did it have to happen so soon?