The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek (31 page)

“I’ll be here all day,” Deanne said.

“I’ll get home…” Hector stopped and grinned when he said the word
home
. “I’ll be back about seven.” He picked up his bowl and began to clear the table.

“Don’t worry about that,” Deanne said. “I’ll take care of cleanup.”

Before he left the dining room, Hector said, “You need to get a hoop, Pops. Right on the edge of the parking lot would work.”

Hector and Janey grabbed their books and headed off to school. Eleanor washed and dressed Missy to take her to day care while Deanne cleaned up. Shortly after that, Chewy let Adam know he wanted inside, his deep, loud barks echoing through the neighborhood. As Adam let the dog in and started upstairs for a shower, he wondered: What in the world was he doing? He wasn’t that much older than Hector, and certainly no wiser, and he had absolutely no experience with kids.

There hadn’t seemed to be much of a choice. He’d do his best, try his hardest. Surely he’d do better than a drug-​addicted criminal, right?

That afternoon Adam hadn’t left himself enough time—not unusual—to visit the nursing homes and still get home to welcome Janey at four. While Deanne slept and her mother read in his television room, Janey sat at the kitchen table, copying words from a book. Still so serious for a child her age, she looked up and nodded before returning to her work.

The next night, Adam carefully closed his door, then tugged on the knob to make sure it was completely shut, that Chewy wouldn’t be able to visit him. Satisfied, he turned off the light and got into bed. Before he could pull the sheet over him, he heard the
click, click, click
of dog paws. The sound stopped by his door. Then began what he guessed was the sound of a dog’s muzzle hitting the door.

He smiled. Tonight he’d get a good night’s sleep.

Of course, he didn’t know Chewy well. After several thuds on the door, Adam heard the thud of Chewy’s bottom against the floor. Before Adam could close his eyes, the sound of shrill howling filled the air.

Hound. There had to be hound somewhere in Chewy’s genetic background, because the baying filled the parsonage.

“Shut up, Chewy,” Hector yelled.

Didn’t do a bit of good.

If he wanted to sleep, if he wanted the children to sleep, if he hoped Ouida and her family slept, Adam had to do something. He got up, walked to the door, and opened it. A thoroughly delighted Chewy pranced into the room and leaped onto the bed.

By the time Adam got back, Chewy had shoved the quilt into a gigantic lump and settled on it, smiling.

Adam studied the situation. Putting Chewy outside wasn’t a solution, but he could prepare a pallet on the floor for the dog. Except he had a pretty good idea who’d end up sleeping there.

A few days later, the phone rang in Adam’s study. Maggie had left, so he picked up.

“Pastor Adam,” Mercedes said when he answered. “I wonder if you could drop by the diner after lunch, about three thirty. I have a problem I’d like to discuss.”

“At the diner?” he asked. “Wouldn’t you rather meet at the church?”

“No, n-no,” Mercedes stammered.

Why not? As usual with the Widows, he suspected something, something he didn’t look forward to. The suspicion scared him. In fact, the tone of Mercedes’s voice frightened him. But he couldn’t turn her down; the Widows were, after all, members of the church.

“I’d like to meet there because…​um…​I like their…​um…​chocolate pie. And raspberry tea. Delicious.” She sounded pleased to have come up with not just one but two reasons.

After Adam agreed and hung up, he considered what had just happened. He didn’t trust the invitation but couldn’t figure out how to get out of it or why it had been tendered. He only knew the reason was much deeper and more devious than chocolate pie and raspberry tea.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang again. “Adam Jordan,” he said as he picked up.

“Reverend Jordan, this is Pattie Malone calling from the high school. We have a faculty meeting so I won’t be able to meet you this afternoon.”

Won’t be able to meet
? Adam considered the words. Aha. Now he knew why Mercedes had called.

“Ms. Malone, I’m going to ask you some odd questions.”

“Oh?” Her voice held a note of confusion and an entire concerto of apprehension.

“I’m assuming Mrs. MacDowell set this meeting up?”

“Yes. I’m Bree’s volleyball coach. Her grandmother said you wanted to meet about Bree’s going to a church-related school like Texas Christian, maybe getting a scholarship for athletics because she belongs to a Christian church.”

“Great idea,” Adam said. “Are you married?”

“What?”

He could tell from her voice she thought he was nuts or scary. Didn’t blame her. He did sound crazy, but Ms. Malone would understand if she really knew Miss Birdie. “Coach, I’m a bachelor… ,” Adam began.

“I can assure you… ,” she sputtered.

“Let me finish. Mrs. MacDowell wants to introduce me to unmarried women. She believes a minister should be married. I’m sorry she…”

But he couldn’t finish because the coach started laughing. When she was done, she said, “My divorce was final only a few days ago. Almost no one knows that. How did she?”

Adam groaned. This was not the time to tell the coach about the Widows and their grapevine, which infiltrated every corner of Butternut Creek. Instead he said, “I’d be happy to meet with you about Bree. Maybe at the high school whenever it’s convenient for you. And don’t worry about being set up anymore. I’ll take care of Mrs. MacDowell.”

A promise he wasn’t all that sure he could keep, but he’d try. Maybe having a wingman would help.

He called Sam.

“Do you know about the Widows and their reputation as matchmakers?” Adam asked.

“Do I! They’ve been trying to get Willow and me together since I got into town. Why?”

“I’m meeting them at three thirty at the diner. I don’t want to face them alone. Want to join me? I’ll pick you up a few minutes before then.”

“I’m not convinced I want them to stop working on Willow,” Sam said. “But I’ll cover your back.”

When the two men strode—Sam had much improved his striding technique—into the diner at exactly three thirty, Miss Birdie looked up from the table she was clearing. Her eyes opened wide when she saw both of them, then she searched behind them. Looking for the coach?

For a moment he and Sam stood at the door, hands at their sides, and stared at her. Adam felt like Gary Cooper in
High Noon
but wasn’t sure if he was the good guy or the bad. He almost expected Miss Birdie to say,
Draw, you dirty varmints
.

Of course, she didn’t.

Instead she demanded, “Sam Peterson, what are you doing here?”

Both men took a few steps inside. In his head, Adam could hear the click of boots across a rough wood floor. In reality, his athletic shoes made almost no sound on the vinyl tile.

“Coach Malone isn’t coming,” he drawled.

She blinked. “Oh,” she said in a voice filled with studied surprise. “Was she coming? Here? Today?”

Had he caught her off guard? If so, not for long.

“I asked you a question, Preacher.” She put her hands on her hips and glared. Miss Birdie didn’t need a gun. She could disarm dirty varmints by glowering at them.

“The preacher wants to talk to you about something,” Sam said as he took a couple of steps backward.

“Lily-livered coward,” Adam whispered to his friend, then turned to stare at the Matchmaker, a name that struck terror in his heart.

“Miss Birdie.” He stood his ground and cleared his throat. Refusing to give in to fear, he said more loudly, “Miss Birdie, you have to stop pushing me together with women.”

“It’s for your own good, Pastor Adam. You’re not doing anything to find yourself a wife.” She nodded decisively. “Someone’s got to step in.”

“You don’t. And Mercedes and Winnie don’t. When”—he paused to underline the word—“when I’m ready to get married, I’ll take care of finding the bride myself.”

“But… ,” she started.

His imaginary spurs jingling, Adam took a step forward and looked deeply into her eyes. She stopped talking.

“I appreciate your interest and efforts, but you need to leave me alone.” There, he’d said it.

Of course, Miss Birdie didn’t accept the ultimatum.

“And when is that going to be?” She took a step toward the minister, keeping her eyes on his, matching him glower for glower.

But he didn’t retreat. With another step toward her, Adam lowered his head, glaring at her from under the rim of his nonexistent Stetson. “When I’m ready.”

He didn’t break eye contact. The Preacher and the Matchmaker stared at each other for what seemed like hours until Sam stepped between them. A dangerous tactic.

“Now, Miss Birdie,” Sam said in a soothing tone, as if he spoke to a spooked horse. “All the preacher’s asking for is time.”

She considered his words for probably fifteen seconds before she nodded. “All right, Preacher, I’ll give you time, but you’d better get the lead out.”

As good as it was going to get. Adam stepped back and nodded. “Sam has something he’d like to say as well.”

“You want me to leave you and Willow alone?” She squinted. “We’ve done a good job with the two of you.”

“Yes, you have. But I can take over now.”

She looked Sam up and down, then nodded.

Sam and Adam turned to leave, striding with pride.

They left the door swinging behind them.

Sam had lived all over the world but had visited his aunt only during the summer, so he had never been to a high school football game in Texas. Adam had told him to prepare himself, but he didn’t think anything could have equipped him for the crowd and the noise and the excitement. Even when he’d played college football in the packed Kyle Field with the fans and the corps shouting, he hadn’t felt the energy that buzzed through this stadium.

The best part was sitting with Willow on his right and Leo and Nick on his left. Until nearly the end of the first quarter, the boys stayed with them, happy to attend the game with him. A few minutes into the second quarter, with the Lions ahead fourteen to three, Leo spotted some friends passing a football next to the bleachers and the boys ran off to join them, leaving Sam alone with their mother. Too bad, he’d just have to make the best of it.