A Journey by Chance (13 page)

Brady and Gina huddled together in his basement, shoulder to shoulder, arms brushing, and peered into the freezer chest.

Brady glanced down at her. “I hope you're not a vegetarian. After all, you are in the middle of cattle and hog country, you know.”

“No way. All I've seen is corn and soybeans. Don't you have any tofu?”

“Bleagh! Nope, just T-bones and pork chops.”

“I'll have a T-bone. A big one.” She grinned at him. “I am famished!”

“Sounds good to me.” He grabbed two packages from the freezer and shut the lid.

“Have I got time to catch a bullfrog?” Her eyes sparkled up at him. They'd been sparkling all afternoon.

“You'll never catch a bullfrog.”

She laughed. “Yes, I will. Let's bet that if I get one, you do the dishes. If I don't get one in 20 minutes, I'll do them.”

“You're on.” He looked at his watch. “On your mark, get set—”

She bounded up the stairs, Homer at her heels.

While the meat defrosted in the microwave, Brady watched from the porch. About ten yards away, Gina crouched at the pond's edge, almost hidden in the tall grasses. He smiled. From the moment she heard the bullfrogs' foghorn chorus, she had been determined to catch one.

She had fallen in love with his place. They spent the afternoon tromping through the woods. Her excitement grew by the minute. They spotted a myriad of birds, followed deer tracks, surprised pheasants from their hiding place, picked wildflowers, threw in a fishing line, and shimmied along the tree trunk that lay across the creek. In the upper meadow, she gasped at the sight of a soaring hawk. At the sound of the tree frogs' song, she stood still. When the bullfrogs' deep hum resonated through the woods, she giggled.

It was another dimension of her personality. Another one he would not have imagined she possessed. That she was smart and serious was a given because of all her work entailed. Her uneven gait had tugged at his heart, arousing protective instincts…until her opinionated attitude indicated how independent she was. Her tears in the cornfield revealed a fragility that meant she was, after all, human. Not a porcupine, not a despicable nonentity named Lindstrom, not really a thorn in his side.

But it was these few hours of witnessing her expression of pure joy in nature that connected with his heart. It seemed to be…unraveling it.

A loud splash from the pond caught his attention. Gina was lying prone, elbow-deep in the water.

“Whoa!” she yelped and jumped up, her hands cupped together above her head. “I got one! I got one!” She screamed with laughter. Her jeans and T-shirt were covered with mud.

“Well, now what?” he shouted. “Frog legs for dinner?”

“No! I just want to kiss it. See if a prince pops out.”

To his amazement, she lowered her hands to her face and peered into them for a moment, then held them to her mouth. He heard an exaggerated smacking noise. With a squeal, she flung the frog back into the water.

“That one's a dud, Brady! Got any more?”

He found dry clothes for her, sweatpants and a T-shirt left by a young cousin. While he grilled the steaks outside, she rummaged around in the kitchen and completed the salad and baked potatoes. They met on the screened-in porch where she had put place settings on the small wooden table. She had even lit two candles, a soft light in the dusky woods.

“I moved your laptop to the kitchen table,” she said. “I hope you don't mind? It's so nice out here.”

“Good idea. I practically live out here when the weather's like this, not too hot or cold.” The woman was invading his space, had the audacity to touch his computer—and he was grinning?

She hiked up the too-large sweats and sat down across from him. The baggy shirt sleeves hung below her elbows. “I hope you invite me back so I can go prince-hunting again.”

“Of course.” After saying grace, he asked, “So a prince is included in your life's plan?”

“Seriously, no. I mean, you can't exactly write in on your calendar the day you're going to meet Mr. Right. I hope to have a family some day, but who knows? How about you? Is there a Miss Right on your horizon?”

“Well, I thought so once, but…” He shrugged. “It didn't work out.”

“Mmm, this steak is perfect.”

“Thanks.”

She eyed him over a forkful. “So why do you think Aaron is in the wrong?”

“Thought we dropped that subject.”

“Not forever. Now we've calmed down. We can discuss it. Don't you think?” She smiled sweetly. “It doesn't mean we're going to impose our views on them.”

He frowned for a moment. This would hit a little too close to home, but those beautiful spring green eyes across the table encouraged him. “Okay. Despite the fact that I
appreciate Aaron's position as a doctor, he needs to be more obvious about letting Lauren know she's first in his life.”

“What else can he do?” Her voice rose.

He held up a hand. “You said we had calmed down.”

She closed her eyes. “All right. Go ahead. I'm calm.”

“A couple of those patients yesterday could have been referred to a doctor in Rockville. It's only 20 miles away. They weren't emergencies.”

Gina pressed her lips together.

Brady continued. “Lauren wouldn't have gotten so bent out of shape if she felt secure in his love. He's not doing or being all he can. This has happened before. Yes, she's going to have to accept that it will happen again. But his one phone call should have been five or six. ‘I'm thinking of you. I'm running late. Hang in there, sweetheart.'”

Gina opened her mouth to say something.

“Wait,” he held up a finger, “I'm not finished. The roses should have been delivered at the time he was to arrive, and they should have been yellow.”

“The local florist didn't—”

“Somebody within a 30-mile radius had yellow. There should have been a handwritten note with them that said, ‘I love you.' When he arrived, he should not have stopped to talk with others and filled a plate with food. Instead, he should have gone directly to her, ignoring everyone until he greeted her and kissed her as if no one else were around.” He took a breath. “He should have held her longer the night before.”

She stared at him, hands in her lap, dinner forgotten. “That is the most illogical, irrational thing I have ever heard.”

“But it would work.”

She raised a brow. “How do you know?”

“Because my ex-fiancée told me it would have worked for her.”

She swallowed. “Oh.”

He waved a fork toward her plate. “Your steak is getting cold.”

“Oh. Right.” She fiddled with her napkin. “Were you writing at the time?”

“I was teaching and farming full-time, trying to write in my spare time. All those things were more important than she was. At least it looked that way, and maybe they were, or else you'd think I would have done things differently. Anyway, I don't want to see Aaron make the same mistake, especially with Lauren.”

“Does she live in town?”

“Who?”

“Your ex. I'm sorry. I'm being nosy.”

He shrugged. “No problem. She lives in Los Angeles.”

“Oh.” She thought a moment, tucking her hair behind an ear, and whistled softly. “Strike two against women from California?”

That hit home. “You know,” he bristled, “maybe if you minced your words a little, you'd be a lot more fun to talk to.” He felt like a heel as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Gina, I'm sorry.”

She bit her lip and concentrated on her plate.

He reached across the table and grasped her wrist. “I am sorry. I told you no problem, but I guess it still is at times.”

She met his eyes. “Whew! For a minute there I thought I had just swung the third strike without even trying.”

“Well, you know, since you're a California native, that puts you in a different game. The other game involves only Illinois women who move to California.”

She reached across the table and brushed at his shoulder. “There, it's almost gone.”

The chip on his shoulder. He grinned. “And I do enjoy talking with you, probably because you don't mince your words.” He peered down at his shoulder. “Is it gone now?”

Gina laughed.

While Brady prepared dessert for them, Gina sat curled up with a sleeping Homer on the couch. A small lamp provided soft light in one corner of the porch. She sipped coffee, staring through the screens at the darkened outlines of trees. The bullfrogs croaked one at a time, their throaty voices answering each other from different points around the pond.

It seemed odd, but she felt so safe with Brady. Brady Olafsson…of all people! She really hadn't felt safe with anyone in a long time. Her parents were great, but there was always that natural barrier between the generations. Her world was so different from theirs. And she often hesitated opening up completely, sensing that she did not quite live up to their expectations. After all, she was jobless and had had to move back home. There were no grandchildren on the horizon. In recent years there hadn't been enough time for cultivating close friendships, the kind that allowed you to pour out your soul.

Then why did she do just that with Brady yesterday in the cornfield? Probably because she needed to so desperately, and it really didn't matter with him because he was a stranger. What he thought of her or whom he would tell were meaningless.

His comforting response was sweet, though. It paved the way for these hours today of just hanging out with him, away from the stresses of the wedding and her future plans. She never would have imagined from their first meetings that he was so easy to be with. It was also hard to imagine he was a famous author. He shouldn't be such an ordinary guy.

Brady stepped onto the porch and handed her one of two white bowls he was carrying. “Warm black raspberry crisp with vanilla ice cream.”

“Mmm.” And he baked as well as cooked, a definite plus for her ravenous appetite today. “Thanks. I saw tons of wild berry bushes in the woods. Did you pick them?”

“Just this morning.”

“You are full of surprises, Mr. Olafsson.” She took a bite. “Mmm. This is wonderful.”

“Thank you. May I ask you something personal?”

“It seems we've been doing a lot of that today without asking permission.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” His eyes held hers for a moment. “It's kind of like we're in that territory where just about anything is fair game because after a couple weeks we'll never see each other again.”

“Exactly. It's an interesting place, isn't it? I totally unload on you yesterday, unlike I've done in years with anyone. I feel like this great weight has been removed, and we don't even know each other. Are you a counselor, too?”

He shook his head. “No, just a shoulder available at the right time.”

Gina thought of the bookstore clerk's comment about Brady's shoulders. Words caught in her throat. It wasn't just his shoulders. It was his long fingers smoothing her hair, his low voice whispering comfort, his heart beating against her ear, his cheek resting atop her head…a shiver went through her.

“Cold? I'll get a sweatshirt.”

“No. It's just the ice cream.”

“You do have that blanket practically in your lap,” he referred to Homer, whose golden fur spread around him on the couch beside her.

“One that snores. So what was your question?”

“Oh yeah. Well, after watching you with my dog and the princely frogs,” he grinned, “I was wondering if you'd consider working with small animals. How about a pet vet?”

She set aside her empty bowl and wrapped her arms around Homer, avoiding the piercing blue-green gaze. “Since the summer I was 16 I've worked at the Park in some capacity, from selling popcorn to giving tours to mucking out stables. My dream was to become a vet for the elephants, giraffes, rhinos, and tapirs. Then I accomplished that dream. I had my life planned, the whole thing. But now…” She shrugged, trying to shake off the turmoil of yesterday that was beginning to rattle again.

“I don't mean to pry.”

Was her face so easily read? “I just haven't come up with an alternative plan yet. I don't know what I'm doing with the rest of my life.”

“Most people face that dilemma at least once before reaching your age. And how many do you know who have careers related to their college degree?”

She shrugged again and turned toward the screens. “I guess I may have to come up with Dream Plan B.”

She had never met a man like Brady. From his writing she sensed that he knew of things she had intentionally ignored most of her life. God had His place, she had hers. They intersected on occasional Sunday mornings. Some people, like Lauren and Aunt Lottie, thought it could be otherwise. She looked back at him. “Aunt Lottie said that when God closes a door, He opens a window. What is that supposed to mean?”