The Wedding Planners of Butternut Creek (7 page)

Adam leaped in, as she knew he would, because Adam was a nice guy and really hated when she behaved this way. “Gabe, this is my sister, Hannah.”

She looked up, unwilling to be rude to her brother. For a moment, the guy’s eyes studied her; then his glance jumped to the bookcase and the picture of her Adam kept there. She should have ripped the photo up the moment she arrived. It showed a healthy, optimistic, happy, sort of pretty, and maybe a little exotic Hannah only days before she’d left for Africa.

Now here she sat, the shattered shell she’d become. Even the most self-absorbed man would notice the difference between happy Hannah and shattered-shell Hannah.

She had to hand it to the guy. His expression didn’t change when confronted with the wreckage of Hannah Jordan. He greeted her with a smile, white teeth shimmering. She could almost detect little stars glinting from their brilliance. In addition to the killer smile, he had a square chin with a tiny cleft and, for heaven’s sake, gorgeous green eyes that must have enthralled hundreds, thousands, of women.

God must have felt generous when assembling Gabe Borden.

With iron will, she refused to allow her eyes to stray to his body—again. In her quick, surreptitious glance, she’d noted he was muscular and sculpted and cut. She had no desire to take in that glowing good health. Only made her depressed. Besides, she still needed to read about Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever.

Although this guy did look much more interesting than bleeding bowels, she had to prepare herself for if—no,
when
—she returned to the refugee camps to care for people who actually did suffer from this malady. She dropped her eyes to the article.

“Whose great car is that?” The supernatural being pointed a thumb toward the driveway.

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t stopped peeking at him.

She raised her hand to claim ownership of the vehicle but continued to read. Well, to pretend to read.

“Great car, isn’t it?” Hector said. “Can I drive it?”

What was it with men and cars? Well, maybe not with Adam because he drove that ugly clunker. All she cared about was that it got her where she wanted to go—which, from his emails, Adam’s often didn’t.

“Maybe later,” she mumbled, because she found she couldn’t treat Hector rudely, either.

When she didn’t say more, Adam herded Hector away.

Gabe had trouble believing this malnourished waif hunched over a magazine was the same woman in the photo he’d occasionally glimpsed when he visited the parsonage. Occasionally glimpsed? He’d studied it every time he was alone in this room, halfway in love with the glowing creature standing next to her brother in the picture, laughing and filled with joy and vibrancy.

Somewhere under the wild hair and inside the cold eyes that had glared at him—what had he done to deserve that?—lived the woman in the photo. The woman he felt confident, after meeting her, would never fall in love with him. Doubted now she’d ever like him, maybe would never look at him or even say two or three words to him.

He studied the top of her head before saying, “Hector, let’s look over these letters and emails and Adam’s notes.” He strode toward the counter between the kitchen and family room and began laying out file folders.

Adam handed the remote to Henry and joined them.

“Coach, you know I want to stay in Texas, close to here.” Hector nodded toward Janey, who had placed the pan of brownies in the oven.

“That gets rid of these.” Gabe picked up several thick folders. “You have lots of interest from out-of-state schools, good programs.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done a great job of converting to shooting guard, and that’s the position they’re scouting you for.”

Hector nodded.

“This means we work on your outside shooting and look for a good small school here in Texas, four-year or juco, right?” Gabe said to make sure they all agreed.

“Right,” Hector agreed.

“Seems like every town in Texas has a junior college or small college,” Adam said.

“Seems like,” Gabe agreed. “Here are the ones I think might fit you.”

As Gabe listed colleges, Adam added information he’d picked up from the recruiting calls he’d fielded. They wrote all this down on the whiteboard they’d attached to the wall next to the counter.

“We need to set up your five visits,” Gabe said. For another hour, they made lists and shared information, occasionally adding or crossing off a school. They ended up with a list of ten schools within one hundred miles of Butternut Creek that had shown interest. They worked just long enough for the brownies to bake and cool.

Finished, Gabe took one of the thick chocolate morsels from the plate Yvonne had set on the counter. For a moment as he chewed, Gabe allowed his eyes to drift toward Hannah. She occupied the same chair, but the book had fallen to the floor and she slept. In repose, her long, dark lashes curved against pale skin. Her closed eyes hid the glare she’d worn when she saw him. Soft snores came from a mouth that hadn’t deigned to speak to him. Asleep, she looked calm, peaceful, and almost angelic.

“She’s had a rough time,” Adam said.

The dark smudges under the lashes and skin stretched across sharp cheekbones attested to Adam’s observation. Yes, she look angelic, but not well. Not a bit. For a moment, he felt protective of her, as if a woman who’d survived the refugee camps of Kenya needed anyone to look after her, let alone him. She’d made it very clear that she didn’t like him.

Why not? Women usually did. But her words and response made him realize he’d have to either develop a tough hide to get to know Hannah or forget that foolish attraction he’d felt for the woman she used to be.

“Thanks for the brownies,” Gabe said to Yvonne. “Bye, y’all.”

He left and headed toward his apartment. When he got inside, he realized he still thought about Hannah, still wondered. Should he forget her or attempt to win her with charm and persistence? Somehow he felt charm wouldn’t sway her, especially since she’d given him little opportunity even to chat with her. As for persistence, he had no idea how long she’d be in town or if he’d ever exchange a word with her.

Instead of thinking about the impossibility of wooing Adam’s sister, he turned on the television, took a brownie from the sack Yvonne had sent home with him, and watched an NBA game.

Birdie had heard that the preacher’s sister had arrived in town a week earlier, but no one in her vast network of informants had reported a sighting. Well, Yvonne had talked to Hannah but refused to pass any information on. Family, she said, and confidential. Birdie had to admire that, darn it!

Her eyes moved around the sanctuary. The basketball coach sat next to Bobby and Hector. The Kowalskis sat in a pew near the back, all four of them. Good to see them. Birdie had never thought they’d come, but the girls loved Sunday school and the children’s sermon. Adam had added that when they started having a few children in the service again.

Good crowd this morning. They were averaging seventy-five a Sunday, up from forty when the preacher first arrived. With her guidance, he’d done a good job building up the church. Now, if he’d get married and start producing children, he’d be as near perfect as she could stand.

Then her gaze returned to Coach Borden and she smiled, an expression she knew most of the men in Butternut Creek feared but the coach hadn’t seen. He wouldn’t run from her, not until he realized he was the Widows’ next project.

After the service, Birdie hastened toward the door to the street as fast as her aching feet would allow.

“Where’s your sister?” she asked Adam after she’d pushed through the crowd waiting to greet the preacher.

Adam blinked a few times when she spoke. Probably attempting to come down from the spiritual plane to the everyday, struggling with her demand for information that had nothing to do with the just-completed service.

“Nice sermon,” she said to allow him a moment to switch his mind from unworldly to the important topics of the real world. “Where’s your sister?”

“Resting. She had a long flight from London.”

Birdie nodded. “But that was a week ago.”

“Yes, she’s still tired.”

“When do we get to meet her? Will she be here next week?”

Adam shrugged. “Miss Birdie, I don’t know. She needs rest and…” He paused.

“Poor dear,” Birdie murmured.

He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized her. Too polite to insult her, his expression meant he didn’t believe her sympathetic murmur. He knew very well what she wanted: information. He also knew she could outwit and outwait anyone.

“Miss Birdie, my sister’s very independent. Usually refuses to do anything I suggest.” He shrugged. “That
anyone
suggests.”

“Aha,” she said. Oh, she knew from his expression he wanted to take back those words. Too late. He’d issued a challenge to the Widows. Nothing they liked better than a challenge. They’d get his sister to church if they had to carry her.

“But don’t worry,” he hurried to say. “She’ll come when she’s able.” He gulped and added, “Maybe.”

The man couldn’t lie. That’s what made him so easy to read.

She smiled triumphantly. If he wasn’t so distracted by the line of people behind her, he’d realize her questions had a goal other than his sister’s church attendance. “How long is she staying?”

“I don’t know.”

She nodded. Probably plenty of time for their purposes.

“She’s not interested in much of anything now. She has health issues and…”

Birdie tilted her head and stared at him in the way she knew he recognized. It meant,
You can’t talk me out of this
.

“Miss Birdie, if you can get her here, great, but she’s a really tough case, very strong-willed.” He looked past her at the congregants attempting to pass by the two of them and get out the door.

No one had a stronger will than Birdie MacDowell. Squashing the desire to rejoice in her future victory of whatever kind presented itself, she headed toward the kitchen where she knew the other three Widows would be cleaning up.

From behind her, she heard the preacher say, “Do not try to…,” but his words tapered off as she moved farther away.

“Blossom says the wedding plans have hit a snag,” Winnie said as she wiped down the counter.

“When the bride and groom aren’t engaged, it makes planning a lot harder.” Blossom nodded morosely.

Birdie hadn’t known Blossom could look morose.

“I’d like to use a theme.” Blossom sounded even more miserable. “What colors should we use? We don’t even know what season the wedding will be.”

Birdie picked up the sleeve of coffee cups from next to the coffeepot and placed it on the shelf she’d reserved for it in the coffee-cup cupboard. She’d put a large sign there to remind people but they simply didn’t pay attention.

“Sometimes we have no choice but to give in to the inevitable,” Birdie stated.

“What?” Winnie asked. “You’re giving in?”

“To the inevitable?” Mercedes said. “Birdie MacDowell, when have you ever given in to the inevitable? You fight the inevitable with every atom of your being.”

“Perhaps we should take a break from planning a wedding.” Birdie smiled at the women, who studied her as if a stranger had taken over her body. “Take on another project.”

“What will we do if we don’t plan that wedding?” Blossom asked in her soft voice, looking a little less sad in the hope, Birdie guessed, that their leader did have a new plan of action.

“Ladies, you forget. We have another purpose. Matchmaking.”

“Oh, yes.” Blossom clapped her hands.

The other two didn’t look as pleased. No, they took a step closer and frowned.

“Who?” Winnie asked.

“The coach,” Birdie responded.

“Well, of course, but we tried that,” Winnie said. “We attempted to trick him into having breakfast with the clerk at the county court office.”

“And with the new librarian I’m training and the math teacher at the middle school.” Birdie paused. “Why didn’t we try Reverend Patillo?”

“She talked to me at the diner and begged us to leave her alone. Said she couldn’t face another breakfast with a new suitor after that last one was arrested.”

“And we have, for a while,” Winnie said. “Left her alone.”

“We threw near every presently unmarried woman in the county at the coach, and none of them stuck,” Winnie pointed out. “Who’s left?”

“Oh, ladies, I can tell you have lost your edge,” Birdie chortled.

“For heaven’s sake, if you know something, tell us,” Mercedes snapped.

“The preacher’s sister arrived last week.”

“Oh.” The other three watched Birdie, their eyes sparkling with pleasure and anticipation.

“Why didn’t we know that?” Winnie asked.

“She sneaked in quietly. No one knew except the family and me.” She glanced around the room triumphantly. “That big black car in the front of the parsonage belongs to her.”

“How did you find out?” Winnie hated not knowing stuff before Birdie or anyone else.

“Hector told Bree. He says she’s been sick and is sort of thin.”

“We can fix that,” Mercedes said. “Fatten her up. That’s one of the things we do best. How old is she?”

“When he first got here, the preacher told me she was two years older than he is.” Birdie shrugged. “Doesn’t make much difference. They’re close to the same age.”

“And they’re all we have to work with,” Mercedes added, truthful as ever.

“Is she single?” Winnie asked.

Birdie blinked. She had no idea. Oh, dear, dear, dear. She
was
getting old if she’d forgotten to ask the most important question of all. Now she had to confess to these women who admired her matchmaking skill that she didn’t know everything. She’d failed. Admitting to that distressed her deeply.

With nothing left to do but pull up her britches, accept defeat, and move on, Birdie said, “I don’t know.”

At those words, Blossom’s eyes grew large and a hand flew to cover her mouth. Winnie glared at Birdie.

“What?” Mercedes said, her voice filled with shock. “You don’t know?”

“No, but Hector says she arrived here alone. Surely a caring spouse would be with her when she’s so sick.” Birdie nodded, once, to make her point.