Any Man of Mine (12 page)

“Excuse me.”

A deep voice beside me made me look up. And my mouth went dry.

J
ames. Wearing a casual shirt, corduroy blazer and clean blue jeans. A perfect hybrid of the “man” who loved Schubert and the guy who loved bucking broncs. He was good, I'll give him that.

My eyes drifted to his mouth that quirked up in his now trademark smile, as if he were laughing at some interior joke. I thought of his kiss and my lips burned.

“Is this seat saved?”

“No, but I'm praying for it.” Nervousness brought out my dark humor. I had hoped I wouldn't see him after last night's kiss.

“Well, I'll help things along,” he said, slipping in beside me as if everything was all peachy keen between us.

Tracy nudged me and I glared at her, but she wouldn't back down. I rolled my eyes and turned to James.

James displayed courtesy and charm, but while he spoke, I couldn't keep my eyes off his mouth. I couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. How his face had softened before he moved in. How I had met him partway.

You're in church, you ninny. Get a grip.

“So what brings you to church today?” I asked, injecting into my voice a tone of nonchalance. Keep things simple and superficial. He was
not
the man for me.

“Memories of other church services,” he said. “Some of the things we talked about the other night.”

My heart fluttered again at his serious tone and the hint of yearning in his voice. I'd heard it the other night, as well. When he kissed me.

“And the fact that they have a free nursery,” James added.

His mocking look dampened the faint warmth that his previous comment had kindled in me. “Of course,” I said, feeling foolish.

I was about to turn away, but as I caught his gaze again, his sardonic smile softened. “I'm kind of kidding about the nursery,” he said, his voice dropping enough to create a hint of intimacy.

Again his eyes held mine. Again I felt like I was drifting into a new, different place. His smile faded and I saw him swallow.

“Danielle…”

A crash of musical chords surrounded us as the singing group at the front started up. I jumped. James looked away.

My heart fluttered as I slowly got to my feet, my mind trying to connect to the words flashing on the screen overhead. I caught the rhythm, caught the song. But as I sang, I was intimately aware of the man beside me.

Forgive my distraction, Lord,
I prayed as my eyes followed the words, trying to pull myself into worship. Into the realization that I was in God's house and worshiping Him.

I slowly was drawn into the song, but even so, I heard James's voice beside me, hesitant at first as he learned the words, then more forceful as he caught on.

Then the first few songs were done, and the worship leader was welcoming us to the service, inviting us to greet the people around us.

I took a quick breath and shook James's hand officially welcoming him to our church service. I kept my voice cool and calm.

He looked down into my eyes and gave my hand an extra squeeze at the end. Nervy as a pickup artist in church. Which is exactly what he was.

I went through the motions of chatting briefly with the people ahead of me, behind me. Said hello to Tracy and David again, and tried to make myself concentrate on the music as the praise team started singing.

I closed my eyes to help me concentrate. I was here to be a part of a community that worshiped God. I listened to the words, let them become a part of me and slowly let myself be carried to another place, a place close to my Savior, in His presence.

By the time the pastor came to the front of the church, I was in the right frame of mind for worship.

We had a visiting minister today and he spoke on Exodus 33 when Moses was up on the mountain and he asked God to show Moses His glory.

“‘I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion. But you cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live,'” he said.

He continued on to the end then looked around at us and began speaking again. When he spoke of God's mercy and compassion, I felt comforted. Encouraged. I struggled each day with people who I needed to deal with compassionately, even though I didn't think they deserved it.

But then he went on to speak of God's glory. God's power. How God dealt with Job when Job dared to question Him. How God has shown time and time again that He is a God to be reckoned with, not a tame beast that we can send on errands with our prayers. How we approach a God so holy that even a glimpse of His face would kill us.

“He is a God of power and judgment,” the minister said, “and we need to remember that. Because while we can be comforted by His compassion shown to us in taking on fragile human flesh, we can also be comforted to know that He conquered death.
Conquered,
” the minister emphasized. “It was a battle and He won. Jesus has laid claim to this world and He is in charge.”

I was taken aback by his passionate message.

I know I didn't always like to read the prophets in the Old Testament. They always seemed so harsh and, well, judgmental.

But isn't God a judge as well as a Savior? Isn't He also the King and Ruler of this earth?

I glanced sidelong at James and thought again of his memory of his father. How God isn't “safe” but He is good. These ideas shifted my ongoing perception of God. And, possibly, my perception of James.

The last chords of the last song died away and then the praise group moved into another chorus and conversation started to swell as people made their way out of church.

I waited a moment, letting the message sink in.

I turned to James, but he was already walking away, heading toward the nursery. I saw a few women's heads turn, watching him. Just as I was.

 

“Could you? Please?” Chip caught my hands and squeezed, giving me his best sad, puppy dog face.

“Chip, I haven't had an empty evening to myself in weeks. I was hoping to get together with Tracy.” I got up from the kitchen table and tied on an apron. This time I was going to be firm. Just as James had encouraged me to. “Babysitting isn't really high on my ‘want to do' list.”

“But if James doesn't get anyone to watch Sherry, he can't come check out those new broncs of the Alamedas. They're supposed to be real
goers. Drake Alameda wants us to break the one for riding.”

I'd worked well into the evening this past Monday and Tuesday. And each night as I dragged myself home, I would look over at James's house and wonder what he was doing—how he was managing. I'd slow down, think about stopping, but each time the memory of his kiss and the thought of him in church would mingle together with the picture of him riding that wild bronc. It was altogether confusing and frustrating. And now on my first free night, Chip wanted me to nurture and help that part of James along.

“Why would I want to make it easier for James to potentially break his neck on some ‘goers.'” I put sarcastic emphasis on the last word. Honestly this “wild at heart” thing was getting a bit overdone.

“He loves doing it. Besides, he's better with the horses than we are.”

“Of course he would love doing it,” I muttered. I don't know why it should bother me that James was no different from my brothers when it came to putting his neck on the line. Surely having the responsibility of a little baby should have tempered that very “guy” urge. I pulled out two onions from the refrigerator and started chopping them up, sniffing as the fumes overtook me.

“It would really help out if you could. I mean, it's not his fault his sister took off on him.” Chip came around to the sink and leaned on the counter, trying to catch my eye.

“It's not my fault, either. Has he heard anything from Robin?”

Chip shrugged. “I guess she called yesterday crying. She said she wasn't going to come home.”

I felt a moment of sympathy for James and, in spite of myself, admiration for him continuing to care for Sherry.

“By the way, how are things with you and Juanita?”

“Good.” His smile blossomed. “She's a real neat person. Spunky and a lot of fun. She's really working on changing her life, you know.” This was delivered with a plaintive tone, just in case, I presumed, he thought I would be reporting back to Oden, Juanita's caseworker. “She hasn't been drinking or anything like that.”

“That's good.”

“I know she's not exactly the kind of person Mom, or even you, would pick out for me, but I do care for her. A lot.”

Chip's perception was a welcome surprise. “Just like you guys have certain people in mind for me, I guess I've done the same for you. So if you care for her, then I'm glad. I hope Steve Stinson doesn't make trouble for you.”

“I heard he's out of the county.” Chip took a piece of raw onion and popped it in his mouth. Gross. “You know, speaking of having people in mind… James is also a really nice guy.”

Why did even the mention of his name give me that
silly jolt? “I'm sure he is,” I conceded, trying to banish the memory of that foolish kiss out of my mind.

“I mean, look at him, taking care of that little baby for his sister. Not many guys would do that.”

I let the observation slide as I tipped the onions into the sizzling frying pan, stirring them around to sauté them.

“Whatcha making?” Chip sniffed appreciatively. “Smells great.”

Now, that was one thing I did appreciate about my brothers. As long as the scent of onion or bacon frying wafted through the house, they assumed supper was going to be fantastic. “Plain ordinary old shepherd's pie,” I said, dumping the hamburger into the pan.

“You can make plain ordinary taste extraordinary.”

My surprise was almost as great as the warm feeling his compliment gave me. “Thanks, Chip, that's nice to hear.”

He beamed. “James told me it was a good idea to give you a compliment once in awhile.”

Trust something James initiated to make me feel contradictory feelings of pleasure and frustration.

“So, would you be able to help James out?” Chip asked, as if his compliment had paved the way for my agreement. He leaned closer and smiled. “James told me to leave you alone. Said you worked hard enough every day, but I know that you're a good person and it would be great for him to get out.”

“You're really on a roll,” I said, shaking my head
at his persistence and, secretly pleased with what James had told him. “Okay. I'll babysit Sherry.”

“You're the best.” Chip gave me an awkward one-armed hug. Then he clattered out of the kitchen, presumably to tell James the good news.

 

Nine o'clock. I wasn't going to get rescued from this screaming child for at least another hour. I had rocked, burped, fed, changed, sang, pulled faces, ignored and carried. Nothing in my babysitting repertoire had prepared me for this unceasing onslaught of grief.

Sherry's sorrow had worked up such a sweat on her, I had changed her clothes twice. My head ached and I wished for the tenth time I hadn't agreed to this.

“I'm a pretty easy touch,” I said to Sherry. Not that she could hear me above her wails. I looked at the clock again. Seventeen seconds had passed.

I couldn't keep this up any longer, but what could I do?

WWMD. What would Mom do?

Though I could see the house from the window, I phoned my dad, hoping he would feel sorry for me and possibly spot me.

“Take her for a car ride,” was his blunt advice.

I hung up and sighed. “Thanks, Dad,” I said, and continued pacing. Five minutes later, I thought, why not?

So, ignoring her screams, I bundled Sherry up, carried her out to my car, which still had the baby seat in the front, and put the screaming bundle of
baby girl in it, fighting her swinging arms to buckle her in.

I closed the door and fought the temptation to simply walk away. For a moment I understood what Laurel had to deal with and promised to be more sympathetic to her next time she called me at eleven o'clock at night.

A few minutes later I was driving down the road and, to my immense pleasure and surprise, Sherry's cries were slowly dissipating. Three miles down the road I could see her eyelids drooping, open, then droop again.

Then, thank the Lord, she was asleep. And, thank the Lord, I had a full tank of gas. Though with the price of gas, this was turning into an expensive favor.

On a whim I turned down a side road and found myself heading toward the arena where the boys were working. I pulled up to the arena. So why did the sight of James's truck give my heart that little schoolgirl lift?

You should tell him that you're not going to babysit anymore. I glanced at Sherry. Easier said than done. No one had twisted my arm to take care of her. Well, James had put his hand on my shoulder and given me that too familiar half smile that started a small yearning deep inside.

The door of the arena opened and I was about to leave when Jace came out. He saw me, paused, then jogged over. I rolled down the window, pointed at Sherry and lifted my finger to my lips.

“What's up, sis? Should I get James?” he whispered, crouching down to my level.

“No. She wouldn't settle so I started driving with her and ended up here.”

“Go inside. I'll drive her around for a bit if you want.”

“No. That's okay.”

“Really. You should watch James. He's really good.”

“Now why would I want to watch him get tossed off a horse?”

“He's done the bronc riding. Alameda needed us to get the buck out of a couple of his geldings. James is doing the finesse work.”

I had to admit I was curious. Jace sensed my hesitation, unbuckled my seat belt and pulled me out of the car. “I'll take care of the kid.”

By that time I was out of the car and Jace was folding his six-foot-three frame into it, so there was nothing left to do but go inside. I pulled my coat close around me, wishing I had dressed a bit warmer, then walked over to the arena. The familiar smell brought back a flood of memories.