On Lone Star Trail (21 page)

“No. Deb never wanted to go.” TJ paused for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Gillian. “You're the only woman I've taken to a rodeo.”

It was a simple statement, hardly a declaration of love, and yet the warmth welling up inside her surprised Gillian with its intensity. “I feel special,” she said softly.

“You are.”

Gillian hadn't been this nervous in years. She took a deep breath as she told herself there was no reason for a case of nerves. To her surprise, she'd slept well last night, and if she'd dreamed, she hadn't remembered it. When she'd met TJ for breakfast, he'd been his normal friendly self, telling her he was confident she would play flawlessly but assuring her no one would notice if she made a mistake. It had been a classic pep talk, one she appreciated because it came from TJ, the man who pulled no punches.

Gillian took another deep breath, reminding herself that she'd practiced a few days earlier and was familiar with the organ. It wasn't even as if people would be staring at her while she played. The organ was in the rear of the church as part of a choir loft. Pastor Bill had told her that after considerable debate over the location, the congregation had chosen by the narrowest of margins—one vote—to place the organ and choir out of sight.

“The majority believed our focus should be on the altar and the cross,” he told her. “That's the reason we come to this building.”

Taking another deep breath, Gillian said a silent prayer that her music would please the One who gave his Son for her.

“Are you ready?”

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the minister's voice. When he'd reviewed the schedule for the morning, he hadn't mentioned that she would see him before the service.

“I am now.” The prayer, though brief, had restored her confidence and filled her with peace.

“Good. I saw the first people pulling into the parking lot, so any time you want to start is fine.”

Glancing at her watch, Gillian realized this was a full ten minutes before the congregation normally arrived. It was no wonder Pastor Bill had come over to talk to her.

“All right.” She placed her fingers on the keyboard and began. Within seconds, she was lost in the beauty of the music.

“You looked like you belonged there,” Sally told her an hour and a half later when the church was once more empty. Gillian had switched off the organ and hurried outside, planning to make a quick exit so she'd be ready when Mike came for her.

“How do you know what I looked like?” she asked. “I was behind you.”

Sally merely grinned. “You weren't invisible. I imagine almost everyone did what I did and snuck a peek at you.” Sally gave Gillian a hug. “The music was wonderful. I'd even go so far as to say it sounded inspired.”

“It was.” That was the only way Gillian could explain the feeling that had come over her as she'd played and that not once had her damaged fingers betrayed her.

“That's what I thought. This is where you're meant to be.” Sally took a shallow breath, smiling at her husband as he made his way toward her. “Gillian, don't laugh, but I believe God intends you to spend your life in a church.”

“As an organist?” Though the idea wasn't as foreign as it might have been two days earlier, it didn't feel quite right to Gillian.

“No. As a minister's wife.”

This time Gillian did laugh. “I'm sorry, Sally. You told me not to laugh, but I couldn't help it. It's bad enough that the Matchers want to see me married this summer, but did you have to join their ranks? Even if I were interested in your idea—which I am not—there are several problems, starting with the fact that I don't know any single ministers.”

Undaunted, Sally shrugged. “Don't forget that all things are possible for God. He'll provide.”

Gillian was still shaking her head as she walked toward Mike's Ferrari. This was without a doubt the craziest idea Sally had ever had.

Y
ou look great!”

Though there was no denying the enthusiasm in Mike's voice, Gillian felt more than a twinge of concern. “I hope it's not too fancy.”

She'd worn a full-skirted sundress with its matching jacket to church and had a big floppy hat in her hand, in case the afternoon involved a lot of time outdoors. Both could be considered sensible. Her shoes were not. They consisted of nothing more than a few narrow straps and the highest heels she owned. Perhaps it was silly, but Gillian was always conscious that Mike was at least ten inches taller and didn't want him towering over her today.

She looked down at her shoes, suddenly aware that although TJ was almost as tall as Mike, she hadn't worried about height when she'd dressed for the rodeo or, for that matter, for anything else they did together. She'd chosen whatever clothing best suited the occasion. Perhaps that was because with the exception of the rodeo, she had never felt as if they were going on a date. They were friends spending time together. But the rodeo had changed all that, and when TJ had told her she was special . . .

“It's perfect,” Mike said.

For a second Gillian was confused until she realized that Mike was referring to her outfit, not to anything TJ might have said. Resolving that she would not think about TJ for the rest of the day, Gillian gave Mike her warmest smile. He was her date today, and that was the least he deserved.

“My family tends to dress up on the Lord's day,” Mike added with a casual gesture at his own clothing. The perfect fit of his dark suit told Gillian it had been custom-made, and his shoes looked as if they'd come straight from Italy. The only concession he'd made to the warmth of the day was a loosened tie.

“Do I dare ask how your stint at the organ went?” he asked as he opened the car door for Gillian and waited until she'd arranged her skirt before he closed it. The man was chivalry personified.

Gillian smiled again, remembering how peaceful she had felt in the choir loft and how she had not hit a single wrong note. The hymns she'd played were nowhere near as challenging as concert music, but she'd still been surprised at how easy it had been. “It went amazingly well. I shouldn't have worried.”

“I'm not surprised. Was the church crowded?” Mike put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, the Ferrari's low-throated rumble attracting the attention of several teenage boys.

Gillian nodded. “I was warned it probably would be full, and it was. When I looked down, I couldn't see a single empty spot.” The thought that at least some of those people might have come only to hear her play still bothered her.

“That's good.” It was almost as if Mike had read her thoughts, because he continued, “You provided a reason for the C&E Christians to come to church.”

“What do you mean by C&E Christians?” she asked as they headed east on Lone Star Trail. It was the perfect day for a drive. The clouds that had obscured the sun and threatened rain at the end of the rodeo were gone, replaced by a brilliant blue sky.

“Christmas and Easter.”

“Of course.” Though she hadn't heard the term, Gillian knew many people who attended church services only twice a year.

“Think about it, Gillian. Who knows how many of them were touched by today's service?”

Settling back in the seat, Gillian enjoyed the sensation of being cocooned in fine leather. “I hadn't considered that.” Pastor Bill's sermon about God's hand being visible in even the smallest of actions had resonated with her and had made her determined to view everything she did through that lens. If others in the congregation had had the same reaction, anything was possible.

“But now tell me about your week.”

“It was boring and exciting at the same time.” Mike tapped the controls on the steering column, switching radio stations until he found one with praise music.

When he'd lowered the volume so they could converse, Gillian raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage that? I would have thought boring and exciting were mutually exclusive.”

Mike shrugged, as if the answer should be obvious. “The meetings were boring. We were working out the details of the campaign: where to hold fundraisers, where and when to make public appearances.” Mike turned to gaze at Gillian, his lips curving into a wry smile. “Boring.”

“If the meetings were boring, what was exciting?”

“The idea of making a difference. I can picture Blytheville five or ten years from now, and I like what I believe can happen. We'll keep the town's charm but move it firmly into the twenty-first century with gradual but sensible changes.”

Though sunglasses hid his eyes, nothing could hide Mike's enthusiasm. This was what he wanted to do, what he felt called to do. This was the kind of infectious enthusiasm Gillian had seen in TJ's expression on a few occasions. He'd looked that way when he'd talked about the rodeo and his motorcycle but never when he spoke of teaching.

She bit the inside of her cheek at the realization that while
teaching had been the way TJ earned his living, it was not his passion. How sad. Gillian's career might have ended too soon, but at least she had had a few years to do what she loved. She couldn't help wishing TJ had been as fortunate.

“You really want to win,” she said, turning her attention back to Mike. It wasn't fair to him that her thoughts kept drifting toward TJ. She had resolved to make today Mike's day, but so far she'd been unsuccessful in keeping that resolution.

“I do. I think I'm the right mayor for Blytheville right now, but let's talk about you. How did you spend your week?”

“Painting, hanging pictures, arranging furniture, and going to a rodeo.”

“Really? I never pictured you as a rodeo gal.”

Gillian smiled, remembering the way the aromas of hot dogs, fries, and sunblock had assailed her when she'd entered the arena. “It was my first time, but I enjoyed it . . . all except for the time a steer was injured.”

“They have some pretty good vets on the circuit.”

“That's what TJ said.” He'd told her not to watch if she didn't want to, but she'd been fascinated by the speed with which the cowboys had brought in a sled, raised its sides, and carried the injured animal out of the arena.

“TJ?” To Gillian's surprise, Mike's voice held a note of disapproval.

She nodded. “You remember him, don't you? He's been helping me with the senior center, and he took me to the rodeo yesterday.”

“I see.” This time there was no doubt. Mike didn't approve. The tightening of his lips told Gillian that. A second later, his face was back to normal and he smiled as he said, “It might not be as exciting as a rodeo, but I have tickets for the symphony in Austin next Friday evening. I was hoping I could convince you to be my date.”

His voice was warm and persuasive, that of the consummate
politician. “There's a new restaurant in Austin that's supposed to be pretty good. I thought we could have dinner there, then go to the concert.”

Though she was flattered to be invited, Gillian's instincts told her to refuse. As much as she loved music, she wasn't certain she was ready to watch others perform. It was one thing to listen to a recording, quite another to attend a live performance. In the past, Gillian had been the one on the stage. But the way Mike phrased the invitation made it clear this was important to him.

“I'd love to.”

“Wonderful.” The smile that accompanied his response told Gillian she had made the right decision.

“We're almost there,” Mike said twenty minutes later as he turned onto a gravel drive.

The time had gone quickly, with them talking about everything from his campaign to Gillian's senior center. Now they were on the outskirts of Blytheville, bumping along a road better suited for trucks than low-slung sports cars. With trees and shrubs lining the drive, it felt like the private road it was, and though they traveled no more than half a mile, Gillian had the sensation of entering a different country, one of cattle ranches and old money.

As the road took a bend to the left, emerging into an open area, Gillian inhaled sharply. Mike's parents' home was not what she'd expected. Knowing the family was one of the wealthiest in the area and having heard others refer to their home as a mansion, she'd expected an elaborate building, perhaps constructed of native limestone. Instead, it appeared to be a log cabin.

As the thought formed, Gillian dismissed it. Cabin was a misnomer for a building this large. Constructed of red-stained logs with one of the green metal roofs so common in this part of Texas, the house looked as if it had been there for generations. The majority of it was only one story high, although the A-line roof in the center suggested a second floor or at least a loft. Two
Adirondack chairs and half a dozen simple wooden rockers lined the porch that appeared to wrap around the entire house.

Far from being a mansion flaunting its owners' wealth, this building seemed to whisper a welcome. Without setting foot inside, Gillian was convinced this house was truly a home, a place where family lived and loved.

As the car rolled to a stop, a middle-aged couple emerged from the house, wearing smiles that underscored Gillian's sense of welcome.

“We're so glad you could come,” Mrs. Tarkett said as she hugged Gillian. Unlike her husband and son, Mike's mother was average height. A brunette with dark brown eyes, she seemed to have contributed little other than her patrician nose to Mike, who had his father's lighter coloring and his strong jaw. When the older woman smiled again, Gillian revised her assessment. Mike had his mother's smile.

Though his greeting was more restrained than his wife's, Mr. Tarkett echoed her sentiments, giving Gillian a soft pat on the shoulder before he wrapped his arm around his wife's waist and kissed the nape of her neck.

Gillian stared, startled by the obvious love Mike's parents shared. She'd expected a Southern version of her brother and his wife, two people who respected each other and were comfortable in their marriage, not a couple who looked as much in love as newlyweds.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Tarkett.”

Mike's mother shook her head. “None of this Mr. and Mrs. Tarkett stuff. We're Stacy and Cal.”

As soon as the introductions were complete, Cal Tarkett clapped Mike on the shoulder. “C'mon, son. The grill's ready for those steaks. Let's leave the women to their work.” In that moment, he sounded exactly like George and his old-fashioned ideas of gender-appropriate tasks.

Wrinkling her nose as if she knew her husband was kidding,
Stacy led the way into the house. “Cal's all bluff,” she said, pausing only briefly as Gillian admired the soaring ceiling and the double-sided fireplace that separated the living room from the dining area. “The house suits us,” she said. And it did. Spacious without being overwhelming, the interior was as welcoming as its exterior.

“How can I help you?” Gillian asked when they reached a kitchen that, while small, was equipped with restaurant-grade appliances.

“You can help me by relaxing,” Stacy said. “You're our guest.” She pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator and set it on the breakfast bar along with two glasses. “Sweet tea with a touch of lavender.”

When Gillian had perched on the stool she indicated, Stacy filled the glasses and took a sip from hers. “I'm glad you were able to come today. Cal and I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

The nervousness that had plagued Gillian dissipated under the force of Stacy's smile. “I'm glad to be here. But please, let me do something to help you. It can't be easy to cook for a crowd.”

Stacy shrugged as she washed two tomatoes and began to dice them. “Four's not a crowd.”

“Four?” Gillian was confused. “Mike said the whole family was coming.”

Looking up from the tomato she was chopping, Stacy shook her head. “Not today. I didn't want you to be overwhelmed on your first visit. Don't get me wrong, Gillian. I love Cal's family, but they can be a bit exuberant, if you know what I mean.”

Exuberant
was not a word Gillian would have applied to her own family. Her father, George and Lisa, even her nephew Gabriel were restrained.

“They tend to steamroll people,” Stacy continued. “But I imagine most families are like that.”

“Mine isn't.” The words were out before Gillian knew what was happening.

“Really? Tell me about them.”

And so, though she had never before confided in a virtual stranger, Gillian found herself telling Mike's mother about her father's hands-off style of child rearing and how George had always seemed more avuncular than brotherly. When she finished, Stacy opened her arms and drew Gillian into them.

“You poor dear. Now I see why Mike wanted to bring you here. You need a family. A real family.”