On Lone Star Trail (22 page)

I
t seemed as if the entire town of Dupree had come for the grand opening. Gillian had deliberately scheduled it for seven in the morning so people could come before work or school, and since seniors were notoriously early risers, they'd be ready for a full day of activities once the ribbon was cut and the speeches delivered.

“You should be the one doing this. It's your center,” Linda said as Gillian handed her one of the two oversized pairs of scissors.

“Nonsense.” Gillian gave the other pair to Sheila. “This would still be a vacant building if you two hadn't given me the idea. Now let's let the mayor do his thing. I can see everyone eyeing the coffee and muffins.”

Two long tables laden with food and morning beverages were arranged between the ceremonial ribbon and the storefront, and the aromas were filling the air, making Gillian as hungry as the rest of the crowd.

To her delight, the mayor's speech was mercifully short. After thanking Gillian and TJ for helping what he referred to as the
town's old-timers, he turned to Sheila and Linda, urging them to wield their shears. Seconds later, Dupree's senior center was officially open.

Though some people entered the building to admire all that had been done, most remained outside, enjoying the food Russ Walker and his staff had prepared. Gillian didn't blame them. Food was always a big attraction.

“I'd call this a resounding success,” TJ said as he stood inside the doorway, snapping pictures of people inspecting the photographs on the walls, shuffling cards at one of the bridge tables, and chatting with each other.

Two women were even seated on the bench to what used to be Sally's piano, leafing through the sheet music, though neither had opened the fallboard, perhaps because they didn't relish an audience.

Though Gillian had been surprised when Sally had insisted on donating the piano to the center, she couldn't argue with the logic. “It's just collecting dust in my house,” Sally explained. “At least there, someone will use it.”

Gillian hadn't disagreed with Sally, and she didn't disagree with TJ's assessment of the center's success.

“I couldn't have done it without you,” she told him.

TJ shook his head as he framed another shot. “Sure you could have. It might have taken longer, but you'd have gotten it done.” He looked up, his brown eyes serious. “Haven't you figured out yet that you can do anything you set your mind to?”

That was so far from the truth that Gillian wanted to laugh. She couldn't even figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

The thought of spending more time with Mike, perhaps exploring a permanent relationship, was appealing, especially after yesterday. Though she'd expected to feel welcome at the Tarketts' ranch, Gillian hadn't expected to feel as if she were part of the family, but that was exactly what had happened.
She'd shared more than two meals and an afternoon with them. She'd shared part of their life.

Both Stacy and Cal had entertained her with amusing stories of Mike's childhood, and when the discussion had turned to his mayoral campaign, they'd asked her opinion about several key platform planks, acting as if she were a member of the inner circle. Gillian couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so stimulated yet relaxed at the same time. If this was what being part of a family meant, the only thing she could say was that she liked it. She liked it a lot.

But no matter how much she had enjoyed her time at the ranch and no matter how often she'd found herself wishing Cal and Stacy were her parents, Gillian knew it was too soon to be thinking about marriage. When she married—if she married—she had to be certain she was making the right decision. There could be no doubts, no lingering thoughts of another man.

That was something she had no intention of sharing with TJ, and so she said, “I appreciate the vote of confidence, even if it's exaggerated. I'm just thankful we've gotten this far with the center.”

TJ followed Gillian into the kitchen, where she'd stashed a couple dozen muffins and a plate of doughnuts for midmorning snacks. “What's next?”

Gillian opened the refrigerator to check the supply of orange and cranberry juice. That was something she could do. Predicting the future was far more difficult. “I don't know.”

And that bothered her. The center was done and would be functioning on its own within the week. Sheila and Linda had volunteered to be co-managers; the first set of instructors had been hired; Russ Walker had his standing order for food. Though she knew she'd be welcome any time she walked through the door, Gillian also knew she wasn't necessary. It was time to find something else to do. The question was, what?

“It's good to see the town so excited.” Pastor Bill snagged TJ's arm as he headed for school. “You and Gillian did a great job on this.”

It wasn't only the town that was excited. So was TJ, though his excitement had little to do with the senior center and everything to do with the woman who'd created it. It had been more than thirty-six hours since they'd left the rodeo grounds, but the memory of Gillian pressing her lips to his cheek had not faded. He could still recall the rush of pleasure that had flooded through him, the way his nerve endings had tingled. All because of a kiss that had lasted no more than a second.

It had been a special day, and as he'd told her, Gillian was a special woman. But he wasn't going to tell Pastor Bill that any more than he would take credit he didn't deserve. “It was Gillian's idea. All I did was some grunt work.”

Pastor Bill released his grip on TJ's arm as he shook his head. “I wouldn't call those pictures grunt work. They're outstanding. You're a truly talented man.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, TJ looked at his boot tips. “The camera does most of the work.”

“Maybe for focusing and setting the exposure, but it takes an artistic eye to frame the shot. Don't shortchange yourself, TJ. God has given you many talents. And I'm not just talking about photography.”

The minister looked directly at TJ, his brown eyes serious. “If you ever feel the calling, you're welcome in my pulpit any Sunday. I know the congregation would welcome the RV Reverend.”

Feeling the blood drain from his face, TJ stared at the man who'd delivered the bombshell. “How did you find out?” The day Deb had died had been the day the RV Reverend had retired.

Pastor Bill kept his eyes fixed on TJ, willing him not to break the contact. “Someone blogged about you a couple years ago. What he said impressed me so much that I bookmarked the post. When you first came to town, I thought you looked familiar, but
I couldn't figure out why.” He laid his hand on TJ's shoulder, perhaps to keep him from bolting.

“I was cleaning up my bookmarks a week or so ago, saw your picture, and the pieces fell into place.”

TJ said nothing, unsure what to do now that his past had come to haunt him.

“You don't need to make any decisions today,” Pastor Bill continued. “You're always welcome in our church family, either as part of the congregation or as a minister. Just think about it. That's all I ask.”

W
ill you show us around?”

Gillian turned, her eyes widening at the sight of Stacy and Cal in the doorway.

“Mike wanted to come,” Stacy continued, “but there was a problem at one of our oil fields in West Texas, so he had to fly out there. Cal told me to wait a day or two until the excitement died down, but I couldn't. I know how important this is to you, and I just had to be here.”

Gillian smiled—who wouldn't smile at Stacy's obvious enthusiasm?—and returned the hug the older woman offered. “It was awfully nice of you to come, especially since the grand tour will take less than a minute.”

She ushered Cal and Stacy into the room. “Here it is—Dupree's senior center.” The two men she'd met at the bootery the day she'd arranged to rent the building were playing chess in one corner, their silent contemplation of the board in direct contrast to the animated discussion taking place at the table next to them. Gillian had watched the four women who were allegedly playing bridge and had decided that the ratio of conversation to card playing was three to one.

“With the exception of the piano and those chairs,” she said, pointing to a grouping of four upholstered club chairs, “everything folds. That way we can move stuff to the edges and have room for dancing, exercise classes, and anything else we dream up.”

“Great idea.” Cal's nod underscored his approval. “We could use something like this in Blytheville.”

Gillian didn't try to hide her surprise. “From what Mike said, I thought you had plenty of activities for seniors.”

“Oh, there are activities,” Cal agreed. “A couple of the churches have active senior groups, and the Y offers classes and pool time, but things are scattered.” He looked around the room, obviously assessing it. “This is what we need—on a bigger scale, of course. What would it take to get you to do this in Blytheville?”

Surprise turned to shock. Surely he wasn't serious.

Stacy laid a hand on her husband's arm. “Shame on you, Cal. You know better than to pressure her.” She gave Gillian a commiserating look. “When he gets an idea, my husband has a tendency to become a steamroller. I'm just as impressed as he is with what you've accomplished, but I know you need some time to make sure everything's running properly here before you consider another venture.” She took a step forward and hugged Gillian. “Just think about it, okay?”

By three o'clock Gillian was exhausted. She could understand the physical fatigue. After all, the past few weeks had been busy. What she couldn't understand was why she felt so drained, why all she wanted to do was return to her cabin and cry. She wasn't a crier. Dad had told her tears accomplished nothing, and he was right. But the way she felt right now, she could sob for hours and still not be done.

That was ridiculous. She wasn't going to cry; she wasn't going to pound her fists against a wall. Gillian wasn't a toddler having a tantrum. She was a grown woman who ought to be celebrating what everyone agreed was a highly successful achievement.

What she needed was a good listener, and only one person fit that bill. Gillian grabbed her bag and headed out, determined to reach the school before classes ended. If TJ couldn't help her, no one could.

The last thing TJ expected to see when he left school was Gillian standing near his bike. She wasn't sitting on it, of course, and was in fact a few feet away, but he had no doubt that she was waiting for him. A strange day had just turned even stranger.

With Pastor Bill's challenge to think about preaching ringing in his ears, TJ had had trouble concentrating on his classes. A year ago when his own faith had crumbled under the force of anger and despair, he had realized he was the last person worthy of helping others find comfort in God's Word. That day he had sworn he'd never again try, but today was different. Though TJ hadn't expected it, Pastor Bill's words had caused him to waver as memories of the times he'd counseled fellow campers and had shown them God's hand in their lives had lodged in his brain. For the first time since Deb's death, those memories had not made him feel like the worst of hypocrites.

He had spent the day counting the minutes until school ended, intending to take a long ride to clear his head. But now Gillian was here, looking as troubled as he felt.

“What's wrong?” he asked as he approached her. Those lovely green eyes were filled with confusion.

“Was it that obvious?” Though she tried to laugh, the sound was mirthless.

TJ shook his head. “Only if you know what to look for.”
And he did. He'd seen the same expression on his own face too many times to count. “Do you want to talk?”

“Yeah.”

He looked around. The faculty parking lot was hardly the place for a serious discussion. “Why don't we try the park?” It was only a block away from the school grounds, and though it was a popular spot on weekends and evenings, it was normally close to empty at this time of day.

When they were seated on one of the wrought-iron benches under a large oak tree, he cupped both ears in an attempt to lighten Gillian's mood. “I'm listening,” he told her.

She was silent for a moment, blinking rapidly as if she were trying not to cry. Oh, how TJ hoped she wouldn't cry. He'd never known what to say when faced with a woman's tears.

But Gillian did not cry. Instead she said, “I don't understand it. I ought to be happy. The senior center opening was a huge success. Everything went perfectly, and I didn't hear a single complaint. I should be thrilled, but all I want to do is cry.”

Though he'd never actually dissolved into tears, TJ knew the feeling. “That's normal. You've been running on an adrenaline high, and now that the center's open, it's wearing off. It's not unusual to feel drained.” He was glad he had an answer. Though he expected Gillian to nod, she did not.

“It's more than being drained. I feel totally empty, as if there's this enormous void inside me. I've had that feeling before, but never to this extent. I hate it, TJ. I hate feeling like this.”

Though he wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms, TJ wouldn't do that. She had come to him as a friend; he would respond like one. He searched his brain, looking for words to help fill the void. He could tell her he knew how she felt, for he did, but Gillian needed more than that.

Help
me, Lord
, he prayed, surprised at how natural it felt to speak to God again.
Give me the words I
need
. As the plea left his mind, a memory surfaced.

“You've seen
The Sound of Music
, haven't you?”

Gillian nodded. “Who hasn't? But please don't expect me to sing one of the songs, because I don't have a very good voice.”

“No singing required. Remember the line about how the Reverend Mother claims that when God closes a door, he opens a window?”

Gillian tipped her head to the side, her interest apparent. “Doesn't Maria say that to the Captain?”

“Exactly. What she doesn't tell him is that it takes more courage to climb through a window than to walk through a door. You and I are in the same boat. You lost your career; I lost Deb. We're both looking for that window.”

“And the courage to climb through it.”

Though her words were solemn, the way Gillian's expression seemed to have lightened ignited a spark deep inside TJ. Perhaps he'd been wrong and Pastor Bill was right. Perhaps God would forgive him for his anger and his doubts. Perhaps this was what TJ was meant to do.