“So are we all in agreement then?” Sandi stood in front of the historical society members gathered in the museum kitchen Monday night. “It’s short notice to pull off something like this with the Fourth almost on top of us.”
“We can do it,” Earl assured, as if he’d be the one racing to get the appropriate permits, cleaning out the society’s makeshift vending trailer, shopping for the best deal on ingredients—and sweating over hot grills to produce enough Navajo fry bread to keep equine center event-goers satisfied.
She owed Trey Kenton big-time for letting them slip in at the midnight hour to open a concession outside the arena. He’d even donated a side of beef for the flavorful, oversize tacos that were a regional favorite. Due to a major remodeling glitch, the venue for a three-day Fourth of July horse show scheduled in air-conditioned comfort in the Valley of the Sun had been shifted to Canyon Springs. The show sponsors sought, and found, just what they were looking for in the High Country Equine Center, and Trey hoped they’d prefer the new site in the future, as well.
“In my opinion,” Sharlene Odel said, rising to her feet as she raised her voice above the excited chatter of the society members, “we wouldn’t be in this predicament if the board had been taking care of business all along.”
The chatter stilled. All eyes turned to Sharlene.
Then Sandi.
She’d been expecting something like this. No doubt Sharlene sensed an opportunity to drive a wedge into the for-the-most-part supportive camaraderie of the society. The seldom-seen Fran had shown up today, too. And Dana.
Coincidence? Not likely.
With a silent prayer she turned to Sharlene.
“Shar has a very good point. It’s imperative that all our members take an interest in the financial health of our organization, not just relying on the elected board to carry the entire burden.”
She nodded toward the society’s treasurer. “Becky Ortiz is distributing printouts of our income and expenditures over the last two years. Last winter’s audit report, as well. I encourage all of you to examine them at your leisure and provide feedback on how we can better manage our resources.”
Sharlene, minus her Pekingese today, flashed Dana and Fran a disgruntled look. She snagged one of the sheets from Becky and held it up. “This is all nice and good. But legitimate concerns can still be raised as to the quality of a leadership that permitted our finances to fall into such a dismal state.”
Cate Landreth stood, hackles almost visibly rising. Cate wasn’t afraid of anyone, not even a well-entrenched member of Canyon Springs society. “No one could have anticipated the economic downturn, the subsequent need for Mae Harding to increase the museum rent or that the city would cut our funding.”
“Nevertheless,” Shar persisted, “with upcoming elections in September, I appeal to the membership to remember where we were two years ago when we elected the current board—and where we find ourselves today.”
“Maybe if you’d have bothered to come to a meeting occasionally, Shar,” Earl voiced in a lazy drawl, “you could have put that twenty-twenty hindsight of yours to good use and saved us from ourselves.”
Heads nodded around the room in agreement. Voices whispered support.
Sharlene looked down a haughty nose at the impertinent speaker, no doubt preparing to put him in his place, but Sandi stepped in before things could escalate further.
“Before feelings get hurt or words are said that we might regret—” she knew all about that “—let’s focus on our fundraising plans. Regardless of how we got here, we need this event to be a success.”
She couldn’t wrap things up and get out of there fast enough. Sharlene and her two supporters departed first, and Sandi hurried the others out behind them, insisting she couldn’t linger for small talk, but needed to be on her way to pick up Gina. She didn’t want to get sucked into dissing Sharlene or risk further splitting the association into factions with members feeling they needed to take sides.
When the last car pulled out, she locked up and stepped out into the darkness of the front porch. One more thing to add to her checklist—have Bryce replace that burned-out bulb. But at least she’d gotten through the evening without bloodshed.
Thank You, Lord.
“Good evening, Sandi.”
Her heart shot up to her throat and it was all she could do not to stagger back from the shadowed corner from where the voice had come. She took a deep breath as recognition dawned.
Bryce.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He rose from where he’d been seated on one of the wooden benches, obscured by the shadow of a large pine blocking the streetlight, and stepped into the slightly more illuminated portion of the porch next to her.
“What are you doing out here?” Her heart continued pounding an erratic beat.
“I’m just kickin’ back, enjoying the night. Town settles down after dark. Good time to come out and take pleasure in God’s handiwork. Count my blessings.”
That sure didn’t sound like the man her husband used to tell her about.
“I see.” Acutely aware of his too-close proximity, her words sounded almost breathless even to her own ears. She took a step back. “Well, don’t let me interrupt you. I’m sure living in the tiny apartment up there, you don’t get a lot of privacy.”
He chuckled, a low, appealing sound that caressed her ears. Made her, against her will, long to draw closer.
“That’s a fact. But I don’t feel the confinement so much in the summer months when I can spend a good deal of time outdoors.” He chuckled again, studying her face in the dim light. It warmed under his probing eyes. He took a deep breath, his broad chest rising and falling. Such a big man. Strong. Reassuring. “So, how’s museum business going? Saw tonight’s crowd leave. Sharlene still leading a lynch mob?”
She gave herself a mental shake, drawing her wandering thoughts back to the conversation. “Cate Landreth backed her down tonight and I threw myself into the fray before fists started flying. I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of her, but for the time being we’re moving forward.”
“I sure am sorry she’s giving you a hard time. Grandma Mae says you’ve been devoted to the museum ever since Keith’s passing. Have really kept it going.”
“I’ve tried anyway.” She shifted restlessly. “So how was the cookout?”
Ugh. Why’d she pick that topic? Reminding him of her rude about-face.
“Had a great time. Good food and good company. Kara’s sure sweet on that Kenton fellow. I could tell something was going on between those two even early last winter. And Meg and Joe—”
“Diaz?”
“Yeah, Diaz. Several of their friends, including a few I knew from my growing-up years. The pastor and his wife, too.”
Inwardly she groaned. The preacher and his wife? And she’d let her mother-in-law fill her with ridiculous, unfounded fears that sent her into a tailspin.
“I know I said it before, Bryce, but I’m really sorry for backing out on you at the last minute.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
He raised a halting hand. “No explanations needed.”
“I’d fully intended to go, but then—” There was no point in trying to explain. What could she say? My mother-in-law can’t stand you and I’m incapable of making my own decisions? “But thanks for the invitation.”
“Some other time, maybe.” He folded his arms across his chest, a smile widening. “I was on my best behavior Saturday night, so I think they’ll invite me again.”
“Interesting how you and Joe left town for the military, saw the wonders of the world, and still came back here.”
“And you’re thinking to yourself, ‘Self, Joe was a navy corpsman and now he’s a paramedic, a shining example to all. Bryce on the other hand, is shoveling manure, building fences and camping out with his poor old granny.’”
That’s exactly what she’d been thinking. Thank goodness in the dim light her blush wouldn’t betray her. “To each his own.”
He leaned in closer and her heart skittered.
“Just to set your mind at ease, Sandi, I’m caught between a rock and a hard place with the city’s budget-balancing quandary. I need to be here in town for Grandma—so she doesn’t have to pull up roots and move back to her no-good family in Ohio. But as you heard at the council meeting, several job openings are on hold indefinitely.”
So that was what he was doing, killing time until a position opened up? That’s why he needed additional income from the museum in the interim? She racked her brain for what was said at the council meeting. “The police department? Fire?”
“Firefighter,” he said with evident satisfaction. “I’d done some of that when I first joined the army. Thought I’d found my calling. Then gradually those roles were phased out for the most part, contracted out. But I’d kept it in mind for once I left the service, if they’d still take an old guy like me.”
“I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, now you know. But keep it to yourself, will you? The fire chief assured me again that the position’s mine if he has anything to say about it. He’s negotiating with the city for funding. It’s looking good. But I don’t want to go around town acting like I’m a shoo-in.”
“I won’t say a word.” But why was he telling her this at all? As if what she thought of him held some importance. Was it because he still thought she’d turned down his invitation for fear of soiling her reputation? Hadn’t wanted to be seen with him where they might be mistaken as a couple? “That was a big sacrifice to quit the army to come back here for your grandma.”
“I still relive the nightmare of that call rousting me out of my sleep half a world away. It’s been hard to face the fact she isn’t as invincible as I believed her to be as a kid.”
“But you haven’t been a kid for a long time, have you?”
“I guess not.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
“And I her. I’d been entertaining doubts of reenlisting anyway and that call sealed the deal.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She pitched a fit when she found out, but by then it was too late to stop me. When she was finally released from the Pine Country Care facility, I was waiting for her.”
“You considered leaving the army before Mae’s injury? You were in for—what?—fifteen years?”
His open expression closed down as if realizing he’d shared too much. For a flashing second she pictured him as he’d been as a kid. Mr. Tough Guy. Armor in place. Strong jaw jutting, determined not to let the world see where it hurt.
But it did.
She could see that much—and her heart went out to the little boy he’d been. The man he was.
Even in the dim light he must have read something in her eyes for he stepped back. Rubbing the palm of his hand along his bearded jawline, he glanced in the direction of the front door. “I suppose you’re adding that burned-out lightbulb to my ‘to do’ list?”
“Of course.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Bryce slammed the posthole digger into the hard-packed soil with all his might. Winced when it slammed into another buried bowling ball-size rock, sending a jarring wave of painful sensation up his arms and into his shoulders.
He muttered under his breath, knowing it wasn’t the rock-hard earth that troubled him, but the big, beautiful eyes of Sandi Bradshaw looking at him as if she could see straight into his soul. Under her gentle prodding, he’d been a regular windbag the other night. Mr. Macho Firefighter, making sure she knew he wasn’t the loser he suspected she thought he was. For whatever reason, wanting to ensure she knew he was every bit as worthy of her attention as that other guy, whoever he was. The one who got her to back out of going to the cookout at Casey Lake.
But then she had to go and ask why he’d wanted to leave the service. Had he confessed, the truth of it would leave him less than heroic in her eyes. No woman wanted to hear a man say fear had taken hold of him. Fear that he was burning out. Was going numb inside. That he’d so skillfully, determinedly, built walls around his mind and his heart to block the realities of his past, of war, that feeling nothing had become a desirable norm.
Stepping back to view his morning’s labor, he pulled out a handkerchief, tipped back his hat and wiped his brow. Trey said he’d rent one of those powered posthole diggers for him, but Bryce wanted no part of that. He needed to stay in shape if he expected to pass the physical part of the firefighting requirements. He wasn’t much of a gym club kind of guy. Manual labor suited him just fine.
Or it did most of the time.
He looked up at the sound of a truck pulling up alongside the acreage under the shade of one of the towering pines. Joe Diaz cut the engine and rolled down the window on the passenger side. Hollered out the window.
“How’s it going? Looks like hot work.”
Bryce rested his forearms atop the posthole digger handles. “It is at that.”
“Hey, in case you’re interested, the men’s group is meeting tonight. Seven o’clock, my place. Meg’s fixing Sharon Dixon’s blue-ribbon-winning apple pie for us. You’re welcome to come.”
Bryce gave his forehead another swipe, then stuffed the handkerchief in his back pocket. Adjusted his hat and sauntered over to the truck. “I’m going through that workbook you’re using for the study. Doin’ okay until I hit that submission stuff. Don’t get me wrong, we’re both military men, so we understand the concept of submitting to authority, to God. But can you tell me, Joe—what’s up with this mutual submission stuff? I mean, you let Meg boss you around?”
Joe didn’t laugh outright, but Bryce didn’t miss the suppressed smile.
“Mutual submission isn’t about bossing, Bryce, it’s about respecting another person’s opinions. Allowing them to have a voice, make choices and take the lead on things where God’s gifted them to be the better decision maker. It’s about not always having your own way.”
Bryce leaned his forearms on the lower window rim of the passenger-side window. “I thought the man was supposed to take the lead. You know, head of the household.”
“That’s true. And way too many men abdicate their responsibilities, forcing women to step in and take over the husband’s role so the home will run smoothly—then the men complain about it. But a man’s also supposed to love his wife as Christ loves the church—pretty tall order—and the Bible’s real clear that submission to a spouse isn’t just the woman’s role.”
Bryce grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “This stuff isn’t easy, is it?”
Joe did laugh at that.
“No, sometimes it’s not. But I’m learning a lot from listening to the older guys in our men’s group. Guys who’ve been happily married ten, twenty, fifty years even. You should come.”
“Like I said before, I’m a newbie at all this. And I’m not married, so that makes me an odd duck at my age.”
“Would you be more comfortable meeting one-on-one? Just the two of us over lunch? Or after dinner one night each week?”
Bryce shifted his weight, mulling over the proposition. “You’d be willing to do that?”
“A guy in the navy did that for me. From what you’ve told me, sounds like you had someone investing time in you while in the service, too.”
“Yeah, Keith Bradshaw, Sandi’s husband, to begin with. He laid the groundwork even though I didn’t know it at the time. Then a few years after Keith’s death, when I was searching for answers in earnest, another army guy and I started meeting together before he shipped out for home.”
“Just say the word.”
“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.” Bryce thrust his hand into the interior of the truck and the two men shook.
As Joe drove off, Bryce unsnapped the steel water bottle he’d strapped to his belt and took a long, slow drink.
Letting a girl boss you around?
I don’t know about this, Lord.
Is that why Keith let Sandi call the shots sometimes? Why he’d step back and let her have her way without argument on occasion? Kept his sense of humor about it? Even the very last time he’d seen his buddy, he’d been gleefully planning and plotting how to woo Sandi to his way of thinking about something she’d drawn a line in the sand over.
But he never got a chance.
His helicopter had crashed.
Recapping the water bottle, he clipped it again to his belt. Then he ambled out to dig more postholes, trying to decide when would be the best time to slip into the museum and check out that malfunctioning coffeepot outlet.