The Reluctant Bride

“Festivals? You travel around to festivals?”

“Yes,” she answered, and she draped the sheet back over her frames and other paraphernalia. “Windmill Days, Fourth of July carnivals, Scarecrow Festival…I've sold quite a few paintings that way, and I make some extra money on caricatures.”

“You're an interesting woman, Micah Shepherd,” Rob commented as he closed the car door for her.

“Thank you…I think,” she replied as she picked up her sunglasses from the dashboard and pushed a handful of auburn curls over her shoulder. He was interesting, too. Good manners, thoughtful, caring…

“Could I convince you to have dinner with me?” he asked.

His words might or might not, but those blue eyes definitely could. Sliding her sunglasses into place, the effect of his gaze was not quite as shattering. “I still think Mrs. Winslow drives likes a maniac.”

He smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion. Seven o'clock?”

Seven o'clock. After all, Micah reasoned, he had agreed to come to the job fair because his sister needed him there. He seemed harmless enough. What kind of man was this she was nearly ready to refuse? For heaven's sake, the guy even knew CPR.

“What do you like? Seafood? Steak? Chinese?” he asked.

“Pancakes,” she answered. They could have dinner. Just dinner.

“Pancakes?” Rob repeated with a frown darkening his expression. “That's what you want?”

“That's what I was going to have at home tonight. Pancakes and orange juice. I already owe you a meal for lunch at the restaurant. So will you join me tonight for pancakes?”

“Sounds good,” Rob responded.

“Seven o'clock?” she said.

“I'll see you then.” He waved, and then turned to walk away.

“You'll need my address,” she called after him.

“It's 793 Spring Blossom Avenue. The Winslow file. I have a good memory,” he replied.

Micah drove from the lot and watched his medium-size maroon car follow her a few blocks or so until he turned off on a path of his own. Micah thought briefly of the symbolism. Ultimately, they would go their separate ways. They had to; the choice was not theirs to make. But one dinner with her could not hurt his career or break her heart. Could it?

Micah turned onto a brick street leading through the Village and drove past the numerous shops, restaurants and offices that lined the familiar route to her apartment. Usually she enjoyed looking at the well-kept homes and remodeled brick buildings, but tonight her mind was on her nearly empty refrigerator and cluttered apartment. She hoped he really did like pancakes and orange juice because, except for a possible package of sausages and a bowl of tossed salad, pancake ingredients were virtually all she had on hand.

Her large station wagon took up enough space for two smaller cars, she thought as she pulled up to the curb. She shut off the engine and moved her parking permit from the dashboard to its place on the rearview mirror. Then she hurried from the car, through the iron gate and into her small but immaculate courtyard.

Her apartment was in the rear of the complex and quite secluded. Micah appreciated the privacy and quiet when she worked on her paintings. Sliding the key into the lock, she pushed open the door, hoping she hadn't left too big of a mess that morning. Reaching into the straw basket mounted just outside the doorway, she pulled several items of mail from the wicker container.

“Good evening, Patches,” she said to the cat who ran down the sidewalk to greet her. The pet rubbed around her ankles and had to be held back to be kept from entering the apartment.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw that the place was fairly neat. She placed the mail and her books on the end table beside her small floral-print sofa in the living room then went to the kitchen to gather up sections of the morning newspaper strewn over the table. Grabbing the coffee cup and saucer left from breakfast, she plunked them into the dishpan, and after checking the refrigerator for the items she needed and finding a package of sausage that she had hoped was there, she headed for the bathroom to shower and change. Then, right on time, the doorbell rang.

“Hello, again,” Rob said as she opened the door.

“Hi. Tulips?” she commented, admiring the bouquet he handed to her. “Thank you. They're beautiful, Rob, but a pancake dinner hardly justifies flowers.”

“We worked well together this afternoon, Micah. We have reason to celebrate. I hope I selected a kind you are not allergic to.” He paused. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her soft casual dress had swirls of pastel colors making up its design. She knew it was lovely. That's why she wore it, even after a tenminute argument with herself about her choice. “The flowers are perfect Please, come in.”

Rob stepped into the living room. “Your apartment wasn't easy to find, tucked away in this little courtyard.”

“It is secluded. That's one of the reasons I like it.”

“I checked with the hospital,” Rob said as she closed the front door. “The janitor is doing better. He's in ICU, and his name is Donald Lacey.”

“And he's still alive. That's wonderful!” Micah exclaimed, so excited by the report that she nearly hugged Rob. But she caught herself in time and kept her feet firmly planted where they were. Suddenly, she felt awkward, standing there with him. “I'll start the pancakes. The sausage is nearly ready.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, thanks. The table is set, and the batter is made. Just make yourself comfortable.” Micah motioned toward the sofa, offering him a seat Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Pulling a large white vase from the cabinet below the sink, she filled it with water and the fresh-cut flowers and set it on the table.

Micah listened to the sound of several books being pulled from her oak bookcase and then, after a moment, being returned one by one.

“You have a nice apartment”

She looked up at the nearness of his voice. Rob stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her pour pancake batter onto the hot griddle.

“Thanks. It's small but I like it.” She pulled a spatula from the silverware drawer.

“Yellow must be your favorite color,” he commented as he glanced around the narrow white room accented with yellow curtains, yellow canisters and various other brightly colored kitchen accessories, including the yellow flowers she had stenciled across the top of the walls.

“Favorite color in general, but not a favorite in clothing.” She turned the pancakes. “All this red hair and yellow just don't mix.”

“I've yet to see a color that you wouldn't look lovely in,” Rob stated.

Micah's green eyes widened in surprise at his statement She looked over at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you,” she offered quietly.

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “It's just a statement of fact.”

Micah returned her gaze to the browning sausage rather than look into his eyes. No one had ever said anything like that to her. At least, no one over the age of eight.

“I'll bet you've broken the hearts of quite a few little guys in your classes.”

Micah glanced up, and smiled. “One or two, I'm afraid.” She turned down the burner under the meat. “It seems easy for them to develop a crush on a substitute teacher.”

“I can understand that,” he commented.

Micah continued, “Anyway, it can sometimes be awkward.” Just as awkward as this moment in her kitchen with Robert Granston. “I'm usually left wondering if I handled the situation well.” When she stacked the first pile of pancakes onto a small plate, Micah accidently knocked the empty measuring cup from the counter and both she and Rob reached for it. But she was closer and quicker.

“I've got it,” she said quietly as they leaned together momentarily. They were so close, Micah felt his breath flow across her cheek, and for an instant she wondered if he was about to kiss her. But he only touched the softness of her hair that swung freely around her shoulders. Then he stood up, moving away from her.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Micah commented and returned to the job at hand.

Within a few minutes they sat down at the kitchen table. Then came the moment Micah knew would be difficult. It always was. Even after a decade of dealing with it. She bowed her head and offered a brief prayer, in front of this man she hardly knew. When finished, she looked up to meet his gaze and found nothing questioning or negative in his eyes. Only acceptance, and maybe approval, which was more than she expected. Micah smiled and passed the syrup, and they shared a late-evening breakfast.

“So, how long have you been a Christian?” Rob asked.

“Ten years. That obvious, huh?” she replied between sips of orange juice.

Rob smiled. “Well, you quietly prayed your way through Mr. Lacey's heart attack, and you audibly thanked God for our dinner, not knowing what my reaction would be. That's pretty strong evidence.”

“And just what is your reaction?” Micah asked.

“One of respect,” he responded as something cold—no, sad—flickered through the blue eyes that held her gaze too easily. His smile slowly faded.

“To give your life to God or not, it's a choice we all eventually make, Rob.”

“I've tried it, Micah. It didn't work for me.” Rob turned his attention to the coffee cup in his hand.

“What went wrong?”

He shook his head. “It would take less time to tell you what didn't go wrong.” His smile returned. “And I don't want to spend this evening talking about something unpleasant that happened years ago.”

So Micah left the subject alone, hoping… knowing that sometime they'd come back to it. In the meantime, Micah's school stories and Rob's tales of unusual cases kept conversation and laughter flowing freely throughout the meal.

“So when she asked me to come to the job fair, I couldn't refuse. I have a hard time saying no to my little sister,” Rob said as Micah poured a third, or maybe it was the fourth, round of coffee. She had lost count.

“It must be nice,” Micah said and took a sip from the cup she cradled in her hand.

“Having a sister to talk you into things?”

“Having a sister, period.”

Rob looked at her silently for a moment. “You don't have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My parents weren't young when they had me, so I am their only child.”

“Then you must be very close to your parents,” he commented,

“Dad and I were close for a long time.” Her fingers moved instinctively to the heart locket that hung loosely around her neck today and most days, and Rob's eyes followed her movements. “But now…” she began, and then hesitated.

Rob studied her wary gaze and waited.

“…we're not,” she concluded with a half-hearted smile.

Rob started to respond, but then apparently changed his mind and returned his attention to the piece of gold jewelry Micah touched so lovingly.

“That's a beautiful locket. I think you've worn it every time I've seen you,” he remarked. “Was it a gift from him?”

“Yes, from years ago.” She cleared her throat nervously and attempted to move on. “Being an only child wasn't so bad really. I had lots of friends around when I was very young. But if I ever have any children of my own—”

“‘If’ you have children? You're a teacher. You must love kids. I'd think you'd want a whole houseful,” Rob remarked.

Micah stared at her empty plate. Now they were venturing into territory better left alone. Why did it have to happen so soon?

“I do enjoy children, but I don't know how I feel about a whole houseful of them.” She stood up and began gathering up the dishes.

“I'll help you,” he offered as he rose from his chair.

“There's no need.”

“You did the cooking. The least I can do is wash the dishes.”

“A compromise?” Micah smiled. “I'll wash, you dry.”

“Fair enough.”

Soon they stood side by side at the kitchen sink, working together for the second time in one day.

“I probably should tell you what happened with Mrs. Winslow and her maniacal driving,” Rob offered as he placed a cup in the dish rack.

“Something good, I hope. Not another accident?”

“No more accidents,” he stated. “She voluntarily gave up her driving privileges. You were only the first in a long line of people to express concern about Mrs. Winslow remaining behind the wheel of any vehicle. So, thanks for your honesty.”

“You're welcome,” she replied and handed him a clean plate. The conversation returned to brothers and sisters, and Rob didn't mind talking about his.

“That didn't take long,” Micah remarked while rinsing the empty dishpan. Then she switched off the light and they exited the small kitchen, moving into the more comfortable, but not much larger, living room.

“I haven't eaten pancakes since I had breakfast with my sister and her kids a couple of Saturdays ago.”

“I don't know Angela very well, but she's been very friendly to me.”

“She's great even if she does talk me into job fairs,” he conceded. “Is this your work?” Rob motioned toward a set of four small paintings hanging above the sofa. Each picture depicted the same covered bridge flanked on both sides by wooded areas, but each scene brought to life the heart of a different season. From windswept spring to the frigid blast of a winter snowstorm.

In answer to his question, she nodded.

“Micah, these are beautiful.” Rob studied the pieces. “It looks to me like you should teach art. To adults, I mean.”

Micah smiled. “I do. At the tech school some evenings.”

“Could I see more?”

“If you like.” Micah led him back through the kitchen to the rear door. Opening it, they entered a tiny workroom enclosed in glass. Micah switched on the light “This is another reason I keep this apartment. It's my favorite room.”

Rob glanced around the room, surveying the work on the canvases Micah had stored there. A ballerina in midair in soft pastels, a brightly colored hot-air balloon amid a shimmering blue sky, children laughing and playing on a merry-go-round, and several others including ocean and seashore scenes and some small, delicate works of flowers and birds. “These are wonderful…”

“Thank you.” Micah caught her lower lip between her teeth, restricting her smile.

“The kids in the playground and the ballerina…they look like they could walk right out of the pictures…and the ocean…it seems…restless.” He glanced at her with surprise evident in his eyes. “It all looks so real.”

“Thank you,” she said with a light laugh. “It's supposed to.”

“But these are all finished,” he commented. “What are you working on now?”

“An oil painting of an old white church that I discovered one day while I was driving through the country.”

Rob scanned the contents of the room, and not seeing the piece she'd referred to, he glanced up in question.

“I ran out of room in here. The painting is in the back room. I'll show it to you when it's finished,” Micah replied, instantly regreting the insinuation of a future for them. There could be none, and she thought she must be losing her mind even to consider it. She needed a change of subject, a change of mind.

“Do you go to church anywhere?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” Rob answered. “I accepted Christ when I was thirteen, Micah. I was active with the youth group, all the kinds of things you'd expect. Everything seemed great until my best friend, Nick, died. Then…it didn't seem so real anymore. I stopped going.”

“How did he die?” Micah asked hesitantly, not knowing if she should pursue this subject

“Car accident on a rainy night.” Rob checked the clock on the wall over Micah's easel. “It's nearly midnight. I had no idea it was that late.”

Neither had Micah, and she looked toward the timepiece. Midnight. So that's when it ended. Now she knew how Cinderella must have felt. This had to end. Now. Because the more she knew of Rob, the more she wanted to know. The longer they talked, the longer she wanted to talk. And this man, standing in the middle of Micah's paintings, was a man she could love. Easily. Maybe eternally.

“We both have to get up early in the morning. I should be going.”

Yes, Micah thought, you should. But she said nothing as she turned to walk with him to the front door. How could it be so late? Where had the evening gone? Micah swallowed hard, fighting back the words that threatened to flow from her.

They reached the entryway in silence, and when Micah reached for the doorknob, so did Rob. It could have been an awkward moment, but it was not. Rob's strong hand closed over Micah's as naturally as if he had planned it, his fingers linking through hers, warmth against warmth. Micah bit her lower lip gently as she stood facing Rob in the narrow entryway, wanting him to stay longer, wanting him to go. Dinner together. That's all it was supposed to be. Just pancakes and orange juice.

“Micah…” The tenderness with which he spoke her name calmed the rambling argument running through her head. “I want to see you again. You know that, don't you?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew. And if she knew, then he must know the attraction was mutual. And strong. And crazy.

“Rob, I don't think—”

“Dinner, tomorrow night?” he offered, overruling her objections. “I could pick you up around six-thirty?”

Dinner. It could never be just dinner again. Not with them. “No, I don't think…” What could she say? Micah had never been good at hiding her feelings and she respected honesty too much to really try. “Rob, it just wouldn't be a good idea.”

“I'll take you out for pancakes if you like.” He smiled. Just the way she knew he would.

“No.” She smiled back. “I've reached my quota of maple syrup for the week.”

“Then how about steak and a salad?” He squeezed, then released her hand and Micah wished he hadn't.

“Rob, you don't understand—”

“So, explain it to me.” He stepped out into the courtyard. “Tomorrow. Six-thirty.”

“It won't work. Let's not start—”

“We've already started, Micah. Let's see where it goes.”

Down a dead-end street. That's where it would lead them. But with this man, Micah suspected, it would be an interesting journey.

“You're the one who will regret this,” she offered quietly, truthfully.

“Tomorrow night We'll discuss this reluctance of yours over a meal. Then we'll decide whether or not it's valid. Fair enough?”

“You're a hard man to argue with,” Micah agreed with mixed emotions.

“I chose the right profession, didn't I?” Rob stated more than asked.

Micah cringed. Could he have possibly said anything worse?

Rob hesitated for a moment, standing just outside her door. “Thank you for tonight.”

Micah smiled and nodded. He was welcome, and he knew it.

Then he offered only a quiet “Good night,” and Micah watched him walk through the moonlit courtyard.

“You had dinner with him last night and you're going out again tonight?” Carole shrieked, and Micah held the telephone receiver away from her ear until Carole quieted down.

“Don't get too excited. We're going out to dinner and then we're going to discuss why we can't see each other anymore,” Micah said as she stared into the mirror above the telephone and applied blush to her cheekbones. “I've got to finish getting ready, Carole. He'll be here by six-thirty and I'm not ready. Could I call you later?”

“You'll be too busy to call me.” Carole giggled. “Forget that nonsense about not seeing him anymore. Hang on to this guy, Micah.”

“Carole—”

“What is it with you and lawyers, anyway?”

Micah froze, makeup brush in her hand. “Why do you say that?”

“That's it, isn't it? There's no other reason not to be crazy about him,” Carole responded sharply. “I know you don't like to talk about your past, but it's ridiculous to let Rob slip away because of something that happened years ago.”

“Carole, if you—”

“So you've been hurt by someone. Big deal! Who hasn't?”

“That was a long time ago, and it's not the only reason.”

“Was the other guy a lawyer, too? Do you not trust any attorneys?”

Micah remained silent for a few seconds, remembering. “He was a college student.” Her voice softened as she spoke, and she studied her frowning expression in the mirror. “I really don't want to get into this.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it. If not with me, with someone. I remember what happened when you dated Scott. Remember him?”

The government teacher. They dated for several weeks, until he was accepted to law school.

“The minute he started taking night classes, you stopped seeing him. And now Rob, how could you not like him…but you won't let it happen!”

Micah's grip tightened on the receiver, Saying goodbye to Scott had been easy, even after several weeks of dating. But Rob… She had spent only a few hours with him, and yet…

“Nothing is going to happen if you don't let me get ready for my date.” Micah attempted to speak in a lighthearted manner.

“Okay, okay. I'll shut up, but think about what you're doing. Think about Rob. About the present, the future, not the past!”

“I'll call you later,” Micah replied before replacing the receiver. And she wondered… Today… tomorrow… Could they be separated from yesterday?

Chapter Four

“I'm really not hungry enough for a steak,” Micah commented as she reviewed the menu. “I think I'll have a salad with the sourdough bread.”

“That's all?” Rob closed his menu.

“That's plenty,” she replied. She wouldn't mention how much she had snacked during the afternoon.

“All right, Miss Shepherd.” He studied her, looking at her that same way he had in his office the first time they met. As if he wanted to say something but wasn't certain it should be said.

“Have we taken a step backward in time that I'm not aware of and returned to the days of ‘Miss Shepherd’ and ‘Mr. Granston’?”

“No, but you've barely said a word since I picked you up, and you're dressed rather businesslike,” he answered from across the table, glancing at what was visible of the bittersweet-red suit and blouse of oyster white.

It had been a deliberate choice. Micah wanted to have a nice evening, but not too nice.

“You don't like what I'm wearing?” she asked, looking down at her clothes.

“Your outfit accomplishes its purpose,” he stated with the firm line of his mouth curving into a smile.

“So you don't like it?”

“Oh, but I do,” he responded. “It's very professional. If you're ever called upon to represent someone in court, I suggest you wear it.”

Micah's eyes sparked at the sound of his stinging words.

“Then I think it would be appropriate for a meeting with an attorney.”

“This is not a meeting with an attorney,” he replied quietly. “This is a date…a date with a man who is very much interested in you.” He looked away, toward the waiter who approached their table, before returning his gaze to her. “I'm wondering whether your distrust is of me personally or of all men in general.”

“Would the lady care for something from the bar, Mr. Granston?” The question from the waiter sliced into their discussion.

“No,” Rob answered without asking Micah. “Thank you, anyway, Henry.”

The waiter nodded and left them alone again.

“How did you know that I don't drink? You didn't ask.”

“You don't, do you?” Rob responded. “It wouldn't fit with your Christian view of things.”

“That's true, but why didn't the waiter offer to bring something for you? You've given up your Christianity.” Micah's words sounded harsher than she had meant them to.

“I'm in here a lot, and Henry knows I never order anything from the bar for myself,” Rob explained. “I have a brother-in-law who's an alcoholic, and, well, it's not a pretty picture, Micah.”