Noble Pursuits (2 page)

“Well, of course you couldn’t mean that. Don’t you think it’s time you took me to dinner?”

Nolan dreaded these scenes. As hard as he worked to avoid openly rejecting friends and acquaintances, sometimes it was impossible to avoid. “I don’t think that’d work for either of us, but you’re good for my ego.”

As Nolan scrambled for a kind but firmer hint, David came to his friend’s rescue. Tara, I don’t mean to be rude, but the Finches are coming this way, and this is their table. Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk more after dinner.”

Tara stood, half-glared at David, and smiled once more at Nolan. “I still think dinner is a great idea. I’ll call you.”

She slipped from her chair and sashayed across the room before Nolan could respond. Mike and Traci saw the scene on their way to the table and arrived with barely suppressed mirth in their voices. “She never gives up, does she?” remarked Traci wryly. “I’ve never understood why she can’t see that you’re just not interested.”

“Nolan gets that wherever he goes. Who can resist charm, looks, and bucks? He’s a triple crown winner!”

“Thanks, Dave. That’s how I always wanted to be perceived.” A glance at Mike sent Nolan’s head wagging. “If I hear a single word about just horsing around…”

A waiter with their meals interrupted the conversation. “I have three fish and a chicken?”

Nolan raised a finger. “Chicken here.”

“Are you the allergy to shellfish?” The waiter pulled a note from his pocket.

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

“Here is a note from the chef.” Without another word, the waiter hurried off to the kitchen.

A glance at the note made Nolan smile. “I’d like to speak to the chef. Please don’t let me forget after dinner.”

“What was it?” Traci asked curiously.

“Nothing major. He just heard that there was a shellfish allergy here, and he wanted to assure me that the crab rangoons and shrimp dishes were assembled off site and cooked in a separate kitchen once they got here.”

“That’s service. I’m impressed,” remarked Mike as he took a bite of his salmon. “This is good.”

Nolan swallowed his bite of chicken Kiev. “Frank is one of the best.”

Before anyone could respond, Nolan felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. “Yvette, how are you?”

“Better now that I see you here. Going to ask me to dance later?”

With a fork loaded with chicken, Nolan shrugged. “Depends on if you’re around when I get around to the dance floor. See you later, perhaps.” With that, Nolan took his bite and smiled a goodbye. Yvette, accustomed to Nolan’s deflections, gave him a wink and waved to the rest of the table as she moved toward the ladies’ lounge. Traci stood to follow.

“I have to hear this. I’ve been watching, and there’s an eligible female convention going on in the powder room. I’ll see who else is on the prowl and be back before you’re done with your chicken.”

The three men watched amazed as Traci disappeared into a crowd of females near the door Yvette had disappeared behind only seconds earlier. Traci had an ulterior motive. She knew what Nolan wanted in a woman and realized this was the perfect opportunity to do a little reconnoitering.

The conversation inside the lounge revolved around the latest scandal, the mayoral election, and Nolan Burke. Sequestered in a stall, Traci had the perfect listening post.

“Tara, will you never give up? He is
so
not interested.” Claws emerged from the brunette crowd.

“I’ll give up when I see him with a wife on one arm.”

A collective titter rippled over the room. Amita Patel queried over the din, “Has anyone here actually gone out with Nolan?”

The room hushed. No one spoke. Traci heard Tara’s smug retort seconds later. “Well, then I’d say no one has room to talk. Y’all want to act superior and all, but it’s not like I’m the only one he hasn’t fallen for—yet.”

“Well, he goes to my church,” a voice in the corner said. “He doesn’t even attend the singles’ activities.”

“He took that chick from Chicago to the symphony last year. The one in the red dress?”

“That cow? She was ridiculously homely.”

Traci listened to the chatter, amazed at what she heard. She’d always thought Nolan was a bit overly dramatic about his frustration with the women in their circles, but tonight she saw a glimpse of the reality of his life. Another voice pierced her musings.

“I’m convinced he’s either gay or a modern eunuch.”

She’d had enough. Traci left the stall, barely remembering that she was supposed to be using it as intended and flushing as she left. She pushed through the throng around the mirrors and claimed an empty sink. As she reached for a towel from the room attendant, she turned to the group.

“Nolan Burke is not gay, he’s not a eunuch, and he’s most certainly interested in finding the right woman. Did it occur to you that he’s looking for something different? Someone different?”

The women looked thoughtful as Traci wove her way through the room to the door, but at the sound of the band, the atmosphere changed back to the primping she’d found when she entered. “So much for making a difference,” she muttered to herself.

At their table, Nolan looked resigned. “Too early to leave—rude not to offer to dance with someone. I guess I’ll get it over with.”

As he passed her chair, Traci caught his arm. “I heard them in the bathroom, and well, I get it now. Avoid Tara if you can. She has on her war paint.”

For the next fifty minutes, Nolan danced and evaded. Mike and Traci occasionally crossed his path, and each time Nolan danced with a new woman. He waltzed with each partner around the floor, mentally cursing the genius who decided to make the evening a “tribute to Strauss.” As he whirled, Nolan tried to ignore the barrage of pushy females shamelessly angling for an invitation to dance.

Between partners, Mike leaned in and said, “Gives new meaning to dodge ‘ball,’ doesn’t it?”

~*~*~*~

On Sunday morning, Nolan prayed all through the worship service. The sermon escaped his notice, he didn’t sing, and he almost missed the communion trays as they passed by him. His heart was heavy with the feeling that there was something terribly wrong with him. He’d been curt with several women and hardly cordial to others.

Pastor Zimmerman found Nolan waiting in his study an hour after the congregants disbursed. “Um, Burke, you look awful.”

“Sums up how I feel, if you want the truth.”

Tim Zimmerman sat in his chair behind an immense desk and propped his feet on the top. “Tell me about it.”

“Do you mind? Will Kathy—”

“We don’t eat lunch together. Sundays are our free days. Talk.”

“I’ve got female troubles.”

“PMS or PPD?”

Nolan laughed. “Thankfully, PPD isn’t an issue, but I seem to cause PMS anyway.”

“PMS? I really don’t think you’re responsible for the hormonal rages of biologically timed-out women.”

“I’m speaking of the lesser known, but just as dangerous, Pre-Marital Syndrome.”

Chuckling, Tim reached into his drawer and pulled out an insulated lunch bag. “Here, have a sandwich. I have a feeling we’re going to get hungry. There are water bottles in that fridge next to you. Pass me one, will you?”

For the next hour, Nolan described the constant influx of eligible females that flocked to his side. He was embarrassed at how conceited he sounded, but desperation called for strict honesty about both the situation and his dismay over it. “Am I doing something to encourage this? Is there something I should do to prevent it? I don’t want to attract this kind of attention—”

“You can’t prevent it all, Nolan. Women, many of them anyway, find money and power very attractive. You could be Quasimodo in the looks department and still attract attention. Unfortunately, you don’t even have the Quasimodo thing going for you.”

“So, do I just disappear into the wilds of Colorado and hope some cattle rancher’s daughter likes me?”

Tim stifled a laugh and said, “Nolan, rancher’s daughters, coal miner’s daughters, and welfare-dependent single moms. You know there will always be women who will throw themselves at you.” He frowned. “You know, maybe a change of scenery would do you good. Go somewhere where you aren’t well known or recognized. At least you’d have a little time before your reputation and financial information became household gossip.”

“I thought about moving, but I just assumed it’d be the same thing anywhere I went.”

Tim sat thoughtfully considering Nolan’s concerns. “I really think moving might be the best thing, but where you move counts. Don’t stereotype women by locale. Find a place with a high percentage of single women and get to know them. Visit the churches in the cities and towns around the loop. Check out Hillsdale, Marshfield, New Cheltenham, Westbury, and even Fairbury. I always thought Alexa Hartfield would be a good match for you.”

“I know her brother…”

“Talk to him,” Tim insisted.

“Call him and say, ‘Hey, you’ve got a sister, and I’m looking for someone, so how about fixing us up?’ That’s insane.”

Tim leaned forward on his forearms and rubbed his knuckles with his thumb. “Nolan, tell your friend your problem. Tell him the kind of woman you’re looking for, tell him you’re looking at the towns on the loop, and you want any information he has about Fairbury. If he thinks you’re good for his sister, I’ll bet he says so.”

“Tim, he tried to fix me up with her in the past, but there are a few problems. I want a family. She doesn’t.”

“Well, that is a problem, but it doesn’t negate his knowledge of Fairbury. Call him. I think the church needs to start helping one another in this area.” Tim’s eyes earnestly urged Nolan to step out of his comfort zone and take the first step toward his future.

“Maybe I’ll do it. Thanks.”

~*~*~*~

“Wes, good to see you, man. Where’ve—” Nolan paused to acknowledge a couple passing their table, “—you been lately?”

“Just got back from Afghanistan.”

“You know, I’ve never asked. How does your family feel about those trips to Afghanistan and Iraq?”

Wes grinned. “My parents don’t ask. Alexa gets concerned, but I tend to be vague with her. This time I said, ‘I’m off to one of those ‘istans,’ and I hope she assumes that it’s one of those lesser-known ones.”

“A little deceitful, but understandable.”

Wes signaled for another Coke and leaned back in his chair. “So, what is up with you? Found that dream woman yet?”

“No, that’s one of the things I want to talk to you about.”

“I still think you and Alexa would hit it off nicely,” Wes asserted.

“When we talked at her house last January, we both knew that it wouldn’t work. It’s too bad though, she was one of the nicest, most real women I’ve ever met.”

“And I’m sure it didn’t help that she didn’t throw herself at you.”

After a few moments of concentrated eating, the conversation picked up as though it’d never paused. “Well, if I didn’t know you want children so badly, I might be a bit insulted on her behalf, but as Alexa’s only brother, I can say that your life is safe from death at my hands for not being interested. For now.”

“So, what about the rest of Fairbury? You’ve been around a lot lately, is it worth checking out?” Nolan felt like a desperate teenager looking for a date to the prom.

“Lots of singles in Fairbury, if that’s what you mean. They have a movie night once or twice a month there. People come from Brunswick, Marshfield, New Cheltenham— even Rockland. I don’t know who fits with Fairbury and who is an outsider half the time, but it’s a healthy mix.”

“I’m considering a move.”

The statement hung in the air, as though daring either of them to touch it. Wes sighed and shoved his plate away from him. “Nolan, I know you’ve always wanted to have a family of your own. I know that you miss your parents and want what they had, and until recently, I didn’t really get it but—” Wes continued in spite of Nolan’s raised eyebrows and alert expression. “I want to ask one question before you make life altering decisions.”

“Shoot.”

Wes tossed him a “you asked for it” glance and said, “Is this move a consideration because you want a wife or because you want the women you don’t want to leave you alone?”

Chapter Three

Labor Day

London and Mickey tore through the living room, squealing and squirting water pistols at one another.

“Take it outside!” Traci ordered in a stage whisper. “The baby is trying to take his nap.”

London turned her gun on her mother and squeezed the trigger. A stream of water splashed across the photographs Nolan had spread out on the coffee table. Mike jumped and raced for a towel. Traci wailed, trying to save the pictures as she scolded her daughter.

“It’s ok, Traci. I can print more. Don’t worry about it.” He beckoned to London, who raced for her “Uncle Nolan” and buried her face in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Nolan! I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t, sweetie—”

Traci interrupted angrily. “London Finch! You march yourself up to your room right now, young lady. You know better than that…”

The irate mother’s voice followed her daughter out of the room, up the stairs, and to the opposite corner of the house. A door slammed and then the cry of a disoriented toddler followed.

“Oh great, there’s Parker,” Mike groaned and disappeared up the stairs after his wife and daughter.

Mickey gave Nolan a smug look. “Little kids are always messing things up.”

“It seems like I remember something about a can of acetone and a not-so-shiny paint job last week. I think mistakes are ageless, Mickey.”

Indignant, Mickey protested hotly, “I thought it was the wax. It was a surprise for Daddy’s birthday.” Embarrassed, the child raced from the room into the back yard.

“A fifteen hundred dollar surprise. Happy Birthday to Mike from Mickey,” Nolan muttered.

Mike and Traci hobbled downstairs, Parker on Mike’s arm and a sobbing London holding Traci’s hand. London dragged her feet to Nolan’s side and said, “I’s sorry, Uncle Nolan.” Before Nolan could respond, the child thrust her hand in her pocket, pulled out a handful of change and dollar bills, and dropped it in his lap. “I have to pay for it.”