The Matchmakers of Butternut Creek (26 page)

She’d hoped Adam would stick with her while she worked her life out. But, if she hadn’t done that in thirteen years, how could she ever have believed it would happen now?

“You said you wouldn’t push,” she repeated. Oh, stupid to say that because Adam wasn’t a demanding man. Adam had been more patient than she had any right to expect. She didn’t want to lose him. She’d miss the joy of picking up an email from him or meeting him for coffee, looking forward to that.

She didn’t want to give up the hope that Adam could fix her.

But that evening with Willow and Sam? She never wanted to do something like that again, couldn’t repeat that experience, because those hours had underlined the difference between how each couple defined
relationship
. Caring for each other deeply, displaying that affection…well, she couldn’t do that. Not ever.

“I’m happy with how things are,” she stated. “I believe our relationship has deepened and will continue to grow.” She sounded like an announcer on an infomercial for a dating service. No, even worse, she sounded like a complete idiot, a frightened fool.

As her eyes caressed Adam’s face, she realized that his strong, square chin didn’t just make him better looking. Now it jutted out stubbornly. This was not a happy man. He was serious.

He wanted more.

“Maybe,” he said slowly. “I know I’m pushing it here, but I need to know. Maybe sometime we could talk about…oh, I don’t know, sex?”

She blinked. “How crude.”

“I’m not asking for anything now. But I need to know where this is going. I’ve thought about marriage, but, if we do get married, I’d want a marriage in every way. Does that possibility exist in the future?”

She didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s natural.” He gestured at Gussie, then toward himself. “How do you think we got here? Our parents did have sex at least once or twice. I’d like to know if the idea of having a physical relationship when we get married is at all realistic.”

“I don’t want to even think about that.”

“I know you don’t, but I do. It’s not a bad thing. I care for you and want more between us.”

“I told you I had problems. I warned you,” she stated defensively. Her normal way of reacting when pushed: Blame the other person. Really immature. She needed to learn better coping skills. She needed to listen to Adam and respond like a normal person. She was thirty-one, the rape had happened thirteen years earlier. A normal person shouldn’t still be so broken she couldn’t respond to a man she believed she could love, so broken she couldn’t communicate with him naturally, so broken she shrank from intimacy of any kind.

“Gussie,” he said, his voice soft with concern and caring. “I want to fall in love with you, but you keep me at arm’s length.” When she began to speak, he held up his hand. “You told me about the date rape and your distrust of men. Thank you for sharing that. But I’m not the guy who hurt you. I’m a man with normal expectations and hopes. I want to make a life with you, share a bed with you. You can trust me. After the months we’ve been together, you know you can trust me.”

Yes, she knew that. Adam was the best man she’d ever met.

“My parents,” she said. “They’re getting old, not in the best health. My father hasn’t been out of the hospital for so long. They supported me when I fell apart. I owe them.”

“Do you owe yourself anything? Do you plan to start having a life of your own at any time? I’d like to be part of it, but I won’t always be around, Gussie.”

The thought of not having her parents around and Adam’s having moved on tore at her, but the words that spilled from her lips weren’t the ones she should say. “You’re not expecting me to choose between you and my parents, are you? Because I can tell you…”

“Gussie.” He took her hand. This time she let him. She didn’t know why. But after a few seconds, his touch made her feel such tremendous longing she had to pull her hand away. He let it go.

The hope that he’d keep her hand in his and persuade her to marry him someday warred inside her brain with the idea that she couldn’t do that. She just could not. Not that she could explain it, but the idea of turning her life and happiness and body over to a man, even to Adam, scared her. She might could work this out if Adam stood next to her and held her hand and forced her to face her life.

But he didn’t. No, he treated her as an adult, like a thirty-one-year-old woman who should be able to make decisions herself.

Instead of doing what she wanted, even knowing Adam would never hurt her, she couldn’t speak. As always, she’d chosen to passively allow her life to flow past and not to leap into it.

“Have you even thought about marriage? With me?” he asked.

“You’re really going for the jugular here,” she said with an awkward laugh that even she knew didn’t express mirth.

“Have you?” He kept his eyes on her face.

“Umm.” What a stupid thing to say. Not even a word, just a sound, but her brain seemed unable to come up with anything else. “Umm,” she repeated.

He watched her for a few more seconds. “That tells me what I need to know. Let me know when you’re ready for more, if you ever are.” He watched her for a few more seconds. “I’m going back to get my car. Do you want to come with me?”

“Adam, please. Be patient,” she whispered.

On those words, he turned away.

She swallowed hard and watched Adam walk back along the path to the sidewalk and up the street. When she lost sight of him, she knew he’d get into his ugly old car and drive off.

This didn’t count as a good-bye. Impossible that their involvement with the youth of the area wouldn’t throw them together. They’d see each other again, at the tubing party and other events. Maybe she should give up working with the churches and the kids to avoid ever seeing him.

No, she couldn’t. Not that.

So she sat on a bench and didn’t move, didn’t think for five or ten more minutes.

After that, she stood and headed toward her car. Once inside, she turned the ignition, listened to the soft purr of her engine. For a moment she thought of Adam driving back to Butternut Creek in his old clunker and broke out in tears.

If he could have, Adam would have wept, but he knew that wasn’t macho nor particularly appropriate. He’d broken up with Gussie. It had been his decision and that gave him no right to hurt.

Not that they’d had anything to break up. Meeting for coffee, a couple of movies, and one dinner didn’t exactly signify a deep, enduring passion on her part. Besides, he’d set all of them up. Gussie hadn’t taken an active part or showed much interest in their being together.

But she had shared something with him she hadn’t, he felt sure, shared with many others. He could understand where she was, could appreciate the knowledge she’d trusted him that much, but he couldn’t fall in love alone.

To hell with deep enduring passion. They could have their love—Sam and Willow and the Kowalskis and their new babies and happy families, he thought bitterly as he pulled into the drive.

Why had he turned on his friends? He’d become a curmudgeon, a grumpy nearly twenty-seven-year-old grouch who envied people who loved each other because he didn’t have that. As a minister, as a person, as a Christian, he shouldn’t feel like this. No matter how frustrated and alone he felt, he couldn’t stop caring about others.

“Most loving God,” he whispered. “Please help me to stop feeling sorry for myself and to appreciate the lives and joys of others. Amen.” He spent several minutes in meditation and hoped that would handle his negative feelings.

The question that haunted him, the one he feared even in quiet contemplation, was how he should handle the Widows. They had high expectations. They’d grilled him about meeting with Gussie. If they didn’t see him making progress on the marriage front, they’d be after him, and right now he couldn’t handle that covey of matchmakers. He most especially could not handle the head matchmaker.

Which meant he wouldn’t say a word. Let them figure it out. He got out of the car and headed toward the porch.

“Excuse me,” said an attractive blond woman who stood by the porch of the parsonage. “My son lost his backpack and someone said you might have it.”

Darn Chewy.

“I’m Adam Jordan, minister at the Christian Church.”

“Diane Fuller.” She shook his hand.

“I’m afraid my dog gets out sometimes and brings things home.” He waved toward the porch. “We try to find who they belong to, but those two had no identification.”

“The red one.” She ascended the steps to the porch, knelt, and unzipped it. “Yes.” She nodded as she took out a notebook. “This is Paul’s.” Then she smiled.

A nice smile.

“It’s hard being a single mother,” she said. “I’m divorced,” she added with a toss of her hair. “Keeping up on Paul’s possessions isn’t easy.”

The woman was interested in him, flirting. Amazing
. She wore nice slacks, a white shirt, and black heels. All in all, Diane Fuller looked like a nice person, a pretty woman, but he felt nothing for her. Had the weeks of frustration with Gussie leached all the interest and optimism from him?

No, he didn’t think so. Maybe he was just a little tired now.

He could only hope Miss Birdie didn’t find out about this woman, ever.

“I’m sure it is.” He paused before he asked, “Do you and your son have a church home?”

By the time she reached Roundville, Gussie had stopped crying. After pulling into the driveway, she flipped open a compact and glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes weren’t too red, but she’d better fluff a little powder on her nose.

There. No one would guess how she felt.

As soon as Gussie entered the living room, her mother asked, “What’s wrong, dear?”

How did she always know? Well, today Gussie must look wrung out and red-eyed.

“Nothing, Mom. I’m a little tired.”

If Gussie had thought she could go around the living room and into the hallway without saying more, she was wrong. After all these years, she should know her mother wouldn’t allow that.

“Come, sit down and talk to me.”

Her mother’s soft, sweet tone covered a determination Gussie could admire and fear but never ignore. If she did, her mother would follow her all over the house. Into the yard. Once she’d even stood behind Gussie’s car when her daughter had attempted to leave without answering all of her questions.

She sighed and entered the living room for a debriefing. Might as well get it over with. She sat in the chair across from her mother. “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s taking a nap again. Can’t seem to get his strength back.” She knitted a few more stitches before she asked, “How’s Adam?”

“He’s fine.” Gussie counted to five—quickly—before she stood and attempted to escape. “I’m going to look in on Dad.”

“No, no.” Her mother waved Gussie back into the chair. “I did that just before you got here. He was sleeping.” She waited until Gussie sat. “Is everything okay between you two?”

Gussie closed her eyes and attempted to come up with an answer that would satisfy her mother, not that any existed.

“Oh, dear, he’s not your young man any longer. I had such hopes for the two of you.”

“No, Mother, he’s not my young man.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” Gussie kept an eye on her mother, attempting to read her expression. “We weren’t moving forward so we decided not to see each other again.”

“Aah. Very civilized and mature.”

Gussie nodded.

Her mother nodded. “Well, why don’t you go look in on your father. Dinner’s in the oven. I’ll dish it out when he wakes up.”

Gussie knew better than to think she’d fooled her mother about anything. Fortunately, she was too sweet to pry.

Gussie hadn’t looked forward to the tubing on the Guadalupe River. It was late September and the water held a little chill, but they got a cut rate that fit the budget. Even worse than the cold water, she’d see Adam.

Mature and civilized
, she repeated to herself. Mentally, that worked, at least until the first time she spotted him. She repeated the mantra, but the words did not calm her, not a bit.

He should not be allowed to wear a sleeveless T-shirt and swim trunks. Oh, the trunks were the long, floppy kind and the shirt certainly didn’t display a gratuitous amount of his body, but he still looked good. She had to make an effort not to hyperventilate. But what hurt most was what was inside the man. He was a good person who cared about her.

She had only herself to blame for being too much of a coward to accept what Adam had offered. She should talk to him, greet him, tell him how good it was to see him. Instead, she shouted, “Hey, Adam,” waved, and kicked away in the other direction.

Gutless, spineless coward.

The sun beat down on the tubers, hundreds of them from all over Central Texas mingling with their group of three dozen. A great day to be on the river, and possibly the last Saturday warm enough. Adam glanced at Janey, who floated along a few feet from him, drinking a root beer and humming.

Farther away, he heard Gussie’s laugh float across the water. Six or seven of the youths twirled her tube around in circles.

He really loved her laugh.

“Hey, guys, you’re making me dizzy. Stop!” she shouted.

With a grin which quickly changed to a frown when he realized this was as close as he’d get to her again, he watched for another minute. She waved. He waved back.

“Hey, Janey.” Mac floated up next to them. “Having fun?” At Janey’s nod, Mac continued, “Gussie’s great, isn’t she, Adam?”

He hoped she couldn’t read his expression through his dark glasses, the zinc oxide on his nose, and the shadow of his University of Louisville cap.

“Yeah. Great,” he agreed. He turned his head to search for Hector and found him kicking his tube beside Bree. That romance seemed to be chugging right along. As usual, Bobby flirted with several girls.

Adam hoped Mac would float away during the time he scrutinized the crowd, identifying and mentally counting the number of young people he’d brought from Butternut Creek.