Читать книгу Faithfully Yours - Lois Richer - Страница 11

“Where did you get this car?” Gillian demanded, breaking the tense silence that hung between them. She brushed her hand over the cool, smooth leather. “It’s fabulous. And it doesn’t seem like the type of car you’d drive at all,” she blurted out. “I mean…” Her voice trailed away in dismay.

Jeremy chuckled. “What did you think I’d drive? Some staid, old family sedan, I’d wager.” He laughed out loud at the abashed look on her expressive face. “Don’t ever lie,” he advised. “You can’t hide your true feelings worth a plugged nickel.”

She bristled immediately, which was exactly what Jeremy had expected.

“I make it a habit never to lie about anything,” she told him pertly. “I learned that in the Sunday school right there.” Gillian pointed to the old church as they passed it.

“Did you grow up here?” he asked, suddenly curious about her childhood.

“No.” She shook her head. “But I came to visit Hope quite a lot when my parents wanted their own holiday. It was great fun for me, coming from Boston to the freedom of this little town.” Gillian pointed to the lovely park with its huge trees and carragana hedge. “We used to pretend there were little caves in that hedge,” she told him. “We could hide or have tea parties or lunch and never worry anybody.”

“It sounds like you had a happy childhood,” he murmured softly.

“Oh, I did,” she enthused, grinning as the memories surfaced from long ago. “Whenever I visited Hope’s, I was the queen of the castle. She’d let me stay up as long as I wanted. Or at least as long as I could without nodding off.” Her thoughts drifted to the times she and Hope had slept outside under the stars.

“I believe children need a regular bedtime.” Jeremy’s quiet voice interrupted her musings. “It’s important for their health and their growth that a regular schedule is maintained.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Gillian snapped, glaring at him angrily. “There you go again with those silly rules. Why do you always do that?” She watched him blink in confusion.

“Do what?” he asked, frowning. “I never did anything. I merely said…”

“I know what you said. It’s what you always say. For every situation in life you need a rule.” She scowled at him with disgust. “Don’t you ever just relax and enjoy the world around you without worrying if it’s the right thing to do?”

“It’s not a matter of relaxing,” he muttered at last, gliding to a stop in front of Hope’s compact two-story. “It’s a matter of planning things out to get the optimal benefit out of life.”

“But I did get the optimal benefit,” she argued, sliding out of the seat as his hand went under her elbow. “If I’d been sleeping in my bed, Hope and I wouldn’t have been able to discuss the constellations or where God lives, or how the angels come to earth. Those things were just as important to me as a few extra minutes of sleep.”

She stared into his handsome face seriously. “My mom always told us that life is made up of little shining moments like stones in a necklace. They’re what make the everyday routine things bearable, because we can take out those stones and remember them with pleasure during the bad times.” She beckoned him up the stairs. “Come on in. Hope will have started something.”

But unfortunately Hope hadn’t. There was a note tacked to the phone informing Gillian that her aunt had gone shopping with Charity Flowerday.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, frowning up at Jeremy, who towered over her, now that she had removed her shoes. “I guess we’ll have to find something for ourselves. Do you like tacos?”

His face was a study in contradictions. Gillian would have teased him about it except that he looked so unsure of himself.

“I—I don’t know.” His eyes met hers, and she was surprised to see uncertainty in their depths. “What is a taco?”

“Well,” Gillian began, matter-of-factly arranging the ingredients she would need on the countertop and trying to ignore the spark of electricity she felt fluttering down her sensitive skin whenever Jeremy Nivens came near. “There are two kinds—soft and hard. I like the hard ones, although they’re messy to eat.”

He watched her defrost a package of meat in the microwave and then dump it into a frying pan. His forehead furrowed.

“Ground beef,” he murmured.

“Hamburger, yes. With seasoning and spices. You put it into the shell and add vegetables and cheese to it.” She watched his long patrician nose twitch as he caught a hint of the savory cooking odors.

“I’m not sure if I can eat such food,” he told her seriously. “It smells as if it’s spicy and my stomach is rather queasy about those things.”

Gillian grinned at him, enjoying the look of uncertainty on his handsome face. For once Mr. Jeremy Nivens was not in control. She was going to enjoy this.

As the meat cooked, she shredded lettuce and minced tomatoes. She put Jeremy to work grating cheese. As they toiled side by side, she chattered a mile a minute, hoping to put him at his ease.

“I love tacos. Especially with hot sauce. It just makes your mouth come alive. Michael used to…” Her voice trailed away as she realized what she’d said.

“Michael was your fiancé?” Jeremy’s matter-of-fact voice inquired, eyes intent on the cheese as he carefully rubbed the slab of cheddar against her aunt’s grater.

Gillian realized that she had been talking about Michael naturally for once, and although the pain was still there, it had diminished to the point where she could talk about him with fondness.

“Yes. He died in a car crash. Anyway, he used to tease me for being a wimp.” Her mouth curved in remembrance. “He would load on the hot sauce until my eyes watered and I was coughing like crazy. Michael never even needed a drink of water. You know—” her eyes flashed to him and then looked away in embarrassment at the scrutiny she found there “—the Thai people clench their teeth together and then spread their mouth wide so they can suck air into their mouths, not blow it out. They claim it’s the best way to cool your palate.”

Jeremy was silent, steadily building the tower of cheese curls on the plate she’d given him. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, careful voice that was totally unlike his usually brusque tone.

“It must have been very difficult for you,” he offered. “Was that why you decided to move here?” His blue-gray eyes met hers steadily, his face set in its usual stern lines.

“Partially.” She set the table quickly and scooped the browned meat into a bowl. “I just couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. It reminded me too much of him and of what I’d lost.” Carefully she removed the warmed tacos from the oven and placed them on the table beside the tomatoes and lettuce. A huge pitcher of lemonade and two large glasses completed the job.

“Ok, everything’s ready,” she grinned at him. As he gingerly set the cheese on the table, Gillian lifted a bottle from the fridge. “Now, for your first taste of tacos. Don’t forget the sauce.”

She murmured a short grace for both of them and then showed him how to assemble the items and bite off the end carefully so that the whole thing didn’t crumble in his hand.

“It is rather good,” he murmured, a surprised look on his face. “And not really hot at all.”

“That’s because you haven’t used this yet.” Carefully she spooned a small teaspoonful onto his taco. “Now try.”

He gasped, and Gillian giggled as his eyes grew round with surprise. Seconds later he was glugging down a huge glass of lemonade.

“Good heavens,” he whispered. “That was like fire.” His eyes were huge as he watched her slather on the sauce and then chew the mouthful with alacrity. “How can you do that?”

“Practice.” Gillian giggled. “Plus the fact that this is extra mild.” He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

Jeremy finished his first taco and started gingerly on a second, carefully avoiding her jar of sauce.

“You reminded me of a visit I once made to my aunt here,” he told her as they sat companionably sipping the icy lemonade. “She invited me to stay while my parents attended some teaching sessions at the college. They were anthropologists, you see, and in order to maintain their grant status, they had to return to the States every so often for a report.”

“Was that why you went to boarding school?” she inquired quietly. “Because they were so busy?”

He smiled, but his gaze was far away. Gillian wondered idly what kind of a childhood he’d had.

“Not exactly. They spent a lot of time on a dig in Egypt and then Israel. They wanted to make sure my schooling was uninterrupted.” He smoothed the tablecloth idly, his voice low. “Anyway, every summer I came to spend several weeks with Auntie Fay. It was like a whole different world for me. The food, the clothes. Even the children were different.”

Jeremy glanced up at her and grimaced.

“I’m afraid I didn’t blend in very well, and I must have been an awful nuisance to have around. My aunt took me to the county fair and let me ride on the Ferris wheel until I was sick. I think I must have tasted every flavor and color of cotton candy and sugar cone there was, but it was the candy apple that finally did me in.” His face had a wistful quality about it that tugged on her heart.

“I’ve never forgotten the pleasure she gave me in those days. Or the way she would tuck me in at night and kiss me.” Jeremy glanced at her apologetically. “There aren’t many people who will kiss anyone good-night in boarding school,” he muttered quietly, his eyes downcast.

“But what about during the summers,” Gillian demanded angrily. “Surely you lived with your parents then?”

She couldn’t believe it when he shook his head, his sharp gray glance telling her that he thought she should know better than to ask such a silly question. Her tender heart ached at the words.

“Gillian, an archaeological dig is no place for a child. There are valuable artifacts lying about and open pits around which it would be dangerous for a child to play. Not that there was much to play with, anyway. Besides, it was far too hot, as I found out the one summer I insisted on visiting them. I spent most of my time cataloguing their finds. A layer of sand covered everything.”

Gillian stacked the dishes into her aunt’s dishwasher with a snap to her wrist that boded ill for the stoneware.

“I happen to feel that real, live children are more valuable than any old artifact from the past” She watched as he meticulously wrapped the leftovers and placed them neatly in the fridge. “It doesn’t sound like much of a life for a child,” she added finally.

He looked surprised.

“Actually it was a very good life. I was able to spend much of the summer studying for the next term. My grades were very good, and I finished my O levels a year ahead of schedule.”

Gillian set the coffee to perk and waved him into the living room. She wanted to tell him that his rigid life-style had robbed him of the carefree play of a child, but who was she to judge. She could only sympathize with the little boy who had spent his time working on the Dewey decimal system for artifacts.

She had just poured them each a cup of the fragrant, steaming coffee when Hope’s doorbell rang. It was Pastor Dave, in his usual jovial mood.

“I knew you two would be here,” he said happily, his booted feet thumping heavily across the floor. “Heard about your good news, too. Congratulations.” His round shiny face beamed down at them both.

Gillian could feel the tide of red suffusing her cheeks, as she realized from his sparkling glance that he’d heard about their supposed engagement from Faith.

“Well, thanks anyway, Pastor,” she murmured, glancing at Jeremy’s gaping mouth. “But we’re not engaged. Mr. Nivens and I are merely colleagues.”

“Oh, I remember. Faith did say you and your beau were trying to keep things quiet. I’ll respect your privacy, Gilly, girl. Don’t you worry. At least for a while.” He winked and patted her shoulder, then whooshed down onto the sofa.

Gillian gritted her teeth and willed him to listen.

“You don’t understand, Pastor. Jeremy and I aren’t engaged. Not at all.” She glanced at her supposed intended for confirmation and saw a glimmer of mirth deep in his eyes. He couldn’t be enjoying this, could he?

“Oh, you’ve had a little tiff, I suppose. Everybody has them, sweetie. You just have to work through your problems. And at least you’re doing that now before you’re married.” Dave patted her hand consolingly. “That’s a good sign that you two are adults, willing to compromise and accommodate the other’s point of view. Now about the youth group,” he winked at them both as they sat on either side of him, mouths hanging open in consternation.

“I just know you and your honey here will make good team leaders for the kids. I’ve arranged for them to go to Tyndale’s farm on Friday night and play Capture the Flag, and I thought you two might like to come along and watch.” He beamed down on them happily. “Next week you’re on your own.”

As the hefty minister lunged to his feet, Gillian glared at Jeremy. Do something, she telegraphed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he, also, stood up.

“I don’t think Gillian, er, that is, Miss Langford and I, well, we don’t exactly know just how to, well, deal with…”

He stopped abruptly when the reverend slapped him soundly on the back and bubbled with laughter.

“Course you don’t, son,” Dave chortled happily. “But you’re smart young folk with lots of schoolin’. I have every faith that God will lead you in your dealings with these young people. Anyway, it will be good practice for when your own come, eh!” He chuckled with glee at their surprised faces.

“Meet you at the church in half an hour,” his jovial voice chided them. “Don’t be late.” He surged through the room toward the front door, sniggering to himself as he went. “Well, well. A wedding. Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

Gillian sank onto the sofa, her knees buckling under the strain as she stared up at her intended. “Could you please stop this freight train?” she asked helplessly. “I think I want to get off.”

She heard his hiss of disgust as Jeremy moved in front of her. The silver in his eyes glittered at her like steel, and his mouth was pursed in a hard, straight line of blame.

“Well, it’s just a bit late for that, Miss Langford,” he accused. “Especially now that the whole town thinks we’re about to be married, honey!”

“Look,” she began, anger poking at the way he was hinting that this was all her fault. “I was only trying to spare your aunt. She was just a little confused, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared furiously at her, his mouth grim.

“Well, you’ve made it much worse,” he complained bitterly. “Now we’ve got the minister planning our wedding.”

Gillian felt the chill of those cold gray eyes move over her with disgust as he said, “I don’t want to get married. And especially not to a woman who is so obviously the opposite of everything I could want in my wife.” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “If I wanted one, that is. Which I don’t”

Gillian felt tears of anger press against her eyelids, but there was no way she was giving in. Not with him standing there watching.

“Believe me,” she enunciated clearly, determined that he would hear every word. “If I ever chose to be engaged again, which I won’t, it certainly wouldn’t be to some old-fashioned, stuffed shirt from the middle ages.”

He glared at her for so long Gillian thought his eyebrows would be completely lost in his dark mussed-up hair. His words when they came, were soft and menacing.

“Better to be old-fashioned than an airhead with no sense of responsibility. Good night!”

“Good night!”

He turned without a second look and stomped his way to the front door, collecting his suit jacket on the way. Gillian was smugly amused to see that somehow during the evening his tie had loosened and several shirt buttons had come undone. Jeremy Nivens also had taco sauce on his pristine vest, she noticed with satisfaction. Some of the superiority disappeared as she glanced in Hope’s mirror and noted the state of her own disheveled appearance.

“Just a minute,” she cried as he strode down the steps. At her words he stopped dead in his place and waited for her to catch up.

“What are we going to do about the youth group? Pastor Dave is expecting us to take over next week. We’re supposed to be there tonight.”

When he looked at her, Gillian flinched at the anger emanating from his frosty gaze.

“Just another situation you’ve entangled us in, Miss Langford.” His face was carved in those hard, bitter lines that had been missing for a while tonight.

“Well,” she murmured quietly, “are you going to tell him that you can’t do it?” She waited expectantly for his answer.

“No,” he bellowed, sending her reeling in shock. “I let him go away believing I would help, and I will. I’ll set up a six-week Bible study for them.”

Gillian stared at him, frowning.

“A Bible study,” she murmured quizzically. “They usually do something fun on weekends. The Bible studies are on Wednesday evenings.” She peered up at him curiously.

“Very well, then.” Jeremy jumped over the side of the car and vaulted into the seat with a move Gillian had only seen in the movies. It was proof positive that there was a lot more to the man than she had suspected, when he could make a move like that so easily.

“You plan their events,” he muttered angrily. “I’ll plan the food.” He drove away without a single grinding of gears while she stood there staring after him. Jeremy Nivens was going to provide the food? As she walked back into the house, Gillian grimaced. What would the youth of Mossbank have to eat at their weekly get-togethers? she asked herself. Toast and jam? Or his American version of tea and crumpets? She dismissed the thought as uncharitable and not worthy of her and raced upstairs to change into her jeans and sneakers. If she was going to do this, and it looked like she was, she couldn’t afford to be late for the first night.

To say that the youth group meeting that evening was a success would have been an overstatement of the facts. Two boys got into a disagreement after one of them twisted his ankle racing around in the bush behind the house, searching for the flag.