The Reluctant Bride (2 page)

“M
eet me there at noon.”

“Carole, I have a ton of work to do. Are you sure we can be in and out of that place in an hour?” Micah held the telephone receiver between her shoulder and ear, wiping flour-covered hands on a dishcloth as she spoke to her friend.

“Positive,” came Carole's quick response. “It's a good restaurant. Great food, fast service.”

“Okay,” Micah answered. Baking needed to be done and her neglected painting stared at her from the corner of the workshop, but she was getting hungry. “We'll need to hurry.”

“No problem. Everyone in there will probably be in a hurry. Lots of business and professional people from downtown eat their lunches there. Lots of them.”

“You're late,” Carole observed aloud as Micah rushed into the crowded restaurant lobby over an hour later.

“I know, I know.” Micah adjusted her skirt and blouse quickly. “I had to wait for the pies to come out of the oven.”

“Pies?”

“Shepherd?” The hostess summoned them. “Party of two?”

“Yes,” they replied simultaneously.

“You gave my name?” Micah asked.

“I always do when I make reservations for us. Shepherd is easier to spell than Zabotrowski.”

They followed the hostess, weaving their way around tables, small and large, toward a booth along the wall. They slid into their seats and each received a menu.

“Would you like something from the bar?” the hostess inquired.

“No, I don't drink,” Micah answered.

Carole shook her head. She did not care for anything, either.

They were assured their waitress would be along in a moment to take their orders and were left to review the menu.

“All you need to say is, ‘No thanks,’ Micah. You don't need to tell every hostess in central Ohio that you don't drink,” Carole muttered. “Surely God doesn't expect that from you. I mean, it's not even
one of the Ten Commandments. Now, tell me, why were you baking pies?”

“For the school bake sale tomorrow. The kids are trying to raise money for a trip to Washington, D.C.”

“Everyone? The whole school?”

“Just the fourth and fifth grades will be going. That is, if they can raise the money.” Micah closed the menu. “I think I'll have a salad and a bowl of vegetable soup.”

“Well, I'm starving so I'm going to have the turkey-bacon club, a side salad and… what kind of pies did you bake?”

“Apple, but they're for the school,” Micah reminded her friend.

“Then I suppose I'll order some dessert.”

“Unless you want to buy one for a donation. Of course, I don't know how good they'll be. I haven't baked since last year—”

“Christmas, maybe? Remember? You baked two pumpkin pies at the cabin that weekend?”

“Oh, those.” Micah covered her face with a hand. “Don't remind me.”

“They weren't that bad. We ate them.”

“We had to. It was either that or no dessert,” Micah recalled.

“Well they might have been better if you had used the frozen crusts like I suggested.” Carole placed her menu on the table.

“I really wanted to bake my own pies, Carole.
Taking something out of the freezer and putting it into the oven, it just doesn't seem right calling it your own.”

“Why not? I do it every evening. Out of the freezer and into the microwave. Beef Stroganoff, chipped beef, chicken A la king…”

“That's different.”

“So how much for a pie? I mean, even if it's not great, at least it's a pie. There won't be anything that vaguely resembles one of those coming out of my oven in the foreseeable future. How much do you want?”

“Six dollars?” Micah asked more than stated.

“Sold,” was Carole's reply as the waitress approached the booth.

With their orders placed, Micah glanced at her thin gold wristwatch. Grateful it was Friday and she had no teaching assignment today, Micah planned to spend the afternoon working on the painting she had started months ago: a little church in the country. Her long, slender fingers tucked a stray wisp of auburn hair behind her ear.

“Do you think ‘living right’ has anything to do with having great hair?” Carole asked, her words slicing into Micah's thoughts.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have the natural curls I've always wanted. Is it a gift from God for being good or something like that?”

“If I thought it would get you into church on Sunday, I'd be tempted to say ‘yes.’”

“And tell a lie?” Carole quipped. “Surely not.”

Several people walked past their booth, but Micah paid little attention to them. She had just picked up a bread stick from the basket on the table when she heard Carole's greeting.

“Hello, Rob! What a pleasant surprise!”

Rob. Micah quickly placed the bread stick on a saucer and picked up her napkin to wipe her fingers.

“Carole? It's been a long time since I've seen you,” the distinctly male voice responded.

“Yes, it has. You know Micah Shepherd, don't you?” Carole's words bubbled with enthusiasm as she motioned toward Micah.

“Yes,” he replied, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. She noticed Rob's eyebrows lift as his gaze met and held hers. “We've met. How are you, Miss Shepherd?”

Micah smiled in response. “Fine, thank you.” In some unexplainable way, she was both pleased and not pleased to see him again. So why was her heart pounding so loudly in her ears?

“I didn't realize that you and Miss Shepherd were friends.” He spoke to Miss Zabotrowski, but his eyes remained firmly fixed upon her auburn-haired companion.

“Would you care to join us?” Carole offered.

Rob glanced at a nearby table. “Thank you, but
I'm meeting someone for lunch, and I'm running late, as it is.”

Micah exhaled a quiet sigh of relief before asking, “How is Mrs. Winslow?”

“About the same.” Rob's piercing blue gaze burned through her as though silently questioning the motive for her inquiry and forcing Micah to look away. “It was nice to see you again, Carole, and you, too, Miss Shepherd.”

Miss Shepherd. His formality iritated her, exactly the way he'd meant it to. Micah watched him turn and walk away, but not too far. He sat down at a table close by with an attractive brunette. Micah crunched into the bread stick.

“What's with you two? Just because you're not a good witness for Old Yeller doesn't mean you and Rob can't be friendly,” Carole snapped.

“We're not friends,” Micah replied, staring into the bowl of soup that the waitress set before her. “Mr. Granston is an attorney, I was a witness—a poor one—and that is the sum of our relationship.”

Carole poured extra dressing over her salad. “Are you kidding? Did you see the way he looked at you? He couldn't take his eyes off you.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's true.” Carole lowered her voice to a healthy whisper. “It was absolutely intense.”

“Eat your salad and mind your own business, Carole,” Micah warned softly before taking a drink from her water glass. He had looked surprised to see
her again. Surprised, that was all. Wasn't it? She glanced toward the nearby table. The brunette was involved in some animated conversation, and Rob was being appropriately attentive.

“I'm just glad he's here today, even if he is with that dark-haired beauty. When I made the reservations, I was afraid I might have been wasting my time.”

“This was intentional?” Micah placed her spoon on the table. “You assumed Rob would be here?”

“Rob?” Carole smiled. “I thought it was Mr. Granston?”

“Don't change the subject. You did this on purpose.” Suddenly the meal didn't seem quite so inviting. “What if he knows why we're here?”

“Now you're the one who's being ridiculous. He's a lawyer, Micah, not a psychic. How could he possibly know my reason for inviting you here?”

Carole was right. He really couldn't know, Micah reasoned. “Is this where you had lunch with him?”

“Yes, but it was a business luncheon. I've told you that—”

“I'd really like to go home, Carole. My appetite seems to have disappeared.”

“Leave without eating? What would he think if he saw us running out of here without having our lunch?”

Micah hesitated. “All right, you win. Let's eat and then go right away.”

They gradually worked their way through their
meals, Carole a little more happily than Micah because Micah had trouble keeping her eyes from straying to the table that Rob and the brunette occupied. The last time she glanced up, the woman had disappeared—to the ladies’ room, Micah supposed—and Rob's eyes rested directly on her. She smiled, a feeble little smile, in response, and looked back into her half-empty salad plate. The sooner she could get out of here, the better.

“I'm finished,” Carole finally announced as she placed her napkin on the table, pulled her wallet from her purse and summoned their waitress to the table. “We'd like our checks now, please.”

“They have already been taken care of, miss,” the waitress stated.

“But we haven't seen them yet,” Micah interjected.

Carole added, “There must be some mistake.”

“There's no mistake. The gentleman you spoke with earlier paid the bills.”

They both turned, but Rob was gone.

“Well, well, well,” Carole mused aloud as they walked out of the dimly lit restaurant into the sunshine, warm and bright. “So that's the sum of your relationship.”

“He obviously bought lunch for you,” Micah insisted while walking toward Carole's car. “You know him and—”

“And I think he was buying for the pretty redhead seated at my table.” Carole pulled open her car
door, laughing. “If he caught a glimpse of your car on the way into the restaurant, he probably took pity on you, assuming that you couldn't afford to eat in a place this nice.”

Micah shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with one hand. “There's nothing wrong with my old station wagon,” Micah replied, though she knew only too well that there was plenty wrong with it

“No, nothing other than the fact that it's old and it's a station wagon.” Carole glanced around the parking lot. “Where did you leave it?”

“I had trouble trying to start it,” Micah admitted, “and I decided to walk. So Rob couldn't see my car even if he wanted to. Obviously, the lunch was for you.”

“Do you want a ride home, or do you prefer standing in this hot sun arguing?”

The air felt sticky, and Micah was anxious to get home. The ride sounded good.

“I have a pie to pick up, remember?” Carole added.

The bake sale and the entire weekend flew by in a blur. So much so that Micah barely thought of her encounter with Rob Granston. Except for once or twice, late at night, just before she fell asleep. Deciding against calling to thank him for lunch, she left that task to Carole. After all, he was Carole's friend. Calling would seem presumptuous, as if she was assuming he'd picked up the check with her in
mind when, certainly, that had not been the case, she reminded herself.

Micah ran a brush slowly through her long curls and applied a touch of peach lipstick to finish her morning routine. Another rainy Monday. What an unpredictable spring, rainy sometimes, hot and humid others. But today Micah returned to a familiar school, and that brightened her spirits regardless of the weather. When two years of substitute teaching wore thin, she had gladly agreed to finish out the school year at Wellspring Elementary as a replacement for a teacher on maternity leave. It surprised Micah to discover how much she enjoyed greeting the same young faces each day. Maybe she would consider looking for a full-time position soon. Maybe something permanent was what she needed in her life. She had already lived here for two years, longer than she had stayed in any other city since her eighteenth birthday. Columbus suited her, especially the German Village location of her apartment with its brick-lined streets and quaint buildings, and as long as the thought of leaving saddened her, she stayed.

Meow…meow…. Micah laughed lightly as she hurried toward the door and the pitiful noise.

“Poor baby.” She opened the door a few inches, enough to allow a multicolored cat to enter. “Mrs. Poe puts you outside every morning, rain or shine, doesn't she, Patches? How about some milk?”

Micah poured the liquid into a saucer, and then
set it on the kitchen floor. Stroking the cat's damp fur, she heard that familiar purring begin. “There you go, babe. That should make you a little happier, but you're going to get fat having two breakfasts every morning. I know Mrs. Poe feeds you well.”

The morning paper cluttered the table where Micah had been reading it and eating toast, but one glance at the clock told her that the mess would have to wait to be straightened up until evening.

“Hurry, Patches.” Gathering her umbrella and books, Micah started for the door with her landlady's cat scurrying after her. It paused to rub against Micah's ankles and nearly knocked her down in the process. “Out the door, Patches.” She gave the cat a gentle shove with her foot, forcing the feline into the steady spring shower. “Sorry to rush you, but I've got to go,” she said and turned the key in the lock, twisting the knob to be certain it had locked securely.

“See you later, kitty.” Unexpected sadness rained down on her as surely as the light drops. She was twenty-eight years old, and all she had to come home to every evening was Patches…a cat that didn't even belong to her. Surely there must be something, someone more for her out there. Why didn't the Lord show her His plan for her life? she wondered again as she had done many times. She already knew what she
couldn't
do, but the whole city wasn't filled with attorneys, was it? Why
couldn't she meet a pastor, a math teacher or a truck driver…?

Micah stacked her books on the front seat. Or why couldn't she be happy alone? She had been content with her life until recently. When had that changed? She leaned into the car, her eyes coming to rest on a painting placed there earlier. The little country church with a backdrop of a summer-blue sky—the same gentle blue of Rob Granston's eyes.

Suddenly, she knew when the contentment had vanished.

“T
his job fair is a wonderful idea, Angela,” Micah said to the young, dark-haired woman who taught in the next classroom.

“It's an annual event. I know the kids are rather young to absorb much about the different careers, but it's never too early for them to start considering the possibilities for their future.”

They walked toward the gymnasium. The children had been ushered into the gym immediately following their lunch period to view the Career Day displays set up there. Posters, pamphlets, booths with displays and even a miniature firehouse filled the area. Several firefighters, military personnel, a chef with baked goods to sample, a secretary with modern business equipment to demonstrate, a nurse and an airplane pilot were present, along with a martial arts expert who was practicing on mats in the middle
of the floor. Numerous other occupations were represented, as well.

“I have three children,” Angela stated as they entered the crowded gym. “And they all, as young as they are, know what they want to be when they grow up. Nathan, my ten-year-old wants to be a doctor, David, my middle child, loves airplanes, so he's going to be a pilot, and Heather, well, she wants to be a teacher like her mommy.”

Micah was about to ask Angela a few questions about her children, when she noticed him. At school. In the gym. Smiling and walking toward her. She could hardly believe her eyes. But after reaching her, he leaned over and kissed the other teacher on the cheek.

“Hi, Rob. Thanks for coming,” Angela greeted him.

Micah stood speechless. How many times would she encounter this man? And what was he doing kissing Angela?

“Glad to help out, little sister,” Rob said as he studied Micah's confused expression. “So we meet again, Miss Shepherd.”

“Yes…I…” She remained at a loss for words, and he was looking at her as if it didn't matter.

“I am the official representative of the legal profession today. My sister couldn't con a judge into coming, so she settled for me.”

“Now don't tell lies, Robert. You know you were my first choice,” Angela commented as the three of
them started walking through the tables and displays. “I'm surprised you and Micah know each other.”

“Yes, it seems rather strange to keep running into each other. Are you sure you haven't been following me, Miss Shepherd?”

“I could accuse you of exactly the same thing, Mr. Granston,” Micah quickly remarked.

“Perhaps, rightfully so,” he answered quietly, his disturbing gaze never wavering.

“So, tell me, Robert. How do you plan to compete with martial arts demonstrations and samples of the chefs cooking?” Angela inquired.

“Speaking of cooking,” Micah interrupted, “thank you for buying lunch the other day. It was very kind of you.”

“You're welcome,” he replied and then turned his attention to his sister's question. “I've set up a courtroom.” They moved to Rob's area of the floor and viewed what appeared to be a mock trial in progress. “We've selected twelve impartial jurors, after explaining the words
impartial
and
juror
to them. And we have a judge, a prosecutor and a defense attorney. I put everything on hold until I could find you. I thought you'd like this.”

Angela was beaming. Obviously she did like it very much.

“What's the judge's name?” Rob asked the small, blond boy in the judge's seat.

“Sam Oleson.”

“The Honorable Sam Oleson presiding over this trial,” Rob announced. “And, ladies, we need an alleged criminal. Would either of you care to do the honors?”

Rob looked only at Micah as he spoke, and Angela laughed at the lack of attention. “I guess you're it, Micah.”

“No, thanks,” she replied, stepping back. “I have some other exhibits to attend to. I don't have time to be tried and convicted.”

The children responded enthusiastically. “C'mon, Miss Shepherd. Be the bad guy!”

“The ‘alleged’ bad guy,” Rob clarified as he reached for Micah's hand.

“No,” she stated quickly as she moved away from Rob and the “judge's” bench. “Angela will make a better bad guy for you.”

“Thanks a lot!” came Angela's response. “What a compliment.”

“We want Miss Shepherd! We want Miss Shepherd!” the children chanted.

“Hold it down, guys.” Rob said as he raised his hand to quiet down his group. “Miss Shepherd looks a little too honest to play a criminal.”

“I'll do it,” Angela intervened, apparently sensing Micah's nervousness. “I just hope I don't become a victim of type-casting.”

“Guilty! Guilty!” cried the young participants.

“What kind of jury are you?” Rob asked before laughing at the children's reaction to his sister.

Micah edged away from the scene, hoping to slip out unnoticed. Rob organized the children into the arrangement he wanted, but not without glancing up curiously at Micah as she walked from the circle of activity.

Micah rubbed her arms briskly as she fought the invading chill. Years had passed since she had been part of a courtroom setting. Time changes things, or so she had heard; but she was under the growing conviction that time did not change anything but pages on the calendar.

There were colorful displays and some rather plain exhibits, but they all received adequate attention from curious children in no hurry to get back to the classroom.

The martial arts expert drew the largest gathering of children. Oohs and aahs filled that portion of the gymnasium as the youngsters freely expressed how impressed they were with the performances. Micah watched for a few minutes, wondering how martial arts qualified for a Career Day exhibit. Not exactly a nine-to-five job, she considered. But then, neither was painting. She stopped at the small concession stand and bought a soda.

The elderly lady who had come for her family-owned bakery was a major attraction, and it only took a taste of one of the woman's hundreds of thumbprint cookies filled with strawberry jam to understand her popularity. But Micah ate a second, just to confirm her theory.

The afternoon slipped away, and soon the children were herded back to their classrooms by Angela, Micah and the other teachers for school dismissal. The bell soon rang and the children were “free.” At least that was the impression they gave as they burst from the confines of the long brick building and filled the sidewalks with skipping feet, endless chatter and an occasional word of profanity.

“Children,” Micah said quietly to herself. So few of them were the sweet, innocent kids they deserved to be at their tender ages. Many knew far more of the world's harsh ways and heartaches than their teachers, who had grown up in gentler decades. Micah closed the classroom window with a thud.

“Micah?” Angela stuck her head around the corner of the doorway, peering into the classroom. “Everyone is in a hurry to get out of here this afternoon. Are you ready?”

“Almost.” Micah rearranged a few books and flipped off the light switch. “What's the rush?”

“We all have to be back here at seven o'clock for a special meeting regarding funding cuts.” Angela's smile seemed a bit mischievous as she offered, “You're invited to attend.”

“No, thanks. Not attending that kind of meeting is one of the fringe benefits of being a sub.” She exited the classroom and walked down the hallway with Angela. “The gym is a mess. Will it be straightened out in time for your meeting?”

“Didn't I tell you? The meeting will be held in
the cafeteria. They're leaving the displays in the gym until tomorrow afternoon. Career Day was such a success with the kids that the principal arranged for most of the volunteers to return tomorrow for a couple of hours.” They neared the front door.

“Rob is one of the only ones who can't come back,” Angela explained, disappointment obvious in her tone. “He has a hearing first thing in the morning.”

“That's too bad,” Micah said. “For the kids, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Angela said in agreement. “I didn't know that you and Rob knew each other. He's never mentioned you.”

“We met because of a car accident,” Micah told her. “He represents the injured driver, and I was supposedly a witness, but I didn't really see much.” Abruptly, Micah changed the subject “So Career Day was quite a hit with the kids.”

“Too much so,” was Angela's sharp reply. “Remember, I told you that my son Nathan wanted to be a doctor?”

“Want
ed?
Past tense?” Micah responded.

“He's giving up medicine for a career in karate.”

Micah laughed.

“This had better be just a phase he's going through,” Angela said. “I'm going to have his father discuss potential gross income with him tonight.”

Micah laughed heartily. “He's only ten years old,
Angela. Give him time. How much could he understand about potential gross income anyway?”

“He'll know plenty about it by bedtime this evening. His future wife, wherever the poor child may be, should be out there somewhere praying that I can talk some sense into him.” Angela pushed open the door.

“See you tomorrow. Good luck with Nathan.”

“Thanks,” Angela responded as she left Micah standing in the doorway.

“You'll have to let your kids choose their own careers, Angela.”

“Not when they're eight and ten, I don't,” She waved as she neared her car. “Well, the kids are waiting for me, and I have a lot of 'steering in the right direction’ to do tonight…and for the next decade or so. See you!”

Micah pulled the door shut tightly, remaining in the building. Turning to her right, she walked down the hallway toward the gym and the side exit that led to the parking lot where she had parked her car. The building had cleared out quickly, and she hastened her pace a little as she continued down the long, empty corridor. Then she heard the comforting sounds of someone else in the building. Probably a janitor, she assumed. They worked later than everyone else normally did so they could lock up the school. Metal chairs that were being folded and returned to their rack made clanking, banging noises that reverberated through the gymnasium. She
walked past the bakery display and the unattended office equipment of the secretarial exhibit toward the noise and the side door leading to the parking lot.

“Hello, again.”

Micah gasped at the unexpected voice.

“I didn't mean to frighten you,” Rob said as he folded the last chair.

Micah's hand was on her chest, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone but the janitor had gone.”

Rob motioned toward the vacant floor space where his mock courtroom drama had played out. “I'm putting away the chairs and tables that I used today since I can't come back tomorrow.”

“Angela said you had a hearing in the morning.” She pushed her hair away from her face and adjusted the books that were shifting in her arms. “The kids really liked your presentation.”

Rob smiled, a lazy kind of smile. Micah noticed her heart continued to pound too quickly. And she was no longer frightened.

“Some of them seemed to get caught up in it. I think Wellspring Elementary School has several potential attorneys in it.”

He stopped talking, and Micah knew she should respond, but she had barely heard his comment, having been too busy studying the contrast between his black hair and blue eyes. The soft pastel of his pale blue shirt seemed to enhance the clear color of his
gaze. After all, Micah reasoned, artists notice things like that. Don't they?

“You don't care much for courtroom drama, do you?” Rob asked.

“No,” she replied flatly. “I don't”

He was no longer smiling as he considered her serious expression, and he did not respond. Micah suspected he was waiting for her to elaborate, and since she had no intention of doing that, she repeated what she'd said earlier.

“You had a nice presentation, and the kids really did enjoy it. It's a shame you can't come back tomorrow and give more of them a chance to be part of the trial.”

“Maybe next year we'll try again,” he replied. “Maybe by then I can convince you to participate.”

“Hello,” came a voice from the other side of the military display. An elderly janitor stepped away from the booth out into full view. “How did Career Day go?”

“Very well,” Micah answered. “It's to be continued tomorrow, so at least you don't have to tear down the displays tonight.”

“It's a good thing, too, ‘cause I don't feel like doing much of anything.” He wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. “Too much lunch, I guess. Feels like a bad case of indigestion.”

“Let's get a seat for you,” Rob was saying as he reached for a folding chair. “You look pale.”

“Are you okay?” Micah extended a hand to grab the man's arm as he wobbled and then slumped to the floor.

“Are you all right? Can you hear me?” Micah knelt down, frantically shaking the man's shoulder.

Working quickly, Rob loosened the janitor's shirt and tilted the head back. He leaned near, watching the chest area that failed to rise and fall. Pressing his fingers against the man's neck, he searched for a heartbeat. “No pulse, no breathing,” he said. “Get his arm out of the way,” he ordered, and Micah complied. “He needs to be lying flat”

Micah's own heart raced wildly. Did people really die like this? In gymnasiums on warm Monday afternoons?

“Find a phone, Micah. Call for help,” he instructed then began the required breaths before starting compressions. Micah had taken CPR classes, too, but that had been six months ago. Maybe longer.

“Now, Micah, call,” Rob demanded. “One and two and three and…”

Micah heard Rob count as she ran across the gym toward a phone that she thought she remembered seeing in the kitchen. Grabbing the receiver, she dialed 911. The operator answered after the first ring. Confirm the location? There had been so many different schools she had subbed in this year. “Oh, Lord, help me remember…Wellspring Elementary Schooll Yes, that's it. It's on the corner of Oak
and…something…I'm not sure…yes…it's a heart attack, we think…right, no pulse, no breathing… yes, CPR… Please hurry!” she added before ending the conversation. Running back to the south side of the huge gymnasium, her footsteps echoed off the walls in hollow sounds.