Unexpected Reunion. Carolyn Greene

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      “Pop was furious when he found out. He kept going on about her falling and possibly getting a concussion.” Ruthie took a sip of her freshly squeezed juice. “Come to think of it, that was his same concern when she fell off the rose trellis a couple of days ago. He kept telling her, ‘Thank God you didn’t crack your head.’”

      “It’s sweet, actually. He’s madly protective of her.”

      The acorn didn’t fall very far from the Bristow tree. In that regard Gray was a lot like his grandfather. Ruthie mentally kicked herself for letting her attention drift back to the man who still held the pieces of her broken heart in his strong hands.

      She must have cracked her own head to think that she could pray her former fiancé back to God and to herself. But if God didn’t give up on lost sheep, then she certainly wouldn’t give up on Gray.

      She focused on the specials menu, then looked over at Mustache Man at the end of the counter, who was digging into a hearty English breakfast. “What he’s having looks good. Is that French toast?”

      “Eggy bread? No.”

      Ruthie had never heard the refined Paisley snort before. This was a first.

      “It’s fried bread. I’ll do a nice British fry-up for you, complete with egg, bacon, sausage, tomato and a dab of beans.” She turned to the skillet and talked over her shoulder. “Now fess up. You’ve deliberately avoided telling me how you fared with Gray yesterday.”

      So much for taking her mind off him. Ruthie shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. I’m not really sure what that was about, though. After these past six months avoiding each other, he suddenly wanted me at the hospital with him. Constantly.”

      It had been nice to be close to him after all this time apart, but also stressful because there had been so much left unsaid between them.

      She fought to keep her voice strong, to look at Paisley directly when all she wanted was to bury her head in her arms and cry like a baby. But she was stronger than that now. She could do this. With effort she could convince Paisley and her friends that she no longer felt anything for Gray. Convincing her own heart was another matter.

      “But after he drove me home,” she continued, “he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

      “Perhaps he wanted to kiss you goodbye and was just avoiding temptation.” Paisley pulled a batch of scones from the oven, topped one with clotted cream and jam, set it on a scalloped-edge plate and carried it to a pair of women laughing at a corner table.

      Ruthie choked back a laugh at her friend’s comment. Big talk coming from a friend who studiously shied away from male attention. But then, Paisley had her reasons.

      The minute they were alone again, Ruthie suggested, “Or maybe he didn’t want to lead me on. Not that I’d be interested, of course.”

      “Of course.” For some reason, the Brits did sarcasm far better than Americans. It had to be the accent. Paisley deftly changed the subject. “I heard Gray is planning corporate security systems now. What do you say we have him put one in here?”

      “What do you say we let him continue to avoid me?”

      “He didn’t avoid you yesterday.”

      “The same could be said of your police officer friend.”

      Paisley set the fry-up in front of her and shot her a blue-eyed dagger. “Don’t try to make something out of nothing.”

      Ruthie poked her fork at the delicious looking but heavy breakfast. “What do you put on fried bread?”

      “Your teeth.”

      The front door chimed, and Paisley turned back to the smoking fry pan. She switched on the vent to draw out some of the smoke. A second later red-and-yellow flames danced along the surface of the overheated oil.

      “Oh, my!” Paisley turned in a circle, apparently in search of something to put out the fire.

      Ruthie scooted off her stool and ran behind the counter to help. The customer from the end of the counter followed on her heels.

      “Get the baking soda!” Paisley cried.

      The man snatched a can of something from the prep table.

      “No, not that!” Ruthie lunged to grab the can out of his hand, but before she could reach it, he threw the contents on the flames.

      Whoof! The pan flared up in a miniature fireball, and baking powder poofed everywhere.

      In a panic, Ruthie debated what to do first...tend to Paisley, whose blunt-cut brunette bangs now frizzled like tiny electrified wires, get the customer with the melting handlebar mustache out of the kitchen before he did further damage or try to extinguish the pan before it caught something else on fire. Before she could make a move, someone pushed past her, turned off the gas flames and deftly slid a lid over the hot pan.

      Gray, their fast-thinking rescuer, turned on the water, doused clean dish towels with cold water, offered them to the threesome and suggested they hold the cooling cloths to their faces to take away the sting of the heat.

      Paisley touched a hand to her cheek. “I don’t think I’m burned. Just a little warm.”

      After a quick check of the customer revealed a slight redness near his lip where his mustache wax had melted, Gray turned to Ruthie. He grabbed her by the upper arms and studied her intensely. First her face, then down to her hands, which he turned over to check for burns. She’d been farther away from the fire when it flashed, so she hadn’t felt the effects of the heat. Yet even after he’d finished giving her the once-over, he held on. She wondered if he realized how tightly he gripped her upturned hands.

      “Are you all right?” he asked, concern drawing a vertical line on his forehead.

      “I’m fine,” she said in a shaky voice, “but Paisley looks weird.”

      Along with her bangs, Paisley’s eyebrow hairs had faded from dark brunette to pale brown and corkscrewed in all directions. Her cheeks and nose glowed a faint pink, but it wasn’t clear whether the color came from a burn or stress.

      Savannah dashed over from Connecting Threads, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders.

      “I heard a loud whoosh clear across the store,” she said, “and when I looked over here, it seemed as though the whole place had gone up like a dried-out Christmas tree.”

      While Savannah bustled from one friend to the other and then the older man, double-checking them for heretofore unnoticed signs of injury, Gray quietly herded the ensemble out of the kitchen.

      “It’s a miracle no one was hurt,” Savannah declared. “God must have been watching over y’all.”

      Gray fixed his gaze on Ruthie, his expression making it clear he would not be joining in the choruses of “praise God.”

      “We need to talk,” he said.

      * * *

      While СКАЧАТЬ