On Lone Star Trail (12 page)

As if he recognized the teen's embarrassment, TJ continued speaking. “Anyway, I'm going to give you proof of my travels, but before I do that, I want you to see one thing.” He led the way to the resort's garage and opened the door. Switching on a light, he pointed to his motorcycle. “That's my bike.”

Shane gave out a low whistle. “Cool.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“So, how come you're showing us this?” Once again, Shane was dominating the group. Gillian wondered why Todd said nothing until she saw him whispering something to Brianna. He might not even be listening to TJ.

TJ shrugged. “You'll see. Let's go inside.”

The lodge had been transformed, its windows covered with blackout curtains, the furniture moved to the perimeter, leaving the center of the room empty. It was there that TJ directed the teens to sit facing the large screen he'd placed next to one wall. When everyone was settled, TJ dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. For the next twenty minutes, he displayed pictures from his travels.

It took only a few seconds for Gillian to understand why he'd shown the teens his motorcycle. The photos were so good that they might have thought they were stock pictures if it hadn't been for the presence of the bike in some of them. That added authenticity to the entire slide show and left no doubt that TJ had not been telling tall tales. He had indeed visited the parks and other sights he'd described in his nightly stories.

Tonight as he took them on a photographic tour of the country, it was clear the kids were fascinated.

“I've saved my favorite park for last,” TJ said as a picture of Old Faithful flashed onto the screen, followed by a solitary bison apparently strolling along the edge of the road. “Geysers, wildlife, waterfalls—Yellowstone has it all. But to my mind, there's nothing quite like the mud pots.”

Gillian stared at the picture of a tall woman with sandy blonde hair and a bright smile standing by the railing, gazing raptly at what appeared to be a witch's cauldron of bubbling mud. She wasn't beautiful by any standard, but there was something so engaging about her smile that Gillian wanted to meet her, to ask what made her so happy.

“Hey, man, who's the chick?” one of the boys demanded.

“My wife.”

H
is wife? Gillian felt the blood drain from her face. She'd known TJ had secrets and that those secrets were painful, but she hadn't expected this. She took a deep breath, trying to recover from the shock of learning that TJ had been—perhaps still was—married.

There was no reason that thought should have wrenched her heart, she told herself, though that very same heart continued to pound with what seemed like twice its normal force. Plenty of people married and divorced. Some separated, needing time apart to determine whether that was better than remaining together. Whatever the situation, it was TJ's life. If he'd wanted Gillian's advice or her help, he would have asked.

It was silly—downright silly—to be hurt that he hadn't confided in her. Though Gillian thought they'd become friends, friends didn't necessarily tell each other everything. Gillian had never told Kate that, despite all the statistics to the contrary, she worried that Kate's pregnancy might end the way her mother's had. Nothing good would come from sharing that fear with Kate. Perhaps TJ felt the same way about his wife.

“You're married?” one of the boys asked, his voice filled with skepticism, perhaps because TJ wore no wedding ring.

“Was. She died.” TJ tapped a key, revealing a new slide. “And now, if you look at these mud pots, you'll see there's some color to them. That's why they're sometimes called paint pots.” His tone left no doubt that he was changing the subject as well as the picture. The low murmur his revelation had provoked diminished as TJ showed them pictures of hot pools and explained the different types of geysers.

Though Gillian said nothing, her mind continued to whirl. It was no wonder she'd seen such sorrow in TJ's eyes, no wonder he hadn't wanted to discuss family. He was a private person, and this was a private tragedy.

Judging from the pain she'd seen in his expression, TJ's marriage had been a happy one. If not, he wouldn't be experiencing such sorrow. Leaving his job to travel the country began to make sense. It wasn't an early midlife crisis. TJ was trying to deal with what had to be overwhelming grief.

Half an hour later, when the last of the teens had left, having devoured doughnuts and cider tonight instead of s'mores, Gillian touched TJ's arm, then settled onto one of the couches. She wasn't sure whether he'd accept her unspoken invitation to join her, but when he took the seat next to her, she turned so she was facing him.

“I'm sorry about your wife.” Though the words seemed inadequate, they were all she could find. “If you want to talk, I've been told I'm a good listener.”

She'd debated saying anything, reminding herself that TJ had never asked for help. Desire to respect his privacy warred with the belief that healing came only after a wound was opened and cleansed. Talking and praying were the only ways Gillian knew to heal inner pain, and since TJ had made no bones about not being a man of faith, that left talking.

He was silent for a long moment, as if he were trying to decide
what, if anything, to say. At last he nodded shortly. “I probably should have said something earlier, but as you've guessed, this story doesn't have a happy ending. There's really not a lot to tell. I met Deb the first week of college at one of those freshman mixers that everyone's supposed to attend, and I knew right then she was the only one for me.”

If Sally were here, she'd be nodding, claiming this was proof that “Some Enchanted Evening” moments were real, that it was possible to meet someone and know instantly that was the person you were meant to marry. Gillian had never felt that way, and even Kate admitted that when she first met Greg, marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. But TJ had been fortunate, at least for a while.

He stared into the distance, his expression solemn. “We dated all through college, got married right after graduation, and had six wonderful years together until . . .” His voice trailed off, as if the memories were too painful to share with anyone.

Though she considered saying nothing, once again Gillian's instincts told her TJ needed to talk. He wouldn't have told her this much if he hadn't wanted to, but the way he'd begun to speak about his wife signaled that this was the right time for him to speak of his past. “What happened?”

He swallowed deeply, then looked directly at Gillian, his brown eyes filled with anguish. “She was diagnosed with cancer. A particularly aggressive form of breast cancer.” TJ closed his eyes briefly, and she wondered if he was remembering a specific day.

Though the moment of her accident was indelibly etched on her memory, the most painful day had been the one when the surgeon announced he'd done all he could and that it would take a miracle for her to ever again play on a concert stage.

Gillian suspected TJ had had at least one of those days when everything seemed hopeless. Was that the reason his faith had faltered? If he and his wife had prayed for and not received a miracle, that might explain why he no longer attended church services.

“The cancer had already metastasized by the time the doctors discovered it. We tried everything—chemo, radiation, stem cell replacement—but nothing worked.”

And now TJ was alone. Half of what had once been a couple, a man who'd lost his faith. Gillian could feel herself starting to tear up as she thought of the sorrow he had endured. Her injury, as bad as it was, had only been life-changing. What had happened to TJ's wife had been life-ending. And even though Gillian knew there was life after death, she also knew how painful the parting was for those left behind. Look at her father. It had been almost thirty years and he hadn't fully recovered from his wife's death.

“I'm so sorry.” Once again Gillian wished for more eloquent words. “I won't say I understand how you feel, because I don't. I've never lost anyone close to me.” She'd been shocked and saddened when Kate's grandfather had died, but Grandpa Larry's death hadn't changed her life as the loss of a spouse would have. And while she had felt—and still did—the absence of a mother, it wasn't the same kind of sorrow she would have had if she'd known and then lost her mother.

Gillian said a silent prayer, searching for words that might comfort TJ. “I won't tell you to be thankful for the time you had together. I'm sure you've heard that far too many times. All I can say is that I'm sorry.”

Though she tried to blink it away, a tear slid down her cheek. TJ stared at her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then the corners of his lips curved upward, and he reached forward, drying the tear with his fingertip.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“Oh, Sally, I didn't know what to say when he told me his wife died.” Gillian leaned forward on the breakfast bar, cupping
the coffee mug. When she'd accepted Sally's invitation to stop in for coffee before she went to the bookstore, Gillian hadn't expected to be baring her heart to the older woman.

She had wanted to tell Kate what she'd learned about TJ, but Kate had been unusually emotional yesterday, crying over a dead mouse she'd seen along one of the walks. A few minutes later she had laughed, blaming her tears on her pregnancy, but that had been enough to convince Gillian her friend did not need to hear anything that might upset her emotional equilibrium. Now, though it hadn't been her intent, she was confiding in Sally.

“I feel like the most ungrateful person alive. I've been feeling sorry for myself because my career is over, but that's nothing. I'm still alive. I have second and third chances. TJ and Deb don't.”

Sally swiveled her stool so she could pat Gillian's back the way she'd done so often when Gillian was growing up. When Dad would leave on another trip, Gillian would race to Kate's house, shed a few tears over what sometimes felt like abandonment, then surrender to the comfort of Sally's embrace.

“Sometimes there's nothing you can say,” Sally told her. “Sometimes silent sympathy is what's needed.”

Thinking back, Gillian realized that Sally had rarely spoken when Gillian had been upset. Instead, she had simply held Gillian until her tears subsided.

Gillian took a sip of coffee, wondering if she'd taken the wrong approach with TJ. “I wasn't exactly silent. In fact, it felt like I was babbling.”

Shaking her head, Sally continued to trace circles on Gillian's back. “You, my dear, are not a babbler. I imagine that whatever you said—or didn't say—helped TJ with his healing.” Dropping her hand and picking up her own mug, Sally continued, “I wouldn't be surprised if that was why God put you in TJ's path the day he crashed his bike. He knew you both needed to heal. Maybe you're meant to help each other.”

There was no question that Gillian needed to heal, and now
she knew what had caused TJ's wounds. The question was whether they could help each other.

She laid her right hand on the counter and stared at it. “Each day is better,” she admitted. “There's no change in my fingers, but I worry about them less every day.” Gillian felt as if she was gradually letting go of the past and enjoying the present. Though she still had no plans for the future, she hoped those would come with the next phase of healing.

“The rumor mill says you've been too busy to worry,” Sally said with a chuckle. “And I'm not just talking about working at Hill Country Pages. I heard you caught the eye of the most eligible bachelor in the Hill Country.”

“Did Kate tell you that?”

“Who needs Kate?” Sally scoffed. “I've got better sources.”

Gillian wouldn't bother asking which of the gossipmongers had linked her name with Mike's. Though the Matchers were an obvious choice, since they'd made no secret of their curiosity and had visited the bookstore both days Gillian had been there, asking when Mike would return, others had seen Gillian with him. As TJ had said, Dupree was a small town, and small towns had few if any secrets.

“I enjoyed Mike's company when he was at Rainbow's End,” she admitted, “but it's not as if we have a relationship. This was a shipboard romance, minus the ship and minus the romance.”

Sally's raised eyebrow said she wasn't buying that story.

“Really, Sally, there's nothing between us. I'm not looking for a husband.”

“Perhaps you should be. I'll admit that marriage isn't for everyone, but you'd be a wonderful wife and mother.”

Gillian swallowed the last of her coffee and prepared to leave. “Even if I were interested in Mike—and note that I said ‘if'—he isn't interested in me. He told me he'd call, but he hasn't.”

Sally shrugged. “He will. Don't you fret.”

Gillian wasn't fretting, she told herself two hours later during
a lull between customers. It was true that she'd wondered why Mike hadn't called and that she'd been mildly disappointed, but those thoughts were overshadowed by two things closer to home: TJ and the seniors. Though TJ was the more important, she doubted there was anything she could do to help him.

The seniors were different. Linda and Silver had come in again today, this time to buy one of Serena Miller's books, and once again they'd bemoaned the absence of activities for them. Despite what Linda had said on Monday, there had to be something Gillian could do. She simply had to find it.