A Path Less Traveled by Cathy Bryant Page A

lanky cowboy
answered the door, hand extended. “Hey, Andy, come on in.”
    Andy shook his
hand and entered, his eyes immediately drawn to the enormous chandelier.
    “My mother was
from Atlanta, Georgia.” Steve spoke the words like an excuse for the house and
motioned for Andy to follow him across the marble floors. “Dad lives here alone
now, so Dani and I are living with him while our house is built on the old
homestead.”
    They stepped
through the kitchen and onto the back terrace, an expanse of flagstone shaded
by ancient oaks. The patio overlooked a large metal barn and wood-fenced horse
paddock, and the entire family gathered around a large rectangular table.
    “Andy!” An apron
around her waist and surprise in her voice, Trish jumped to her feet at the far
end, her eyes wide and her smile even wider. Then, just as suddenly, her mouth
clamped shut, and she plopped into her seat, as if his presence made no
difference at all. “I didn’t know you were coming.” A glare directed at Steve
accompanied her accusatory tone.
    “Sorry, Sis, I
forgot to mention we needed to set another place for dinner. I’ll get it.”
    With the
characteristic long strides of a man always in a rush, Steve entered the house,
while Trish’s dad motioned for Andy to take a seat between him and his
daughter. After he settled into the wooden chair, he sent a grin and a wink
across the table to Little Bo. “Hey, buddy. Wanna play catch later?”
    Instead of the
spunky response he expected, the boy slouched lower and jerked his head away
without a word, refusing eye contact.
    Andy wrinkled his
forehead, unease churning in his gut. He shifted his gaze to Trish. “Is he
okay?”
    Her dark eyes
contained sorrow. “He had a bad week.”
    Throughout the
meal Andy kept an eye on Little Bo. Trish tried to coax him to eat, but he
merely picked at the food, his expression empty and void. He stared blankly,
his mouth pinched and drawn, almost as if he were there in body only. Like the
rest of him had moved on to a very dark place. What had happened in a week’s
time to bring about such change?
    The roasted
chicken was delicious, but impossible to fully enjoy because of his concern.
When he finished his plate, he scooted his chair away from the table. “My
compliments to the chef.”
    “Thanks.” Trish
sent him a faint smile, her face still carved with sadness. She’d eaten very
little herself, her thoughts obviously preoccupied with her son.
    Andy reached for
his glass, wet with condensation, and swigged his iced tea. “You cooked all
this?”
    She smirked.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
    “I’m not.” And he
meant it. She was the most capable and accomplished woman he’d ever met. If
only she could see it, too.
    Steve made a
sound in his throat. “Andy, I talked to Bill Braddock, our city attorney, this
afternoon. His last day is at the end of the month.” His voice all business,
Steve leaned his chair back and steepled his fingers. “I told him you might be
interested. Is it all right for me to have him contact you?”
    “Sure.” Andy
reached for his wallet and procured a business card. “I’ll be here all weekend
if he’d like to talk.” It wouldn’t hurt to at least look into the situation.
After all, that’s why he’d come—to see if Miller’s Creek was where God wanted
him.
    Trish rose to her
feet. “Guess I’d better get this mess cleaned up.”
    “Let me help.”
Andy bounded to his feet without thinking, then caught his mistake and grinned
apologetically.
    To his relief,
she smiled in return. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
    He gathered
dishes and followed Trish into the house. “So you and Bo live here, too?”
    She shook her
head, turned on the spigot, and rinsed the plates, then deposited them in the
stainless steel dishwasher. “No, I live a little way down the road. My house is
hard to see from here because of the oaks. I’ll show it to you later if you’d
like to take a walk.”
    “A walk would