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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.
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