Chapter 5

Chapter 5

E nclosed in the privacy of his barn bedroom, Brandt fumed. Mark's attitude toward his relationship with Tricia hurt. It hurt bad. He was embarrassed about that, too. He was a grown man and had been through a lot in his life—the least of which was being such a disappointment to his parents that they'd distanced themselves from him. After he'd not only started attending the local Episcopal church but had chosen to get baptized, they'd essentially washed themselves of him.

It was as if they couldn't understand that he could love God as much as them. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised—they had never discussed faith or church or Jesus at all when he was growing up. Christmas had been about Santa Claus and Easter had been about the Easter bunny. Now that he had a fulfilling spiritual life, Brandt had no desire to give that up. He also felt that his life was better with Jesus by his side, but the moment he'd offered to take his parents to church, they'd acted as if he was turning his back on them.

Next thing he knew, his father had accepted a job in Florida. They'd moved to an over-fifty community in Florida and become immersed in their new, active social life.

Their decision to pull away from him had been hard, but he'd tried to come to terms with it. Most of the time, he didn't let their attitude bother him too much. Everyone made their own way in the world, and they had made their choices. Just as he had.

In addition, he was busy with work at school, his various interests and his wide circle of friends. And, this past year . . . his letters to Tricia.

But at moments like this, when he realized that he might never have a future with Tricia, his spirit sank. He was beginning to feel that he wasn't good enough all over again.

"This isn't the same thing," he told himself in a stern tone. "Don't make it into something it isn't." He reckoned that was good advice. It was just too bad that it felt impossible to follow.

As another wave of anger and hurt hit him, Brandt began to pace. Once he released his anger, he forced himself to examine his actions through Mark's eyes.

Maybe his buddy did have some valid reasons for worrying about his cousin.

He probably could've shown a bit more restraint around her. He probably shouldn't have held her hand for so long. He certainly shouldn't have kissed Tricia. Remembering the feel of her in his arms, he amended his words. "Okay, you might have enjoyed kissing her and she might have enjoyed it, too, but that doesn't mean you couldn't have stopped."

He should have stopped.

The two quick raps on his door forced him to return to the present. He was a guest at the Troyers' home. He needed to settle down and either get his act together or make up an excuse and leave.

"Yes?" he asked as he pulled open the door.

"Hey," Mark said. His buddy looked contrite. "May I come in?"

"Sure." Before he could stop himself, he added, "Did you forget to add a couple of things that I did wrong?"

Mark winced. "I suppose I deserve that."

"I know you did." Reminding himself of the truth, he added, "But I think you had a reason to be concerned, too. I should have behaved more properly around Tricia."

Mark rolled his eyes. "We might be Amish, but we don't live in the eighteen-hundreds. Plus, she's a grown woman, not a young girl. She can handle herself." He groaned. "I'm also not her father. I shouldn't have butted in."

"Is that what you came to say?"

"Pretty much." Studying his face, Mark frowned. "You're still upset with me, aren't you?"

"No."

He exhaled. "I'm glad. Danke ."

"Hey, Mark, would you like me to leave?"

"Of course not."

"Are you sure?" Meeting his friend's gaze, he added, "I'm going to be honest with you. I wanted to come to this reunion to see you and your family. But . . . I wanted to see Tricia, too. She's come to mean a lot to me. But, if you—or you think your family—are going to be upset if I spend a lot of time in her company, it might be best if I go. I don't want to cause problems." He shrugged. "I'm not unpacked yet. I can be out of here before you know it."

Mark shook his head. "You aren't going to cause any problems. Like I said, the problem was mine, not yours."

"You sure?"

"I'm positive. You can't spend Christmas alone, Brandt."

He wasn't eager to do that, but he was less eager to stay someplace where he wasn't welcome. He especially wasn't in the mood to attempt to avoid the woman he'd come to see. "How do you think my visit is going to work, then?"

A line formed between his buddy's brows. "It's going to work like it did last year. You're going to join in the festivities, eat too much on Christmas Eve, and then open presents with everyone on Christmas morning."

"What about you and me?"

"What about it?"

"Are you going to be wishing I wasn't here or attempting to supervise my every move around Tricia?"

"I just told you that I wouldn't."

"I know." But some promises were hard to keep.

"Brandt, we've been friends for a long time. I'm never going to wish you weren't here," Mark said slowly. "As for the other . . . well, I'm going to try my best to leave you two alone."

"I reckon I can't ask for anything more than that." Feeling that it needed to be said, Brandt added, "I'll treat her with respect."

"I know." Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Mark said, "So, are we good now?"

"Yeah. We're fine."

"Danke."

Eager to move on, he grinned. "So, what's next on the agenda?"

"Let's see. If you want something to eat, there are sandwich fixings in the kitchen and a pot of soup on the stove. Go on in and help yourself. Then, there's nothing planned until this evening."

"What's tonight?"

He grinned. "The scavenger hunt."

His stomach sank. "I didn't think you all were going to do that again. Didn't your father say it should be an every-other-year event?"

"Why wouldn't we have the hunt? It was everyone's favorite part."

Oh, no it wasn't. Already feeling a bit of dread at what was about to happen, he folded his arms across his chest. "Where are we meeting?"

"At the front door of the house. Be there at a quarter to five. Wear boots and don't forget to bring gloves and a hat and such. You're gonna need it, since this year we're going to have the hunt at the old Dennison property."

Brandt actually knew which house that was. It was a large, sprawling place that had essentially been abandoned in the 1980s. "I'll be ready."

" Gut . Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go spray-paint a mess of pinecones."

"You're going to do it?" He'd been kind of looking forward to helping Tricia.

Looking as if he was going to clean a dirty chicken coop, Mark nodded. "I don't have much of a choice. It's my penance for getting in between you and Tricia."

Brandt laughed. "I wish you well with it, then."

"I'll be fine. How hard can spraying pinecones be?" He slapped Brandt on the back before heading into the barn. "See you in a spell," he said as he opened Brandt's bedroom door. "And don't forget, there's always sandwich fixings in the kitchen. Help yourself."

"Thanks, I will."

"Oh, hiya, Carter. May I help ya with anything?" Mark asked.

"Thanks, but I'm good. Brandt and I have gotten to know each other a bit. Whatever I need, I'm sure we'll figure it out between the two of us."

Obviously feeling as if he had enough on his plate, Mark nodded, then opened the thick door that separated the horsey part of the barn from the two guest rooms where Brandt and Carter were staying.

When the barn door shut behind him, Carter said, "Did I hear scavenger hunt ?"

"You did."

"Great."

"Wait a moment. You look like you've just swallowed a frog. I guess you've participated in one before as well?"

"I did. Two years ago. How did last year's go?"

Courtesy to his hosts warred with honesty. Remembering how taken aback he'd been last year by the chaos of the activity. . . honesty won. After all, guests needed to stick together. "It went well . . . but it was also exhausting."

Carter grunted. "Exhausting sounds about right."

"It's going to be cold, too."

"We're going to be outside?"

"I've heard it will take place both outside and inside the Dennison mansion."

Carter groaned. "I know that place. It's enormous and about two big gusts of wind from falling down. Some of the windows have been broken out. And there are also a bunch of big, overgrown trees scattered on the property."

"Now I understand why Mark told me to be sure to wear boots."

"You don't think Abel and Annie will expect us all to climb trees, do you?"

"I think anything is possible."

"I was afraid of that," Carter said with a moan.

"We work in teams, so get someone younger to climb the tree."

"But what you're saying is that I won't be able to get out of the rest of it."

"I'm afraid not. Participation is expected. I mean, it was last year."

Carter rubbed his back. "Maybe I can pretend to have hurt my back or something."

"Mark's great-uncle is eighty-seven. Last year his team came in second place—and he found the hardest item for them. Age won't get you a pass."

"Great. It's going to be cold."

"Yeah, it is. Don't forget to wear boots and a hat."

"Thanks," he muttered as he walked back to his room.

Finally alone, Brandt closed his own door and sat on the end of his bed. He needed a minute to process all that had happened in the last couple of hours. He had real feelings for Tricia. Mark felt as if he was betraying his trust but was willing to step aside out of respect for their friendship and love for his cousin.

And now he was going to be placing himself smack in the middle of it all—while participating in yet another scavenger hunt.

This Christmas reunion was becoming more and more challenging, and it was only the first day.