Snow Melts in Spring - By Deborah Vogts Page 0,105
for as long as God allows.” He took a quick breath and continued before he chickened out. “There’s another rumor floating around that I’d like to tackle, if you’ll hang with me for a few more minutes.”
He paused and searched the assembly. “Is Dr. Evans in the stands this afternoon?”
The crowd stirred with laughter and a few hoots.
“If you’re sitting by Mattie Evans, would you please wave your hand? The doc is kinda short, with red hair and green eyes, and she’s probably extremely embarrassed right now.”
An older woman on the far end of the bleachers stood and waved. “Here she is, Gil.” She tugged on the lady next to her, and Mattie slowly rose.
The audience began chanting Mattie’s name, and Gil beckoned her to come to the center of the arena. Mattie shook her head vigorously, but at the urgings of the crowd, she slowly began making her way down the bleachers.
“Four weeks ago, I asked this woman to marry me.” Gil spoke into the microphone and ignored the whoops from the audience, concentrating on Mattie as she walked out across the cultivated dirt. “She turned me down, but I’d like to try again and see if her answer is any different — now that we won’t be moving to California.”
Mattie stopped halfway between him and the bleachers. Afraid she might change her mind, Gil slipped from the saddle and flipped off the microphone. He closed the distance between them and knelt before her, shutting out the sound of the crowd much like he’d done all those years playing football.
Dressed in blue jeans and a green-checkered western shirt with her long curls flowing in the afternoon sunlight, Mattie looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before. He might never remember what she wore this day, but Gil was sure the shiny gleam in her eyes would stay with him the rest of his life.
He took his hat off and held it in his hand. “What do you say, Doc? Will you marry me?”
She sent him a scolding look that promised more conversation later. Then she held out the napkin with words written in blue ink. I’m sorry — I’ve been a fool.
“I’m sorry too,” she said, and her mouth twitched as though she might cry. “If you really want to move to California, I’m prepared to go with you.”
Gil stood and pulled her into his arms. “Do you know how much I love you, woman? I love that you’re willing to sacrifice your dreams for us — that you’d do that for me. But it won’t be necessary. I finally realized that holding on to my guilt and sin granted them more power than the Lord’s forgiveness. Do you know how stupid that was? If I truly believe that Christ forgives sins, then that includes mine. Once I got that through my thick skull, my love for the Lightning M — these hills — came rushing back. Dad and I are staying.” He kissed her then, long and hard, welcoming the taste of her mouth on his with promise of more to come. When he came up for air, he clicked the microphone back on.
“I guess that means yes,” he said gruffly, and the audience roared.
He grabbed Mattie’s hand, and they hiked to where Dusty stood. “I have one more thing to say before I turn this microphone over.” Gil put his hat back on and motioned to the high school rodeo queen who carried a big silver buckle.
“I’d like to present this prize buckle to this weekend’s overall winning cowboy, in honor of my brother Frank, and Dusty, and to all of you who have the courage to set a course for yourself and follow your dreams despite troubles that come your way. Our next speaker is a young man many of you know well. He would have been in today’s competition had he not been involved in a drunk-driving accident last January. Please welcome Mr. Dillon Marshall.”
Applause filled the air as a Ford truck entered the arena with the Marshall family sitting in the back. When the truck stopped, Gil handed Dillon the microphone, then tipped his hat to the young boy, knowing how difficult the next few minutes would be for him. He and Mattie stood beside the truck for moral support as Dillon spoke about stupid mistakes, how much they could cost you, and the grace to go on.
“You did well, Dillon,” Gil said when the boy finished. “Let me know if you ever