A Gift to Cherish (Road to Refuge Book 2)

by Victoria Bylin

  Rafe listened to Daisy’s trembling voice, the phone slick in his hand as he wrestled with the question neither of them wanted to ask. Was there a chance he’d stay in Refuge? That question had sent him on a five-mile run, and it plagued him now as he walked in circles on Jesse’s deck, cooling off in the dry air so unlike the Ohio humidity.

  He kept his voice low, the words scraping at his throat. “We have a geography problem, don’t we?”

  “Do we?” Her voice squeaked, mouse-like, the way it did when she was frightened.

  “I know I do,” he admitted. “I came here expecting to leave—hoping to go home—”

  “I know! That’s what you said. You love your job and you’re good at it. It’s who you are. But you like it here too, right? Jesse’s here, and . . .”

  “So are you.” I love you, Daisy. The words begged to be spoken, but it was too soon—and too complicated.

  Overhead, a pair of squirrels dashed through the branches of the massive oak tree shading the house. The upper branches slanted down, and a shower of acorns assaulted the deck with a rat-a-tat-tat.

  “What was that?” Daisy asked.

  Rafe looked up, took an acorn to the chest, and muttered at the branches still swaying over his head. “Stupid squirrels are tossing acorns at me.”

  “They are pests. But at least they’re cute.”

  Leave it to Daisy to see the good in a rodent. He laughed, but he didn’t think squirrels were the least bit cute—either real ones or the ones in his head. “I like it here, Daize. I like it a lot. But I worked hard to get on the force in Cincy.”

  “You could be a cop here.”

  “It’s not the same. Besides, the department was great about giving me some time off. They want me back, and I owe them. Plus if I started over somewhere else, I’d have to explain the gap in my work history.”

  “Of course. But I think it’s a positive.”

  “How?”

  “It shows you’re not afraid to deal with the stuff in your head. That shows mental strength, right?”

  No. It makes me a nut job. Right or wrong, that’s how he felt. So did a lot of other people, whether they would admit it or not. His job history aside, her rosy hopes made him wince. He didn’t want to hurt her, but staying in Refuge didn’t appeal to him at all.

  He decided to dodge. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you, so let’s talk about it later. Okay?”

  She paused long enough to breathe a sigh. “Yes. That’s best.”

  “Call me tomorrow, all right? I want to know how things go with Lyn.”

  “I will.”

  “Hey . . .” I love you. The words shouted louder than the first time, but the complexities silenced him.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Sleep well, Daize.” His voice dipped to a whisper, too. “No matter what the future holds, I want what’s best for you.”

  She murmured in return, her voice an echo of his. “And I want what’s best for you.”

  They traded good-byes, and he went inside to shower, both to wash off the sweat and to clear his head. When he finished, he filled his water bottle and went outside to enjoy the sunset. The deck faced a rippling stream, and sometimes deer came to lap the water. He kept his eyes open, but the deer didn’t show up.

  Only the chirp of insects filled the air until Jesse’s truck rumbled up the driveway. He parked in the garage and trotted up the stairs.

  “So where have you been?” Rafe called from the railing.

  “Would you believe antiquing? I took your advice about first dates and planned something Angela and I could talk about.”

  “Angela McCullough?”

  “The same.”

  Rafe had met Angela at the office last week. The interior designer was the daughter of a big client—a multi-millionaire building a huge family lodge.

  “Antiquing is perfect.” Rafe gave his brother a high-five. “So how was it?”

  “We had a good time.” Jesse swept some of the acorns off the edge of the deck with his boot, gave up, and lifted the push broom leaning against the house. “We’re going out again on Wednesday. She likes exotic food. Any ideas?”

  “Anywhere but the Green Light Café.” Rafe could still taste the lousy fries. “Whatever you do, don’t forget your wallet.”

  Jesse answered with a snort. “Only an idiot does that on a date.”

  “Or a pothead,” Rafe grumbled. “Chelsea’s dating some dude named Chad Whittaker. He says he’s an adventure guide. Do you know him?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Rafe took that as a good sign. If Chad was a lowlife, at least he wasn’t well known.

  Jesse shoved the broom hard. Dust and pine needles flew off the edge of the deck in a cloud while acorns clattered against the planks. “I wish Angela wasn’t the daughter of a big client.”

  “That could get complicated.” Rafe knocked back a few gulps of water, wiped his mouth, and scowled. “I hate ‘complicated.’”

  Jesse kept sweeping. “So what’s complicated in your life?”

  “Daisy.” Rafe downed more water. “We had the geography talk a little while ago.”

  “That’s a tough one. Something has to change, or you both get hurt.”

  “Have you been through it?” Rafe knew almost nothing about his brother’s past relationships.

  “The geography problem? No. Being in love? Once. But that’s ancient history.”

  “What happened?”

  Jesse stopped sweeping long enough to swat a gnat away from his face. “You remember when I got thrown out of the house.”

  “Of course.”

  “I found a job on a farm in Virginia. The woman who owned the place was raising her granddaughter. Smart girl. She was headed to Yale on a full scholarship, and I was doing all the things I wish I hadn’t done. One day I just left.”

  “You didn’t say good-bye?”

  “No. Nothing.” He paused, maybe remembering.

  “Man, that’s harsh.”

  “I’m not proud of that summer. The girl was better off without me.” He leaned the broom back against the wall and came to stand next to Rafe. “So things are pretty serious between you and Daisy?”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “Not what you planned, huh?”

  “Not even close.” Rafe exhaled a weary breath. “When I got here, I just wanted to get my head screwed on right and go home. Dr. Susan’s been great. I’m still working on some stuff, but I have new tools in the box.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Rafe mentally tipped his hat to Dr. Susan. “I like Refuge, but I’ve worked hard for my career.”

  “So build a career here.”

  It was an obvious solution but not as simple as it seemed. Refuge had its share of resort town crime, but it lacked the big city atmosphere that called to Rafe’s blood. On the other hand, he liked the mountains, enjoyed hanging out with Jesse, and was falling in love with the best woman he’d ever known.

  All he could do was shake his head. “This stinks. I just don’t know.”

  “You can always work for me. Ben says you’re good, and you handled the SuperCop situation like a pro—”

  “Which I am.” He reminded Jesse with a smirk. “Conflict resolution—that’s what cops do.”

  “Brat.”

  They both laughed at the jibes. As brothers, they hadn’t always been close, but they were now.

  The evening breeze stirred through the pines and knocked down a fresh shower of needles. Jesse reached again for the broom and swept the spot he’d cleared five minutes ago. The extra work would have irked Rafe, but Jesse took everything in stride.

  Swish. Swish.

  The scraping grated on Rafe’s eardrums, and his irritation increased with every patient, controlled swipe of the broom. Jesse hadn’t always been the man he was now. Not that he was perfect. He bled and burped like any man. Yet there was a peace about him—a peace Rafe envied. Jesse wouldn’t talk about his beliefs unless
Rafe asked. That’s just how he was—more walk than talk—so Rafe did the talking. “I give up. How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Stay sober. Hold your temper. Not go crazy when life goes off the rails.”

  Jesse kept sweeping. Swish. Swish. “Are you up for some God talk?”

  “Between Daisy and thinking about the future, I’m kind of desperate here. Go for it.”

  Jesse put the broom aside and returned to the railing. Shoulder to shoulder with his brother, Rafe stared into the shadows cast by scattered pinyon pines. The stream gurgled and rushed, a reminder of the river cruise and Daisy singing the praises of God and nature, until Jesse’s deep voice rumbled into the quiet.

  “Not a day passes that I’m not scared about something, and mad about something else. The calm you think you see? That’s me hanging on to what Jesus did on the cross—and I’m usually white-knuckling it with both hands.”

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “I messed up. You know all about that.”

  “Sure.”

  “So in prison, a scrawny college kid with a Bible showed up as part of a prison ministry. Nice guy. I liked him, and we got to be friends. That friendship led to some serious conversations. I have to hand it to him—he had the guts to spell it all out—that Jesus died on the cross to pay for the sins of all mankind. I laughed in his face, but that night I couldn’t shake off what he said about eternity. If heaven and hell were real, I knew what I deserved. I’d never been so scared in my life.”

  Rafe’s neck hairs prickled. He didn’t know what he thought about heaven and hell, but he understood fear in his marrow. “So what did you do?”

  “I tried to shrug it off, but I couldn’t. I ended up praying the prayer—accepting Jesus as my savior—then I blubbered like a baby.”

  Rafe couldn’t picture it. “You? Blubbering?”

  Jesse scowled at him. “Tell the guys and you’re dead meat. But yeah. I was a mess that night. I can’t describe it, except after everything, I was at peace. If you want to know where the steadiness you see in me comes from, pray about it. Download a Bible app, or pick up the Bible you see around the house, and read the Gospel of John. What Jesus did on the cross covers it all, bro. It’s not me. It’s him.”

  Something in Rafe bristled. “There’s something I just don’t like about religion.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Maybe it’s the way people talked about God when Kara died—that she was in a better place. I believe that, but why did she have to suffer in the first place?”

  “Why is a big question. I can’t answer it for you.”

  “That’s all right.” Rafe could live with the why. “But something else bothers me.”

  “What is it?”

  “The notion we’re all sinners. That word bothers me.”

  “Yeah, no one likes to be called names. It comes from the Greek for ‘to miss the mark.’ To be less than perfect. It’s an archery term.”

  Rafe glared at him. “Since when do you speak Greek?”

  “I don’t. That scrawny college kid started a Bible study and I paid attention. So what else bugs you about Christianity?”

  Rafe thought a moment. “It’s a crutch.”

  “So is counseling.” Score one for Team Jesse. “Any nightmares recently?”

  “Not for a while.”

  “Yeah, I figured. You snore like a caveman.”

  “Great.” Rafe wished he had a comeback, but he was all out of them.

  An empty silence pressed in on him. Not even the squirrels bounced or twittered as he thought about everything his brother had said—and the questions those words inspired in Rafe’s own heart. He tried to be a good person, but he had a list of mistakes, failures, and weaknesses of his own. No matter how hard he tried, he often felt like a failure.

  Jesse finally broke the silence. “I can shut up and go watch ESPN, or we can talk some more or even pray. It’s up to you.”

  Rafe wasn’t close to blubbering like a baby, but a heaviness pressed down on him with even more weight than the silence. He couldn’t deny or explain the changes in Jesse, and Daisy had a powerful story of her own. The two people he admired most in this crazy world had one thing in common—their Christian faith.

  He wanted what they had—an underlying peace, the courage of their convictions. So what if Rafe felt uncomfortable praying? He was tired of being a marble rolling in a box.

  “I’m in,” he said to Jesse. “Go for it.”

  “You mean pray?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jesse looked up at the first star in the evening sky. “Lord, Rafe is looking for you. Show him the way as he makes choices for his life—about trusting you and caring for Daisy. He needs you, Lord. So do I. We’re as helpless as sheep. And sheep need a shepherd.”

  With his eyes on the same star, Rafe offered up a prayer of his own. “Okay, God. Here I am.” I’m tired of the squirrels. Tired of being afraid of failing. Tired of feeling so alone. “I’m listening again. Show me what’s next, Lord. Amen.”

  There were no shooting stars or sightings of purple unicorns, but Rafe had the distinct feeling he’d just pulled his gun from the holster. When a cop did that, he was ready to use it—even if it cost him his life.

  Chapter 22

  With Miss Joan behind the wheel of the Mule and Lyn riding shotgun, Daisy sat in the back. They visited Heritage House first, then the historical sites and the bench by the river. The barn was the last stop for the day. As they approached, Daisy saw the horses grazing contentedly in the pasture. A glorious blue sky stretched above them, but storm clouds, dark and heavy with rain, loomed on the horizon.

  With the tour nearly complete, the weather didn’t worry her at all. Lyn’s presentation to Miss Joan couldn’t have been more perfect, and the tour had been lighthearted and fun. All Daisy could think about were the endless possibilities for Maggie’s Rescue Ranch and the women it was destined to help.

  Jug, Comet, and Zippy raised their heads as the vehicle approached. Expecting carrots, they plodded toward the fence. Miss Joan parked and the women climbed out, pausing to stretch their denim-clad legs after the lengthy ride from the river. Lyn removed her sun visor, finger-combed her dark hair, and marveled at the size of the barn and the ranch in general.

  A pickup truck loaded with hay bales sat in the shade about fifty feet away. A ranch hand climbed into the bed, lifted a bale, and hefted it to another ranch hand. The man on the ground resembled Rafe, but Rafe was at Heritage House today. Earlier, he had waved to Daisy from the second floor and given her a thumbs-up.

  Miss Joan glanced from the ranch hands to Daisy, her eyes twinkling. “I caught that thumbs-up Rafe gave you at Heritage House.”

  Daisy’s face warmed with a blush. Miss Joan played Cupid whenever she could, but right now Daisy wanted to be professional. “He’s very nice,” she said, her tone neutral

  “Nice?” Miss Joan leaned toward Lyn, cupped her mouth with one hand, and spoke in a stage whisper. “Our sweet Daisy is rather smitten with Rafe Donovan, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s even more smitten with her.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes. “Miss Joan’s been reading too many romance novels. No one says smitten anymore.”

  “Maybe they should!” The older woman stood as tall as her years would allow. “It’s a perfectly good word. Check that vocab app you like. Smitten comes from smite, which means to strike or hit hard, to overwhelm. If that doesn’t describe falling in love, I don’t know what does.”

  Lyn pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, lifted her brows at Daisy, then stage-whispered back to Miss Joan. “What do you think of him?”

  “He’s a hunk!” Miss Joan whispered back.

  Lyn’s mouth twitched as she fought a smile. “Yes. I noticed. When I met him yesterday, we chatted awhile. He’s definitely taken with Daisy—and I think she’s taken with him.”

  Daisy groaned. “You two are impossible!” But deep down, she
wanted to hug them both for caring about her.

  Lyn turned to Daisy, her expression sincere and her voice level. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since the bridal shower. Rafe is every bit as charming as you said.”

  “A perfect gentleman,” Miss Joan added. “But Jesse told me he intends to go back to Cincinnati in August. Is that true?”

  Daisy’s heart tilted sideways. “Yes. Maybe . . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know, or he doesn’t know?” Concern darkened her eyes. “There’s a difference.”

  “It’s confusing.” Daisy didn’t want to have this conversation now. Her focus needed to be on Maggie’s House, but Lyn and Miss Joan were waiting for an explanation. “Rafe and I see a lot of each other. It’s good—even great. But he came here because he needed to get over a”—how did she explain without violating his privacy?—“work situation. He likes Refuge, but Cincinnati is his home.”

  The twinkle in Miss Joan’s eyes faded to pewter gray. “So it’s complicated.”

  “Maybe.” No, definitely. Last night’s conversation played through her mind. “We’ve known each other less than two months. It’s too soon for the geography talk, but it came up last night.”

  Daisy had lain awake for hours, wondering about the future, praying Rafe would stay in Refuge, then taking it back. Who was she to presume on God’s will for his life? As for her own, she believed with her whole heart she belonged exactly where she was—here at Cottonwood Acres.

  She indicated the barn and pasture with a sweep of her arm. “Maggie’s House is the focus today, not me.”

  Miss Joan refused to budge. “I hate the thought of you being caught between love and a career.”

  “I’m not caught—”

  “Yet.” Miss Joan cut her off. “I saw this as a college professor. What does a young couple do when he’s accepted to a med school in New Jersey and she’s headed to law school in another part of the country? Who gives in? What does that person give up? Or do they settle for FaceTime, when video chatting is a poor excuse for—oh, never mind.” She let out a huff. “I’m being pathetically old-fashioned.”