Make You Feel My Love

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  After about a quarter of a mile or so, the road burst out of the trees. The ground dropped off sharply on the right. More of a cliff than a mountainside. Far below ran a ribbon of water, glittering in the sunlight. On the left, the ground rose just as abruptly. Could even mountain goats climb it?

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked above the noise in the cab.

  “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

  Before she could think of a reply, the front right wheel dropped into another rut. Her shoulder struck the door. She gasped as she was jerked the opposite way, although the seatbelt kept her from going too far. She prayed that they would reach their destination soon.

  But Liam was right. It was worth it.

  When the road spilled into a wide-open space after a long, slow descent, the sight took her breath away. The fork of the river she’d looked down upon from a great height at the start of this trek cut through the center of a lush meadow. The long grass, swaying in a breeze, was a mixture of green and pale gold in color. Liam turned the truck off the road and drove to a place in the shade of tall pines.

  Cutting the engine, he said, “We made it.”

  She smiled in answer, then opened the door and dropped to the ground, glad to no longer be bouncing along the road. The melody of the river—wide, shallow, and crystal clear in this place—drew her irresistibly toward its bank. Perhaps it was silly, but she thought the air smelled cleaner than at home. And with the breeze and at this higher altitude, it was definitely cooler than in Chickadee Creek.

  “Where are we?” She turned around. “However did you know about this place?”

  Liam shrugged. “When Jacob and I were teens, we’d get bored hanging around the cabin, so we’d take off and explore lots of different roads and trails. Most everything around here is national forestland, so it’s open to the public year-round. The road we came down is favored by horseback riders in the summer and cross-country skiers in the winter.”

  “It would be a whole lot less bumpy on horseback than in a truck. Even one as nice as yours.”

  “Can’t argue with that.” He leaned down to pet Chipper’s head. “I’m hungry. Shall we eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about I get things ready while you throw the Frisbee for Chipper? He could use some exercise.” He reached into the back seat of the truck and pulled out a fluorescent-orange disk.

  Chipper hopped and twirled in anticipation. But instead of letting the Frisbee fly for the dog, Liam tossed it vertically to Chelsea. She caught it, turned, and sent it soaring. As fast as she was, Chipper was faster. He caught it before it hit the ground, then brought it back to her.

  “Good dog. Good boy.” She ruffled his ears with one hand while taking the disk from his mouth with the other.

  * * *

  About ten minutes later, Liam called, “Chow’s on.”

  Frisbee in mouth, Chipper ran toward Liam as if he knew what the words meant.

  But it was Chelsea who held his gaze. He loved the added color in her cheeks, the bright sparkle in her eyes, the long line of her neck. He took all of it in as she approached the blanket he’d spread on the ground. It made him want to kiss her.

  But who was he kidding? Everything made him want to kiss her. Seeing her walk into church that morning had made him want to kiss her. Riding in the truck on the way up here had made him want to kiss her. Watching her throw the Frisbee for Chipper had made him want to kiss her. He’d lain awake for hours last night, remembering the taste of her lips upon his. He longed to taste them again.

  “What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Do I have something on my face?” She brushed her fingers across her cheeks, then her chin.

  “No.” He laughed softly. “I was thinking how pretty you look.”

  She stilled. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “Of course. Because you are.”

  “But you—” She stopped, then shook her head.

  He couldn’t know for sure, but he suspected she was comparing herself to various female costars from his films or to the women he’d appeared with in the pages of People or US or their online counterparts. Comparing and deciding she came up short. She couldn’t be more wrong.

  He took a step toward her. “I’ll never forget when I saw you crossing the road that first day. You carried an old battered pail and a ladder that looked way too big for you. You had on a green top and jean shorts and white sneakers. And your beautiful hair was slicked back in a ponytail. Like it is now.”

  “You remember all that?”

  “I remember all that.” He took another step closer.

  She tilted her head slightly to one side. “All I remember is your black truck and how it was covered with a thick layer of dust. I didn’t recognize you. I’m not sure I looked at you for more than a second.”

  He laughed. “You aren’t very good for my ego.”

  “Does your ego need a boost?”

  He sobered. “Humility is a more desired trait.”

  “I like that you aren’t self-absorbed, Mr. Chandler.”

  “Ditto, Miss Spencer.” He motioned toward the blanket behind him. “We’d better eat before Chipper decides to help us out.”

  He held out his hand toward her, and she took it. It felt as natural as breathing to Liam.

  “I went for simple,” he told her as they settled on the ground.

  “Simple is good.”

  From the cooler, he took Pyrex containers of cubed watermelon and cantaloupe, fresh strawberries and raspberries, sliced cucumbers and baby carrots, a bottle of ranch dressing, several types of cheese, and several kinds of crackers. There were cans of pink lemonade and bottles of water to wash it all down.

  For a while, they were content to concentrate on the food spread before them, but eventually Chelsea broke the silence. “Remember yesterday when you asked me what I try to hide from others?”

  “I shouldn’t have. It was—”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s true. I’ve always kept my feelings hidden. Since I was a little girl. I learned it was better to be invisible whenever possible.”

  Her words made his heart hurt. “Because of your dad?”

  “Yes.” The word came out on a breath.

  She told him some stories from her childhood. A few were fun, especially ones about her younger siblings. Others were bittersweet. But over everything hung the truth of how hard she’d tried to please the man who emotionally and, all too often, physically abused her. Sometimes with a belt with a large metal buckle. More often in a dark, locked closet.

  “After my dad died,” she continued, “I got away from Hadley Station. I moved to Spokane and tried to make a new life for myself. My mom and brother and sisters did the same eventually. We had varying degrees of success, I would say.” She turned to look at the river and the surrounding mountains.

  Liam wanted to hold her, comfort her, but a sixth sense warned him to keep his distance, to let her choose her own way and her own timing.

  “And then I met a guy . . . Tom.”

  She spoke so softly, Liam wasn’t sure he’d heard the name right. But that didn’t matter. Whoever it was, whatever his name, Liam’s heart hardened against him. A long silence followed before she looked his way again. Tears glittered in her eyes, the same way the sunlight glittered off the water flowing past them.

  “Tom Goodson. He didn’t live up to his last name.” She attempted a small laugh. It didn’t work. “He was charming in the beginning. He was always charming in front of others. My dad was charming in front of others too. Only his family knew what he was really like. I keep thinking that, because of my dad, I should have seen through Tom from the start, but I didn’t.”

  Instinct told Liam to brace himself for what she would say next.

  “The first time he hit me, he split my lip.” She touched a spot on her mouth. “I should have left then, but I didn’t.”

  “Chelsea . . .”

  She held up a hand, like a traffic cop in a classic
film. It silenced him.

  “I learned really young that it’s possible to go and hide deep inside yourself, to close yourself off from the truth of what’s happening.” Her eyes pleaded for him to understand. “The brain really is amazing, the way it can put experiences and emotions into compartments so you don’t have to look at what is too painful until you’re ready. That’s how it was for me.” She looked toward the river again. “The danger is you might not make it back from that hiding place.”

  How did you make it back? he wanted to ask. More than that, he still wanted to take her in his arms.

  In films, he’d always played one of the heroic characters. He hadn’t had a lead role yet, but he’d been on the right side. One of the good guys. Now he wanted to be a good guy for Chelsea. He wanted to rescue her, play the white knight riding in to carry away the damsel in distress.

  As if knowing his thoughts, she faced him again. Determination had replaced the broken expression he’d glimpsed earlier. “It was a random comment by a girl I worked with that woke me up, brought me out of the fog of pretense. She wasn’t even talking about me or my situation, but suddenly, I knew I wasn’t going to live like that any longer. I left work early, went to the apartment, packed my things, and left.”

  “You lived with him?”

  She nodded. “I wasn’t a believer when I moved in with Tom. Living together gave him more control over my movements, although I didn’t realize that at first. And he hated it when I started going to church, hated it more when I started to question if our living situation was right before God.”

  She touched the side of her face, and Liam knew she was remembering another time when that jerk had hit her.

  “Do you think less of me?” she asked in a whisper.

  Only then did he realize there were tears trailing down her cheeks.

  “No,” he answered, his voice deep, his throat choked with emotion. “I don’t think less of you. We’ve all had to ask God to forgive us for our bad choices. I don’t think less of you because you’re human. I think you’re amazing.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “Amazing?”

  “Without question.”

  And then he did what he’d wanted to do the whole time she poured out her story. He took her in his arms, held her close, and swore to himself that Chelsea Spencer would never have reason to regret telling him her story.

  Liam's Journal

  I can imagine Jacob’s face as I try to explain my feelings for Chelsea. He knew I had my struggles with desire. Physical temptation was a frequent companion of mine when I was living in LA. But it’s way more than that with Chelsea. Not that I’m not attracted to her in that way too. I am.

  But my feelings go deeper. I want to take care of her. I want to make sure she isn’t hurt again, the way she was in the past. I want to hear her laughter. I want to watch her with Chipper. I can’t wait to see and hear her play the violin.

  Jacob wanted me to find someone, to fall in love. He believed it was one of the things I needed most. I’m starting to think he was right. No, not starting. I believe it. He was right.

  Liam's Journal

  I’ve put it off long enough. I’m going to see Mom.

  Listening to Chelsea talk about her childhood opened up my eyes to a lot. I had it good as a kid. Maybe my childhood wasn’t ideal, the way I thought it was for a long time (like Leave It To Beaver or one of those other ’50s programs on perpetual reruns), but it was good. My parents never mistreated me. Yes, I knew Jacob was Mom’s favorite. Maybe it’s because he was younger. Maybe it’s because he was better and kinder than me. Sure, Dad worked a lot. More than he probably had to. But he was there for us too. And he loved us. Mom loved us.

  I don’t know any perfect people. I’m sure not perfect. I can’t expect Mom or Dad to be perfect. Guess that’s where forgiveness and acceptance come in. Jacob had those in spades. I’m glad I had his example. Now to apply them.

  Another thing: Jacob had a way with people. It was like he could look at them and know what they most needed from him. A fist bump. A hug. A word of encouragement. Silence.

  He was like that as a little kid. He was still like that as he was dying.

  Friends would come to see him, friends meaning to give him comfort, and Jacob would end up comforting them, making them feel better even though he was the one who was so sick.

  Sounds like a line for a sappy movie, but sometimes I wonder if Jacob was too good for this world, if that’s why God took him home so young.

  Jacob would argue with that. He’d remind me again that God knows the number of our days from the moment He forms us in the womb. He’d tell me that he didn’t die one second earlier or one second later than the number that was assigned to him from the start.

  Wish it felt that way. Wish it felt like the timing was right. But it doesn’t. I miss Jacob. I miss my kid brother. I miss the way we were together and the things he taught me.

  There’s that old cliché that says the good die young. Cliché or not, it was true of Jacob. He was good and he died young.

  Chapter 20

  Chelsea watched as dawn inched across the ceiling of her room. Happiness curled inside of her, making her want to sing and laugh and shout.

  Liam Chandler was falling in love with her.

  No, he hadn’t spoken the actual words, but the truth had been in the strength of his arms and in the kisses that followed. It had been in the tenderness in his eyes and the gentleness in his voice.

  And I’m falling in love with him. O Lord, I really am falling in love with him, despite wanting to be careful. Really and truly in love. It’s wonderful, and it’s frightening at the same time. But frightening in the best kind of way. Only You could make something like this happen. Beauty from ashes.

  It hadn’t been easy to tell Liam about her childhood. It had been even harder to tell him about her relationship with Tom. She’d left out the part about her ex-boyfriend’s threats and his attempts to catch her alone after she moved out. She’d left out the part about Tom’s middle-of-the-night phone calls and the times she’d sat curled in a corner, afraid he would break into her apartment. She’d left out the relief that overwhelmed her when Aunt Rosemary asked her to come stay in Chickadee Creek. She’d left out those details because none of them mattered now. Nearly four hundred miles separated her from Tom Goodson. He was her past. God willing, Liam was her future.

  Grinning, she got out of bed and headed for the shower. Twenty minutes later, her hair still damp, she went down the stairs and made a beeline for the coffee. Her great-aunt was seated at the kitchen table, her Bible open before her.

  “Well, listen to you,” Aunt Rosemary said.

  “‘Listen’?” Chelsea turned around. “To what?”

  “To whatever you were humming.” Aunt Rosemary picked up her coffee cup, then added with a smile, “You must be happy.”

  “Am I normally grumpy?”

  Aunt Rosemary laughed. “No, dear. But this happiness seems different.”

  It is different, she thought as she retrieved creamer from the fridge. She’d finished pouring some into her coffee mug when her phone cheeped. Chelsea looked at the phone screen. A text from Liam. This early?

  As if hearing Chelsea’s thought, Aunt Rosemary said, “It’s barely six thirty. When I was your age, we respected people’s time. We didn’t call anyone before ten in the morning, and we certainly never intruded after nine o’clock at night.”

  Chelsea barely heard her. She opened the text app and read:

  Must go see my mom. May I leave Chipper with you for the day?

  She texted back her agreement.

  Thanks. See you in 30 min.

  She put the phone into the back pocket of her shorts. “I’ll be back,” she told her great-aunt, then dashed up the stairs to do something with her hair and to put on some eye shadow and mascara.

  Funny, she wasn’t one to fuss much with her appearance. She preferred a natural, laid-back style. But it felt important to look he
r best for Liam this morning.

  “I was thinking how pretty you look.”

  Remembering his words from the previous day, pleasure sluiced through her. It was followed by a rush of doubt. Why would he choose her over that actress he’d dated last year? What was her name? Didn’t matter. Whatever her name, she was a flawless beauty. Chelsea had plenty of flaws. Her nose was a little too long, her chin too pointed. She wasn’t curvy either. Her father had said she was built like a boy, straight up and down.

  She turned away from the bathroom mirror, not wanting to continue this particular line of thinking. Besides, Liam was in Idaho. Liam liked to spend time with her. Then again, he would soon be making a movie somewhere down south. Who would be his female costar?

  “Stop it!” she whispered as she pressed the heels of her hands against her ears. She’d been so happy when she woke up. Why be negative now? As if in answer to her own question, she remembered something her great-aunt had said a few days ago.

  “Aunt Rosemary.” She descended the stairs. “What was that verse you quoted to me the other day after I told you about the thoughts that go through my head? It was about an enemy and a hungry lion or something.”

  Aunt Rosemary replied without any hesitation. “From 1 Peter. ‘Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.’” She flipped through the pages of her Bible. “And the next verse says, ‘But resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same experiences of suffering are being accomplished by your brethren who are in the world.’” She looked up.

  Chelsea sank onto a chair at the table. “Are negative thoughts always whispers from the Enemy?”

  “Not always. I believe God speaks to us through our doubts. To warn us what our choices might bring about, for instance. But there’s a difference in the way God corrects and guides us and the attacks of the Enemy. God wants to make us strong in Him, dependent but safe in Him. His voice encourages us on the right path. The devil wants to tear us down and make us despair, to lose hope.”