by Diana Palmer
“No, I don’t.” He shifted onto his side and propped his head on his elbow. “I’m in no hurry at all for the plows to get through.” He leaned back on his elbows and smiled at her.
That smile warmed her face and chest, making her wish for things that women like her never got. She looked away. “I can’t wait,” she repeated. “I’m going crazy stuck in here.”
“Because...”
“It’s too hot!” She scooted away from the fire.
Carlo raised an eyebrow. “Take something off.”
“Oh, please.” She tried to sound casual, sophisticated, like the women he must be used to. Inside, his suggestion made her heart flutter like a caged bird.
He reached out and touched her arm and she jerked violently away.
“I just meant you have about six layers on.” He regarded her with a cryptic expression.
Heat rose in her cheeks. She’d misinterpreted his remark as flirting, thinking he might be a little bit attracted to her, especially since there was no one else around.
She reached for safer ground, a change of subject. “So since we have some time,” she said, “why don’t you tell me about your adventures in Central America?”
His eyebrows lifted, and he looked surprised and a little uncomfortable. So there, buddy, I’m turning the tables on you.
“That’s not very good entertainment.” He sat forward and poked at the fire. “Maybe we should just turn on the game.”
As if to disallow that possibility, at that moment the power snapped off again. The room, suddenly dark, seemed to shrink to the circle of two in the fire’s low light.
“Must be the rising temperatures,” Carlo said. “Makes for heavy snow on trees and power lines.” He stood and fumbled for the matches and lit the lamp, which cast its soft glow over the room.
“Hopefully, it won’t stay off for as long this time,” she said. In reality, she welcomed the dim light, where Carlo couldn’t see her embarrassment, or whatever other feelings he stirred in her. “Guess that rules out TV, and you’ll have to entertain me.”
“Oh, really?”
“By telling me about your adventures.” She was back on steady ground now; she’d turned the tables and felt in control. The romantic situation was firmly squashed down, and she could do what she did best: listening.
“Why don’t you tell me about you?” he asked, flopping down on his back with a kind of pleading in his voice.
“Nope. Nothing ever happens to me. How come you decided to go to Central America?”
He was silent for a minute, but she let him be, sensing the reason was complicated. Finally, he spoke. “I was looking for a way to use what I’d learned in the army, and make money, and get away from Rescue River. And I was kind of an adrenaline junkie.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” But she smiled. She could imagine a younger Carlo, restless, wanting to do big things.
“I heard about an outfit that was helping out down there. Found out I had some sharpshooter skills they needed. The rest...” Through the dim room, she could see him lift his hands. “The rest just played out.”
“Did you like it?”
“What, Central America?”
“Fighting. Being a soldier.”
Firelight flickered across his face, and a log shifted and burst, sending out sparks and a crackling sound. Fern grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it under her head. Now the fur rug didn’t feel scratchy to her, just soft and warm. “Was it...fun? Exciting?”
He let out a dry laugh. “Aah. No. Nobody really likes being a soldier.”
“But that’s not true. A lot of people are proud of being in the military. Or...paramilitary, whatever it was with you.”
“It was both, and being proud of it and liking it are two different things. I’m proud of some of the things we were able to accomplish, but...” He shook his head and shifted, a rustling movement in the dark room. “There’s a lot you don’t want to know about.”
“People do want to know. At the library, military memoirs are getting more popular all the time.”
“Especially if they sugarcoat the truth. The only audience that can take the true story are other vets.”
“Maybe.” She waited, but he obviously wasn’t going to talk any more about that. And as a sheltered American who’d benefitted immensely from all that the armed forces had done for her, who was she to argue?
On the other hand, she did want to keep him talking, so things wouldn’t go all romantic. So she could stay in control. And most guys loved to talk about themselves. Carlo didn’t seem to be fitting that stereotype, but maybe she just hadn’t found the right topic. “So why did you become a missionary?”
“Can’t we talk about something else? Why did you become a librarian?”
“Because I love books. Why’d you become a missionary?”
He lifted himself up onto his side again and even in the dim light of the fire, she knew he was looking at her. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called...stubborn. Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Oh, she was on a roll now. If she could just keep him on edge and talking about himself, he wouldn’t try to make some horribly awkward or obligatory move on her. They could both be spared that.
“I can talk about it,” he said, “if you’re really interested.”
“I am.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “I found Jesus, or rather, He found me.”
She leaned toward him, curious. “No atheists in foxholes? Or was it more than that?” She’d had her own, quiet moment of conversion, but a part of her wished for fireworks.
He gave her a wry smile. “I’m sure that’s part of it, but no. I think God chases us all our lives. I think He wants us to live His way.”
Had God sought her? Fern tucked that away for further consideration. “And being a soldier wasn’t His way?”
“Well.” He sighed. “Let’s just say there was a better way.”
He was glossing over the story, she could tell. “I don’t believe you.”
He sat up straighter. “What?”
“You make it sound all pretty,” she said, “but I suspect there’s a lot more to the story. And that it’s not all cut-and-dried.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“No, no. Just a...a whitewasher. Like, why’d you have a knife and practically battle armor in your bag if you’re just a sweet innocent missionary now?”
His eyes narrowed just a little. “Being a missionary doesn’t mean having life easy. I’ve probably been in more dangerous situations as a missionary than I was as a soldier. But as long as we’re making accusations... I think you’re a distractor. I think you want to keep me talking so I don’t think about and talk about you.”
She picked at a spot on the wooden floor, not looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, “that you sit over there on the other side of the fireplace with your arms wrapped around your knees, telling me I’m not truthful enough. It keeps the focus off you, and you like it that way.”
She couldn’t help smiling at how well he’d read her. “Touché. It’s working, isn’t it?”
His eyes glowed in the firelight, holding hers, and suddenly there was a whole lot more tension in the room. So much so that it felt overwhelming.
“Tell me about your call to be a missionary,” she said.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because...” She thought about it. “Because God hasn’t called me and I want to know what it’s like.”
“Okay.” Apparently satisfied by her answer, he leaned back and cradled his head in his arms, staring up at the ceiling. “It was as if... I couldn’t get away. I didn’t have peace. I felt Him telling me
He wanted to use me. Not in words, but...in thoughts. It was weird.”
Fern felt oddly jealous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. So I’d go into the next village and do what my job required, and I kept thinking, do they know Jesus, have they had the chance? It got to be an obsession. The first thing I’d do is look around, see if anyone had a cross hanging on the wall or a Bible beside their bed.”
“And if they didn’t?”
“If they didn’t, well, no matter how horrible they were being, I couldn’t do anything to put them at risk of death. I couldn’t contribute to anyone dying unsaved.”
“Must have cramped your style as a mercenary.”
“Exactly!” He chuckled. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me about this stuff before. It was as if God was pushing me out of fighting for justice and into saving souls.”
Fern turned over on her side to see him better and her heart fluttered again. Man, she’d better look out, because she could really fall for this guy. He was good and sincere and manly, not to mention super handsome. His words mesmerized her. A scene from her favorite Shakespeare play flashed into her mind: Othello, the older war general, explaining how Desdemona had fallen in love with him.
“She loved me for the dangers I had passed. And I loved her that she did pity them.”
“What?”
Had she said that out loud? She felt her cheeks burning. “Nothing, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About Shakespeare, if you must know.” And she wasn’t saying any more than that. Wasn’t going to tell him she was dreaming about love stories and wishing someone like her could experience romance, too, even if just for the duration of a winter storm.
* * *
CARLO LOOKED AT Fern’s face, so pretty in the flickering firelight, and drew in his breath. He felt so drawn to her. On a physical level, definitely. Behind those glasses, her eyes were huge. Her hair shone as glossy as polished mahogany around her shoulders, and her petite figure was the perfect slender hourglass. Half the town’s library patrons probably came in just to get a glimpse of her.
But her appeal went beyond the physical. She’d drawn him out into talking about things he never talked about, and she really listened, unlike a lot of people for whom conversation was an opportunity to talk about their own issues and lives. She seemed really interested, and she’d made him think.
She was quite a woman, and with the way she was looking at him right now, he was in real danger of losing his heart. But the problem was, it was all going to blow up, and soon. Once the plows came through and they all rejoined the real world, it was just a matter of days until the truth came out about him being Mercedes’s father.
Now he wished he’d told her right away. What would have been the harm? He should have announced his suspicions that first night, despite being sick as a dog and dizzy and unsure.
Yeah, he’d had his reasons. He hadn’t wanted her to get mad and kick him out and then be stuck here alone. Before that, he remembered, he’d wanted to investigate the situation and pick up clues about how to approach getting custody of Mercedes.
He’d never dreamed he’d get to feel so close to her. That he’d care what she thought of him, or that it would matter if she hated him.
Because she would hate him, he was pretty sure of that. No matter how he tried to explain it, the reality was that he’d withheld the truth. And Fern, who was stubborn and upright and moral in addition to being cute and a very good mother, wouldn’t stand for that.
So he needed to do everything he could now to convince her he was a good guy. And although he really wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss the shadows away from her eyes, he needed to resist the temptation of those full, pretty lips.
He sat up and moved a little back and rubbed his hands together. “Enough about me. What about you, Fern? Don’t you feel called to what you do?”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not sure.”
“Being a librarian is doing good in the world, right? And if the Rescue River library is anything like it used to be, it does a lot for the poorer people in the community.”
“Yes, I remember you said you used to take your sister there.”
He held up a hand. “Stop trying to turn the tables. I want to hear about you, not talk more about myself.”
She stuck out her lower lip in an unconsciously pretty pout. “I don’t like talking about myself.”
“Talk about the library, then. Do you still have programs for the poor and rural kids?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. We just started a new one, in fact. Some of the migrant kids can’t get library cards because they don’t have a permanent address. So we started the friendly sponsor program. People in the community can offer their address to a migrant family, sort of guaranteeing that the books will come back. It ends up building some nice connections, in addition to making sure the kids can have plenty of books to read.”
“Folks will do that?”
“The response has been amazing.” In the dim light, her eyes glowed. “We thought we’d have a waiting list for the migrant kids, but instead, we have a waiting list of families wanting to sponsor them. I love Rescue River.”
“Pretty impressive,” he said. “And that was probably all your idea.”
She looked down, then met his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. It was.”
“And you don’t think God has anything to do with your being in Rescue River and working at the library?”
Her brow wrinkled as she stared into the fire. “I don’t know, maybe He does. I like my job and I’ve been able to help with some good things.”
He noticed her modesty, her humility, and liked it. “But...”
“But what I really want to do is write and illustrate children’s books. I could reach even more people that way. And it’s as if there’s something tugging at me all the time, pulling me into myself, into my...my dreamworld. I have so many ideas I want to share.”
“Now that sounds like God.”
“Is it? I can’t tell. I feel selfish for even wanting to write.”
“Selfish?” It was the last word he’d associate with someone who’d just taken in her friend’s kid to raise. “How come?”
“Because it’s so much fun!” She leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “I have to kind of steel myself to go to work at the library every day, because it means so much time interacting with people. I’m an introvert, and it tires me out.”
“I can relate,” he said. “I need time to recharge myself.”
“But when I’m writing and illustrating my children’s books, I feel as if I could work all through the night and never stop. I have endless energy for it.”
“And your work in the library has helped you, I’m sure. But maybe God’s telling you it’s time to go in a different direction.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Do you think so?”
His breath caught. Something about this pretty, passionate woman confiding in him and asking his advice took him to a place he’d never gone before. “Yeah,” he said, reaching out to touch her chin with one finger. “Yeah, I think so.”
Her eyes went wide and conscious then, and her tongue flicked across her lips. Sudden awareness of him as a man, he could guess that much, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Back in his previous life, he’d have known exactly what to do. With his wife, they’d been on the same page. Marriage had been more of an impulse than a true commitment.
He hadn’t understood true commitment back then, and his actions had shown it. His choice of a wife had shown it.
But now it was different. He’d found Christ and realized the error of his ways. He’d learned what God wanted for a man and a woman, and it wasn’t a one-night stand or even a short, intense relationship.
/> It was for life.
And he wasn’t good for life. Not now, maybe not ever. He was still feeling his way with God, trying to understand where his work was supposed to go and who was supposed to be a part of it. So far, the only message he’d gotten clearly was that he needed to try to take care of his daughter.
Which he’d assumed would mean sweeping her away from an unsuitable and neglectful foster family and raising her himself.
He hadn’t guessed he’d end up half falling in love with the wonderful woman who was already doing a pretty fine job raising his daughter.
He couldn’t help it; he leaned in closer. Those full lips were so pretty and her eyes soft and questioning. He reached out and ran a hand along her hair, and it was just as soft and silky as it looked.
She opened her mouth and started to speak, then closed it.
He let his fingers tangle in her hair, just a little. “Is this okay?”
She bit her lip. “I... I don’t know.”
“How come?” She was as jumpy and nervous as a fawn and he needed to tread carefully here. His hormones were leading, for sure, but he needed to follow his heart and soul, as well.
She shook her head rapidly and looked away. “I just don’t do this kind of thing,” she said to the wall, her voice so soft he could barely hear it.
“Because...because why?”
She shook her head hard again and looked down. Were those tears in her eyes?
“Hey,” he said, “we’re not doing any particular kind of thing right now, okay? No need to be worried.”
Her face went pink. “I didn’t mean... I didn’t expect you to...” She met his eyes, her face miserable. “I’m not the kind of woman men make passes at. Especially men like you.”
He felt his eyebrows lift almost into his hairline. “That’s hard to believe.”
“No, it’s true,” she said. “I don’t really date.”
“Do you...have some kind of belief against it?” He knew she was a Christian, a fairly new one, and sometimes people put tight limits on themselves as new Christians. Though he couldn’t imagine that Fern needed them. She seemed like such a balanced, thinking woman.