by Lisa Jordan
Discarded. Without value. Oh, how she understood that.
But not anymore.
She’d take this baby home and turn someone else’s trash into her treasure. She patted the top of the dresser and nodded toward his SUV. “Think you can put that muscle to good use and help me get this dresser home?”
“Sure.”
While Ian jogged to his truck to open the back, Agnes tilted the dresser, then started dragging it across the grass, the dew dampening her sandaled feet.
Ian stopped her and reached for the dresser. “Hey, let me get that.”
“Why? You think little ole me can’t handle such a manly job?”
“This has nothing to do with your size or your abilities.” Stooping, Ian hugged the dresser frame and carried it to his vehicle. The thin material of his shirt did little to disguise the flexed muscles in his back. He set it on the road and smiled. “Just let me be a gentleman, okay?”
“I can help you get it in there.” She reached for the side of the dresser.
Ian pushed her hand away. “No need.”
“I insist.”
“I got it, Red.” He edged the top of the dresser into the back of his SUV. Agnes grabbed the right legs while he navigated the left side.
He stopped. “Wait a minute. It’s caught.”
“What?” Agnes pushed her side in.
“Stop!”
The right side kicked up like a frisky calf. The front dresser leg scraped across Agnes’s cheekbone. The bottom leg cracked her in the jaw, snapping her teeth together.
Pain exploded down the side of her face, stealing her breath. Cupping her hands over her cheek, she stumbled backward, tripping over the curb and falling against a tree. She grazed her shoulder against the rough tree bark.
Sticky wetness trickled between her fingers.
Ian dropped on the grass beside her. “You’re bleeding.”
“Very astute, Sherlock.” She glared at him with her good eye.
“Let me see.” He peeled her hands away and sucked air between clenched teeth.
Agnes tried not to wince as he brushed her hair out the way and probed her face.
“You have a small cut, but I don’t think it’s deep enough for stitches. Your face is swelling. Sit tight while I grab my first aid kit.”
Where else would she go? Sprint to her car and drive off? Not likely.
Ian returned with a blue and red zippered bag.
“You’re such a Boy Scout.”
He tore open an antiseptic wipe and dabbed at the wound. She forced a sharp hiss between her teeth and curled her fingers into the cool blades of grass.
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Sorry. Want me to stop?”
“No, just don’t be taking your sweet time about it.”
Ian finished his torture and pasted a couple of bandages below her eye. He smacked a plastic pouch on his knee and pressed it to her jaw, the cold calming the throbbing pain.
She rested her head against the tree, not caring the rough bark would tangle her hair into a bird’s nest by the time she stood.
Inches from her face, his eyes sparked. She wanted to rub a thumb across his forehead to erase the puckered frown. Instead she took in the bump on the bridge of his nose, the hint of shadow across the angle of his jaw and the scar on his chin from the time she pushed him off the dock when he was thirteen. His lips parted slightly.
If she leaned forward an inch or two, she could kiss…
She jerked her head back, smacking it on the tree trunk. She clamped back a cry. That dresser must’ve cracked more than her face. Like her common sense.
She had to stop thinking about kissing Ian.
Otherwise she was going to end up heartbroken when she couldn’t give him what he truly wanted.
*
Nothing like knocking a lady in the face with a dresser to show how much he cares.
Ian dragged his gaze away from Red’s swollen face where a bruise pooled under her pale skin. He focused on the freckles sprinkled across her nose. He gathered the trash and first aid kit and dropped everything on the passenger seat of his Escape. Otherwise he was going to cradle her face and kiss away the pain from her injuries.
Calling himself all kinds of stupid, he headed to the back of the SUV to free up the dresser caught on the gray interior carpeting and closed the liftgate.
He walked back to the tree and dropped to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees. “All loaded. How about if I give you a ride home, then come back for your car?”
She slid her feet into those ridiculous pink high-heeled sandals, dusted off her jeans and handed him the cold compress. Her riot of red curls escaped the tamed ponytail and formed corkscrews around her ears. “I can drive home.”
Ian jumped up and jammed his hands in his front pockets to keep from running his fingers through her wild hair. “You sure?”
“I appreciate your help and all, but you don’t need to baby me. Now let’s get that chest of drawers home so I can start working on it.” She walked to her car, threw a glance over her shoulder, then slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
Crazy, independent woman.
Short of throwing Red over his shoulder and locking her in his car, he had no choice but to follow her.
Less than ten minutes later, Red pulled into her mother’s driveway and shut off the engine. Ian parked behind her, slid out from behind the steering wheel and released the liftgate. He pulled the dresser out of its tight quarters and carried it into the garage, setting it next to a chair with torn upholstery.
Red smoothed her hair into a ponytail and secured it with her hair band, exposing her cheek.
He gently touched her skin. “That’s going to leave a nasty bruise. Man, I’m so sorry.”
She pushed his hand away. “Would you stop? It was an accident. The bruises will fade. I’ll be just fine.”
Talking from experience?
After knowing more about her past with Bobby, Ian felt his gut burning to think he could mar her beautiful skin as that jerk did.
It’d been an accident, but he still wanted to make her feel better. “How about a movie and popcorn tonight?”
“A movie of my choosing?”
“You pick the movie, I’ll bring the popcorn.”
If his instincts were right, Red would want some chick flick. Any other time he’d rather gouge his eyes out with a fork than spend ninety minutes watching a movie that kept the guy and girl apart until the end. But they didn’t call them chick flicks for nothing.
Maybe the movie with dimmed lighting and space for two on her mother’s couch would soften her heart and see him in a new light.
His cell phone rang. He fished it out of his front pocket and caught Mom’s cell number on the screen. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Where are you, Ian?” Her voice sounded tight.
He turned in the direction of his parents’ house. “I’m next door with Red. Why?”
“Chief Laughton’s here and wants to talk to us.”
“Why?” His hand tightened around the phone.
“He hasn’t said yet.”
“I’ll be right there.” Ian ended the call and clutched the phone in his fist. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Chief Laughton is at the house and wants to talk to all of us. I need to head home for a bit.”
“Being one of your daddy’s oldest friends, the chief’s been at your house plenty of times.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think this is a social call.” He shrugged, trying not to jump to conclusions. “I don’t know.”
“Want me to come?”
Ian eyed her bruised face and shook his head. No need to draw anyone’s attention to his stupidity. “I’ll be fine. You take it easy, and I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Let me know if you need me.” She laid a hand on his forearm.
“I will.” He leaned forward and almost brushed a kiss across her lips
until he glimpsed her wide-eyed stare. He dropped a quick kiss on her brow by the wound.
Way to go, idiot.
He needed to get a grip before she decked him for taking advantage. Then they’d both be sporting bruises.
Ian slid behind the steering wheel, backed out of the driveway and parked in front of his parents’ house next to Chief Laughton’s black sedan.
He strode through the back door and into the living room. Mom sat on the edge of her chair like a nervous bunny, twisting her wedding band. Chief Laughton lounged on the couch, right foot resting on his left knee, and held a cup of coffee.
Upon seeing Ian, the chief set his cup on the coffee table, rose and extended his hand. “Ian. Good to see you.”
Ian gripped the older man’s hand. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t a social call? You know Dad’s at the cabin, right?”
Did something else happen with Griffin? The kid had been a little subdued since the incident with the soccer ball last week.
Chief Laughton held up a hand. “No need to worry. This isn’t official police business.”
Ian shot a glance at Mom. “Where’s Griffin?”
“He’s next door at Jimmy’s watching a movie.”
“Okay, good.” Ian crossed his arms over his chest. “So, what’s up, Chief?”
Chief Laughton shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and jingled his change. “My sister, Evelyn, came to see me yesterday. Apparently the two of you exchanged words the other day?”
Ian nodded. “Yes, sir. About a week and a half ago.”
“What happened, Ian?”
Ian gestured for the chief to have a seat, then retold the incident with Mrs. Parnell, ending with her threat to send her letters to the parole board and the city council.
The chief tugged on his pant legs, then sat and reached for his coffee cup. “Evelyn insists I do something to shut down Agape House.”
“You can’t do that.” The color drained from Mom’s face. “I mean, we need—”
The chief held up a hand again. “No worries, Charlotte. You’ve done everything by the book to get this program going. And I, for one, admire and respect what you’re doing.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Mom relaxed slightly and clasped her hands in her lap.
“Although her son was killed almost twenty years ago by a drunk driver, living across the street and watching the restoration process on the Miller estate reopens a very painful time for Evelyn. I don’t have to remind you how vocal she was about Zoe’s sentencing.”
“Patrick, I remember when your nephew was killed. I’m so sorry for what Evelyn went through—what your family went through—but Zoe is serving out her sentence.”
“I understand that, but soon you’ll have a chance to have her home again. Evelyn doesn’t have that option.”
Mom walked to the fireplace and picked up Zoe’s senior picture. She ran a hand over the glass. “What she did was wrong, but I just want my daughter to have a chance to start over, make something of her life. Isn’t that worth something?” Her voice caught, almost pleading.
Ian ground his teeth together, turning away from looking at Mom. Seeing her upset tore up his insides.
Chief Laughton rose to his feet and puffed out his barrel chest. He ran a hand over his short graying hair. “It’s worth quite a lot actually. During my law enforcement career, I’ve seen it all. Nothing really surprises me anymore. I guess it’s made an old cynic out of me. I want to believe Agape House will change those women’s lives, helping them rise above their mistakes and adjust back into society. I will continue to support your efforts, Charlotte.”
“Then why are you here?” Ian didn’t mean for his words to come out so abruptly, but he couldn’t take back the tone now.
Chief sighed and laid a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I’m caught between duty and family. If Agape House can help prevent other families from struggling with the same grief, then I’m not going to stand in your way. But, as a big brother, I’m asking you to be understanding of my sister’s feelings as she tries to come to terms with this program. I’m praying once she sees how it benefits the community, she’ll have a change of heart.”
He wasn’t the only one. They didn’t need resistance to getting Agape House up and running. Every day falling off the calendar felt like another tick of a bomb, and if Ian could help it, he’d do everything in his power to keep this from blowing up in their faces.
“Thank you for sharing your concern, Patrick. We will be mindful of Evelyn as we’re working on Agape House.”
“And that’s all I ask. Thanks for your time.”
Mom walked Chief Laughton to the door, then strode back into the living room.
“Mom, her actions are ridiculous.”
Mom picked up Chief Laughton’s empty coffee cup. “To us, maybe, but she’s hurting, Ian. From what I understand, Evelyn never allowed herself to grieve properly after losing her son. We can’t control what she does, but we can control how we react. Let’s focus on extending grace and leaving the rest to God.”
Mom, the veritable fount of wisdom.
Her faith brought his to shame.
If the roles were reversed, maybe he’d be crusading like Evelyn Parnell to keep Agape House from opening, too.
He sighed and kneaded his temples to massage away building pain. There had to be a way to find a compromise in this situation. Right now he couldn’t see what it was. And that ate at his stomach like battery acid.
Chapter Nine
Agnes tried to relax. Really, she did.
With her hands tucked behind her head, she lay on the plaid blanket next to a napping Noah while Josie threw horseshoes with Nick and Ian.
Above her head, birds flittered from branch to branch. She envied their freedom. Patches of sunshine soaked into her skin as she listened to laughter curling in the afternoon breeze that ruffled the stray pieces of hair around her face.
As hard as she tried to enjoy the lingering scent of grilled hamburgers, the clink of horseshoes against the stakes and the squeals of little kids running around the playground, her muscles remained tense.
Agnes scanned the families spread out on blankets in the grass, huddled in discussions at the picnic tables under the pavilion and playing on the playground or at the basketball court.
She loved the Shelby Lake Community Church annual picnic held the Saturday before Father’s Day. What wasn’t to love about potluck, games and hanging out with friends? But right now she struggled with having a good time with the open house nipping at their heels like a frisky pup.
Had it been six weeks since Ian asked her for help with Agape House?
Instead of enjoying the afternoon, she couldn’t shut off the mental ticking of jobs on her to-do list.
Accent tables and a dresser had been sanded but needed a base coat of paint. She had spent last night sewing throw pillows for the living room, but the club chairs still needed to be stripped and reupholstered.
At Agape House, the downstairs was coming along, thanks to the groups of volunteers, but she hadn’t even touched the upstairs. Her chest still tightened when she just thought about climbing those steps.
When Ian wasn’t working on claims or at Agape House, they spent evenings sitting on the dock, watching movies or rowing across the lake.
Every day she fell deeper in love with her best friend. And that scared her more than a bagful of rattlesnakes. She needed to face reality—she wasn’t the right woman for Ian. By prolonging the inevitable, she was setting her heart up for destruction.
A shadow fell over the blanket. Agnes shielded her eyes and looked up to find Ian standing over her, threading a blue bandanna between his fingers.
Dressed in an untucked white button-down with cuffs rolled to his sleeves, exposing his strong forearms, and khaki cargo shorts, Ian embodied casual.
She tried not to dwell on his muscular calves inches from her face—calves she’s seen thousands of times over the years—and kept her gaz
e locked with his. That way she could ignore the unexpected flutter in her stomach.
He dropped to his haunches and lowered his voice. “So, you wanna do the three-legged race with me?”
“I don’t think so.” She rose to her elbows.
“Why not?”
“I like not walking around on crutches?” Crazy man. “Besides, I’m keeping an eye on Noah while he’s napping.”
“You’re not going to break a leg. Teamwork’s the key—we seem to do pretty well in that department. And Josie said she’d be right over to relieve you if you said yes. They’re about finished with their game.”
She pondered it a moment and accepted the wisdom of his words—they did make a great team, especially when he agreed with her. “Okay, fine, but if anything happens, you’ll be at my beck and call until I’m off crutches.”
“You got it. Let’s go.” He offered a hand.
She placed hers in his and nearly fell back to the blanket by the shock skimming her skin. Jumping up, she stuffed her feet in her platform wedges, called to Josie to let her know where she was going and crossed the field by his side.
Ian stopped her and pointed to her feet. “There’s no way you’re going to race in those crazy shoes.”
“These shoes aren’t crazy. I bought them on sale.”
“How are you at running barefoot?”
“About as good as your nephew charming cookies from his grandma.” Agnes pointed to Griffin running off with a cookie in both hands, taking bites as he met up with his friends.
Ian laughed, the sound flowing over Agnes’s soul like melted caramel. “That good, huh?”
They reached the rest of the racers. Agnes kicked off her shoes and joined Ian at the starting line.
“Put your leg against mine.” He slapped the side of his khaki shorts.
Ian leaned over and tied his right leg to her left. She was glad she had chosen jeans after the cold front had come in yesterday and dosed them with a chilly shower. At least the sun brightened the sky for the picnic.
He stood and slung an arm around Agnes’s shoulders. “Match my stride. Finish line is over by those trees.” He pointed to the grove of pines near the pavilion.