He shrugged. “For a while, I suppose. X-rays looked good and my membranes were clear. The rasp and breathlessness is common with smoke inhalation. It should improve as I heal. They gave me an inhaler and a scrip for pain meds if I need them. I’ll go back in a week. If I have problems before that, I’ll call them.”
She liked his answer, and his course of action made sense to her. “I should stop worrying, I suppose.”
“Good idea. Don’t worry, but you can still care about me. I like that.”
“I do care. I think you know that, and I know you’re concerned about me, too, so I have some good news...I hope.”
His eyes widened “Job?”
“No.” She shrugged and let it drop. Worrying about something she had no control over was a downer, and she loved the good feelings she had today. “About the house.”
He drew back, his dark eyebrows lifted as if anticipating what she had to say. “Is it—”
“Almost, I think. I countered the offer, and they countered back.” She eyed him to hear his response.
“And?”
“I accepted, and now I wait for the loan approval.”
He jumped from the stool, a cough interrupting his eager “Wahoo!” He blocked the cough with his hands and rounded the island, drawing her into his embrace. She let the fork sink into the bowl as she hugged him back, loving the feel of his arms holding her close. Clint’s presence gave her hope. She felt protected and cherished, a wonderful new feeling.
He drew her closer and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll pray that it happens, Paula.”
Prayer. Once again her lack of faith undid her confidence, but she thanked him since prayer meant much to him. She drew back, hoping her voice sounded lighthearted. “I need two hands if you want to eat.”
“What do you think?” With a wink, his arms slipped to his side, but he didn’t move. He dragged in a breath and returned to the stool, where he folded his hands on the countertop.
Seeing his playfulness heightened, she longed to clear the things that troubled her. If she told him all of her past, it might make everything different between them, She could let him know how she felt without fear. Yet it was too chancy. She couldn’t act on anything until she knew he could accept her as she was. A man of faith would never form a relationship with a nonbeliever. That was one strike against her. And if he knew everything about the life she’d led, it would be two strikes against her. She knew what a third strike could mean. Pulling her mind back from her darkened thoughts, she dipped the last thick slice of stollen bread into the egg mixture and placed it in the fry pan. The soft sizzle warned her to lower the temperature, and she waited a moment before flipping them.
She enjoyed seeing the bread’s soft brown color along with its crisp texture almost as much as she enjoyed watching Clint pull plates from the cabinet and hit the button on the coffeemaker. It gave her a sense of family. Her family.
“Could you put those sausages in the microwave? About a minute.”
He set the sausage on a plate covered with paper towel while she turned the second batch of stollen over to crisp the other side. A moment later, a gurgling noise of the coffee seeping into the pot sent up a tantalizing scent of rich Kona coffee, Clint’s favorite.
He added silverware to the table, and without her asking, he produced a bottle of maple syrup as the buzzer sounded on the microwave. He checked the sausages and hit the thirty-second button.
In moments, she added a plate of the French toast to the table and slipped into a chair as Clint set down the sausages. He poured the coffee and joined her, folding his hands and lowering his head.
His action caught her unexpected, though it shouldn’t have, and she was thankful she hadn’t taken a drink of coffee or speared a piece of French toast. She bowed her head, her hands in her lap, and though uneasy with her lack of faith, she respected his.
Clint’s prayer, though short, pronounced his thankfulness for his rescue from the fire, the meal she’d prepared and for her company. The sincerity of his words spread through her chest. She wished she could count on someone powerful like God to lean on. Though Clint’s strength and wisdom had become her stronghold, since yesterday she’d faced his vulnerability.
When she raised her head, Clint’s focus was on her, and she realized he’d been watching her. Instead of explaining, she motioned toward the food spread before them. “Help yourself.”
He took a minute to react, and then forked two pieces of French toast and a couple of sausages onto his plate. After he slathered on the maple syrup, she watched him take his first bite of the stollen. Pleasure brightened his face.
He pointed to the dish with his fork. “This is excellent French toast, Paula. I’ve never had anything like it. French toast will be nothing without your special touch.”
“It’s not me. It’s the bread.” She lowered her eyes and tasted the dish, agreeing to herself it was excellent.
They ate in silence except for an occasional request for more syrup or a coffee refill, and in the quiet, she reveled in her surprise that he was even here with her, but more, she longed to understand their relationship.
She had no idea how she would broach the subject, but she would when they finished.
Chapter Seven
Clint insisted upon clearing away the dishes. Rest was one thing but getting better meant rebuilding his stamina. He didn’t want to be away from his job longer than necessary. While he loaded the dishwasher, Paula sat at the island wrapped in thought. He observed her quiet struggle, longing to help her resolve whatever bothered her.
Her look concerned him on one hand, but on the other, earlier she’d been as bright as a summer sun. Paula had shown her emotional pendulum more than once, buoyant with lightheartedness and then as dark as a coming storm. He wished he could change it, but liking someone and wanting to change them never worked. For better or worse fit not only wedding vows but also friendship.
For years the thought of wedding vows had dissolved in mist, but more and more, the idea entered his mind, the desire to find a soul mate, to bear children, to raise them in love and faith. To become a family. What could be better than that? Sometimes he suspected Paula longed for the same. Other times, not so much.
Paula’s darkness concerned him. It was something buried deep, an open wound, a knife still piercing her heart. A lost love? An unanswered dream? An unforgivable sin? What could a tender, caring, vulnerable person have done that was so unforgivable?
“Five dollars for your thoughts?”
Paula’s question split through his musing. He hesitated, not knowing what to say. “Five? That’s a good price.” Evasiveness never worked with Paula, but this time he hoped so.
“Inflation.” She rose and came to his side, leaning against the counter. “But I’m asking the question you always ask me. What’s on your mind?”
As he feared, his ploy had failed, while the truth sat like a pile of rocks in his gut. “Nothing important.” He’d told her a lie, and looking at her expression, she hadn’t believed him. “That’s not so. I’m thinking about you. It’s something I do a lot.”
She nodded. “And I think of you...a lot.”
He closed the dishwasher door and drew her into his arms. “I think we need—”
“Me, too.”
Her immediate comprehension and response dispelled the rocks in his stomach. But he knew Paula’s input to a discussion was often more like words balanced on a fence, ready to fall into impenetrable silence. Though he longed to hold her closer and press his lips against hers, he controlled the desire, sensing finally the time had come to take a big step forward.
He guided her by the hand into the living room, where she settled on the sofa. He shifted a nearby easy chair to face her. She looked as edgy as he felt. Though she’d responded without hesitation, he couldn’t guess if h
er reply was one he wanted to hear or one he wished he’d not requested.
“Should I begin?” He studied her while she mulled over his question.
Finally she broke the silence. “Let me ask you about something first, okay?”
Concern prickled down his spin. “It’s fine with me.”
She stared at the floor, her cheek ticking with tension while his apprehension grew.
“Though we have some great things in common, Clint—” her head lifted and her eyes captured his “—we have one big difference.”
Hope shriveled in his belly, and he longed to divert the conversation with humor, but his idea fizzled in the light of her serious expression. “I’m sure we do, but is it really a major—”
“This one is.”
He sat stunned by her quick response. His mind shuffled through a multitude of possibilities, and then it hit him. “I’m a Christian.”
She closed her eyes, a faint nod the only movement she made. “That’s major. Your faith is built-in. It’s not an addition.”
He rose and drew her up with him. “It’s built-in. That’s true.”
“I think so much of you, Clint. I think your faith is part of what I admire. You have something to lean on when times get tough even if it’s what some call...a crutch.” She tilted her head back, her eyes searching his. “I wish I had a crutch like that.”
Faith wasn’t a crutch, as she called it, but he understood that many people without faith saw it as such. It was something so deeply seated in the heart that taking it away took life away. It depleted who he was and always would be—a child of God. And more important, a forgiven child of God. “I wish I could give you the assurance of God’s strength, his forgiveness, which is something we all need.”
She flinched at his reference to forgiveness, and it validated his earlier attempt to discover for certain what deep wound she hid. Forgiveness, but for what? Asking would defeat their step into the open. She needed to tell her story of her own free will. A lamp lit in his mind. “Paula, did you know that one of God’s gifts to us is free will? We have the right to make choices.”
A scowl inched across her face. “What about bad choices?”
“It’s what we do as part of the human race. We make good ones and bad. We bungle and we pick ourselves up and move—”
“But how do you do that, Clint? How can you pull yourself from a manure pile and come out smelling like flowers? You carry the stench with you.”
“Part of God’s gift is removing the stink. If we are sorry for the sin, if we atone, He washes us clean. Clean from our stupid mistakes and clean from our blatant sins.” While she mulled his words, he shifted toward the sofa and encouraged her to sit. When she did, he settled beside her.
“Why?”
Praying for wisdom, he answered. “Because He’s our loving father, and we’re His children. When children stumble and fall, parents pick them up and bandage their wounds. When a child lies or steals, even though he knows it’s wrong, the parent doesn’t stop loving him. They don’t love his behavior, but they love the child. So they guide him in a way that corrects the error, and if he’s really sorry, they stand by him with their forgiveness.”
Deep creases lined her forehead, and he remained silent. Paula had to work this through on her own. He couldn’t hand her faith. He could only offer answers.
“I understand what you’ve said.” She shrugged. “But I didn’t have a father, and my mother wasn’t really involved in my life. I saw this reflected in some of my friends’ families and here in Ferndale. Uncle Fred taunts his girls with his playful ways, but he stands by them. His love is always evident.”
“That’s the key. Love. Jesus said, there’s faith, hope and love but the greatest of these is love. Love opens us to every attribute we can have—faithfulness, kindness, compassion—everything that God asks us to be.” He wove his fingers with hers, his mind grasping for words that God might give him. “You have those qualities, Paula. You’re filled with love. I see it with your family. I see it in the way you adore the children. And you have the greatest—love.”
Tears edged along her lashes, but she let them be. “Then what happened to my faith and hope? Tell me where they are.”
His chest tightened. Help me, Lord. “You have the seeds.”
“Seeds?” Her scowl deepened. “I don’t get it.”
Tension knotted his shoulders. “A farmer sows seeds. If rain doesn’t come, he waters them and welcomes sunlight, and they grow. But...if the farmer plants seeds, and a merciless sun beats on them with no rain, and he neglects to water them, they die.”
She seemed to weigh his words. “I understand with seeds in the earth, but in me?”
“With love, you have the seeds of faith and hope planted inside you, God-given, but you have to water them and give them light.”
Her eyelids lowered and her mental struggle showed on her face.
“The light and rain are God’s Word, fellowship with others who can strengthen your walk, and one day, baptism. But it can’t be done by others, Paula. It’s your desire to open your heart to God, and the Holy Spirit will help you do the work.” His words rang in his head. “I’m not a preacher. I’m just a person bungling my walk through life, trying to do what God wants me to do.”
“What if we’re not worthy?” Her eyes seared his, emphasizing the depth of her wounds.
“All God’s children are worthy. That’s not even a question. If you had ten children, would you see any of them more worthy than the others?”
She sat a moment and then shook her head. “I guess not.”
“That’s your answer.”
“I need to ponder this, Clint. Something inside me wants to understand. I see faith in you and Uncle Fred, Neely and Ashley—especially her. I’m sure her faith got her through the loss of her husband and the strength to move forward in life. I want that kind of faith.”
His chest inflated until he feared it would burst. “That’s all you need. Wanting opens the door.”
Tension left her shoulders, and she sank against the sofa cushion. “That’s all?”
“Learn by using the opportunities around you. One day the light will shine.”
“I hope so.” She shifted onto her hip and faced him. “Thank you for your patience.”
Her sincerity touched him.
“And now it’s your turn.”
His turn? He parted the heavy thoughts in his mind, searching for her meaning.
“You asked me if you should begin.”
The faint curve of her lips carried him back. “Right. That seems hours ago.” He dipped into his thoughts until he remembered where he wanted to start. “Okay, here goes. I guess you’ve been worried that your lack of faith would stop me from having feelings for you.”
She nodded. “I sense you care, but I’ve carried a bug outside rather than kill it. That doesn’t mean I want it as a pet.”
Her example lightened the moment, and a chuckle escaped him. “You’re far more than a bug to me, Paula. I’m enamored by you. You should know that.”
“I hoped, but then I’ve made misjudgments before.”
Her statement jarred him as if she’d elbowed his ribs. Was that it? Had she made such horrific mistakes it tainted her perception? The awareness caused him to rethink his approach. “But we learn from mistakes. Sometimes it takes a while, but I think in time we feel a bond growing, a bond without questions. We can’t change people. You get what you see if you really look. We’re not only our words but also our actions. When our words and our actions clash, that’s a warning sign. I hope you haven’t seen any discrepancies in me.”
“I haven’t, but even that makes me question if I’m just blind to them.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. “You’re not blind. I’m
pretty much out in the open.”
She remained silent for a while, her head on his shoulder, and he held her.
“You are when I think about it. Yesterday I saw one thing about you I’d never seen.” She tilted her head upward, her eyes drawing him in. “You’re vulnerable, just as I am.”
“I am. We all are even when I try to be a macho man.” He took a deep breath. “So here’s my problem, and it’s one way we’re the same. I’ve had a hard time getting over Elise’s flight from the altar and from me. She waited right to the end. Not exactly a runaway bride but almost. We had the hall, the ring, the church—everything but the invitations.”
Her expression softened. “That hurt.”
“It almost destroyed me. I’m a firefighter. A brave hero in children’s eyes, but I realized that day that I was weak and, as you said, vulnerable. I hated the feeling. I almost hated myself. I wanted to know what I had done, how I could have fixed it and made Elise happy. How—”
“Did you ever think you couldn’t make her happy?”
She startled him. “Maybe that’s the issue. What am I lacking that I—”
Paula pressed her finger on his lips to silence him, then slid her palm to his cheek. “That’s not it at all. Happiness is inside us. I’m a prime example of someone who’s taken a long time to face that. There are people in the world whose happiness is to be unhappy. They’re never content. They jump from one thing to another searching for happiness, but each time they move, they take with them what it is that makes them unhappy.”
“They make themselves unhappy. Is that what you mean?”
She released a ragged breath. “Right.” She lowered her head. “I’m going to be honest with you, Clint. You’re the first person I’ve said this to, and it’s something I’ve just begun to learn. I wanted to be loved so badly that I threw myself into everything that I thought would give me love. I failed every step of the way. Recently I realized that never having felt love, I didn’t know what it is. I didn’t love myself. I felt unworthy. Hopeless. Useless. Name it—anything negative—and that was my identity.”
Rescued by the Firefighter Page 10