Who I Am with You
Page 3
“I’m coming,” she muttered before pulling the door open. Any additional words died in her throat when she saw the man standing on her front porch. It was the stranger from the grocery store. She recognized him at once. Same hat. Same dark glasses.
If he recognized her in turn, his sunglasses hid it from her. “Hey.” A brief smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he glanced down at his side. “I found this dog and wondered if you might know who she belongs to.”
She followed his gaze, then looked up again. “No. Sorry. I’ve never seen her before. Where did you find her?”
He jerked his head toward the house next door. “Out by the pond.”
Not just the stranger from the grocery store. The man she’d seen chopping wood yesterday. He must be one and the same.
“You’re my new neighbor?” she inquired softly.
He shrugged. “For now.”
She arched her eyebrows, not sure what to make of his answer.
“The house belongs to my parents. I’m staying for . . . for the summer.” He paused again, this time longer, then added, “I’ll be making repairs around the place.” He turned his head, his fingertips now shoved into his pockets. “My name’s Ridley.” He removed his sunglasses and met her gaze.
“Jessica.” She forced herself to offer a hand. “Jessica Mason.”
He shook it but didn’t respond with his own last name. She would have to make do with Ridley. Not that it mattered to her, one way or the other.
“Have they got an animal shelter in town?” he asked.
“No. But the Hope Springs police handle animal control. You should call them.”
“I’ll do that.” He took a step back. The dog did too.
She started to close the door, then paused. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He gave her another of his brief half grins before slipping his dark glasses back into place.
This time she pushed the door all the way closed.
Moments later, back at her computer, she found it difficult to focus on her accounting program. Ridley No-Last-Name had taken over her thoughts. Wasn’t it strange that a man his age—she guessed him to be in his midthirties—was living in his parents’ house? He’d said it was for the summer. Didn’t he have a job? Didn’t he have a family, other than his parents?
“None of my business.”
She swiveled the chair away from the computer and stared out the windows of her spacious studio. After a while, her gaze lowered to the nearby bookcase. Resting on top of it was her great-grandfather’s Bible. She hadn’t looked at it since placing it there the day of her grandma’s funeral. Hadn’t so much as opened the cover. Guilt tugged at her chest, but it didn’t change anything. She’d learned to ignore feelings of guilt. If she didn’t, they would drive her insane.
“Let what you find inside bless you, honey.”
“No thanks, Mom.” She got up and left her office for the second time.
Staring at the sheltie through the closed screen door, Ridley thanked the officer for her help and ended the call. No dog meeting this one’s description had been reported missing in the area in the past year. Ridley had been given a couple of options: keep the dog until the owner could be found, if possible, or surrender it to someone who would take it to the shelter down in Boise. He didn’t think much of the second option. He’d read somewhere that over two and a half-million pets were euthanized every year in the United States because there wasn’t enough space in shelters nor enough people ready to adopt them. He might not be in the market for a dog, but he wasn’t about to risk this sheltie’s life either.
“I guess I’d better go into town again.” He pushed open the screen. “You need food, shampoo, and a brush.”
The dog wagged her tail, then trotted into the house as if she’d expected to be let in all along.
Chuckling, Ridley added, “Not to mention a name for me to call you.”
A name. His conscience twinged at the word. At the start of the call, he’d told the police officer that his name was Ridley and he was staying for the summer in the home of his parents, Roger and Grace Jenkins. Later, the officer had called him Mr. Jenkins. He hadn’t bothered to correct her. It wasn’t as if he’d lied. She’d made an assumption.
“Mankind is adept at self-justification,” his dad’s voice seemed to whisper in his ear.
He winced, convicted by the memory. He preferred to think of himself as like his dad, an honest man, a man who never shied away from the truth, even when it was uncomfortable. Was that still true of himself?
He leaned over to ruffle the dog’s ears before walking to the window in the great room. All he’d wanted was to get out of Boise, to escape the whirlwind, to somehow rid himself of the sense of despair that had enveloped him from the moment the news story broke. Was it so awful that he didn’t want anybody in Hope Springs to know his identity? At least not yet. Was it too much to want at least a short period of anonymity?
He knew the answers to the silent questions.
KUNA, IDAHO
Tuesday, December 24, 1929
Candles flickered at the ends of the pews, and the pine-scented air inside the church felt hushed and reverent in the moments before the start of the Christmas Eve service.
Seated between his wife and Frank Greyson, his father-in-law, Andrew closed his eyes and tried to force away the worry that was ever present after nearly six weeks of unemployment. How could he enter into the celebration of the season when he had yet to find a new position? With things as they were, he hadn’t even been able to buy his bride a Christmas present. She’d said she understood, but still he felt awful about it.
I’m failing her, God. Not even married two months, and I’m already failing her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I promised so much and—
Helen took his hand in hers and squeezed. The fabric of her gloves felt warm against his skin. He opened his eyes to look at her. She smiled gently, and it was a look devoid of condemnation or blame. He returned the squeeze, trying to let thankfulness chase away worry, at least for tonight.
Organ music filled the once quiet sanctuary, and from the back the choir sang the first words of “Joy to the World” before beginning their procession down the center aisle. The congregation rose, hymnals in hand.
Andrew wasn’t an imaginative man, but in that moment he seemed to feel his Savior’s hand alight upon his shoulder, and the touch quieted his spirit. Worry slid away. Perhaps it would return in the morning, but for now it was gone and he could rejoice.
Chapter 3
That afternoon, Jessica met the delivery truck out by the road.
Carol Donaldson, the driver, grinned. “I hear you’ve got a new neighbor at last. Have you met him?”
Jessica nodded.
“I hear he’s good-looking. Is he single?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
Carol looked toward the log house. “The place belongs to his parents, I guess. Jenkins is the name. His name’s . . .”
“Ridley.”
Her friend grinned. “Yeah, that’s it. Ridley. I’ve always liked that name. It’s masculine sounding. Don’t you think?”
Jessica ignored the question. Carol was a friend—the only one Jessica saw these days—but she was forever trying to drag Jessica “back to the world of the living,” as she put it. Carol was a constant reminder that Jessica used to be involved with so many others in the valley, that her life had been full to overflowing, that she’d once been loved and happy. The reminder caused hurt on one hand and at the same time stirred a longing within.
“The monthly fellowship tea is this Saturday.” Carol put the delivery truck in gear. “Why don’t you come with me? It’d be good for you.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“You always have work to do. But a couple hours on occasion won’t hurt your bottom line.” Carol glanced at Jessica’s rounded belly. “And before long you’re gonna be even busier.”
Jessica pressed the box Carol had
given her against her body like a shield. “Sorry. Not this time.” She turned away before her friend could say anything more.
Back inside the house, she carried the box of new art supplies to her studio. She used a pair of scissors to cut the tape that sealed it closed, then opened the lid to view the contents. Acrylic paints in her most used colors. Jars of both clear and white gesso. Some new brushes. A large selection of paper products. An X-Acto knife to replace the one she’d misplaced. Canvas in various sizes.
She smiled as she settled onto a stool, thinking how much she appreciated the convenience of online shopping. Even living far from a big craft store, she seldom had to wait longer than two days to get something she needed for her business. Online shopping and a good internet connection were her best friends. Fortunately for her, her customers liked the convenience of online shopping as much as she did. She was grateful, since that’s what allowed her to make a living.
She swiveled the stool to face her latest project. The background painting was about half finished. Then would come the calligraphy of Jeremiah 29:11. One of her most requested Bible verses. “For I know the plans that I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.”
“But what about me, God?” she whispered. “Do You have good plans for me?”
It didn’t seem so. She’d felt abandoned by God long before she’d abandoned Him.
The joy of the new art supplies evaporated from the room. Jessica made a noise of disgust as she walked down the hall and out the back door. She stopped in the sunshine, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face. Unfortunately, with the warmth came a flood of memories. She used to come outside with Angela to enjoy the sunny, pleasant days of June. Even now, she seemed to hear her daughter’s laughter as she ran around the yard and slid down the slide and swung in the swing. Only in sleep had Angela liked to be still. From the moment she’d learned to crawl, Jessica’s daughter had been an active child.
Jessica moved to one of the patio chairs and sank onto it, allowing the bittersweet memories to continue.
She recalled the day she’d purchased the pregnancy test. She and Joe had been married for three years at the time, and Jessica had been so ready to have a baby. Joe had paced the hallway while he waited for the results. Later, they’d celebrated with sparkling cider, a big bowl of buttered popcorn, and a favorite movie on DVD.
She remembered the night of Angela’s birth and the excitement in their combined families in the days that followed. It hadn’t been long before Jessica was eager to give Angela a little brother or a little sister. But another pregnancy hadn’t happened. Not until it was already too late. Not until—
She closed her eyes, the breath catching in her chest. Anger, confusion, regret, grief. It was all a jumble inside of her.
A shout from across the field caused her eyes to open. In the backyard of the neighboring house, she saw Ridley holding a hose in one hand and gripping the stray dog with the other. The dog was in a large metal tub. Jessica had to assume that was for the purposes of a bath. But the sheltie wasn’t cooperating. She fought to get out of the tub and away from the water. If Jessica were a gambler, she’d put money on the dog to win this particular battle.
As if to prove her right, the canine tore away from Ridley’s grasp, leaped out of the tub, and raced across the field in Jessica’s direction, soapsuds flying in the air behind her. Jessica laughed until she realized the dog wasn’t just headed for her yard. The dog was headed for Jessica. Directly for her. And she wasn’t slowing down.
Jessica jumped up from the chair, but not in time to avoid the wet dog as she hurled herself into Jessica’s arms. The weight knocked her backward, and they went down together. She was stunned for a moment, thankful she’d avoided hitting her head on the concrete. Then she began to feel the places that had landed hard. Her shoulders. Her elbows. Her tailbone.
“Get off me.” She pushed the dog away.
“Hey, are you all right?”
“I think so.” She inhaled, waiting to see if anything twinged. Nothing did. “Yes. I’m fine.” She looked up to find Ridley standing over her.
“You sure? You went down hard.” He held out a hand. “Let me help you up.”
She hesitated at first but finally took hold of it. A shiver passed through her as he drew her to her feet with ease. Her pulse hammered, making it hard to focus. Maybe she’d hit her head after all.
“I don’t think she likes water much.” Ridley released Jessica’s hand and reached for the dog’s collar.
She quieted her rapid pulse. “You think?”
Ridley laughed—a bold, male sound that burst around her, filling the air. It felt unexpected and out of place, and Jessica took a small step back, as if to escape it.
“Hey, really. I am sorry.” His expression sobering, Ridley straightened as much as possible while still holding onto the dog’s collar. “She’s obedient most of the time, but she has a definite aversion to water. I think I need at least four hands to manage giving her a bath.”
“I guess I could help.” Jessica’s own words surprised her. Whatever had possessed her to say that? But it was too late to take back the offer.
“That’d be great. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“I’m already wet,” she replied, more to explain her reasons to herself than to him.
Ridley didn’t know why he accepted Jessica’s offer to help bathe the dog. After all, he’d wanted to stay under the radar as much as possible during his stay in Hope Springs. The last thing he needed was to get involved with the locals, especially one who lived right next door. Involvement would only lead to questions about who he was and why he was in Hope Springs. But it was his own fault. He was the one who’d said he needed four hands. He couldn’t tell her to go home without sounding ungrateful.
They were halfway across the field that separated their two homes when a breeze caught Jessica’s oversized cotton shirt. His eyes widened as he realized what he’d missed earlier. She was pregnant. A shiver of alarm shot through him. What if the blasted dog had hurt her or the baby? It would be his fault. Wouldn’t the reporters have a field day with that?
He winced at the selfishness of his thoughts.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said as they drew near to the tub.
“No. I’m here. I’ll help.”
Should he point out the fact that she was pregnant and had taken a fall? Or was it better to stay silent about that? He wasn’t sure. “Well . . . okay. This shouldn’t take long.” He grabbed for the dog’s leash and fastened it to the collar he’d bought in town. Then he lifted the sheltie in his arms and set her in the center of the tub.
“You didn’t find her owner, I take it.” Jessica knelt on the grass, picked up the large plastic cup that floated on the surface of the water, and began wetting down the dog’s thick coat.
“Nope. No one’s reported her missing.”
Jessica applied soap—the dog having blown away the first application during her escape attempt—and worked up a nice lather while Ridley kept a tight hold on the leash. The rinsing went even faster, and before long, the dog was free from her leash, had shaken away as much water as possible, and was racing around the yard in wild abandon.
“A new meaning for the term blow dry,” Jessica said.
Ridley laughed again. He couldn’t help it. He liked her wry sense of humor.
“New collar. New leash. A bath.” She stood. “Looks like you plan to keep her.”
He shrugged. “For now, anyway. Didn’t want to risk her being put to sleep just because her owner can’t be found.”
“And her name?”
“Still haven’t decided. Any ideas?”
A look of concentration pinched Jessica’s brows as she watched the dog. After a lengthy pause, she said, “She likes to run. Name her after a famous athlete. What about Kristin Armstrong? She’s an Idaho Olympian.”
“Kris for short.”
He looked away from Jessica. “Kris.” The dog stopped running, as if in answer to the name. “Kris,” he said, louder this time. The sheltie looked at him. “Come here, Kris.” The dog obeyed. Apparently Ridley had been forgiven for the bath. Either that or he’d chanced to discover the sheltie’s actual name. Highly unlikely it was the latter.
“I guess Kris it is. Thanks, Jessica.”
She patted the dog’s head. “Glad I could help.” She motioned her head toward her house. “I’d better go. I’ve got work awaiting me.”
“What is it you do?” He regretted the question the instant the words left his mouth. After all, it would give her the right to ask the same of him.
“I sell paintings and other crafts on the internet.”
“Wow. Really? You must be talented if you make your living at it.” More regret. He needed to shut up. “I’d better not keep you from it. Thanks again for helping with the bath. And with a name for the dog.”
“You’re welcome,” she answered softly before walking away.
As he watched her go, another thought flitted through Ridley’s mind. She didn’t wear a wedding ring. Was there a Mr. Mason that went with her pregnancy?
Whoa! His neighbor—his temporary neighbor—might make him laugh, but he wanted distance from everybody right now. And especially from anybody who was attractive and female.
“Come on, Kris.” He clipped the leash to the collar. “I’ve got stuff to do too.” Although at the moment he couldn’t think what that stuff was.
BOISE, IDAHO
Monday, March 10, 1930
Your faith is being tested, a voice whispered in Andrew’s heart as he stood on the sidewalk outside a diner on the east side of Boise. Mine along with many thousands of others, he added, although the truth of it didn’t make him feel any better.
The book of James said believers should consider the testing that happened in life, the trials that came their way, a joy. He’d even underlined the words in his Bible when he’d read them recently. But how was he supposed to make that joy happen? For a couple of months, he’d thought he had a handle on it. For a couple of months, the worry had stayed at bay. But now?