A Season for Family

by Mae Nunn

  As Olivia’s desperate plea ended, Heath crossed toward her, set the tray on the table and folded his long, lean body into the low chair. He served her first and then himself.

  “How about telling me what you were thinking just now?” He tore open two sugar packets at the same time and upended them into his demitasse.

  “Why do you ask?” She scooped the dollop of whipped cream off her dessert and floated it atop her espresso.

  “Because ten seconds ago there was a pretty smile on your face and now you look like your picnic is about to be rained out.”

  She was tempted to give him a truthful response, to share her overwhelming sense of both love and fear. But she needed time to analyze the unfamiliar feelings. Tomorrow would be soon enough to share her heart, and if tomorrow never came then she’d trust God to work it all out for His glory.

  “I was just thinking about how similar we are.” She hated only telling part of the truth.

  “And that was so sad it made your face cave in?” As he cocked his head to one side and slanted an expectant look her way, he savored a spoonful of tiramisu.

  She followed his lead and dug into her dessert. “Umm,” she moaned, her eyes closed as she delighted in the rich flavors.

  “Come on, answer the question,” he insisted. “Am I so awful that it bothers you to have something in common with me?”

  “Oh, of course not, Heath.”

  She rested her spoon on the plate and then wrapped her fingers around his wrist. The skin was warm where her cool fingertips met his flesh. He cupped his other hand over hers, the heat from his gentle touch settling like a treasured quilt over her soul.

  “Then please explain.”

  “In our own way we’re each orphans.”

  “Huh.” He huffed the one-syllable response. “Hadn’t thought about it that way, but I guess you’re right.”

  “And I was wondering why God let both of us experience tragedy so early in life.”

  He gave her hand a squeeze. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. I wouldn’t call my circumstances tragic. Yeah, it’s awful that I was separated from my birth family, but that hardly compares to your situation. Losing your mom and then your dad running off. That’s just wrong. A man’s supposed to take care of his family, you know?” Heath bobbed his head. A look of disgust knitted his brows together. “But see how far we’ve both come?” he reminded her as he shook off the moment of melancholy by pulling his hand away and turning his attention back to their dessert. “We finished college and got stable jobs, not bad in this economy.”

  “But you said my potential is limited.” She cared what he thought.

  “Like a lot of my comments, that one came out all wrong. I meant your earning potential, but I have an idea for how you can have your tiramisu and eat it, too. And all to benefit the people you support at Table of Hope.” He smiled, clinked his small cup to hers and raised it to his lips with a wink of a dark brown eye. The man was being downright playful.

  “Oh, really?” What harm was there in going along with him? “Tell me more, please.”

  “I can do better than that. Drink up and I’ll show you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The warehouse club is that way.” Olivia pointed east.

  Heath continued on his westward journey, excitement building over the brainstorm that he hoped Olivia would call a God thing. If Heath was right, this could open doors to her amazing talent and create a nice revenue stream for the shelter as a byproduct. “Did I say we were headed directly to the warehouse club?”

  “No, but that’s where we need to be going, and soon.” She tapped on the SUV’s dashboard clock. “It’s getting late and we have groceries to buy.”

  “I promise we’ll finish all your errands so just sit back and enjoy the detour. It’s only about fifteen minutes out of the way and it’ll be time well spent.”

  “It’s bad enough that we took an hour for lunch, Heath. We really need to get back to the shelter to relieve the Biddles. What if they need something?”

  Heath reached into the center console and produced a black leather case containing a cell phone. “Detective Biddle told me he left this in the car on purpose. He can reach us if anybody has a problem.”

  “I just don’t know about this. I’m not comfortable wasting time while others take care of my business.”

  “Then let’s not waste the time. We skipped Bible study last night so why don’t you give me a dose right now?”

  Olivia whipped her head to the left. Her indigo eyes were wide, assessing. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “I never get the benefit of the doubt with you, do I?” He shot an exaggerated look of exasperation in her direction. “Is it any wonder my glass is half-empty?”

  Olivia turned her face left and right, taking in the surroundings. “I haven’t figured out where we’re headed yet and I grew up in this town. Shouldn’t we be using that thing?” She pointed to the fancy built-in GPS.

  He tapped his index finger against his temple. “I have an uncanny sense of direction. Trust me, boss lady. We’re not a couple of lost sheep.”

  “What a perfect setup.” She straightened in the seat, a gleam in her eyes as if a brilliant idea had struck. “I have a favorite story from the Gospel of John if you seriously want to hear it.”

  “The floorboard’s all yours.” He swept his palm, a sign to take it away.

  Olivia shared the story of Jesus being the good shepherd, the one way to the Father. “Isn’t that one-way business the reason people criticize Christians for being narrow-minded?”

  “Narrow thinking is not the same as the way to the Father being narrow. Every religion has a pathway that claims to lead to righteousness, but it’s always paved with works and efforts to earn favor.”

  “But my mom always told me faith without works is dead.”

  “That’s because what we do for others is our response to mercy. We serve out of gratitude, not fear or some effort to win eternal brownie points.”

  Heath turned his head as if looking for an upcoming street sign. In truth he was taking a moment to let Olivia’s explanation take root.

  “Olivia, do you think we only get one chance to take God up on that grace offer?”

  He felt the pressure of her hand on his arm. Warmth seeped through his jacket and into his skin where she squeezed tightly.

  “Heath, He never gives up on us. Christ wants to save every last one of His lost sheep. And that’s exactly why I love the story of the Good Shepherd.”

  A knot of anxiety thickened Heath’s throat. He’d been lost all his life, in so many ways. He exhaled loudly trying to free the stress along with the breath from his lungs. How incredible to have new mercy each day no matter how little he deserved it.

  “Did I say too much?” There was worry in her voice.

  He flipped on his right blinker and pulled to the side of the road, coming to a stop against the curb. His heart told him this moment was important, deserved eye-to-eye conversation.

  “Everything you’ve said from the time we met until just now has been what I needed to hear. I’ve always understood with my head, and we know that’s a skeptical place. I never let it sink down into my heart, until just now.”

  She rested a gloved hand along his jaw, her eyes glittering as brightly as her smile.

  “If this is what your mission is all about, then I believe your potential is unlimited.”

  “Thank you for saying that, Heath,” Olivia whispered.

  Thank You for opening my eyes, Lord, Heath prayed.

  Rising from his core was a desperate need to pull her into his arms, bury his face against her gosh-ugly stocking cap and kiss the crown of her head. But this intimate time was not about intimacy. He wanted Olivia to be certain that he knew the difference.

  “Now, back to our road trip, Miss Livvy.”

  A small frown puckered her brow. “You’re the only person who calls me by my full name these days, and I like hearing it. Would
you mind?”

  “Not at all, Olivia.” He angled his head in salute. He loved her name, and everything about her.

  Far too much.

  Heath checked the side mirror and blended the SUV into traffic. Best to put the hands that itched to hold her on the steering wheel and keep the thoughts that wanted to run wild under control.

  “How about finding us some tunes?” he asked.

  While she fiddled with the radio dial, it gave him a moment to think, to calm the thumping in his chest. This assignment needed to be wrapped up, quickly. If the plan he and Biddle initiated today panned out, things would be kicking into high gear very soon. Then he’d be free to get on with a new life.

  Once the weight of undercover worry was off his mind, he could reach out to his oldest sister and tell her why he’d ignored her letters. In his backpack was another envelope from San Angelo with a fresh postmark, still unopened. She was unusually persistent. Like Olivia.

  Heath watched a smile touch her eyes as she found a station that pleased her. He’d give just about anything to please her for a lifetime.

  What if I tell her the truth? The thought was appealing.

  And which truth would that be, you big liar? He scolded himself. The whole time she’d been sharing her heart with him he’d been making up one story after another, saying anything to get the job done. The only time he’d been completely honest was a few minutes ago.

  No, it was out of the question. He wouldn’t sacrifice the trust she’d learned to give others so he’d benefit. Especially when there was a stronger-than-average chance she couldn’t forgive his deceptions.

  Better to stick with the plan than launch into the unknown with no strategy at all.

  “Hey, I recognize where we are, now. That Jack and Jill’s bakery makes the best doughnuts in Waco. And over there is an art gallery that I visited a few times when I was a kid.” Olivia mentioned it moments before Heath pulled into a fifty-yard-line spot near the front entry. “I haven’t been here since before my mother died.”

  “You know this place, huh?”

  “It’s one of the nicest in this part of the state.” She sounded impressed. “They have a reputation as a launch-pad for local artists.”

  “That’s a good enough recommendation for me. Let’s take a look inside.”

  Heath climbed out of the SUV and rounded the front bumper to get Olivia’s door. He grasped her hand to help her to the ground, letting go reluctantly. He allowed himself to sweep an arm behind her protectively, blocking the cold wind as they crossed the few feet to the entrance.

  The bell above the door jingled when they rushed inside, stamping their feet against the freezing temperature.

  “Come on in here where it’s warm!” A fortyish man with a goatee stepped from behind a counter in the back of the store and approached with a smile. “My name’s Lance. What can I do for you folks today?”

  “We needed a break from cabin fever.” Heath stepped up to offer his hand. “I’m Heath and this is my friend, Olivia. Mind if we take a look around?”

  “I’ll be offended if you don’t. Just give a yell if you have questions.”

  Olivia left Heath’s side, eager to explore. She wandered among the paintings, admiring the work of artists talented enough to be displayed in a professional gallery. She’d never even have the boldness to show at the community art festival, much less a place like this.

  She slowed before a wall of figurative paintings, the humanlike images blurred and blended into their activities; a dancer became one with the mirror, a cellist’s bow ended where the musician’s arm began. Olivia turned slowly, encircled by the light, color, texture and perspective.

  “I so admire the hard work it takes to hone talent like this. Someday I hope to paint at this level.”

  His palm pressed against her shoulder to get her attention. His touch ignited a spark that chased away the chill in her core. She angled her face upward so their eyes met.

  “Sweet lady, you’re not only certifiably crazy, you’re blind as a newborn jackrabbit. How can you see the potential in other people and miss it in yourself?”

  She ducked her chin, fiddled with the zipper pull on her heavy jacket. His knuckle brushed the underside of her jaw, tipped her head back.

  “Olivia, folks aren’t just being nice when they make a fuss over your murals at Table of Hope. When I first saw them, I was sure some professionals had agreed to donate their work just so they could use it as a write-off.”

  “There you go, thinking the worst.”

  “Exactly!” He threw up both hands. “Your painting is so amazing that I never thought for a minute to give credit to an amateur.”

  “So, we agree. I’m an amateur. What’s your point here?”

  He took her by the hand and tugged her across the hall to an empty display space marked with a RESERVED placard. The walls were bare and waiting to be hung with vivid canvases that would fetch good prices from collectors and decorators.

  “My point is that you have an income source that needs to be tapped. Imagine what could be accomplished at Table of Hope if you boost your budget by selling your paintings.”

  She stiffened, began to back up from the very idea. But Heath squeezed the hand he still held, refused to let her pull away.

  “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about this,” he insisted. “Anybody with an artistic bent dreams about being successful at one time or another.”

  She wanted to stamp her boot, deny that his words were true. But she’d glanced at the canvases on her walls upstairs more than once and imagined the day they would hang in a gallery. The foolish thought must have shown on her face. He pulled her closer, tucked her beneath his chin, and held her in the crook of his strong arm.

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Olivia. Needing to be validated is human, and you keep telling me how much you’ve studied human nature so you already know what I’m trying to say. If your gift can help earn the money that lets you support the mission, how will it be a bad thing?”

  He stepped in front of her, placed his palms on either side of her face, cupping her head gently. “You know that Bible verse about not hiding your light under a bushel basket?”

  She nodded, her throat too clogged with emotion to speak.

  “Well, there you go. Even God is on board with the plan.”

  “There’s a plan?” she asked, closer each moment to losing her composure.

  Heath nodded. “I hope you won’t be angry with me for poking my big nose into your business.” He led her to a nearby bench where they sank down together, shoulders touching companionably.

  “When you loaned me your truck the other day I smuggled one of your paintings over here.”

  Olivia dropped her forehead into her hands, too embarrassed now for Heath to see her face.

  “Which painting?” she mumbled through her fingers.

  “The one with the sun setting over the suspension bridge. It looks so much like a sinking ball of fire you can almost hear the Brazos hissing. I brought it to Lance, the guy we saw up front. His folks own this place. He said that if the rest of your work is that good he’d like to have a private showing for you and the sooner the better. They’ll invite designers who like to get in on the ground floor with new artists. Lance was pretty excited when we talked. He said collectors will be anxious to buy before Christmas.”

  “Heath, I don’t know what to say. I need some time to digest this news.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, rubbed lightly in circles as one would with an anxious child. “You’re not obligated to do anything. If this doesn’t appeal to you, then chuck the whole idea. I just thought maybe you and that old Chevy of yours had something in common.”

  Heath leaned over and pushed his shoulder against hers. “You know what I mean? Needing a little nudge to get you movin’ on your own,” he teased.

  She dropped her hands from her face, returned his goofy smile and leaned
into the arm he held open in invitation.

  “What do you say we go talk to Lance and invite him to drop by tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, like he wants to visit the flu zoo.”

  “If it’s necessary, Lance can come in the side door and climb straight upstairs. And if the others are better when we get back, he won’t even need to do that. Besides, he ought to see your murals. I’m sure rich ladies would pay you big bucks to liven up their boring dining rooms with rain forests and waterfalls. Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

  “I’m self-taught. After my dad left, I painted the boring dining rooms of my rich neighbor ladies and they paid my utilities in exchange.” She smiled at the memory of her early efforts.

  “Then I’d say you already have a toehold in the Waco art scene. Now, how’s that for positive thinkin’?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the trip back to the shelter, Heath was glad to be at the wheel of his big Jeep again. Biddle’s idea to drive it over and “loan” it for the day had been a good one. The last thing Heath wanted was to spend hours climbing in and out of Olivia’s freezing old truck. Even with the vintage heater cranked up high, you could still see your breath inside the cab.

  In the passenger seat beside him, Olivia sneezed. It was a girly sound that turned his reserve to mush and set him to worrying. She’d managed to dodge the flu bullet and didn’t need to be flirting with an earache or a head cold.

  “God bless you.” Heath meant it with all his heart.

  She was snuggled deep into her coat with both arms folded close across her chest. She sneezed again. He pointed to the box of tissues he always kept in the console, a habit he’d picked up from his mom. He was giving her more credit every day for the good sense in his life.

  “You warm enough? Don’t sit in a heap over there shivering in silence.”

  “I’m not.” Her body language shifted. She grabbed a tissue, dabbed at her nose and then relaxed her hands into her lap.

  “I guess I was physically hugging the day to myself.”

  “In a good way?”