They caught Rob at the coffee urn, drawing a cup.
“Rob, we need a moment of your time.”
Rob’s initial reaction was that of a trapped animal. His eyes shifted back and forth and his body language warned of impending flight, but in a moment his features dissolved into another emotion—shame. “Dr. Markham, I’m sorry I acted that way. It’s . . . I can’t talk about it.”
“I think I can help you,” Carrie said. “Let’s sit down.”
A sofa and two overstuffed chairs, long past their prime, were arranged along two walls of the break room. Rob, Carrie, and Adam found seats and sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence.
Carrie decided to get right to it. “This is about Charlie DeLuca.” She noticed the tensing of Rob’s muscles at the name, but she plunged on. “You see, someone has been shooting at Adam and at me. We thought it might be you, trying to avenge Charlie’s imprisonment.”
“But—”
“No, we’ve discovered it wasn’t you. It was Charlie’s niece.” Carrie shook her head. “She’s no longer a threat.”
“What happened?”
Carrie took a moment to explain. “But the reason we’re here now is that we want to help you. And to do that, we need to know why you blew up at me when I mentioned DeLuca.”
“I told you. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Rob, we’d like to get you some help.”
Rob moved his cup from hand to hand but made no attempt to drink. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at the floor. Finally he looked into Carrie’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing a therapist, but I still . . . struggle. I guess that’s why I’ve acted sort of funny toward you. He says I don’t know how to relate to women, at least not appropriately.”
Carrie opened her mouth but caught Adam’s quick shake of the head, so she waited for Rob to continue.
“When Charlie DeLuca was indicted, there was something else we found out, something that was even worse than bigamy, worse than the crimes that sent him to jail.” He tossed his half-full paper cup into the trash. “It was what he’d been doing to my sister. It was so terrible . . . Well, she couldn’t forget it. So she left us to become a cloistered nun. Now her name is Sister Rafael. We haven’t seen her—can’t see her—since this happened. She withdrew from the world because she found out how terrible the world can be.”
Carrie leaned forward in her seat and noticed that Adam did the same.
“The night before she left home, my sister told me this, but made me swear not to let our mother know. She was glad Charlie DeLuca wasn’t really our stepfather. She was glad he was going to prison. Her words were, ‘I hope he rots in hell.’ Then she told me about how he’d come into her room every night when he was at our house and . . .” He put his head in his hands and started sobbing.
Carrie let out a breath she’d held for what seemed like an eternity. She could guess the rest. And her heart broke—for Rob, for his sister, for Adam, and for all the others who’d been affected by the sins of one man.
On Monday morning Adam dressed for work, but this time he didn’t strap on the ankle holster. His gun was in the sheriff’s property room, and that was fine with him. If they chose to check it for fingerprints, they would find his, along with those of Mary Delkus, but he doubted that would ever happen. The case was closed.
Adam parked in his marked spot at the law office and carried his briefcase through the front door without a single glance over his shoulder. He walked by Mary’s office, the one that used to be his. He wasn’t sure what would happen next, but whatever it was, he’d handle it. As he and Carrie had said to each other again and again yesterday, God was in control. That was enough.
Brittany poked her head in his door. “I’ve already made coffee. Would you like some?”
“That would be nice. Thanks.”
She was back in a moment, holding two cups. She put one on his desk and said, “I’ve heard what happened over the weekend. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through.”
Adam started to respond when he heard the phone ringing at Brittany’s desk. She held up a finger. “Sorry, I’ve got to get that,” she said, then turned and hurried away.
No sooner was Brittany gone than Janice Evans came in. She looked at the chair opposite his desk with raised eyebrows, and Adam said, “Please. Sit down. What’s up?”
“I talked with Bruce last night. He told me some of the story. Then I called a friend in the sheriff’s department and got the rest of it. You had a busy day.”
“How’s Bruce doing?”
Janice sipped her coffee and seemed to choose her words carefully. “Bruce was hurting from having his toenails pulled out, but he was also hurting because he’d been so stupid. We all thought he hired Mary and let her lead him around because she was so good-looking. That may have been part of it, but the other part was that Mary’s father, Charlie DeLuca’s brother, held Bruce’s gambling debts years ago.”
“Was that when Elwood Stroud bailed him out?”
“Yes. Although Bruce’s debts were settled long ago, Mary said if he didn’t do what she wanted, she’d see to it that word got around about Bruce’s gambling history. Apparently there were some stories from back then that might get him in trouble even now with the ethics committee of the bar association.”
“Is he still worried that might happen, now that Mary’s dead?”
“He doesn’t care. Bruce is ready to get out of the rat race. He told me he wants to sell his share of the partnership to me.”
Adam drank some of his coffee, cringing at the bitter taste. He’d better get there early the next day to brew it. Brittany had lots of good qualities, but making coffee wasn’t one of them. “Well, sounds like things are ending okay.”
Janice leaned toward him. “Bruce heard you tell the police your backstory, and he passed that information on to me when we talked. I’d always thought you were too good as a paralegal, and that explains it.” She removed her glasses, and Adam saw only sincerity in her gray eyes. “With Bruce leaving, I’m going to need another lawyer here. Is your license still current?”
“It is in Illinois. Does that state have reciprocity with Texas?”
“I looked it up last night. As it happens, it does. I hate to lose a good paralegal, but good lawyers are scarce too. And I have an idea you’re a very good lawyer. Would you consider joining the practice?”
Adam knew he should say, “Let me think about it.” He probably should even say, “Let me pray about it.” Instead, he said, “I’d be thrilled to.”
“Great. We’ll start drawing up an agreement later today.” She rose, but stopped to ask him, “I suppose your law license is in your real name. Do you want to go back to being Keith Branson?”
Adam had to think about that for a moment. “You know, I’ve had several names since this all started. It wasn’t so bad getting used to them, but I’ve always regretted giving up my family name.” He blinked a couple of times. “My parents are dead, and my brother and I are the last surviving Bransons. David saved my life, and I’m proud to share his last name. I think I’d like to go back to being Keith Branson . . . Dave’s brother.”
Carrie planned to start her Monday by quietly telling a few people what had happened over the weekend, but apparently the grapevine worked well, even when the staff wasn’t together at the clinic. It seemed everyone already had the news.
Lila met her at the door. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Carrie responded. Actually, she was better than she’d been in weeks—better than at anytime since Adam’s windshield shattered and gunshots propelled her into the nightmare that just ended. “Is my patient list ready?”
“On your desk,” Lila said. “But Dr. Rushton wants to see you first thing. Would you like some coffee?”
“In a few minutes,” Carrie said. “I don’t think this will take long.” She had successfully resisted Phil’s repeated requests for the two of them to get together. Now it was time to face the music. She sea
rched her memory for something she might have done that would bring down the wrath of the clinic’s managing partner, but nothing came to mind. Oh well. She’d see soon enough.
Carrie tapped at the open door of Phil’s office. He rose and walked to her, enfolded her in a hug, and led her to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He took the one beside it and turned it to face Carrie. So far this was a totally different Phil Rushton than the one she’d come to know, respect, and sometimes dislike.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Nothing, thanks. And I’m fine—thanks for asking.” She leaned forward in the chair. Might as well get this out of the way. “Phil, you need to know that strange message you got came from Adam.” She went on to explain about the three suspects in the shootings and why Phil was on the list. “Obviously you were innocent, and I want to apologize for suspecting you and for the way it might have influenced our relationship.”
Phil shrugged it off. “No problem. I can see why you might think that, with my Chicago connection.” He shifted in his chair. “And that brings me to the reason I’ve been wanting to meet with you.”
Carrie frowned. “O-o-okay.”
“You already know that I’m from Chicago, did all my training there. I’ve always wanted to go back, and now I have the chance. I’ve received an offer to head the division of cardiothoracic surgery at Loyola in Chicago. I’m going to take the job.”
Carrie had trouble processing that for a moment. Phil was leaving? Then again, this was a great honor, and he’d be foolish not to grab the opportunity. He deserved it.
“Wonderful. Congratulations.”
“That means we’ll need another cardiothoracic surgeon here.” Phil reached back to his desk and lifted three thin manila folders from it. “Here are three men we need to interview.”
Carrie wasn’t sure what to say. “What can I do?”
“You’ll head the search committee, along with two other clinic members of your choice.”
“Why me?”
“Because I’m suggesting that you replace me as managing partner. You’ve been here as long as any of the other doctors. You’re levelheaded. You’ve demonstrated that you can be cool in stressful situations, and this job has a lot of them.”
“I’ll need to—”
Phil held up his hand. “I know. I’ve sprung this on you without warning. Why don’t you and Adam talk about it over dinner tonight? I’ve made a seven o’clock reservation at The Grotto for you to have dinner on me. It’s all taken care of.”
Back in her office Carrie had the phone in her hand, ready to dial Adam, when it struck her. This was great news, but it was the kind to share face-to-face.
When Adam answered, his first words were, “I was about to call you. I have something I need to tell you.”
“Me too. But I’d like to see the look on your face when I share my news.”
“Can you spare some time at noon?” he asked.
“Sure,” Carrie said. “Come by my office and we’ll have lunch together.” And will I have a surprise for you.
Keith—he’d have to get used to that name again—could hardly contain his excitement. He checked his watch every fifteen minutes, and finally at eleven twenty he couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed his coat and told Brittany, “I have a luncheon meeting. See you in a couple of hours.”
Keith had trouble holding his car under the speed limit, he was so anxious to see Carrie, to share his news and hear hers. When he was halfway to her office, he reached a decision that sent him on a detour. Despite the delay, he was waiting in Carrie’s office when she walked in at noon.
She kissed him and started to shed her white coat. “Where should we have lunch?” she asked.
“We’ll get to that in a minute. But before we do, let’s talk about our news.”
“Okay, you first,” Carrie said.
He told her about the offer from Janice Evans, his opportunity to resume his law practice and take back his real name.
“Wonderful.”
“You’re sure the name change won’t be a problem for you?” he asked.
Carrie didn’t hesitate. “This isn’t just a chance to reclaim your name. It’s the opportunity to reclaim your life.” She grinned. “I may call you Adam a couple of times, but I promise that from now on you’ll be Keith Branson to me,” Carrie said. “And I’ll love you, whatever you’re called.”
Adam beamed. “Now what’s your news?” he asked.
Carrie shared what Phil Rushton told her. “All this time I was worried that he wanted me out, but instead I have a chance to become the managing partner of the clinic.”
“Sounds like good news all around.”
“It amazes me,” Carrie said. “There were times when I couldn’t see any way out of the predicament we were in. But God brought us through it . . . and brought me back to Him in the bargain.”
“So what did you tell Phil?” Keith asked.
“Nothing, yet. He thought you and I could talk it over at dinner tonight,” Carrie said. “He made seven o’clock reservations at The Grotto, his treat. Want to pick me up at a quarter to seven?”
“Sure.” Keith pointed to the picnic basket on the floor. “And as for lunch, I figured you’d be pressed for time, so I thought we’d eat here. I have deli sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks.”
Carrie smiled. “As I recall you put together a mean picnic lunch.” She pulled a pile of medical journals off the small table in the corner of her office and dropped them on the floor. “Want to spread it out there?”
“I wish we could go back to that farmhouse and have a real picnic.”
“So do I.”
Keith arranged the food on the table. Then he brought over one of the chairs from in front of Carrie’s desk and gestured to her. “Have a seat.”
She did so. “Now join me.”
“Just a second. There’s one more thing in the basket.” Keith reached in and pulled out a paper napkin twisted into a small bundle. “I guess this is sort of corny, but after all we’ve been through, I wanted to do it right this time.” He dropped to one knee in front of Carrie. “There are no secrets anymore. And it’s never been a secret that I love you.” He unfolded the napkin and held out the engagement ring. “I hope you’re ready to accept this now. Dr. Carrie Markham, will you be Mrs. Keith Branson?”
At first, Carrie’s eyes glistened. Then tears ran down her face, but the smile that accompanied them told Keith they were tears of happiness.
There was a catch in Carrie’s voice when she said, “Yes.” Then her kiss told Keith that everything was right with the world once more.
READING GROUP GUIDE
1. What was Carrie’s relationship to the Lord at the beginning of the book? Do you think the chasm was justified? Can you put your finger on the factor(s) that brought her back?
2. Contrast where Carrie and Adam were in their Christian walks at the beginning of the book. What do you think was the cause of the difference? Do you think you might have felt the same in their situations?
3. Was there any justification for Adam hiding his past from Carrie? Is there ever a valid reason for a lie or partial truth? Why or why not?
4. What is your mental image of Adam’s older brother? What was their relationship? Why?
5. Phil Rushton is a complex character. What was your overall opinion of him? If you didn’t know about Phil’s marital and family status, what would you guess it was? Why?
6. For a long time, Adam resisted getting a gun. What pushed him over the edge? Do you think he would have used it?
7. What was your takeaway message after finishing the book?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
READERS MAY HAVE THE IDEA THAT NOVELS SPRING, FRESHLY formed and complete, from the fertile minds of writers. Far be it from me to disillusion you, but it doesn’t happen that way. For instance, here’s what it took to put this novel in your hands.
I’m privileged to have a wife who is my fi
rst reader, my biggest fan, and my most discerning critic. Kay helped me shape this story from its inception to the final step along the way. Thank you, dear. I truly couldn’t do it without you.
My fantastic agent, Rachelle Gardner, has believed in me when others didn’t. She presented this concept, and the novel that followed, to my editor, Amanda Bostic, who applied her editorial talent to point me in the right direction. Then Traci DePree exercised her special touch to help me improve the story even further. I appreciate all of these ladies so much. They deserve chocolate . . . or at least a round of applause.
While I was writing, Kristen Vasgaard was designing a dynamite book cover. After the edits were completed, Becky Monds and the rest of the Thomas Nelson crew shepherded the novel through production. Meanwhile, Katie Bond and Laura Dickerson got the word out so readers would know about the book. My sincere thanks go to every one of these good folks.
My writing journey has been long and, at times, difficult. Along the way I’ve received encouragement, instruction, and mentoring from lots of people, including (but not limited to): Karen Ball, James Scott Bell, Colleen Coble, Brandilyn Collins, Alton Gansky, Jeff Gerke, Dennis Hensley, Randy Ingermanson, DiAnn Mills, Michael Palmer, Gayle Roper, Barbara Scott, Terry Whalin, and too many more to mention.
And, of course, I’ve been blessed with the support of my family and friends through it all.
Finally, I’m grateful for my loyal readers and the opportunity to share these words with you. Thanks for coming along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it.
AN EXCERPT FROM STRESS TEST
ONE
DR. MATT NEWMAN KNEW ALL ABOUT THE HIGH. HE’D EXPERIENCED it many times. The high was intoxicating, even when the low inevitably followed. Of course, sometimes there was no high at all, no pleasure, only the sadness, the melancholy. How many times had Matt asked himself if it was worth it?
It began tonight, as it frequently did, with a phone call that rolled Matt out of bed after less than an hour’s sleep and sent him speeding to the hospital. A teenager lay bleeding to death from internal injuries, the victim of a car crash that killed the girl riding with him.
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