by Irene Hannon
She was inside.
He’d have turned around at once—except he didn’t like what he saw. She was balanced on a ladder, reaching toward the fixture in the ceiling. Attempting to change a lightbulb.
And the ladder didn’t look any too stable.
He lengthened his stride.
All at once, as if to reinforce his conclusion, the ladder wobbled. As he broke into a sprint, she clutched at the sides, dropping the replacement bulb in the process. He heard it shatter as he took the two porch steps in one leap, opened the door and grabbed for the ladder, tossing the book he was carrying onto a wicker settee.
His sudden appearance seemed to rattle her as much as the wobbling ladder had. Sucking in a sharp breath, she tried to descend quickly. But she missed a rung, and Luke relinquished his grip on the ladder to catch her when she slipped backward.
As his arms went around her and he absorbed her weight, he heard her panicked gasp. Felt the tremors coursing through her. Sensed her almost palpable fear.
And when her oversized T-shirt slipped off one shoulder, he also saw the jagged scar of recent vintage near her collarbone.
“You’re okay.” He gentled his voice, his focus still on the scar. “I’ve got you. Take a few deep breaths.”
If she heard him, she gave no indication. Instead, she jerked out of his arms and stumbled toward her back door. As if she was running away.
Again.
As she fumbled with the knob, her back to him, he tried to reassure her.
“Look—I just came over to return your book. You must have dropped it on the beach.”
She froze. Checked him out over her shoulder.
He tipped his head toward the book on the settee.
Flicking a look in that direction, she blushed. Then she turned halfway toward him, keeping one hand on the knob. As if prepared to flee at the slightest provocation. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He gestured toward the ladder. “I think you need to replace that. It’s seen better days.”
“I will.”
“In the meantime, why don’t you let me change the bulb for you?”
“That’s not necessary. Thank you.”
Let it go, Luke. She doesn’t want your help.
Even as that advice echoed in his mind, Luke found himself pushing—for reasons that eluded him.
“I don’t mind. Might as well finish the job, as long as the ladder’s out.”
Without waiting for a reply, he repositioned the ladder and climbed up two rungs. Then he angled toward her expectantly.
She lifted her head and regarded him in silence, her expression uncertain.
He waited her out. Trying to maintain a pleasant, nonthreatening demeanor. Trying to figure out what was going on with his skittish neighbor. And trying not to get distracted by the wide green eyes fringed with thick, sweeping lashes, that had been hidden behind sunglasses earlier.
At last, she fumbled for the knob behind her. “Okay. Give me a minute.”
With that, she disappeared inside. The door shut behind her. And though he was a few feet away, he heard the lock quietly slide into place.
Did he come across as that untrustworthy? Or was there some other reason for his neighbor’s extreme caution?
Like that scar?
As he puzzled over those questions, he heard the lock again. A moment later, she exited, bulb in hand. Moving toward him, she stayed as far back as possible and held it up.
He had to lean sideways to reach it. As soon as the transfer was made, she retreated to the door.
After unscrewing the old bulb, he inserted the new one and rejoined her on the porch floor. He spoke over his shoulder as he folded up the rickety ladder.
“Where would you like this?”
“Just set it against the wall for now.”
He did as she asked. He wasn’t crazy about her carrying the heavy old wooden ladder, but it was better than her climbing on it. And he suspected he’d pushed enough for one day.
Brushing off his hands, he moved to the porch door—trying to give her the wide perimeter of personal space she seemed to require.
“By the way, I’ve staked out a spot at the far end of the beach. That way, we’ll each have our privacy.”
“Okay.”
“Well…see you around.”
She didn’t respond. But as Luke descended the steps and crossed her lawn, he had the feeling she was watching him leave.
And hoping she wouldn’t be seeing him around.
He was back.
Kelsey couldn’t see him in the darkness. But she knew he was there. She could feel his presence. Behind her. Or in the woods on either side of her. Somewhere close.
Too close.
She had to get away.
Increasing her speed from a jog to a run, she pushed herself forward. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and began to trickle down her face. She shouldn’t have come out here alone at night.
Panic surged through her, and she ran harder. Trying to elude her pursuer.
But she couldn’t. He was faster. Stronger. She could hear his ragged breathing as he drew closer.
A sob rose in her throat. There were lights up ahead. People. Activity. In another two minutes she’d—
A hand gripped her arm.
Another clamped over her mouth.
She was yanked backward and dragged into the woods. She kicked. Twisted. Scratched. Nothing loosened the man’s vise-like grip. He slammed her to the ground. Pressed a knife to her throat. Told her if she screamed she’d die.
Waves of terror washed over her, sucking her down, down, down. And then the screams came anyway. Over and over and…
Kelsey shot upright in bed, chest heaving as she gasped for breath and choked back the terrified cries clawing their way past her throat. Slowly, the familiar outlines of her cozy room came into focus, illuminated by the soft light from the lamp she lit each night to keep darkness at bay.
She was safe.
Choking back a sob, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take deep, even breaths. To focus on a mental picture of the placid, sparkling lake outside her bungalow. To imagine drinking the rich hot chocolate Gram used to make.
The comforting images worked their magic. Her heart resumed its normal rhythm. Her respiration slowed. Her shaking subsided.
When she felt steadier, she swung her feet to the floor and stood, one hand resting on the new life growing within her as she padded through the snug bungalow, double-checking every lock. It had been more than three months since she’d had such a graphic dream. Once she moved here and settled into Gram’s house, they’d dissipated. Here, she’d felt safe.
But things had changed. Thanks to her new neighbor.
And he was going to be around until the end of the summer.
With a sigh, Kelsey made her way back to her bedroom.
It was going to be a long few weeks.
Chapter Two
“Teatime, my dear.”
Setting aside the pattern she’d been sketching, Kelsey swiveled away from her desk and toward the front of Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts. Dorothy Martin stood a few feet away, holding a delicate china cup of tea—and a plate containing two mini homemade scones.
Kelsey shook her head and smiled as she took the offering. “If you keep spoiling me like this, I’m going to have twenty extra pounds to lose after I have this baby.”
The older woman waved her objections aside and tucked one stray strand of white hair back into her perfect chignon. “Nonsense. You haven’t gained enough weight, if you ask me.”
“The doctor says I’m fine.”
“Hmph.” Dorothy fingered the single strand of pearls around her neck, skepticism quirking her mouth. “You look tired to me. And you seemed a little stressed on Saturday. I meant to get over here and visit with you, but we were swamped.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have talked you into letting me rent half your space for my shop. You’ve had to turn customers away at Tea for Two
ever since I moved in.”
“Don’t be silly. It was a fine idea. This place was way too big for me.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper and leaned closer. “I’m seventy-five years old, Kelsey, even if I don’t look a day over sixty-five.” With a wink, she straightened. “I’d have retired if you hadn’t made me that offer. This lets me keep my finger in the business without as much pressure. Serving a light lunch to fifty is a lot easier than dealing with two or three times that many people. This has worked out well for both of us.”
“I know I’ve benefited. I get perks like this.” She lifted her cup. “I’m not sure what you get out of the deal.”
“Companionship.” The older woman’s usual sunny expression dimmed a few watts. “I surely do miss your grandmother. She used to drive into Douglas for a visit almost every afternoon. I looked forward to our chats—even if she did insist I serve her tea in a mug.” An affectionate smile tugged at the older woman’s lips.
In the silence that followed, Kelsey took a sip of the herbal tea from her china cup. How Dorothy and her grandmother had ever connected was beyond her. They’d been as different as two women could be. Dorothy wore silk, cherished tradition and liked order. Bess Anderson had favored jeans, loved to experiment with new ideas and thrived in chaos.
But they’d shared common values, lively intellects and kind hearts. Apparently that had been enough to seal their friendship for more than forty years.
“Gram was one of a kind, wasn’t she?” The words came out choked, and Kelsey set the cup back on the saucer.
“That she was.” Dorothy patted her arm, then straightened her own shoulders. “And she wouldn’t want us to be moping around on her behalf. I never did meet a person who could wring more joy out of a day than Bess Anderson. I expect she’d be disappointed if we didn’t follow her example.”
“I agree. It’s just harder some days than others to do that.”
Dorothy gave her a keen look. “Any particular reason why it’s harder today?”
Kelsey lifted one shoulder. “I haven’t slept very well the past two nights.”
The older woman wrinkled her brow. “Bad dreams again?”
“Yes.” Dorothy was one of the few people who knew Kelsey’s story. Her grandmother’s never-married best friend had always been like a cherished great-aunt, and since Kelsey had moved to Michigan, Dorothy had done her best to fill the role vacated by Gram.
“How odd. You’ve been doing so well. Did something trigger them?”
“Not something. Someone. My new neighbor. A man in his thirties who’s staying at the Lewis house. Alone, as far as I can tell.” She traced the delicate gold-edged rim of the saucer with a fingertip. “He came up behind me on the beach Saturday.”
“Oh, my.” Distress tightened Dorothy’s features. “I can see how that would have been upsetting.”
“To make matters worse, I dropped a book while I was down there, and when he came by to return it I was changing a lightbulb on the porch. I was so startled I fell into his arms. Literally. I almost hyperventilated.”
The bell over the front door jingled, announcing the arrival of tearoom customers, and Dorothy called out to the two women who entered. “I’ll be right with you.” Then she leaned closer to Kelsey and lowered her voice. “Maybe you should talk to Dr. Walters again.”
“Maybe.” She’d made weekly trips to the therapist in Holland during her first six weeks in Michigan, but her visits had tapered off as the nightmares grew less and less frequent. She hadn’t been to see the woman in more than two months.
Now the nightmares were back. Thanks to Luke Turner.
As Dorothy seated her luncheon guests on the other side of the building, Kelsey forced herself to focus on more pleasant thoughts. Nibbling at a blueberry scone, she examined the row of quilts, displayed on large racks, that separated Tea for Two from Not Your Grandmother’s Quilts in the high-ceilinged space they shared. The two in the middle were Gram’s, and they were stunning. Creative, contemporary and abstract, they were pieces of art—and not at all what most people pictured when they heard the word quilt.
The ones on either end were hers. One was a commissioned piece she’d finished a couple of weeks ago and would soon be shipping off to the buyer. The other—an intricate, modernistic, three-dimensional design—wasn’t for sale. Gram had praised it highly, calling it a breakout piece when Kelsey had sent her a photo of it last year. It had taken her three years to make, squeezing in a few minutes of work on it here and there. As she’d discovered, climbing the corporate ladder left little time or energy for anything else, including artistic pursuits. In fact, after finishing that piece she’d considered setting aside her beloved pastime for the indefinite future.
Yet now she was making quilts full-time.
It was surreal.
The baby kicked, and Kelsey placed a hand on her stomach—awed by the flutter of new life within her, even as it evoked traumatic memories.
It was a dichotomy she had yet to reconcile.
Her phone rang, and she swiveled back to her desk to answer it. As she picked up the receiver and prepared to switch gears, the baby kicked again.
Reminding her that the momentous decision she’d been struggling with couldn’t be deferred much longer.
Luke pulled into a parking space in front of the St. Francis rectory in Saugatuck, picked up his briefcase and stepped out of the car. The small adjacent church looked just as Carlos had described it—traditional in design, with elongated panels of stained glass on each side and a steeple that soared toward the blue sky.
This was where the medical corpsman had turned his life around.
This was where he’d hoped to return and make a difference in the lives of other young people.
This was where his funeral had been held two short months ago.
Luke swallowed past the lump in his throat, forcing back a surge of emotion. The time for tears was past. He was here to look to the future. To do his part to fulfill a young man’s dream. To keep a promise.
With one more look at the soaring steeple, he strode toward the door of the rectory and pressed the bell.
Thirty seconds later, a middle-aged man dressed in black and wearing a clerical collar answered. His smile created a fan of wrinkles at the corner of each eye as he stuck out his hand.
“Captain Turner, I presume. Or do you prefer Doctor?”
“Luke is fine. Father Reynolds?”
“Make it Father Joe. Come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to your visit. Everyone is here, eagerly waiting to meet you.” He closed the door and led the way down the hall. “May I offer you a beverage?”
“Coffee would be good, if you have it.”
“Always.” The man grinned and veered to his left at a T in the hall, leading Luke into a small, homey kitchen. He headed straight for the coffeepot on the counter, pulled a mug off a hook and filled it. “There’s a carafe of coffee and disposable cups in the conference room, but the guest of honor deserves the real thing.” He lifted the ceramic mug. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
“I like it black.”
“So do I.” The clergyman handed him the coffee and retraced his steps, continuing past the T. “We rotate our meetings among participating churches, and it happened to be my turn. Appropriate, since this was Carlos’s church.”
A few seconds later, the man ushered him into a small conference room dominated by a large rectangular table. Six people of various ages sat around it. As he entered, their conversation ceased and they all looked toward him.
“My fellow clerics, our guest of honor has arrived.”
As Father Joe went through the introductions and Luke shook hands with each of the board members, he did his best to file away their names.
Once the formalities were finished, Father Joe gestured Luke toward the seat at the end of the table, then took his place at the other end.
“First, on behalf of the Greater Saugatuck Interdenominational Youth Fellowship, I
want to thank you for initiating this project and for making such a personal investment in it. Your willingness to devote a significant amount of time to the planning and organizing has impressed all of us.” Father Joe beamed at him.
Heat rose on Luke’s neck, and he shifted in his seat. “I appreciate your kind words, Father, but my sacrifice is small in comparison to Carlos’s. I’m giving time. He gave his life.”
“Yes. Saving others. ‘No greater love…’” The priest grew somber and folded his hands on the table. “Before we begin, shall we join our hearts in prayer?”
As they bowed their heads, the pastor spoke. “Father, we thank You for giving us the opportunity to gather here as Your family. Like all families, we are diverse. And we don’t always agree. But You have opened our hearts and minds to allow us to seek our commonalities, and to unify behind the shared goal of supporting our youth and helping them grow in faith.
“We live in a difficult world, Lord, one where young people can easily be led astray. Here, in our program, they can find acceptance and love and guidance. We ask that You give us fortitude and inspiration as we go about Your work. We thank You for letting our lives be touched by an inspiring young man like Carlos Fernandez. And we thank You for sending Captain Taylor to us with a plan that will honor him by helping us carry on the work that changed his life.”
After a chorus of “amens,” Father Joe turned the meeting over to Luke, who pulled his notes from his briefcase and gave the board an outline of the project he and Father Joe had corresponded about over the past few weeks.
Although Carlos’s pastor had assured Luke the board was receptive to his idea, the enthusiastic response of the members was heartening.
But also a little unsettling.
Because, while Luke had come here to get the ball rolling for a youth center, the more the board members talked, the more it sounded as if they expected him to deliver said center in the short six weeks he would be in the area.
Catching his eye during an animated discussion about one fundraising idea, Father Joe smiled.
“Gentlemen—I think we’re overwhelming our benefactor. Why don’t we let him tell us what he would like to accomplish during his stay here, and see what we can do to assist him?”