by Lois Richer
“You’ve done a wonderful job with her.”
“I couldn’t afford the extras she should have had. I did what I could but—” She bit her lip, refusing to break down now.
“Gracie, you did everything right. Look at Misty, really look at her, and you’ll know that. The extras don’t matter.”
“They do, though,” she whispered, finally accepting that Dallas could give their child far more than she ever could. “I realized she needed more, but I couldn’t do anything about it until I finished my training. Then, when Elizabeth asked me to come here, I jumped at the chance, even though it meant leaving everything familiar behind. It was a way to get all the things for Misty that I couldn’t provide. People who know what she needs, a place where she’s safe, more time to spend with her.”
All the things Dallas and his parents could give her without a second thought.
“You’ve made good choices.”
“Have I? I’m not so sure.”
Gracie thought of the nights she’d sat watching her baby, wondering if she should have gone back to his parents’ house, forced them to see how much Misty resembled Dallas. His parents could have paid for anything Misty needed. Her little girl might have wanted for nothing if Gracie had only pushed them.
But what if they’d tried to take her baby? The terror of that possibility had directed every decision.
“The past is done, Gracie. We can’t change it. All we have is tomorrow.”
“Yes.” At least until the police found his parents.
“So? Will you let her spend more time with me? Without coming back early, checking up on us, getting other people to report on me?”
Heat scorched her cheeks. Dallas knew what she’d been doing; knew but didn’t seem angry.
He was trying so hard. He loved their daughter. He would never let anything hurt her.
Gracie capitulated. “Wednesday evenings. I need a couple of hours to keep up with my records. Maybe…” She swallowed hard. “Maybe you could make her dinner, put her to bed?”
“I could,” he whispered, covering Gracie’s hand with his. “And perhaps Sundays? Could I take her to church?”
“Church?” To learn about God—who hadn’t been there when Gracie needed Him most?
“They have a class for kids her age. She’d meet new friends. It would expose her to somewhere other than the Bar None. Only for a few hours. You could come, too, if you want to make sure it’s okay.”
“Why church?” The pleading in Dallas’s voice, the light in his eyes confused her. What had God done for him except take everything away?
“Because I want Misty to know God loves her and that He’ll be with her always. That she can count on Him when you and I seem to fail her.” Dallas’s eyes blazed with a light Gracie didn’t understand. “It’s the only thing that’s helped me through the darkest times. The knowledge that even if I never remember, God will still be with me and that He’ll help me figure out my next step.”
“I guess it would be okay,” she muttered.
“Thank you.” He hugged her, drawing her to him. “We’ll get through this, Gracie. You and me. Together. We’ll figure out how to raise our daughter the way God intended.”
“I’m not real big on God,” she admitted. His chest rumbled beneath her. He was laughing.
“That doesn’t matter, honey,” he said into her hair.
“It doesn’t?” He didn’t try to persuade or convince her to share his faith. That surprised her. “Why?”
“Because God is big on you. He loves you dearly and He will never, ever walk away if you ask Him for help.”
A lump formed in Gracie’s throat. Dallas’s hand stroked over her head as she struggled to speak.
“He did walk away from me. I prayed and prayed that you would come back. But you never did. Where was God then, Dallas?”
“Right beside you.” He cupped his hands against her cheeks, lifted her head so she had to meet his gaze. “God didn’t leave you or abandon you, Gracie. He was there every step of the way, even when you didn’t realize it.” Dallas’s thumb brushed over her mouth.
Gracie fought past the longing. She needed the answer to this question. “Then why didn’t He change things? Why didn’t He send you home?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. I only know that somehow, some way, He will bring good out of what we think is bad. If you trust no one else, trust Him.”
Dallas kissed her, slowly, but with a world of feeling packed into that gentle embrace. For a moment Gracie was transported back in time to those first heady moments of marriage, when she’d believed the world was finally granting her wildest dream.
But then thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning blazed across the sky and she was back in no-man’s-land, married, but not really.
She recoiled, tried to ease away from him. But Dallas didn’t let her go. He captured her face again, stared into her eyes, his own clear, determined.
“I can’t go back, Gracie. I can’t make anything better or be the guy you remember. All I can do is be here now, do my best to care for you and our child, and pray God will heal my mind so I can be the husband and father I should be. I trust Him to do that. Can you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered honestly after a stretch of time. “Trust isn’t something I do easily.”
“You’ll wait and see? Is that it?” Dallas smiled sadly, traced her eyebrows, the line of her nose, the fullness of her top lip and the jut of her chin.
“I guess.” She wished he’d kiss her again. When he did that all the fears and worries melted and she could only remember how much she’d loved him, how much hope had built up inside during those eight short days of marriage, how the fear that no one would ever love her had finally shriveled and died. “I’ll try.”
“Then we’ll go with that. But remember one thing, Gracie.” His arms fell away. All that held her now was the sheen in his eyes. “God won’t push His way into your life. Either you accept that He is who He says He is, that He has His own reasons for doing things, or you don’t.”
She wasn’t sure she understood exactly what Dallas was saying. She knew he wanted to share her parenting role, and she was prepared to allow that.
But the God he was talking about wasn’t a concept she understood.
God had taken her husband, abandoned her and her baby when they most needed Him. How could she depend on Him now?
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll be here at nine. We can all go together. Okay?”
Gracie was going to refuse, but suddenly changed her mind. Her job as Misty’s mother meant she had a duty to check out the church.
“I’ll be ready.”
Dallas couldn’t hide his surprise as he held out a hand, drew her up beside him.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“You’re welcome.”
He studied her for a long time. Gracie could feel the heat from his hand on hers, the awareness that rippled through her body whenever he touched her.
Attraction hummed between them now, impossible to ignore. Twice as powerful because Misty wasn’t there to buffer it.
“I know why I married you, Gracie,” Dallas whispered, his voice so soft she barely heard it over the thunder.
“You do?” She froze, unable to move when his fingers tangled with hers, when his other hand slipped over her hair, down the nape of her neck and across her shoulder. A sliver of hope crept in, twined around her heart.
He’d remembered something.
“I married you because you’re so full of love.” His hand curved over the very top of her arm. He held it there, squeezed gently, as if to impress her with his words. “It’s tucked away in your heart, waiting to rush out.”
Because she didn’t know how to answer that, Gracie stood very still.
“You’ve been hurt, so you pushed it out of sight. But it’s still there. Waiting.”
She couldn’t say anything when Dallas stared into her eyes like that.
“I envy the m
an you married, Gracie.”
“But—”
“I envy him because you loved him more than life. He was a fool to leave.” Dallas bent his head, pressed one hard kiss against her lips, then drew back. “Good night.”
He turned, walked to the gate and quietly let himself out. Gracie lifted a hand, touched her mouth.
“Good night,” she whispered.
The man who’d just left wasn’t the man she’d married.
But he was someone her heart recognized.
Dallas loved the little church with its friendly faces and welcoming feeling. He made a note to thank Elizabeth for directing him to it. The building was unpretentious, the piano rudimentary, the congregation small. But that didn’t matter.
He loved sitting in the pew with his wife and daughter, singing praises to the One who was his Lord. Had he done this before? Gone to church with Gracie?
Dallas had no answers. But as the minister preached a Mother’s Day sermon, Dallas soaked in the words. And translated them to fit his personal situation.
God expected him to love the way a real husband, a real father would. Only then could he finally be healed. If Dallas couldn’t make progress in those relationships he would be no better than a friend helping Gracie, a doting uncle to his daughter. The thought chilled him.
Uncles, friends—they were simply onlookers. They visited, shared a few moments, then returned to their own lives. To be needed, to be wanted, to have his daughter see him as an integral part of her life, not a visitor—that was Dallas’s goal. He ached for Gracie to talk to him as if his opinion mattered, as if she valued his input. He wanted to be part of their lives, a part they couldn’t do without.
Too quickly the service came to an end.
“Hi, I’m Mike,” the minister said, shaking their hands at the door. “Is this Misty?”
“Yes. I’m Dallas. And this is Gracie. We’re her parents.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard all about Misty from Rory.” The minister bent down to her. “I hear you have quite a rapport with horses. Rory said you got a wild one to eat out of your hand.”
Beside Dallas Gracie went rigid. The smile stayed pasted on her face, but he knew she was not pleased.
“Rory an’ me like horses,” Misty said happily. “Dallas is going to teach me to ride.”
Gracie pinned him with a hard glare.
“It was a great sermon.” Dallas struggled to breach the conversation gap.
“Thanks.” Mike handed Gracie a small pot with a daisy. “Happy Mother’s Day, Mrs. Henderson.” He shook her hand. “I was wondering if perhaps Misty would like to join our children’s choir.”
Misty perked up at this, began asking a hundred questions. Satisfied that Rory was a member, she turned to her mother.
“Can I sing in the choir?” she demanded.
“She has quite a good voice,” Dallas murmured, hoping Gracie wouldn’t nix the idea because of him. “We were singing yesterday. Emily lent me her guitar. Misty stayed on key the entire time.”
“I see.” Gracie’s pretty lips tightened. “We’ll talk about it later. Thank you, Reverend.”
“Call me Mike.” He grinned. “We have a ladies’ Bible study starting next week, Mrs. Henderson. In case you’re interested.”
“We’ll see.”
They left the church, Misty swinging between them, chattering excitedly about the choir. Gracie seemed less enthused.
“I thought maybe we could go to Martini’s,” Dallas murmured as they settled in the truck. “For Mother’s Day.”
“Surprise!” Misty squealed from the backseat, wiggling so hard Dallas wondered if the restraint would hold. “I got you a present, too, but you can’t have it yet. Dallas said that’s not part of the plan.”
“The plan. I see.” The way Gracie said it bugged him.
“It’s not a state secret. We wanted to surprise you, that’s all,” Dallas told her.
“You have. By all means, let’s go to Martini’s.”
An inauspicious beginning, but thanks to Misty’s unbridled enthusiasm, the meal turned out better than he’d expected. They stopped by the arboretum after, where Gracie opened her gifts—a collage of tiny foam tiles that Misty had made into a picture, and a silver necklace with a locket from him. Elizabeth had helped there, too.
Gracie enthused over the picture, but only thanked him quietly for the locket. Dallas told himself not to feel hurt, but his heart didn’t listen.
“Look inside,” Misty ordered as she danced across the grass. “It’s a picture of me on the swing. Dallas took it with Elizabeth’s camera. We put it inside.”
“You look very lovely, dear.”
She seemed about to return it to its box. Dallas rested his hand on hers. “Can I put it on for you, Gracie?”
She studied him, her eyes shrouded. Finally, she nodded.
He lifted the delicate chain, undid the clasp and set the chain around her neck. His fingers grazed her skin, lighting a fire inside him, but Dallas tamped it down, heeding the voice inside.
Go slow.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you for being a wonderful mother, Gracie.”
She frowned, then noticed Misty had wandered away from them and was now tumbling happily across the grass.
“Misty, be—”
Dallas touched her lips with his finger. “Don’t.”
Gracie knocked his hand away. “Do not tell me how to care for my daughter.”
So they were back to that again.
“She’s free,” he whispered, trying to help Gracie see. “For a few moments in her very careful world, she’s free to let go and play. Don’t ruin it.”
Gracie opened her lips to say something, thought better of it and studied him instead. Dallas held still under that probing scrutiny, longing to gather her into his arms and soothe away her fears as easily as Misty had shed her own.
A squeal interrupted the moment.
“He’s been watching me for a long time.” Misty sat perfectly still, her head tilted to one side as she listened to the dog panting contentedly beside her.
“Where did that dog come from?” Dallas asked.
“Maybe we should—”
“He’s a beautiful dog, Miss. Why don’t you talk to him?”
“Hello, dog.”
The dog woofed a quiet greeting. One paw touched her skirt, which was flounced out around her on the grass. Misty’s lips moved soundlessly, then she reached out a hand. The dog’s haunches twitched but he stood perfectly still as she brushed her fingers over his side, stroking the red-gold fur as she absorbed every detail.
“Dallas, stop staring at that thing and do something.” Gracie grabbed his hand.
“Wait.” Dallas wasn’t sure why, he only knew his daughter was in the midst of a discovery, and he didn’t want to ruin it. The dog wasn’t threatening or uncomfortable. In fact, he seemed to have built an immediate connection with the little girl.
“You’re very big,” Misty whispered, her hands stilling as the dog lay down beside her, pushed his head under her hand. “Your head is big.” She moved her fingers.
When the chubby digits moved too near the animal’s teeth, Gracie gasped, but Dallas held on to her hand.
“Give her a minute.”
“You have such nice fur. When I get my Seeing Eye dog, I hope he’s like you. You’re strong but nice.” Misty murmured little comments, all the while stroking the dog until he finally stretched forward and swiped her face with his tongue. She giggled. “Mommy, look at this dog. He’s kissing me.”
Gracie was speechless.
“We’re looking, sweetie. He sure does like you,” Dallas called.
Misty pushed the furry head away but the dog was not to be moved. He thrust his muzzle into her lap and closed his eyes.
Misty’s delicate fingers eased over the animal, memorizing the silken ears, the long neck, the beautifully combed hair. The dog was obviously well cared for.
“I wonder
who he belongs to.” Dallas scanned the park. It took a minute before he saw a little girl in a wheelchair. She was searching left and right, calling something. “Misty, I think someone is looking for that dog. I’m going to tell her he’s here. Okay? Mommy will be here, on the bench. Fifteen steps,” he said.
“Okay.”
“Dallas, you can’t leave her with him. What if—”
“If he wants to leave, don’t hang on to him, okay, Misty? He might hear his owner and know he has to go back.”
“Okay.”
“She’ll be all right,” he whispered to Gracie. “The dog is trained. Look at his collar. Those tags are specific to animals trained by the Tarvin Academy. It uses behavior modified animals for special-needs kids.”
Gracie frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He didn’t know why he knew that, but Dallas was certain of the dog’s integrity. He squeezed Gracie’s hand, then loped across the grass to the young girl in the wheelchair. “Did you lose your dog?”
The child blinked, stared at him.
“An Irish setter?”
“Y-yes.” She sniffed. “You know Rusty?”
“He’s lying with my little girl on the grass. She’s blind and he’s letting her pet him.” He explained that he didn’t want to startle the dog, asked if they’d come with him. The little girl nodded, pulled out a leash.
“How did Rusty get away?” Dallas asked.
“He likes to run. I let him off the leash. He went twice, but the third time he didn’t come back.” She let go of the button on her chair, paused. “Did your little girl have ice cream?”
“A big cone. She spilled it all over her dress.”
“Rusty loves the smell of ice cream,” the child’s mother explained. “It’s the only thing that seems to make him disobey.”
“You should tell Tarvin. I’m sure they have a procedure for curing that. How long have you had Rusty?”