“Neither of which are bad things, El.” Liza laughed. “And the way Dan cooks, you have no fears, believe me.” Her expression sobered. “Dan’s not a male chauvinist. He sees your abilities. He wouldn’t ask you to be less or more than you are.”
“Now. But if I let our friendship progress, he’d stop seeing that and instead see his loss. Dan’s a hero, right through to his marrow, and that means protecting the woman he loves. It can’t be me.”
“Hogwash.”
Ellie blinked at Liza’s response.
“Dan’s not asking you to quit your job, nor would he. I think you need to give him another chance.”
“He didn’t have a first chance, Liza. He’s not interested.”
Liza smirked. “Oh, really? Would you be willing to put that theory to the test?”
Ellie felt like she’d been sweet-talked into a land deal in the Florida Everglades. She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not interested in getting my heart carved out here.”
Liza rolled her eyes. “Will you just trust me?”
Ellie wrinkled her face. “I’m not sure. Are you trustworthy?”
Liza gave a mock sigh. “I set up Joe and Mona, and now they’re living happily ever after. And Noah and Anne hung out at the Footstep of Heaven while they figured out they should tie the knot. Surely you’ll trust me when I tell you I think you and Dan are a perfect match.”
“There’s no match, Liza,” Ellie countered, but the smallest ember of hope had burst to life in her heart.
“We’ll see. So, here’s a question, and of course it’s just hypothetical.” Liza steered them toward a picnic table. She sat down opposite Ellie. “If you fell in love with the right guy, would you give it up? stop fighting fire? change professions?”
Ellie appreciated Liza’s bluntness but looked away anyway. Across the street, the local dime store had set out a rack of out-of-season summer clothes. They flapped in the cool breeze. The smell of smoked fish from Mack’s Smoked Fish Stand laced the air. Her stomach jumped to attention. “No. I can’t. I . . . have to do this.”
Liza folded her hands on the table. “Why? What is so important? I mean, yes, I can’t imagine doing anything other than throwing clay, but if I met the right man, I might consider surrendering it. Especially if God gave us a family.”
Ellie sighed. How to explain to Liza how the legacy of firefighting drove her, how she had made unspoken promises one blistered day in Colorado? “I guess it’s in my blood, that’s all. I have a desire to do something with my life, something that makes a difference. And for me, this work matters. At least I hope so.”
Not far away, an American flag snapped in the wind.
“Do you fear that it doesn’t matter?”
Ellie hid a wince. She considered Liza, wondering at the tinsel strength of their new friendship. “Maybe. I have to admit there are moments, times when I lie awake at night wondering what would happen if I rang the bell tomorrow. Gave up. Picked another profession, like teaching or maybe investigation. But . . . I’ve been fighting fires all my life.” She ran the strap of the leash through her fingers. “If I gave it up now, I’d lose everything.”
Liza reached across the table, took her hand. “Hardly. You wouldn’t lose one second of those fifteen years. Not one. You’ve saved lives and made a difference. And every second you spent doing that matters. Nothing we do with God is wasted.”
Ellie’s face twitched. “I’m not sure. Why is it that people spend their entire lives trying to help other people?”
“Depends on the person. A Christian works from totally different motives than a non-Christian. One of the bad reasons is to try and earn special favor from God. Like a barter system. We can’t earn God’s grace or His forgiveness. You should ask Mona about that. She’s shared her testimony a few times, but the gist of it is that she went looking for God’s forgiveness, and it was already there.”
Liza’s words resonated deep in Ellie’s heart. She knew all about wanting to earn God’s forgiveness, longing to embrace it, and knowing she didn’t deserve it. But somehow her question felt deeper. “For the person who is already . . . um . . . forgiven. Why then? I mean, if we can’t earn God’s love, if it’s already there, why does a person like Dan spend his entire life in ministry?
“Or her entire life fighting fires and rescuing people?”
Ellie gave a huff of agreement. Liza squeezed her hand. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think it has to do with the great thorn in the flesh.”
“The what?”
“Paul’s great thorn. You know the apostle Paul had a thorn of weakness, something that made his ministry difficult. Three times he asked God to take it away. And God answered, ‘My gracious favor is all you need. My power works best in your weakness.’ See, God promises that when we are weak, He’ll fill in the gaps. Our ‘work’ for Him is the perfect way to see Him at work in our lives. He gives us a task to do, but without Him, we can’t complete it. God amazes us with His grace, and in that act, we draw closer to Him. It’s what Dan’s been preaching about—John 15. We have to abide with Christ to accomplish anything of worth in this life. Without Him, our work means nothing.”
Ellie couldn’t look at Liza and the keen intensity in her eyes. Oh, she remembered the verse . . . in fact the part about the useless branches being cut off, gathered into the fire, and burned had seared her mind late into the night. She couldn’t escape the feeling that, despite her outward activities, she was a “stripped for burning” branch.
Liza continued, “I think our work for God actually helps us love Him more, abide with Him more. The more we seek to serve Him, the more we need Him. It’s a circle of joy. And that makes our work for Him worth the sacrifices we make.”
Ellie managed a weak nod. She couldn’t embrace all of Liza’s words, but she recognized tidbits she might ponder while alone and staring at the sunset. “I’m probably just tired. I’ve been keeping some late hours.”
Liza nodded, but her dark eyes seemed to look right through Ellie, and in them Ellie recognized argument. “I know what you need,” Liza said, her posture changing, her expression turning sly.
“I almost hate to ask.” Ellie took her first full breath since sitting down.
Liza grinned and her eyes sparkled. “A party. C’mon; it’s time to put your theories about our pastor to the test. In fact, let’s call it a dare.”
13
Can you catch the door, Dan?” Marnie Blouder hollered from the fellowship hall in the basement of the church, jerking Dan out of his daydream. Again, trapped by Ellie.
He hadn’t seen her in nearly a week, yet every day she tangled his thoughts into knots of regret. Yes, he cared for her. More than he should. He should have run after her last Tuesday night after her encounter with Mitch the Brute. Should have thrown open her door or at least banged on it. But the stoic pastor in him grabbed him by the throat and death-locked him in indecision, hesitant to risk offense.
Where was the man who had broken free of his stoic exterior and chased after Ellie at the hockey rink? or yelled at her over the radio at the Garden fire, desperation in his voice?
He tried not to think about how he’d sat outside her door and heard her muffled sobs or the haunting sound of her playing some classical music, telling him just how much she hurt.
He’d sat awake more than once over the past week, listening to the waves, thinking about the moment when he should have—
“Dan! The door!” Marnie appeared in the foyer, looking exasperated and one thread away from unraveling. Her gray hair had uncurled from its hair combs, and her round, lined face held the last fragments of patience.
“Sorry.” Dan headed toward the entrance doors and opened them for the catering crew. The breeze filtered in along with the smell of barbeque. He saw Guthrie Jones unloading the white van. The man looked tired today. Dan had heard he struggled with some ongoing disease, but he’d never learned the details. Whatever it was, it had Guthrie looking pale and drawn. Dan only knew him throug
h Cindy Simmons, but he guessed his sister’s injury weighed on him. Last reports had Cindy still on the critical list at the burn unit.
Earlier in the week, Dan had visited the two Simmons boys, who had been upgraded to stable and moved to the pediatric ward. They, along with their sister, Angelica, comprised the entire patient count in the pediatric department, but until they located a foster family, the hospital had agreed to keep them admitted. However, the day loomed when Angelica and her brothers would need a family to care for them until their mother recovered. Dan spent most of his free time worrying about whom to ask. In the small town, few people had the resources to feed and keep three small children.
“Let me help you there, Guthrie,” Dan said. Guthrie breezed past him, holding a tray of steaming barbeque meat, and didn’t spare Dan a glance. Dan stared after him, wondering what he’d done to miff the boy.
Two more caterers, dressed in Smoky Joe jackets and carrying potato salad and rolls, followed Guthrie down to the fellowship hall. The smell of dinner curled up from the basement, tugging at Dan. While he stood in the vestibule acting like a bellhop, he noticed the van from the Garden roll in with Ruby at the wheel. Right behind them came Joe and Mona and a trail of other cars.
Lord, please let this night be a success. Grace Church had agreed to host the fund-raiser to help with the cost of repairs on the Garden lodge, paying for the buffet out of the benevolence fund. With Joe Michaels raffling off a set of his Jonah series books, Liza donating a place setting of her new design, and a host of other businesses offering goods or services, Dan hoped the Garden would easily reach its goal of five thousand dollars. It turned him inside out to see the hope-filled faces of the Garden residents as they filed in. Gabe, Joe’s little brother, gave Dan a teary hug.
Now why couldn’t Dan be more like Gabe? The man wore his feelings on the outside of his body and without fear. Just being around Gabe felt like hanging around sunshine—even when Gabe wore his trademark Michaels stubbornness. The man treated people like gifts . . . and wasn’t afraid to show it.
Not Dan. The second someone got too close—specifically, someone with tawny brown braids, stormy blue eyes, and a smile that could rattle a man clear down to his bones—he tucked away his feelings and donned his pastor garb. Slow, steady, reliable Dan. The town safety net. Except—hadn’t he shown his feelings at least twice around Ellie? Hadn’t he barked at her when she’d bolted toward the burning house and chased after her when she’d marched out of the hockey rink? Or even further back, nearly a month ago, hadn’t he declared the feelings bubbling through his heart before they’d had a chance to harden? Are you a dream?
He wondered now if his heart and mouth hadn’t reacted to something his brain was only now realizing. If so, he’d better figure out a way to push his feelings to the surface. It wouldn’t take the rest of the single males on the volunteer force long to figure out that Ellie Karlson was just about the best thing to ever happen to this town.
Dan trod downstairs with the rest of the crew. The long Sunday school tables ringed the room, in half-moons facing the front like stadium seating. A podium, decorated in balloons and a spray of pumpkins, gourds, and dried chrysanthemums, betrayed Mona’s touch. Dan spotted her talking with Edith Draper. Mona still looked drawn, her cheeks gaunt, grief written in her eyes. She caught Dan’s eye and smiled. It seemed more polite than happy, and Dan returned it in kind.
He wished he could walk through this darkness with Mona and Joe. He’d visited Mona twice since the miscarriage, but although she was on her feet and tending the shop, her smile felt forced at best. Joe had mentioned she spent long hours in her room, curled on their bed, sobs leaking out from under the door.
Dan still hadn’t found the right words to comfort them.
He made his way over to Edith, who was stacking paper plates onto the buffet table. “We’ve decided we can do without fancy tonight, Pastor,” she said in way of greeting. “Less to clean up.”
Edith Draper, town organizer, woman extraordinaire to the rescue. She’d invited Mona to this town two years ago, and the year after that, her niece Anne, who’d found true love with camp director Noah Standing Bear on the Gunflint Trail. “How are Noah and Anne?” he asked, ripping open the paper napkin bag and stacking the napkins in baskets.
Edith glowed at the mention of her niece. “I can’t believe they’re getting married next month. I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. And I haven’t been down to Minneapolis in nearly a year. I can’t wait to see my sister. She’s still working at the homeless shelter she and her dear husband ran all those years.” She shook her head. “I told her she needs to quit and move up here. I just hate to see her all alone.”
Dan laughed. “Edith, if anyone can talk her into it, you can.”
She shot him a quizzical look as he turned and went into the kitchen to retrieve the silverware.
The increasing murmur of voices told him guests had begun to fill the basement. He heard deep groans, saw Bruce Schultz holding court by the windows, probably telling the story of the Garden fire. Memory flared, and Dan saw Ellie, the hot breath from the blaze pushing back her hair, her face blackened, her eyes fierce when she looked up and spied him on the roof one second after he’d told her to halt. The vulnerability and shock in that expression still rocked him.
With a whoosh, it all made sense, and he knew why she wanted to give up. Why she couldn’t believe he’d want to be her friend. Why she fought so hard for respect. He slowly put down the package of forks.
She didn’t think anyone cared.
The woman had come to this town alone. And so far, no one had gotten close enough to her to make a difference. To make her hesitate before she ran into a fire.
He wanted to rewind time, to see himself pound on her closed door, no, force it open, take her into his arms, and show her how much he . . . cared.
Oh, he cared all right. So much so that daydreams of her intruded into his sermon preparation, into his hockey games as he ricocheted shots off the goal pipes, and into his thoughts as he lay awake staring at the ceiling. Even into his food preparation—would she like bacon on her omelette?
“Dan! Can you bring me that silverware?” Edith’s presence, standing with her hands on her polyester-clad hips, exploded into his thoughts. He managed a grim smile and shuffled out to the hall.
Next time he saw Ellie he wasn’t going to let her slam the door in his face. . . . Oh no, he was going to—
“Hi, Dan.”
He turned and went weak. Ellie smiled at him, looking sweet and even a touch shy, and why not? She wore a very, very unmasculine black dress with a burnt yellow sweater and the slightest edging of fear in her beautiful eyes. Her hair lay unbraided around her neck, framing her face. He nearly lifted his hand to touch it. But this . . . lady . . . wasn’t really Ellie, was she? This woman smelled like sweet apple blossoms and had not a hint of smoke in her wake.
Unless he considered the air between them. He felt himself turning red, as if she could read his thoughts and the way he wanted to grab her hand and escape to some quiet place, away from prying eyes and expectations. He’d spread out for them a blanket underneath the stars in a spot overlooking the lake and stay there. Forever. No fire chief. No pastor.
Just Dan and Ellie. Starting over. This time without stereotypes, without expectations. With emotional honesty. “You look . . . beautiful.”
She sparkled. “Well, it just shows that I can use a bar of soap.”
And how. He managed to grab his voice just as it was about to flee. “Yeah. Hmm . . .” Okay, so that wasn’t really his voice. More like sounds of delight. He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to . . . go for a walk with me . . . after this?”
He nearly danced through the fellowship hall when she nodded.
Ellie wavered between wanting to crawl under the table, hightail it home, or enjoy the way Dan kept sending warm smiles in her direction. She felt like an idiot. Why had she allowed Liza to talk her into wea
ring this outfit? It wasn’t as if she didn’t own at least three work suits. If she wanted to get dressed up, a smart navy blazer over wool gabardine pants would have done the trick.
But no, Liza had to dress her in whimsy, take down her hair, and apply makeup—as if she didn’t know how to do it. Well, okay, it wasn’t her SOP in the morning to put on mascara, but that was mostly because, in the heat of a fire, the smoke and soot would send makeup down her face in sweaty trickles.
It felt odd to see Dan light up when she walked into the room. She desperately hoped that it had to do with seeing her and not with the layer of foundation and brown eye shadow. Or perhaps odd wasn’t exactly how she felt. More like warm and fuzzy, with a thrill of adrenaline running up her spine and through her veins.
He’d invited her out for a walk.
She smiled, goofy and large. There she went again, acting like a smitten teenager. She should put a sign on her chest . . . single and desperate. Only, she wasn’t desperate. Had never been. She was perfectly content with her life, thank you very much. She didn’t need a husband to horn in on her time, her goals. She didn’t need a man to tell her what to do or try and get in the way of her job.
Then what was she doing here, picking at her potato salad, watching Dan mingle with his parishioners? He had a natural warmth, a smile for everyone, a handshake, a one-armed hug for the ladies. He exuded a gentleness that made people drop their guard.
At least she had.
Long enough that his friendship had seeped in and filled an empty place she didn’t realize she had. Enough that his absence hurt—no, ached. And enough to climb into a dress and discover whether Dan Do-Right was simply flexing his ministry muscles, or if he truly had a special place in his heart for his new fire chief.
Deep Haven [03] The Perfect Match Page 15