Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  “It looks like a lot more,” her father said as if reading her mind.

  Kate’s throat constricted at the concern in his eyes—all for her. He hadn’t said it outright, but she suspected that it was debt from her mother’s medical care combined with Kate’s college that had stressed her father’s finances. Even before his retirement plan took a huge hit. Now he’d lost his job, his house. And a grandson. How do I tell you this, Daddy?

  “Well . . .” Her father gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll feel better after I feed you. The kitchen’s pretty well packed into boxes, but I have a couple of plates, forks, and a chicken in the slow cooker. The way your mom did it, with a can of mushroom soup.” He rose to his feet. “The rice is only the kind you heat in the microwave and we might need to use paper towels for napkins, but—”

  “Wait.” Kate caught his hand as he turned toward the kitchen. “Can we just have tea right now? I need to talk with you about something, Dad.”

  The look in his eyes said he’d been expecting it. There was no backing down now.

  Kate hugged the pillow close, heard the water in the kitchen, the dings of the microwave. Grace . . . an undeserved gift. Please help me find the words, God.

  Her dad returned, handing her the daisy mug, the one she’d left behind all those years ago.

  “When you came to Texas,” she began as he settled beside her on the couch, “I told you I wouldn’t talk about the year I was gone, that I couldn’t. But I need to now.” She met his gaze. “I should have told you this a long time ago. Maybe it would have changed some things. I don’t know. I only know that I want things to change now. Between us and in my life.”

  He took the mug from her trembling hands, waited.

  Kate closed her eyes. “There was this man in Las Vegas, a manager at a casino. He said I was too young to work there, but that he and his wife needed a nanny for their children. They let me stay with them, drive their cars . . . even made me a birthday cake. I thought it was all good. But then his wife went away for the weekend, and—” She shivered.

  “Kate . . .” Her father reached for her hand. “I’m listening. It’s okay.”

  She met his eyes and forced herself to continue. “He drugged me, I guess. I only remember feeling sick. And crying. Begging him to please let me go home. Nothing after that.”

  Her father’s jaw clenched.

  “Dad . . .” Kate took hold of his hands, captured his gaze. “I had a baby. I couldn’t even let myself believe I was pregnant . . . and then I was in labor. I didn’t get to a hospital in time.” Her father’s face blurred through her tears. “I was s-so scared. It was dark. And I was alone. So alone. And then there he was—this tiny little boy. I panicked.” Tears began streaming down her face. “So I wrapped him up and left him at the fire department. I rang the bell and ran away. I hid behind a car until I saw someone take him.” A sob tore loose from Kate’s throat, but she kept the connection with her father’s eyes. He had to understand. “I took him there . . . so he’d be okay . . . safe.”

  “Dear God . . . Oh, Katy . . .”

  In an instant, her father’s arms were around her, warm, strong, holding her like he’d never let go. She burrowed her chin into the hollow of his neck, her cheeks wet with tears—whether they were hers or his, she didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to stop her trembling. “I’m so, so sorry. You said you wanted grandchildren. I took that from you. I—”

  “Wait,” he said, grasping her shoulders and leaning back. “All that matters now is that you’re here—that I still have you.” He stroked her hair gently. “I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything. I feel like . . .” His voice choked. “I’ve finally found a missing part of my heart.”

  Kate couldn’t speak. She could only nod and settle into her father’s arms again. He gently rocked her, and soul-soothing peace came at last.

  - + -

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay here?” Matt smiled as Kate used a fingertip to nudge rice onto her fork the same way her mother used to do. He shifted the Bible under his arm, finding it hard to believe that an hour had passed. He wanted time to slow down. “I’d skip tonight, but there’s a young man I’m sponsoring and he’s been through some tough things this week.”

  “Go.” The empathy in Kate’s eyes melted his heart. “I’m good, I promise. Full of chicken and tired enough to sleep for a week. Between the time difference and not sleeping last night . . .” A yawn swallowed her smile. “Go.”

  “Okay.” He watched her for a moment, almost afraid that if he left, she’d be gone again. But he knew that wasn’t true. So many things had changed for Kate, giving far deeper meaning to her “I’m good” quip. She’d told him she prayed last night. And that it was what led her here today. “Good” couldn’t begin to describe that; Matt knew it only too well. But the peace in her eyes said it all. Or almost all.

  Matt had a feeling there was something else she hadn’t told him, something less momentous, but that it weighed on her heart. An unspoken sadness. He wouldn’t intrude. She planned to stay through Thanksgiving. It might be Chinese food on paper plates, but there would be time to talk. And to listen. One step at a time.

  “There’s a blanket in the hall closet if you want to curl up on the couch.” He fished his keys from his pocket. “And a fresh pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream.” He smiled at her raised brows. “Can’t give up everything.”

  He told her he’d be back by nine and headed out the door. The streetlights were on, a welcoming glow in the darkness. He smiled to himself, thinking that for the first time in so very long, Happy Hollow Lane’s name actually suited—

  “Mr. Callison?”

  Matt heard a car door close. Watched as a man strode past the nearest streetlamp and began heading his way. Tall, broad-shouldered. It couldn’t be, but he looked like—

  “It’s Wes Tanner, sir.”

  “UH . . . THANKS,” Wes managed as Kate shooed her father back down the porch, then led him into the living room. He’d blame his suddenly weak legs on the cramped flight from Texas, but it was relief, plain and simple. And deep gratitude. The last time they’d been together, Kate had sent him out the door; this was a second chance. It felt more important than anything he’d known. If only he could somehow unscramble his brain, find the words he’d come to say. Please, Lord . . .

  “Thank you,” he repeated as she settled into a corner of the pillow-back couch, leaving him more room than he needed. Or wanted. His gaze did a quick sweep of the room, taking in the packing boxes, a paint tray, and stripped-bare walls, all at odds with a mantel packed like an overbooked jetliner with framed family photos. Evidence of a man holding tight to what was important; Wes understood that, absolutely.

  “I can’t believe you came all this way.” Kate’s voice was soft. She’d pulled a pillow into her lap, fingers kneading the plush fabric. She looked exhausted, bruised. Still beautiful but different somehow. Her dark eyes held his. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Lauren. At least she told me you’d gone to see your dad. She didn’t have the address, but I knew it was Sunnyvale.” He wished his heartbeat would stop hammering the side of his neck. “I remembered you saying it was Happy Hollow Lane. Followed a map. It’s a small cul-de-sac, and I’d seen your father’s car in Texas, so . . .” He shrugged, attempted a smile. “I find people; it’s what I do.”

  “Yes. It is.” Kate’s fingers plucked at the pillow, her expression still so unreadable. She glanced toward the kitchen. “I could get some tea. Or water or—”

  “No,” he interrupted, despite the fact that his mouth had never been drier. “Don’t get up—don’t go. I came out here because I need to talk to you, Kate.” He cleared his throat. “I hate the way we left things between us—I mean, the way I left it. I hate that I left at all that day. I know you asked me to, but I shouldn’t have gone.”

  Compassion he didn’t deserve filled her eyes. “I’m sure it was hard to hear what I told you.”

  �
��Not nearly as hard as it was for you, Kate. Awful when it happened and all these years since. Then these past weeks, with the Baby Doe incident at the hospital. And now Harley. And Sunni . . .”

  Kate said nothing, but her eyes shimmered with tears.

  “On top of that,” he continued, “you get saddled with a jerk who spouts off about having faith but still can’t get a grip on forgiveness. As if people’s decisions . . . mistakes . . . can be looked at like an engineering plan. Black-and-white, good and bad. Or—” Wes swallowed—“as if they can even be fully understood by anyone but God himself.”

  Kate nodded. And there it was again, the sense that something was different about her. Peaceful somehow.

  “I’m ashamed,” he told her. “I’ve had things wrong for so long.”

  “Are you talking about your mother?”

  He nodded. “After you left, I spoke with my dad, finally talked with him about that night. He said . . .” Wes cleared his throat. “He said he spent a lot of years being confused and angry. But now he remembers the good things. He said good memories are God’s mercy, that they give us hope. And not having hope is ‘the worst kind of lost.’”

  - + -

  Kate swallowed hard, feeling Wes’s pain—his discovery—as deeply as her own. “Your father’s right. I’ve been running away all these years, trying to find something I knew was missing. But I carried all my mistakes with me, telling myself I didn’t deserve real happiness.” She summoned a grim smile. “Bad road. No map.”

  He smiled back at her, the understanding in his blue eyes making her heart ache.

  “Last night,” she continued, “I ended up in a hotel room in Dallas. I had no idea where I was going from there. I’d never felt so alone in my life. And then I saw Sunni Sprague’s parents on the news this morning. You could feel their heartbreak. But Sunni’s mother said something about . . . me.” Kate shook her head, feeling goose bumps rise. “She said they believe my finding Sunni was God’s plan. It stunned me. I switched off the TV and sat there for the longest time. Thinking about everything that’s happened. All of it. I told myself it could have been my father on the news. My bones instead of Sunni’s.”

  Somehow Wes had taken hold of her hand. His warmth spread through her.

  Kate cleared her throat. “I thought about Ava Smith and Trista, your mother . . . and me. And then I knew—felt it so deeply—that we’d all done those tragic things out of desperation. Bad mistakes, but not bad people. I thought about what you told me about grace.” She felt a tear slide down her face, though she’d begun to smile. “So I closed my eyes and I prayed, Wes. This woman who stuffed a cross in her closet, talking with God. Can you imagine?”

  He nodded, tears in his eyes, and drew her hand to his chest. “And you came home,” he said, his voice husky and low. “To talk with your father about what happened to you.” Pain flickered across his face. “I’m so sorry that you were hurt like that. I’m sorry I did all the wrong things when you had the courage to tell me. I should have been there—”

  “Shhh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “You’re here now.”

  “I want to be,” he said, his expression raw and vulnerable. “Not just for now. I want us to have a chance at a lot more. I want you with me, Kate.”

  She smiled. “I sort of guessed that. Tracking me down. Jumping on a jet . . . Taking that risk with the security checkpoint.”

  “Huh?”

  “That UT belt buckle.” She laughed. “Big belt buckles, big trucks, tortilla chips shaped like your state. Texans! Why I’d want to live there . . .”

  “But you do.” He nestled her face against his palm, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You’re coming back.”

  She tipped her head, snuggling into his touch. “I have to—I left my car at the Dallas–Fort Worth airport.”

  His lips brushed her bruised cheek very gently. “And . . . ?”

  “And I promised to go to bat for my triage nurse.”

  He groaned, his lips on her forehead. “And . . . ?”

  She smiled, warmth flooding through her. “And I want to be with you, Wes.”

  “There . . .” Wes leaned back, still cradling her face in his hands. “Now there’s my brown-eyed girl.”

  “Yes.”

  He bent low to brush her lips lightly with his. Then grabbed the pillow from her lap and tossed it to the floor. “Better.” He tucked his fingers under her chin and kissed her more thoroughly.

  “Much better.” Kate wound her arms around his neck, returning his kiss.

  His arms moved around her, careful of her ribs but bringing her closer. Closer still, until she could feel his heart beating against her. His strong arms held her securely there. As if he was thinking just what she was: that it was a flat-out miracle they’d found each other, and they weren’t ever letting go.

  - + -

  Matt smiled at the young couple on his old couch. He’d returned from his meeting to find Kate rosy cheeked and chattering, her eyes filled with something that looked every bit like love—even if she didn’t know it yet. And Wes, though respectful as always, couldn’t take his eyes off Kate. It seemed like only yesterday Matt had felt that new and hopeful in his life with Juliana. He envied them a little bit, but his gratitude overshadowed it by far.

  “So,” he said with all the seriousness he could muster, “you’re saying you don’t think a Chinese Thanksgiving is such a great idea? We could go Mexican . . .”

  “Uh . . .” Wes looked at Kate.

  Her eyes shone. “We were thinking more along the lines of hickory-smoked turkey, corn-bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, pecan pie, sweet tea . . .”

  “Ah.” A lump rose in Matt’s throat, though he wasn’t at all surprised. She was leaving him already. “Let me guess. At a wooden table under a big tree and a Texas sunset?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wes slid his arm around Kate’s shoulders. “Is that all right? We checked the flights and it’s doable.”

  “Of course.” Matt nodded.

  “Thanks, Daddy. Then there’s only one other thing we need to know.” Kate nudged Wes with an elbow.

  “Right,” he agreed. “What size jersey do you wear, Matt?”

  “Jersey?”

  “Football.” Kate rose from the couch, walked over to where Matt stood. She blinked up at him, eyes teasing. “Team Tanner. There’s always a game on Thanksgiving Day. You’re invited.”

  “I . . .” Matt glanced around his living room full of half-packed boxes, remembering the feeling of linking hands at that table in Austin. The next job interview wasn’t for another week. “Great—terrific.” He grinned, warmth spreading through him. “I accept.”

  Wes strode forward and offered his hand to seal the deal.

  “Thank you,” Matt told him, responding in kind to the firm handshake. “I appreciate your including me. It’s been a while since I shared a turkey dinner with my daughter. And I have a lot to be thankful for this year.”

  - + -

  “We all do,” Kate said, leaning against her father. She glanced between the two men, not sure her heart would hold the sudden rush of feelings. Then she winked at Wes. “Should we break it to him?”

  “What?” Her father feigned a wary glance.

  “The seating arrangement.” A slow grin spread across Wes’s face. “You’ll be sitting next to Nancy Rae.”

  “Nancy?” Matt raised a suspicious brow. “Eligible widow, I suppose.”

  Kate bit into her lip, a spasm of laughter bringing tears to her eyes.

  “What?” her father asked again. “Tell a man before he straps himself into a plane.”

  “C’mon.” Kate pointed toward the kitchen. “If there was ever a Chunky Monkey moment, this is it.” She took hold of her father’s hand. “Just remember that no matter what, I do love you, Daddy.”

  “That’s good to know,” he told her, giving her fingers a squeeze. “I’ve got plenty of ice cream, but I’m not sure about the bowls and spoons.”

  “I�
�m not worried.” She smiled at Wes. “I think we have all the right stuff.”

  MAY

  “You’re not interrupting. The party’s winding down.” Kate ducked under a pecan branch while holding the phone to her ear. The Tanners’ resident squirrel chattered somewhere above, adding his voice to a medley of laughter and distant strains of Taylor Swift. With the temperature in the high eighties and the trees in bloom, the air was as humid and fragrant as a greenhouse. “Although as long as there’s still cake, Dylan won’t be calling it quits.”

  Lauren laughed. “I love it that Miranda threw an adoption party. Harley must be holding court like a princess.”

  “Wait till you see the photos. Her little sundress matches Molly’s—hot-pink roses on robin’s egg blue, ordered from Lilly Pulitzer. They both have pom-pom sandals. And the cake frosting is done in the same colors.”

  “Grammy Judith. No one would doubt she’d throw herself into that project. Heart and soul.” Lauren’s tongue clucked. “The same way you’ve been making things happen at Austin Grace. I saw the article in the Statesman about Sunni’s memorial nursing scholarship. I know you got that ball rolling."

  “It was a team effort. And now that the FBI has connected her murder to that medical-supply salesman they arrested in Atlanta . . .”

  “It’s like a sad chapter is finally closing,” Lauren finished. “For you, too, Kate. Working on the new educational workshops for Safe Haven providers—that has to feel so good.” The compassion in her voice wrapped Kate like a hug.

  “It does,” Kate agreed, grateful again she was no longer hiding from her own painful past. “I’m going to do everything I can to protect babies. And to keep women from making tragic mistakes that will destroy their own lives as well.” She sighed. “Ava Smith is out there somewhere. And even if she knows the autopsy report showed her son died before birth, she won’t believe she’s worthy of forgiveness for abandoning him. If sharing my story helps someone like her, I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”