“You don’t have to hold up the wall,” Heather commented with a gentle smile, brushing a long strand of mahogany-brown hair behind her ear. “Feel free to sit wherever you can find a free space, although it looks like you may have to move something to find a seat. I usually have a rule about putting away toys before new ones get taken out, but I’m being a little lax today, since it’s Christmas.”
He smiled and nodded to acknowledge her offer, but he was too fidgety to sit down just yet. Besides, standing gave him a better view of the kids. There was nothing like the sight and sound of jubilant children on Christmas morning to raise a man’s spirits.
Crumpled wads of bright-colored Christmas wrap, now ripped and forgotten, lay balled underneath the glittering tree. Heather’s three foster children were busy with their new toys. The boys, nine-year-old Jacob and three-year-old Henry, played together, pushing their shiny cast-model race cars around a plastic track. Seven-year-old Missy held a new doll in the curve of her arm and mimicked Heather’s sounds and movements as she held Noelle. It was a heartwarming sight, especially since just yesterday he’d imagined he’d spend the day as a lonely bachelor.
What a difference a day could make. Here he was, enveloped in the warmth of a child-filled house. He hadn’t realized just how wonderful it would be after having been alone all these years. It filled his heart with great joy to realize how little it took to make the young ones happy. He needed a little bit more of that innocence in his life. If only adults had the same capacity to give and receive as generously as the youngsters.
Heather hadn’t gone overkill on the number or size of the gifts—whether because she couldn’t or she chose not to, but there was no shortage in the amount of joy she’d given her children in what they had received. It was abundantly clear to anyone observing the scene that she knew each of her foster children intimately and was mindful of what they wanted and needed.
Shawn was envious of that quality in her. He apparently hadn’t been able to anticipate Noelle’s needs at all.
It was a good thing for the baby that he wasn’t going to end up being her permanent foster parent. She would no doubt go to a wonderful home with a foster mother like Heather, who had the knowledge and capacity to care for her. All of her needs would be anticipated and met without Shawn’s doltish stops and starts. She was such a sweet little girl, and he was certain she’d eventually be adopted by a nice Christian family with a mom and a dad who loved each other. Maybe she’d have other siblings to play with and a dog and a cat and a yard with a fence.
All he had to offer was the dog and the cat and the yard and the fence—and pigs and goats and horses and ranch land.
Not good enough. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
He shifted his attention back to Heather, who watched over her brood from an old-fashioned wooden rocking chair laden with colorful floral cushions. She hummed a Christmas carol as she rocked. She had a lovely, rich alto voice that enthralled Shawn as much as it did Noelle, purring through his muscles until he felt thoroughly relaxed and yet completely alert at the same time. It was an odd paradox, but true nonetheless.
To his utter astonishment, he discovered that Noelle, who was contentedly curled in the crook of Heather’s arm, wasn’t asleep as he’d first assumed she must be. Instead, she was staring up at Heather, her chubby fist in her mouth and her eyes just beginning to focus on the woman holding her.
What she wasn’t doing was crying. Not wailing, not squalling, not bawling, not even a whimper.
Go figure.
Shawn was amazed by how quickly Heather had made everything right in the tiny baby’s world. He didn’t know if it was because she was experienced in caring for infants or the fact that she was naturally suited to be a mother. Maybe it was a combination of both, but Noelle responded to Heather in a way that made Shawn feel especially incompetent, a fact which, while impressive, grated against his distinctly male pride. He wanted to do it right, get things done the first time and in an expedient manner—not stumble over his every move.
He watched in awe as the baby took a bottle from Heather without a fuss. Adding insult to injury, Noelle fell asleep while Heather was in the midst of patting her back.
Heather definitely must know some tricks of the trade that he didn’t. Or maybe the tiny tyke was plain old worn-out from her self-appointed task of keeping Shawn awake all night. She had to sleep sometime, right?
Just not on his watch.
Shawn shifted his weight and smothered a yawn behind his fist. The catnap he’d taken was a drop in the bucket after the past twenty-four hours. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d had to stay awake, although there was that. It had been quite a few years since he’d pulled an all-nighter. But there was a great deal more to the fatigue weighing him down—like the stress of being singularly responsible for a tiny human life, completely helpless and dependent upon him.
“You still look thoroughly exhausted,” Heather commented. She tilted her chin and blinked up at him with her big hazel eyes that softly glimmered from the lights of the tree. “I think maybe you need to sleep a little bit longer. There’s no rush, you know. I don’t mind watching the baby this afternoon.”
Caught up in her gaze, Shawn’s stomach did a little flip and he barely stanched the urge to clear the catch out of his throat.
“Jo woke me when she phoned to check on Noelle. I attempted to go back to sleep but my mind started spinning with all that’s been going on and that was the end of my nap. As tired as I am, I don’t think I could sleep any more.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe you should have put your phone on mute.” She smiled, though it looked a bit forced. “Well, in any case, you don’t have to stand in the corner. You look like a hat stand—or else like someone put you in time-out.”
Shawn chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And probably not the last. Seriously—please come sit down on the couch and take a load off. You make me nervous when you hover that way.” Despite her kidding tone, he almost got the sense that she truly was nervous. But that couldn’t be right, could it? What reason would she have to be nervous around him?
“I don’t even mind if you put your feet up on the coffee table—well, the storage bench that serves as the coffee table—either,” she continued. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s what it’s there for.”
“Not for decoration? It’s a nice-looking piece of furniture.” The bench looked as if it fit with the rest of her decor—not that he was any kind of expert on matters of decorating. The padded corners were a little worn, but it exhibited the same lived-in look as her other furnishings. He liked lived-in.
She chuckled. “No fancy furniture in this household. Decorative would last about a day. With three kids running around, functional is the name of the game here.”
He groaned in delight as the plush cushions on the chocolate-colored couch enveloped him like gentle arms. True comfort. Everything about Heather’s house suggested it was the genuine article. Her entire home expressed her heart—and it was all about the children.
Her home was far more comfortable and welcoming than the more perfectly kept, sanitized houses of some of his congregants, where he found himself tiptoeing around, afraid to stand near the furniture, much less sit on it. He felt ill at ease in too-clean houses. As a pastor, visiting his flock was one of his favorite tasks, but as a cowboy who lived and worked on a ranch with horses and goats and pigs, he wasn’t always dust-and dirt-free. Heather certainly didn’t need to apologize for her furniture. He wished everyone kept a house like hers.
She was literally encouraging him to put his feet up.
Sweet!
All he needed now was a cold soft drink and a football game on television—although of course he’d never suggest such a thing. He’d already probably put enough dents into her holiday without bringing sports into it.
“I can’t believe how worn-out I feel,” Shawn said, running a hand across the stubble on his jaw and belatedly
realizing he hadn’t shaved that morning. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t combed his hair before he left, either—and then he’d gone and taken a nap, which could only have served to worsen his already disheveled appearance. He must look like the abominable snowman’s twin brother, and yet Heather hadn’t blinked an eye, not when he’d appeared at the door, and not when he’d shuffled out after his nap. “I don’t know how new parents do it, but I’m certainly too old to try to pull all-nighters anymore.”
Heather raised a brow and huffed a breath through her teeth. “You’re not exactly over the hill. What are you—twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
“Twenty-nine, although at the moment I feel more like I’m sixtysomething. Was it only a few years ago when I was in seminary that I could stay up all night with ease? Seems like forever. Me and my buddies used to get lost in these deep theological debates. They’d last for hours, many times the whole night, and then I would go straight to my classes the next day without so much as a yawn. I studied for finals that way, too. Pulled all-nighters and managed to do well on my tests without much more assistance than a stout cup of coffee or an energy drink to back me up. Now look at me.” He chuckled and hung his head with a dramatic groan. “One night with a baby and I’m as good as gone.”
She laughed. “It might be the stress that’s really taking it out of you, you know. Watching a baby isn’t for the weak of heart. I’ve never been the parent of an infant myself, but I saw plenty of them during my experience as a day-care director. If I don’t miss my guess, all new parents go through this no-sleeping stage, at least to some extent. I remember my first few nights as a foster parent of these three sweethearts—hovering over the kids’ beds when they were sleeping just to check and make sure they were all breathing. I was hypervigilant for the entire first month, I think. And my kids aren’t even infants.”
Shawn groaned and shoved his fingers through his hair. He appreciated the way Heather was trying to make him feel better, but he still believed he’d epically failed in something that up until last night he’d simply and erroneously assumed was easy. He apparently lacked the entire skill set for being a father. “Thankfully, I’m not a real parent yet. I always thought I’d have a family someday, of course, but now I’ve got to admit I’m questioning how smart that would be. I’m not sure I can handle this daddy business. Unless maybe it’s different when it’s your own kid.”
Heather shrugged and dropped her gaze from his, but he thought he detected sadness in her gaze before she looked away. “I wouldn’t know. It might be. Do you regret agreeing to care for Noelle through the holiday?”
Regret? No, that wasn’t the word he would use to describe what he was feeling about fostering Noelle.
Heather’s soft-spoken question jarred him to the core. Despite the lack of sleep, Shawn’s heart went out to baby Noelle in a way he couldn’t even explain. He believed God had His hand in placing Noelle in the manger at his little chapel instead of at the police station or firehouse. Sure, he missed the sleep he would have gotten. But the regret would be a hundred times stronger if he hadn’t made the choice to take the baby in.
He shook his head. “No. I’m glad for the opportunity. And I do believe God put Noelle into my life for a reason. I won’t soon forget her. She’s stolen a piece of my heart. If nothing else comes of this, the experience will give me a better pastoral understanding for new parents in my little parish.”
Shawn didn’t miss the way her jaw ticked when he mentioned God. He had a feeling there was a reason why she didn’t attend church, but even though he was curious, now was hardly the time to press her on the issue. She was virtually a stranger to him, and yet she’d opened up her home and her holiday to him, and even more important, to Noelle. She had a good heart and acted on her kindness.
She brushed a kiss across the baby’s forehead. “I think you’re right about her making a difference in people’s lives. She’s affected me as well, the little dear. I just hope Noelle’s mother finds the help she needs. Whatever circumstances led her to giving up her baby, she has to be hurting right now.”
“I’ve been praying for her nonstop,” Shawn agreed. “We may not know where she is, but God does. He can help her in ways we never could.”
There was that tic again, only this time Heather narrowed her eyes on him. She was clearly scrutinizing him, but for what? What did she think she was going to see in his gaze?
Suddenly uncomfortable, he started to get to his feet, but Heather beat him to it, covering the distance between them in two steps and sliding Noelle into his arms. “I think she’s going to sleep for a while, especially since she was so restless last night. If you can hold the baby and keep an eye on the kiddos for me, I’ll go see if I can get our supper ready. The ham is probably done but I’ve got some side dishes to finish. In the meantime, let me pull out some appetizers. I’ve got a veggie snack tray and ranch dip in the refrigerator, or I can put together tortilla chips and some salsa if you’d prefer.”
Her queries were coming a mile a minute and though Shawn repeatedly tried to answer her rapid-fire questions, he couldn’t get a word in edgewise. She appeared to be trembling—both physically and emotionally. He didn’t have a clue what had caused this sudden alteration in her mood. Was it something he’d said?
If Heather was flustered, Shawn was now doubly so. All his pastoral training deserted him in a flash. Something about Heather set him off-kilter in a way visiting with his parishioners and hanging out with his neighbors normally did not.
He shifted Noelle so she rested on his shoulder, careful to keep a hand curled around her neck to give her extra support. Silently he took a mental step backward and scanned his recent conversation with Heather, filtering it for clues as to where he’d gone wrong. Somewhere along the way they’d taken a detour.
His reference to the Almighty was bothering her—of that much he was certain. Beyond that, he couldn’t say, although he sensed it was more than just the one thing that had gotten her so upset. He made a mental note to back off speaking about anything religious for now, although he acknowledged that was going to be difficult for him to do.
It wasn’t so much that he was a preacher with the deep desire to press his religion on everyone. The only truth he wanted to preach was how he lived his life. That was his faith message, much more so than the words he spoke. His real problem was that since he didn’t have a family, his pastorate pretty much summed up his life. Try making nonreligious conversation over that. He didn’t even have any notable hobbies to speak of, other than his ranch and the animals he kept, and he doubted the ins and outs of his pig-breeding program would interest her.
He belatedly realized she’d suddenly stopped hammering him with questions and glanced up to see her waiting with an expectant look on her face, one fist propped on the delicate curve of her hip as she waited for his response.
He cleared his throat and stared back up at her. He was absolutely lost. Heat started at the tips of his toes and crept all the way up to his ears. What had she been talking about?
Oh, yeah. Right. Food. Appetizers. Vegetables or chips.
“Either one would be fine,” he answered, stammering over his words. “Whatever works for you works for me. I’m easy. When I was a kid, my mama used to say I’d eat anything as long as it wasn’t moving.”
She chuckled. “Well, I think I can promise you that.”
He swallowed, knowing he needed to acknowledge her teasing, but his amusement had dissipated the moment his mother’s face flashed through his mind. Regret stabbed his gut, thinking of his mom—his dad.
And David.
Holidays were especially difficult for him, but he didn’t like to dwell on it. He pressed the blackened, charred ruins of his family memories to the back of his thoughts and forced a smile for Heather’s sake. “Whatever you and the kids would rather have.”
She nodded crisply. “I’ll put the vegetable tray out, then. The kids all like the carrot sticks. Would you like me to turn a game on
the television while you wait? I’ll try not to turn the volume up too much so it doesn’t wake Noelle, but I definitely want to hear what’s happening, especially with the Texas game. I’m a die-hard Longhorn fan.”
“You like college football?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “I’ve been a fan since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”
Shawn didn’t know why it shocked him to discover that about her, but it did. It wasn’t as if Heather was the first woman who’d expressed an interest in football. He’d been to countless Super Bowl parties in mixed company. But Heather’s voice held an excited, nearly fanatic died-in-the-wool tone, and he sensed a kindred spirit, college-football wise.
“I’m a Baylor fan, myself.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll forgive you this once. But only because I’m feeling especially generous, today being Christmas and all.”
They shared a laugh. Shawn felt better, and for the briefest moment, the tension in Heather’s expression dissolved. He caught a glimpse of the true beauty in the woman, which until that moment had been hidden behind the mask of whatever burdens she silently carried. He didn’t know what troubled her, but he knew those burdens were there. His breath caught as her hazel eyes, green irises shadowed with flames of burnt orange, locked with his. Her gaze shifted, turning anxious, and then he saw it all—those things of which she had not spoken.
Love. Loss. Pain.
His throat bobbed as he searched for words of comfort, anything to let her know that he got it. He might not know the details, but he didn’t have to know what or who had hurt her to sympathize with her.
But before he could speak, the doorbell rang.
*
Heather’s breath returned with a fevered gasp as the peal of the doorbell severed the magnetic draw of Shawn’s gaze. Her adrenaline-shocked pulse hammered relentlessly as waves of panic washed through her. She closed her eyes and concentrated on evening out her breathing. Meanwhile, she fought the anger and resentment that rose to the surface, unwanted and uninvited, knowing stress would only make her reaction more pronounced. Fighting the anger, at the circumstances and at herself, was hard. She hated that she had no control over when and how these episodes occurred. Her panic attacks weren’t always rational, nor were they necessarily based entirely on emotion. Sometimes they just appeared out of nowhere, for no good reason whatsoever. She’d been warned it might happen, yet she still couldn’t get used to having such strong physical responses she couldn’t control.
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for ChristmasHer Montana ChristmasAn Amish Christmas JourneyYuletide Baby Page 64