Why had God let this happen? There must be a reason, but Shawn was too numb with horror to think it through.
It was bad enough that he was going to be forced into an impromptu intervention with his father, but he was far more concerned about Heather’s reaction. After all, an alcoholic man had dragged her through the pit. For her to witness his father like this…
Heather rounded the corner between the kitchen and the living room, a polite, slightly strained smile on her lips. “I didn’t realize you were going to have company. I’ll just gather the children and leave.”
Shawn scowled and stepped in front of his father, doing his best to shield Heather from seeing him. “Sounds like a plan. We’ll talk later.”
She wasn’t buying it. Her eyes filled with curiosity, and Shawn knew why. His behavior at the moment wasn’t exactly falling into the normal category as he physically blocked his father from advancing. His heartbeat pounded through his head.
Go, Heather. Please. Just go.
“Shawn?” Heather asked, her voice hesitant. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to stay?”
He met her gaze and was stunned at the strength he found there. Only moments before she’d been practically falling apart as she relayed her own horrific story, cringing away from his touch; but now she was reaching for him, gripping his forearm, offering him the support she somehow sensed he needed.
If only he could make this all go away. The feel of her palm against his skin helped calm the panicked racing of his mind, but even as he straightened out his thoughts, he realized there was no easy way out of this mess.
“Who-sh the young lady?” his father asked with a laugh that made Shawn’s hair stand on end. “Aren’t sha gonna introduce us?”
Shawn’s eyes met Heather’s, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. He hoped she’d understand what he meant and head for the hills.
Don’t get involved. Take the kids and run.
But no. She stepped forward and offered her right hand in greeting. Her jaw was tight but her expression was resolute. She wasn’t backing down.
“I’m Heather Lewis, a friend of Shawn’s. And you are?”
*
Heather didn’t have to wait for the inebriated man’s answer to guess who he was. Shawn’s likeness to his father was as unquestionable as the fact that the man must have started drinking near breakfast time for him to be as intoxicated as he was now.
Shawn had never said—but then, he hadn’t really had the chance. Their conversation had been interrupted by the arrival of this…person.
“Kenneth O’Riley,” the man said, wrapping his clammy hand around hers and pumping it vigorously. “Sh’my pleasure.”
It certainly wasn’t Heather’s, and it definitely wasn’t Shawn’s. She didn’t know whether the worry lining Shawn’s face had more to do with his father showing up here smashed and presumably unannounced, or whether it was because he was concerned about how she was going to handle it, but either way, she was determined to step up and come to his aid.
She could handle it. And she could help Shawn with his father.
The situation might have overwhelmed her not so long in the past, but to her astonishment, today it didn’t. Maybe it was because Shawn was here with her. She knew that no matter how belligerent or out of control his father might get, Shawn would keep her safe. Perhaps it was because Shawn looked as if he was out of his element and needed her assistance.
She wasn’t out of her element. Not a bit. This was home turf for her—dealing with a drunk man. Bring it on.
“Why don’t you sit down, Kenneth, and I’ll grab you a cup of coffee from the kitchen?” she suggested mildly, gesturing toward the couch.
Shawn nodded and clasped his father’s arm, carefully leading him toward the sofa at the far end of the living room. Heather scrambled for the kitchen, taking time to check on Noelle and check on her children, who were, thankfully, still entertaining themselves throwing sticks for the Shetland sheepdog to retrieve for them. Since there were only two mugs in the house, she quickly rinsed out the one she’d been using and poured a fresh, hot cup of coffee for Kenneth. Curling her fingers around the warmth of the ceramic, she paused, closed her eyes and offered a quick prayer.
She didn’t know if God would listen—not because she believed He wasn’t there or couldn’t be bothered, but because she wasn’t worthy of approaching His throne to make requests in the first place. But she hoped for the best. After all, she was praying for Shawn, and he was a good, God-fearing man. Surely the Lord would hear and take account because of Shawn.
Blowing out her breath to steady her nerves, she returned to the living room and pressed the mug into Kenneth’s hands. His head lolled back against the forest-green cushion, and Heather was a little worried he would spill the hot liquid into his lap.
Then again, she supposed that would get him sobered up right quick.
Shawn crouched before him and placed a hand on his knee, shaking him gently to gain his attention. “Dad. What are you doing here?”
The answer was long in coming as Kenneth attempted to focus his bleary eyes on Shawn. “Came to stay with my shon,” he mumbled.
“You can’t stay here. Not until you’re sober. We’ve talked about this.” Shawn’s voice was gentle but firm.
Kenneth came alive, slamming his cup on the coffee table and spilling the dark liquid across the wood. “Look at this house. You’re all by yourself here, and you’ve got plenty of room,” he roared.
Shawn didn’t budge, but Heather jolted backward, an instinctive and unconscious act of self-preservation. This was what she knew.
Violence.
Shawn grabbed his father’s shoulder with one hand and held up the other to Heather, palm out, reassuring her that he had control of the situation.
“I’m not backing down on this, Dad. I’ve done some calling around and I’ve found a nice place in San Antonio that has an opening. They’re experts. They can help you find a way out of your addiction.”
Heather waited for the denial she knew was forthcoming.
“I don’t see why you’re pressuring me.” Kenneth glared at Shawn, but to Shawn’s credit, he didn’t budge or capitulate. “I’ve said it before and I’ll shay it again—you’re looking at this all wrong. I’m not an alkie. I don’t have to drink. I like to drink. There’s a difference.”
Shawn’s soul-weary sigh moved the depths of Heather’s heart, but Kenneth remained unfazed.
“No, Dad, that’s where you’re wrong. You drink to mask the pain, and until you deal with the underlying causes—David’s death, Mom’s illness—you will never find peace. It certainly isn’t at the bottom of a bottle.”
Kenneth growled in protest. “Don’t you preach to me, kid. Remember who you’re talking to.”
Shawn shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not something I can forget. And I’m not preaching at you. Just stating facts. Now, are you going to let me get you some help, or aren’t you?”
Heather was certain no one breathed as she and Shawn awaited Kenneth’s answer. For an instant the man’s expression changed. He looked old, tired, weak. But then resolve took hold and Heather braced herself, hoping Shawn had also seen the subtle shift in his father’s demeanor. Kenneth wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I’m jush fine the way I am. Butt out of my business.”
Shawn’s jaw tightened and his shoulders firmed as he stood and yanked his father up with him. “Then you are no longer welcome in my house.”
Heather could see the pained look in Shawn’s eyes and knew just how difficult it was for him to stay strong in this. But no matter how hard it was, it was the right thing to do. She was impressed by Shawn’s display of fortitude. Kenneth might be a drunk, but he was Shawn’s father, and it was obvious that Shawn loved him. It was equally apparent that he refused to be an enabler—something Heather had never known how to do.
“David would never have treated me thish way,” his father slurred. “You are
not a good son.”
Shawn winced and his expression froze. “I guess we’ll never know about that, will we?” His voice was so ice-cold that Heather shivered.
Kenneth mumbled and protested as Shawn physically escorted him to the back bedroom, but Shawn was larger and stronger than his father, even without the benefit of Kenneth having had too much to drink. Shawn opened the door and deposited his father on the bed.
“Sleep it off. When you wake up, I want you to leave. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He closed the door with a firm click and turned and leaned his shoulders against it, scrubbing his hands down his face as he shoved out a breath.
“Heather, I’m so sorry for that.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” she assured him.
“I would have told you, especially after what you’ve been through, but I didn’t get the chance. And I certainly never expected that Dad would actually show up here in Serendipity.” His shoulders slumped, the first sign of succumbing to the intense pressure he’d been under. “I don’t know. I guess I should have realized it would happen eventually. He’s been calling me for weeks, asking for money, mostly. I should have figured if he couldn’t get at me one way, he’d try another.”
“You can’t anticipate what an addict will do,” Heather responded, wishing there was more she could say to take the burden from him.
Their eyes met and held. His gaze was a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability, the boy he used to be dealing with his unruly father. Truly heartbreaking.
She brushed his hair out of his eyes and smoothed his temple with her fingertips as she did to soothe little Henry from his nightmares. But Shawn wasn’t a child, and the action that had started as a comforting gesture transformed into a caress across his scratchy cheek. Their breath came in unison, their hearts beating as one.
He held his arms out to her. Not demanding, not forcing. Not even begging.
Just asking.
She answered by stepping into his embrace, curving her arms upward as her palms grazed the firm planes of his shoulder muscles. His hands found her waist.
For several seconds she stood immobile, working through her irrational fight-or-flight instinct, acknowledging it and letting it flow through her. Warmth and peace nudged fear out of her heart and she relaxed into his arms.
Shawn was her safe place. There was no threat here, only a man who needed the comfort of a woman’s embrace and the reassurance of her words.
“You’re very brave,” she said.
He scoffed and leaned back so their eyes met but didn’t release his hold on her waist. “Am I? Because right now I feel like a world-class jerk.”
“You’re not. I know it’s hard now, but you did the right thing. You can’t let him think he’s got you fooled or he’ll continue to take advantage of you. You wouldn’t be doing him any favors by ignoring his addiction. At the end of the day, the best thing you can do for him is force him to see himself as he really is—locked into substance abuse. He needs to look in the mirror and understand he needs help. He’s got to want it. Until that happens, there is nothing more you can do for him.”
“I know.” He tightened his embrace and lowered his head, his breath warm on her ear. Her heart thrummed. “But it isn’t easy to say no to him. And I do wonder sometimes…” His sentence drifted into a strained silence.
“What?” she whispered when he didn’t continue.
“How different things might have been if David were here.”
Who was David?
The words were on the tip of her tongue to ask when they were interrupted by the clamor of children barging inside like a herd of elephants, followed by the high-pitched wail that signaled Noelle was awake.
Even though the kids were in the kitchen and couldn’t see them, Shawn snapped his arms to his sides and stepped away from her. He attempted a weak smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re up. It sounds like our kiddos need us.”
Heather regretted that the moment had passed before she could receive answers to the questions she had yet to ask. As she watched Shawn gather Noelle into his arms and shepherd the other three children toward the living room, her emotions swelled into her throat, cutting off her breath.
There was so much to learn about this man, a man whose heart was big enough to care for farm animals, a church full of people and a tiny baby girl.
He’d experienced heartache, too, and plenty of it. She’d just scratched Shawn’s surface with what she’d seen today.
She wanted to know more.
Chapter Seven
Who was David?
Heather mulled over the question as she knitted a sweater for Noelle and watched her children racing from room to room playing Follow the Leader. Jacob was currently in front, and he tended to play a little rougher than his foster siblings, so Heather kept a close eye on them.
Was David Shawn’s brother? And what had happened to him?
The questions haunted Heather, but despite the fact that she and the kids were now regular visitors to Shawn’s ranch, she’d not been able to find an appropriate opportunity to ask. Instead, the time was spent with the children helping Shawn take care of the animals. He was a mentor and a role model for the kids, showing them how a good man thought and acted.
But he was careful never to be alone with Heather, and he never offered any further explanation as to who David was, or what had happened to his mother that had sent his father seeking solace in a bottle. It wasn’t the kind of thing one just blurted out, so she did the only thing she could do—play by his rules. He’d completely avoided talking about what had happened that day between him and Kenneth.
She understood why he didn’t want to draw attention to the situation, and she didn’t want to add to his sense of shame and vulnerability by bothering him about it.
She ought to just let it go—and yet she couldn’t quite put it out of her mind. Whether she was playing with the children or knitting a scarf for one of the kids or answering email for a client, thoughts of Shawn would creep in. She had curiosity about his family situation, but if she was completely honest, that wasn’t all there was. Her mind kept drifting to the way her emotions had skyrocketed when she was wrapped in his muscular arms.
She’d felt safe. Secure—feelings that had been foreign to her for so long. That was part of the reason why she couldn’t stop thinking about it. But there was something else, something she’d never experienced before, not even when Adrian was courting her.
Her stomach tumbled with butterflies. It was the nicest of feelings. The warm glow of a fireplace on a cold night couldn’t even begin to compare.
She scoffed and returned her attention to her knitting. She was dropping stitches. And for what? Silly notions?
She needed to nip that kind of whimsical nonsense right in the bud. Even if she wasn’t completely physically and emotionally scarred after Adrian, Shawn was not and could never be the man for her. He was a pastor. He had the love and respect of the entire community.
She was the beat-up, badly used and tossed-away plaything of a convicted killer. Hardly a perfect match.
A shrill scream suddenly rent the air, and Heather bolted to her feet, tossing her knitting aside. Jacob sprinted out of the hallway, his hands waving wildly and eyes wide with fright and gleaming with moisture.
“Mama, Mama, come quick,” he said, grabbing her arm and urging her down the hall. “Missy hurt herself.”
With her heart in her throat, Heather followed her older foster son into her bedroom, where Missy lay wailing, curled up on a pillow with her face buried in her hands. Heather’s breath cut out when she heard what she immediately recognized as Missy’s pain cry.
The child was really hurt.
“She hit her head,” Jacob explained on a sob as Heather gathered Missy in her arms, expecting she’d need to comfort the poor little girl for getting a bump on the noggin. It wouldn’t be the first time such an accident had occurred. One of the more painful lessons she’
d learned as a new foster parent was that she couldn’t shield her kids from all harm. Children were bound to get a few bumps and bruises along the way as they explored their world.
But when Heather rolled Missy over to pull her into the curve of her arm, she was shocked by the amount of blood covering the little girl’s forehead.
Lots and lots of blood, coming from a gash that was a good half inch long and just as deep.
“Jacob, what happened?” she demanded, trying and failing to keep the sharp edge from her voice. It was no good panicking, and her going off would only upset the boys more than they already were. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Get me a clean towel from the linen closet, please.”
Jacob dashed out and returned a moment later with a freshly bleached white towel, which Heather pressed to the wound. Poor Jacob’s blue eyes were flooded with tears that ran unheeded down his face.
“It’s all my fault,” he wailed, clinging to Missy’s hand.
“What happened?” Heather asked again in a gentler tone.
“We were jumping on your bed,” he admitted miserably, not meeting her gaze.
“You know you’re not allowed to—” she started, but then quickly brought her sentence up short. Jacob knew he’d broken the rules, and he was clearly distressed over what had happened to Missy. He was learning a painful lesson today and didn’t need her to rub it in.
The hand towel was soaked with blood within a minute, and Heather felt a moment of panic. She was all alone with an injured child and two more who needed her care. This wasn’t a scenario she’d imagined when she’d signed the papers to become a single foster mother.
She needed help. Now.
“Jacob, bring me my cell phone. It’s on the end table next to the sofa.”
He was out and back with it in a jiffy. She pressed the phone log, wondering if she had Dr. Delia Bowden’s number stored. In hindsight, she realized that was something she ought to have done—put the doctor’s number on speed dial. But it was too late now to rectify that oversight.
Instead, it was Shawn’s number that popped up first on the list. Not surprising. He still called nearly every day needing advice on parenting Noelle.
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for ChristmasHer Montana ChristmasAn Amish Christmas JourneyYuletide Baby Page 70