by Irene Hannon
Since that wasn’t going to happen, he gritted his teeth, angled toward her and plunged in. “I don’t think I’ve made any secret of the fact I thought our relationship had serious potential.”
Rachel swallowed, her gaze locked with his. “No.”
“But I neglected to pass on some information I now realize is a deal-breaker.”
Rachel scrutinized his face, but she waited in silence for him to continue.
“I told you about the night I lost my foot. I also mentioned I’d suffered blunt-force trauma to my chest and abdomen. What I didn’t tell you was that the trauma had permanent repercussions.” He braced, then forced himself to continue, his heart hammering as hard as it once had in explosive combat situations. “To keep this as simple and delicate as possible, while I’m functional in every way, I sustained some serious damage to my ductwork. I can never father a child. No woman will ever carry my baby.”
In the silence that followed, Fletch watched Rachel absorb his news. It took her a mere handful of seconds—three or four, tops—but in those few beats, a parade of emotions whooshed across her face. Comprehension. Shock. Compassion. Sorrow. And then a slight shutting down...and a subtle withdrawal.
It was the latter that doomed him, confirming that his news was, indeed, a deal-breaker.
Because no matter what she might say now, no matter how she might try to find an answer for them short of severing their relationship, her expression hadn’t lied in those first few, honest moments.
The tiny spark of hope in his heart that had refused to die flickered and went out.
Rachel reached over and covered his fisted hand with hers. “I’m sorry, Fletch.”
“So am I.” The words came out raspy, and he cleared his throat.
“Are you absolutely certain about this?”
“Yeah. I’ve been checked and rechecked. If I could have gotten medical attention in the first hour, things might have been different. Given the circumstances, however, I was lucky to escape with my life.”
“Still...that doesn’t mean you can’t have a family.”
“No. There are a lot of options these days for people who want children. But I watched you when you talked about being pregnant, and I understand how much that meant to you. I can’t give you that—and you deserve another chance to create a child with the man you love.”
Rachel rubbed her temple. Ran a finger over the links in the chain that held up the swing. “Maybe that’s not the most important thing in the end.”
Her comment was more question than statement—once again affirming his decision to back off.
“Rachel.” He captured her fingers, urging her to look at him. “Can you honestly tell me you won’t care if you never carry another child conceived with the man you love?”
The flicker of doubt in her eyes gave him her answer before she spoke. “I—I don’t know. I need to think about it. This just...it came out of the blue. It isn’t a choice I thought I’d ever have to face.”
“And you don’t need to face it now.” Fletch released her hand and forced himself to stand, to move toward the steps, away from her. Away from the temptation to let his selfish impulses rule. It would be wrong to try to convince her they could have a long and happy life together even without a child he’d fathered. “You’re young and beautiful and smart and kind and a thousand other things I could mention. Somewhere out there is a man who’ll be able to give you the gift of motherhood. It wouldn’t be fair to you to let things between us get serious.”
Rachel rose slowly, a hand on the wall of the house to steady herself as the swing wobbled behind her. “Things were already getting serious.”
Like he didn’t know that.
“I can’t pull you into a life that won’t provide something so important to you.”
“Look...can’t we think about this?” There was a touch of desperation in her voice now. “I need some time to process everything. Please.”
He ought to walk away—but how could he refuse those beseeching eyes? “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we let things chill for a while and see how we both feel down the road?” That wasn’t exactly a clean break, but it was the best he could do standing six feet away from her, cloaked in the scent of jasmine.
“How long is ‘a while’?”
“Let’s give ourselves a few weeks to settle back into our real lives at home.” That should be long enough for her to realize her barely-there summertime romance wouldn’t offer what she wanted out of life—and it would be easier to end things that way than with an abrupt break today. Even if that was the coward’s way out.
Rachel’s shoulders slumped. “When are you leaving?”
He wished he could say today. But he couldn’t renege on his obligations here. “Gram’s cast is supposed to come off next week. I’ll be around until then.”
“Maybe I’ll see you before you go.”
“It’s a small island.” Vague, but safe. In truth, he hoped they didn’t meet again. The temptation to ditch his good intentions would be too strong.
She rubbed her palms down her shorts, then walked toward him. As she drew close, she reached for his hand and regarded him with those amazing jade eyes.
His lungs locked.
His fingers itched to stroke her cheek.
His arms longed to pull her close.
This wasn’t good.
He needed to get out of there before he caved and claimed the kiss he’d been imagining for weeks.
“I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m glad our paths crossed.” Her voice was shaky as she searched his eyes.
“Me, too.”
A tear leaked out of her eye and trailed down her cheek.
Oh, man.
He might be a highly disciplined SEAL, but that single tear undid all his honorable intentions.
Maybe Rachel would never be his, but he wanted—needed—a memory to sustain him through all the dark days...and nights...to come.
Quashing the red alert pinging in his brain, Fletch lifted his unsteady hand and brushed back a wisp of soft hair that had come loose from her braid. When her breath hitched, when she began to tremble, his last smidgen of self-control shattered.
Cradling her face with his hands, he leaned down and captured her supple lips...hoping she’d give him one brief kiss, one sweet memory to carry in his heart.
She did more than that.
Moving into his arms, Rachel returned his kiss, holding nothing back, letting him know with every touch, every breath, every subtle shift in her position, how deep her feelings ran.
He wanted the kiss to last forever.
But nothing good did.
At last, digging deep for any dregs of the discipline he’d mastered as a SEAL, he broke contact.
Her respiration was as choppy as his as she clung to his arms.
“I need to go.” His comment came out ragged.
Rachel didn’t respond, only watched him through a shimmer of tears.
Swallowing, he eased back, turned away and strode to his SUV. Not until he was safely buckled into the passenger seat and rolling away did he dare look in his rearview mirror.
Rachel was still standing under the jasmine vine—and she remained there until he turned the corner and accelerated toward Gram’s.
His one consolation was that she didn’t want this to end any more than he did. He knew that as clearly as he knew he was doing the honorable thing.
Yet as far as he could see, it was over. He’d prayed last night for guidance and fortitude, and God had given him those. He’d found the strength to see this through, even if he’d died a little with every word.
As for his third request...he needed that more than ever.
Because only God’s grace could ease the heaviness in his heart as he faced a future that di
dn’t include Rachel.
Chapter Fourteen
“Well, that’s good news.” Aunt El entered the kitchen from the screen porch and slid the portable phone back into the holder on the counter.
“What?” Rachel turned from the sink. After a week with no Fletch, she could use a pick-me-up.
“Louise’s cast came off today.”
Rachel’s spirits nosedived. That meant Louise’s grandson was probably packing his bags at this very moment. He might even be planning to head home first thing in the morning.
Taking a glass from the cabinet, Eleanor studied her. “You don’t look too happy about that.”
“I’m happy for Louise.” Rachel rinsed the silverware in her hand, doing her best to maintain a casual tone. “I suppose Fletch will be leaving soon.”
“I believe she’s convinced him to stay for the Francis House ribbon-cutting, when the Mitchell family arrives on Saturday. He worked hard on the project. He ought to be on hand for the payoff. The happy faces of our first guests should give everyone a boost.”
“I suppose.”
Aunt El snorted. “You sound about as enthusiastic as a patient preparing for a root canal.” She filled the glass with water from the dispenser on the fridge, then faced her. “So are you ever going to tell me what happened between the two of you? Louise doesn’t have a clue, and she says Fletch isn’t talking, either.”
After a full week to prepare for the inevitable questions, Rachel recited the answer she’d practiced. “He’s a very nice man and we got along well, but we ran into a serious stumbling block.”
“Serious for who?”
“Me.” She had no doubt Fletch would advance full steam ahead if she gave him the green light. But hard as she’d tried, she couldn’t manage to let go of her dream. She wanted to have more children someday. To shelter a tiny heart beside her own. To feel those magical movements of new life deep within her, knowing it was a life she and her husband had created in love.
“Does he have a secret wife hidden away somewhere?”
Rachel almost lost her grip on a drinking glass. “Of course not!”
The older woman took a sip of water and eyed her. “I can’t imagine anything else that would be insurmountable.”
She might be able to if she knew the truth—but that was privileged information, and Rachel had no intention of betraying Fletch’s confidence.
“Trust me, it’s a huge hurdle.”
“Hmm.” Aunt El sat at the kitchen table and folded up their place mats from dinner. “It must be, if you’re willing to pass up a chance for love with a hunky guy who has a whole lot to offer and is obviously smitten with you.”
Rachel gripped a slippery plate in her hand and carefully fitted it into the dishwasher. “I know what I’m giving up, Aunt El.”
“Do you?” Eleanor gathered a few crumbs on the table and made a neat little pile. “I wonder. As for obstacles—you know what they say. The only difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is the way you use them.”
Drying her hands on the dish towel, Rachel leaned back against the counter. “Clever—but not always easy to implement.”
“No one ever said the best things in life were easy.” Eleanor stood and tucked the place mats into their drawer. “But they’re worth fighting for—or waiting for—if you have the chance. And if love is deep and true, people manage to overcome their differences and make things work. They find a way to use obstacles to strengthen rather than destroy their relationship.”
“That sounds nice in theory. But some problems aren’t fixable.”
Bandit trotted over to Eleanor, and she leaned down to give him a pat. “Everything is fixable except death—and with God’s grace, even that can be a force for good, though it may take us a very long time to realize how.” She smiled down at her canine companion. “What do you say we go watch the sunset and have a treat?”
The golden retriever’s ears perked up and his tail began to swish in double-time as the duo started for the door.
Throat tightening, Rachel folded the dish towel into a neat square and wrapped her fingers around the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how to fix this, Aunt El.”
At her choked admission, the older woman turned back to her. “God does. If I were you, I’d ask for some advice before you let what could be the opportunity of a lifetime drive off into the sunset without you.”
“I’ve already tried praying. I’m not getting any answers.”
“Keep trying—and listening. Sometimes our answers come in unexpected ways.”
“But Fletch is leaving in two days.” A thread of desperation wove through her words.
“Putting God on a timetable, are we?” Aunt El sent her a pointed look. “Well, then, you best get at it.”
With that, she and Bandit exited.
Through the sliding door, Rachel watched the two of them settle in on the porch, Aunt El in her favorite wicker chair, Bandit at her feet. The retriever waited patiently as she opened the box of dog biscuits she kept at hand.
Of course, it was easy to be patient when there was a guaranteed payoff.
Her prayers, on the other hand, had produced zilch.
She wandered over to the cabinet, selected a soothing peppermint brew, and went through the motions of making tea. Since her prayers weren’t being answered, was it possible she’d been praying for the wrong thing? Maybe a generic request to fix the problem wasn’t the best approach. Because, really, what was the problem? Fletch’s medical issue? Based on what he’d said, that wasn’t fixable, short of a miracle. And miracles like that were few and far between.
So what did she want God to fix? What would it take to give her story a happy ending?
The obvious answer was an attitude shift on her part. All she had to do was say it didn’t matter if they never had children together.
Except it did.
She wanted children—and she wanted them to be their biological offspring. It wasn’t just about being pregnant. She could have a baby if she and Fletch got married. With modern medical procedures, women got pregnant every day without ever meeting the donor who’d made that gift possible.
But the whole clinical nature of that procedure turned her off. Besides, it wouldn’t be Fletch’s child. He or she wouldn’t inherit his dark brown eyes or his strong jaw or his discipline or drive or integrity.
The microwave beeped and Rachel removed her tea, cradling the steaming mug in her hands as she trudged back to her room.
Okay, so her attitude wasn’t PC. But it was honest. The clinical option that worked for a lot of women wasn’t for her.
Which brought her right back to her starting place.
Leaving that method off the table, what else would give her a chance with Fletch and still allow her to be a mother?
Adoption was a possibility...but then their children wouldn’t physically be part of either of them.
Sighing, she closed the door halfway behind her, propped some pillows against the headboard, and settled in. As tendrils of spicy peppermint steam rose toward her nose, she closed her eyes and once more turned to prayer.
God, I’m stuck. I was starting to believe Fletch was the answer to my prayer for a second chance at love and a family, but it seems he’s the answer to only part of that prayer.
She took a sip of the soothing tea, letting the warmth chase away the chill that had lodged in her heart since the Fourth of July.
So am I being greedy? Should I be grateful for Fletch and forget about having any more babies? If that’s what You want for me, how do I get to the place where I can honestly tell Fletch I’ve made peace with the situation? That I’ll be content with...
A cold nose nudged her elbow, and she jerked, barely averting a peppermint geyser.
Bandit sat on his
haunches beside the bed and offered her one of his goofy grins.
Shaking her head, Rachel reached over and patted him. “Did Aunt El send you in here to keep me company?”
Tongue lolling to one side, he tipped his head and emitted a yip.
“I’ll take that as a yes. So what do you think I should do about this pickle I’m in, my friend? Let Fletch go, or grab hold and hang on tight?”
He inspected her for a moment, then gripped the blanket in his teeth and began tugging.
“Hey!” She balanced the tea in one hand and snatched a fistful of blanket with the other. “Let go! This isn’t a game.”
Shaking his head, he held on tighter.
She pulled harder.
Bandit gave a low growl deep in his throat and stared at her, as if to say, “Aren’t you getting my message?”
Great.
Now she was looking to a dog for guidance.
“Okay, okay. I get your point. You think I should hang on tight. Now let go of the blanket.” She gave another tug.
This time he released it. After trotting closer to lick her hand, he did a one-eighty and disappeared out the door.
Rachel sank back against her headboard and focused on the ceiling.
“Lord, I’m going to trust that wasn’t Your answer to my plea for guidance, because I don’t put a whole lot of credence in those kinds of signs. But if You could give me a message that’s a little more definitive, I’d really appreciate it.”
She finished off her tea and shimmied farther down into bed. It was too early to call it a night, but she wasn’t up for another chat with Aunt El—or Bandit. Besides, given the insomnia that had plagued her since the Fourth of July, it couldn’t hurt to try to catch up on a little shut-eye. Maybe the peppermint tea would soothe her into sleep. Perhaps the answer to her dilemma might even come to her in a dream.
At least that would be a bit more credible than a game of tug-of-war with a golden retriever.
* * *
Friday the thirteenth was living up to its name.
As Rachel juggled a box of books and groped for the door to the church office, the large manila envelope slid off the top and spiraled like a whirlybird to the ground, spewing Francis House receipts in all directions.