Jane flung her arms above her head. “Great. Let’s pray for a threat, then.”
Though she was driving him up a wall, Kyle wanted to hold her against his chest and comfort her. “Don’t be silly. Let’s pray that whoever’s doing this gets bored with it.”
Her head drooped, and she didn’t speak for a moment. “I’m sorry, Kyle.”
He could see her struggling not to cry.
“I don’t want to take my frustration out on you,” she continued. “Everything scares me. The other day I turned around and shrieked at my own reflection in the mirror.”
She looked so pitiful, Kyle chuckled. “Better that than someone else shrieking when they look at you.”
A small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I know. I sound like an idiot.”
“No, you sound like a frightened lady who’s tired of being afraid.” And so was he. He cared too much to see her scared senseless.
Jane studied his face, a combination of tenderness and anxiety. He feared for her. Fear? How many times had Kyle faced fear? Part of the job, she supposed. She’d noticed how he seemed to be alert, standing in just the right way, even when he was off duty. “Are you ever frightened, Kyle?”
Her question seemed to surprise him. “Sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. Since this happened I’m jittery all the time. I hear strange noises at night.” She ran her fingers over her temples, feeling the beating of her pulse, a throbbing that was too familiar. “I try to push it from my mind, but…I don’t know, it seems to overwhelm me.”
“Jane, I pray for you every day. But fear shouldn’t be part of your job. Fear is built into my job, I suppose. If not fear, anticipation or vigilance. I focus on my weapon and my back, and I guard them both. Redmond is a decent town, so I have it easy compared to some.”
Kyle slid his arm around her, then caught her chin between his thumb and finger. “Don’t worry about me. You have enough to worry about.”
She searched his concerned face, and a new emotion touched her. A different kind of flutter rose in her chest. Not the jackhammer she’d felt of late, this sensation rippled like hummingbird wings. Her breath suspended for a heartbeat.
Kyle’s left hand rose, caressing her face. He pressed his palm against her cheek, and his gaze drifted to her eyes, suspended there for a moment, then moved to her lips. His eyes had asked a question, and hers had given the answer. As she tilted her head upward, he lowered his lips to hers.
His fingers slid to the nape of her neck, and pleasure rippled down her spine.
When their lips parted, Kyle’s gaze sought hers, his lids heavy and telling. A throaty murmur left him. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you.” A long, slow sigh lifted his shoulders.
“So have I,” Jane admitted quietly. “Fantasies rarely equal reality, but this time it does.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said.
He looked at her with question, then frowned.
Tangled with concern, she faltered. “What’s wrong?”
“I think we should test these feelings again, just to be certain.”
The tense moment lifted, and a grin curved her lips. “You have a good point.”
This time they moved in unison, and Jane met his lips in eager anticipation, exploring the new sensations that raced through her. With her inhibitions abandoned, she lifted her fingers, touching the hollow of his cheek and feeling his stubbled chin. Her hand followed a path to the nape of his neck, drawing her fingers through his thick, toffee-colored hair and cradling his head in her palm.
With tenderness, Kyle drew back and Jane savored the final moments of lips touching lips. Both filled the silence with an audible sigh.
“I’m positive about that kiss being as good as I imagined,” Jane said.
“Me, too,” he whispered.
She straightened herself in the seat and shifted to face him. “I think I’d better get us something very cold to drink. What do you say?”
“Lots and lots of ice,” he agreed.
Kyle stood first, extending his hands to help her rise. She stepped toward the kitchen, and he followed. When Jane opened the refrigerator, Wilcox meandered in and posed nearby. Kyle tousled the cat’s fur and gathered him into his arms.
Filling tall glasses with ice first, Jane felt a hidden fear rise up her back. She’d opened herself to Kyle, allowed her heart to admit her growing feelings, but the situation hadn’t changed. Though he was dressed like any other man tonight, he often wore a police officer’s uniform. Was she setting herself up for hurt?
She brushed the thoughts aside. He was different than her father, she reminded herself. But she had things to think about. Wounds to heal and fears to scatter.
Kyle stood so near she could smell the arousing scent of his aftershave. She poured soda into the glasses, then handed him one. “Now, if you can dump your friend—” she gestured toward the cat “—we can sit and talk about something more pleasant than my problems.”
He winked. “Great. What did you have in mind?” He set Wilcox on the floor.
She gave Kyle a gentle poke. “You’d better behave, or I’ll tell your father.” She walked in front of him to the living room.
“Not that,” he teased. “Oh, by the way, my father asked me to invite you to church next Sunday. Sometimes we can get a free dinner out of it.”
Her stomach flipped and then righted itself. The first instinct was to find an excuse, but she’d prayed for God’s help, and for all she knew, this was God’s guidance.
Jane winced, and Kyle sensed her turmoil. “Listen, you don’t have to answer me now. Maybe some other time.” Though disappointed, he offered the suggestion without reservation.
“Thanks, but I accept.” Jane sank into the love seat. “Sorry I didn’t answer you right away. It’s a long story, but I’m working on some old issues. One of these days I’ll overcome them, I hope.”
Feeling weighted by her struggle, he slipped into the seat beside her. “Well, church is the best place in the world to lay down your burdens.”
Jane laughed. “Are you sure your father wasn’t correct? Maybe police work is the wrong career for you. Did you ever think you might be cut out to be a minister?”
“Heaven forbid, and I mean that. I don’t have the patience. My father listens without judgment. He’s gentle and compassionate. Always has the right words to say to help someone through a problem.”
Jane pressed his cheek with her hand. “That sounds like you.”
Her comment warmed him and brought a smile to his lips. He covered her hand with his. “Now we know what we have to talk about tonight. Reality. I think I’d better tell you about the ‘real’ me.” He kept her hand in his, lowering it between them.
“Hmm? This sounds interesting,” she said.
Once again his heart felt heavy for a moment with the thought of his brother. “My brother should have been the minister. He was gentle and kind, all those things God expects of us. I think that’s why he didn’t survive the fighting. I’m not sure Paulie could find it in his heart to kill anyone—even in self-defense.”
“I don’t believe God expects us to die rather than defend ourselves.” An eye for an eye shot through her mind.
“Me, neither. As hard as Paulie’s death was on the family, I think Dad was proud of him for standing up for his belief not to kill. So you see, Dad’s not proud that I choose to carry a weapon and even less for being willing to defend myself, even to the point of killing someone.”
His example slammed into her thoughts and jarred her memories. “I can understand how your dad feels, Kyle. When I remember my father going to work, I connect it with violence and death. His pistol frightened me.”
Jane’s comment rattled him. Why did some people think of police as symbols of brutality and harshness? Kyle’s frustration edged in his voice. “But an officer is more than violence, Jane. What about coming to a person’s aid when she needs help? Bringing a lost child h
ome? Safeguarding a person’s property against a break and enter. Finding the guilty and prosecuting them? What would the world be without defenders of justice?”
His words jolted her. Instead of the police, God tangled in her thoughts. God did all those things, too, so why did she hesitate accepting the Heavenly Father’s help? She only thought of God’s wrath, not his compassion and loving kindness.
“You’re right. It’s easy to forget the good things.” Without knowing why, a sense of sorrow inched through her. “I suppose I look at it with different eyes than most.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said.
As he stared into space, the silence weighed heavily on Jane, but she held her tongue.
Finally he looked at her. “So how did you happen to become a teacher?”
The new line of thought surprised her. “I’m not sure. Helping people was important. And I love children. Did a lot of baby-sitting as a girl.” Jane wasn’t sure why he changed the subject. Though she was relieved, their revelations seemed incomplete. She had so much more she could have said. “Always thought I wanted a big family, lots of kids of my own,” she added.
“So? Where are they?”
“Growing up, I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
The icy sensation swam through her again. “My mom and dad had a strange marriage. Not very loving. I didn’t notice until I was older. Marriage scared me, I suppose.”
“Scared or scares?” His eyebrows arched, and he leaned forward, waiting for a response.
No sense in lying. “Scares, I guess.”
His gaze riveted to hers. “How can you tell if the man you’re marrying will be loving and gentle forever?”
“Exactly.” She was astounded at his perception. “How does a person know?”
“Trust. Faith. Support. Prayer.”
His response caught her unprepared. “I asked my mother why she put up with my dad. What she said shocked me.”
Kyle stared at her, obviously expecting an answer, and now that she said it, Jane wished she hadn’t brought it up.
“Mom said she loved him, and the good times outweighed the bad.” Her heart skipped a beat, remembering that day. “She told me that my dad needed her to keep his balance, and she tempered his behavior with the world. I never knew what that meant.”
“Your mom gave him perspective, maybe. Calmed him, let him express his feelings so he could handle them on the job. Something like that.”
She contemplated his words, wondering if he were right. “Like if he…lost his temper with her, he’d control it on the job? Is that it?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Jane, but I do know that when I visit my folks, they listen to my frustration, my ranting and help me deal with it sometimes. Otherwise, I’d carry on at work and get myself in trouble.”
“You?” She tried to picture Kyle angry and out of control. The image didn’t form.
“Yes, me. Sure, most people are controlled and professional on the job. They turn the other cheek, bite their tongue, swallow their anger, but when they go home, they slam doors, yell at the kids and kick the cat. They get rid of their frustrations.”
His words washed over her. Could it be the truth? Had her father’s anger with her mother been only a release from his difficult job? She found the thought too complex to imagine. Yet, how many times had she come home and yelled at Wilcox or slammed a door? Too often to admit.
“I suppose that’s true. I have to think about it. I’ve looked at marriage with a dubious eye, I know.”
He slid his arm around her shoulder. “Does this feel dubious to you?”
In feigned modesty, she dropped her chin and twisted her head sideways to peek at him. “No, it feels wonderful.”
“I’m sure your mom and dad had those moments, too. Maybe they didn’t let you see that part of their relationship.”
“Maybe.” Her pulsed tripped at the thought. Or was it the look in Kyle’s eyes?
Sunday morning, as Kyle parked the car, Jane gazed at the lovely old church. The white clapboard building reminded her of pictures she’d seen of a New England countryside with steeples rising above the autumn-hued treetops. Nearby, confined by a low iron fence, a small cemetery nestled beneath the large oak trees.
“Why is it still so countrified here? I can’t believe Detroit hasn’t gobbled it up.”
“The congregation owns a stretch of woods around the property, so the building and cemetery’s protected. I like it here myself.”
Kyle climbed out and hurried around the car, but she swung open the passenger door, not waiting for his chivalry. She grinned apologetically and slid out.
The stone parking lot lay under a blanket of gold and red leaves. Jane shuffled them with her shoe, noticing that the colder evenings had nipped the leaves’ edges to a withered brown. But today the sun hung like a golden sphere in the sky, sending a pleasant autumn warmth over her shoulders.
Kyle had gotten them there fifteen minutes early, and the parking lot was partially full already. She noticed the stares when he clasped her hand, nodding at a parishioner as they made their way to the double front door.
As she ascended the church steps, a strange feeling crept up Jane’s back. At least three years had passed since she’d been inside a church building, except for her mother’s funeral, and she entered feeling ashamed, yet comforted. The ambiguous emotions struggled within her.
Kyle drew her along and ushered her into a pew closer to the front than she wanted to be. Seated in the back, she could readjust to the nuances of a worship service. But she had no choice and settled into the seat as best she could.
To cover her disquiet, she thumbed through the hymn book and glanced at the worship folder, anything to avoid looking at Jesus’ eyes staring down at her from the stained-glass windows over the altar.
After a while, the eyes won out. She lifted her face to the scene: Christ, white robed, with his punctured hands extended in welcome. She could hear the words. “Come unto me ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest.”
Kyle was right. If she were ever going to lift the weight of guilt, this was the only way. She couldn’t do it alone. She’d already tried.
Paul Manning came through the side door of the chancel, looking tall and dashing in his pastor’s garb. The opening hymn filled her with reassuring nostalgia and the prayers touched her heart.
When Paul rose for the sermon, the man himself impressed her. His words filled the sanctuary, delivered in a rich, compassionate voice.
“And when the Pharisees asked why Jesus and his disciples sat and ate with sinners, Matthew explained to them that only the sick need to visit the physician. As Jesus said, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice. For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”’
Jane’s mind swelled with thought. The truth glowed within her like a rising sun. If she were without sin and shame, she didn’t need salvation. But she was ashamed and a sinner, and Jesus was ready to carry her burdens. Her acceptance of the words was the first step. The next step was giving up her load of pain and guilt from so many years.
As the final hymn filled the room, Jane lifted her face again to the stained-glass window. Jesus’ eyes rested easily on her now. She prayed in earnest that she would learn to let her burdens go.
Seeking Kyle’s profile, Jane drew a long, calming breath. If not for her knight, would she have ever taken a single step toward a new day? She slid her hand along his arm, and his loving look eased away some of the dark, secret anguish in her heart.
After the service, Jane and Kyle waited near the door as Paul greeted the parishioners, and Ruth chatted with passing members. During a lull, Ruth leaned over and whispered in Jane’s ear that she hoped the oven timer worked, or the beef roast would never be ready.
The thought of Ruth’s roast tugged a faint growl from Jane’s stomach, and she pressed her hand against the spot to keep it quiet. For too long, she’d missed home-cooked meals with a family.
> With Kyle at her side, Jane stepped into the sun-warmed afternoon. Ruth joined them and the three paused on the sidewalk as Paul locked the building.
Jane’s attention shifted to the old graveyard, then to Kyle. “Is your brother buried here or in Arlington?”
Before he could answer, Paul’s hand rested on her shoulder. “We wanted him to be close to us.”
“That’s nice,” Jane said, eyeing the gravestones from a distance. “I’ve always felt comforted wandering through cemeteries, especially old ones. The markers are touching and so interesting.”
“Come along,” Paul said, taking her arm. “It’s a wonderful autumn day to wander.”
As he moved her forward, Ruth cautioned him. “Paul, the roast is in the oven. We really should get home.”
Paul paused and looked over his shoulder. “Kyle, could you take your mother home? We’ll be along shortly.”
Jane glanced back and saw a flicker of concern on Kyle’s face, but the expression faded as he took his mother’s arm. “Okay, but don’t occupy my friend all day.” He gave Jane a coy wink.
Paul chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll return her safe and sound.”
His comment amused Jane. She waved goodbye to Kyle and followed his father toward the wrought-iron fence. As they walked, the dried leaves rustled beneath their feet, and soon, Kyle’s car wheels crunched in the stone parking lot as he pulled away. Jane glanced over her shoulder, giving him a final wave.
“Now,” Paul said, “let me show you some interesting stones.”
“I’d like that. I’ve never had a guided tour through a cemetery before.”
Though her conversation had been easy before, Jane found herself strained, alone with Kyle’s father. She longed to talk with him, to look into his compassionate eyes and spill out the worries she’d carried far too long. But she couldn’t. What would he think of her?
Paul slowed, then halted. He pointed to a worn marker rising above the ground. “This is one of the oldest.”
Jane looked at the inscription dated 1885. “‘The Lord is my Shepherd,”’ Jane read, looking at the faded sketch of a lamb carved into the stone.
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