Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5)

by Valerie Comer

  “So how did you feel about her?”

  “Huh?” Not a question Chelsea expected. “I loved her.”

  “But why did you love her?”

  “What do you mean? She was my grandmother.”

  “She wasn’t perfect, you know. She had a hard time at first, accepting a career woman as a wife for her son. She was sometimes critical. I know she brought you to tears a time or two as well. But you still loved her, as did I.”

  “I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  Mom pushed the note cards into a pile and straightened their edges. “It’s possible she could have broken your trust at some point. She was human, after all. But she didn’t. She loved you, and you loved her back. It wasn’t about your grades at school, or whether she baked chocolate chip cookies that day or not. You loved each other because you had a relationship.”

  Hmm.

  “God is your abba, Chelsea. He’s like your daddy, only better because He’s perfect. Jesus asked if a father would give a serpent to a child when he asked for bread. Of course not. No daddy would. The relationship between a parent and a child precludes that type of response.”

  Would God mock her, knowing her heart yet abusing her? Allison’s father had, but Chelsea’s never could’ve. And God was so much bigger. Better.

  “God doesn’t keep track of our wrongs, sweetheart. He forgives us when we ask Him, based on our bond. It’s not by whim or by performance, but because Jesus died to provide that relationship. His love is based on our identity as His children.”

  The assurance was there, so close she could almost touch it. Almost, but not quite. “But it’s still a group thing. Isn’t it?”

  Mom’s blue eyes gazed into her own. They’d never had a talk like this, mother to daughter. One on one.

  “It is, and it isn’t.” Mom rearranged the cards and bit her lip as she seemed to search for words. She glanced down, and a smile curved her lips. “Take this, for example.” She held up the top card. “The Eternal your God is standing right here among you, and He is the champion who will rescue you. He will joyfully celebrate over you; He will rest in His love for you; He will joyfully sing because of you like a new husband.”

  “Zephaniah 3:17.” Chelsea had read that one a dozen times today, trying to absorb it and grasp it.

  “I haven’t seen it in this version before. It’s hard to view those words as polygamous.”

  Chelsea frowned. “What?”

  “The visuals are very personal. A new husband only has one wife. Only one treasured person to celebrate and sing about.”

  Was Chelsea making this harder than it needed to be? How could she take a step of faith, not a step of fake? “Thank you,” she said simply. “I think that helps.”

  Mom grasped her hand. “And thank you for letting me in. Not only into your home, but into your doubts. Your fears. I’ve been too busy and just assumed you’d found your way. I know you accepted Christ as a child and followed Him into baptism. I’ve heard you sing and pray and help in the church, and I can hardly believe I missed something this big in your life. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course I can. It was my choice to keep this to myself.” A bad choice, it turned out, but hers all the same.

  Mom wiped away a tear of her own. “Do you still love me?”

  “Now that’s a crazy question! Of course I do.” Chelsea nudged the tissue box closer. “Oh, wait. I see what you’re getting at.”

  Hmm. The point was taken.

  Chapter 26

  Keanan wrapped his gloved fingers around Chelsea’s mitten-clad hand as they strolled down Thompson Road. The weak winter sun failed to provide much warmth, but at least the wind wasn’t howling at the moment. He glanced down at the top of her stocking cap grazing his shoulder and nudged her slightly.

  Her head tipped back and her blue eyes looked up into his through her pink-rimmed glasses.

  Keanan caught his breath as she squeezed his hand. He’d never dreamed he’d fall in love, yet here he was. Here she was, curly hair, pert upturned nose, and pink lips curved upward in response to him. Those lips.

  His gut tightened as he loosened his grip on her hand to wrap his arm around her, tugging her close to his side. Keep walking, Welsh. No turning. No holding. Definitely no kissing.

  Her arm slid around his waist. He could feel her warmth even through his winter coat. Or else he might have an excellent imagination. Oh, he had that, all right. Kissing wasn’t all his thoughts were capable of.

  He was leaving for South Africa in just a few days. He’d be gone nearly three months, long enough to miss the worst of an Idaho winter. Long enough to clarify his thoughts about Chelsea and for her to grow in love for the Lord. Long enough to see if what they had was real.

  If only he weren’t going. If only the mission board had someone else to send instead, but they were counting on him. He was the one who’d been trained to demonstrate the cookers. He was the one prepared to share God’s good news. He was the one.

  Keanan had made a commitment. He had his tickets. He was going.

  His grip tightened around Chelsea’s slim waist. Her head bumped his shoulder as she looked up at him again. He turned and gathered her in both his arms, resting his forehead against hers. Her floral fragrance filled his senses as time stood still.

  “Chelsea.” His voice choked on her name.

  She sucked in her lower lip slightly as her blue eyes looked into his.

  “I’m going to miss you so much. I’ll be counting the days until I’m home again.” Yes, Green Acres Farm was home. The grain bin was home. Chelsea’s arms... yes, they were home, too.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “I know. But I do. I’ve made a promise.” He poured everything he could through his eyes. “I keep my commitments, Chelsea. I am a man of my word. A man of honor.” When he committed himself to her — when, not if — he’d pour his whole being into keeping that commitment.

  “I guess that’s a good quality.” A touch of sadness tinged her voice.

  “You know it is.” Keanan wiggled a hand out of its glove and tucked his fingers under her chin, tilting her face to his. His fingers caressed her chilled jaw line.

  She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting shut.

  If her glasses weren’t in the way, he’d kiss those eyelids. But there was nothing between him and her lips. They were mere inches away. He’d barely have to bend.

  His fingers tangled in the soft curls that brushed her slender throat. He managed to stifle the groan the tantalizing touch triggered. Better get those fingers away from her face. “Chelsea.”

  Keanan tucked both hands tightly around this beautiful woman, who melted against him. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, but the knitted cap was in his way.

  Barriers. He needed those. But nothing was stopping him from holding her, pouring his love for her through their contact. Inhaling her fragrance. Soaking up the memory of this moment to hold him through the months ahead.

  * * *

  Why did he have to leave her, now when they were finally working through the things that had kept them apart?

  Chelsea nestled against his chest, feeling safer in his arms than she’d ever felt in her life. She belonged here. No doubt about it.

  The winter ahead looked bleak. Cold. Forlorn. He wouldn’t even be here over Christmas. How could she handle watching all the couples open gifts to one another, kissing and glowing in the candlelight while carols played softly on the sound system? Aromas of peppermint and gingerbread would fill the air. Snowflakes would drift past the expansive windows of the straw bale house’s great room, partially hidden by a fourteen-foot fir or pine with twinkling lights.

  The perfect Norman Rockwell Christmas, dashed to smithereens because Keanan insisted on going to Africa. She wouldn’t open a tiny velvet box from him and find a glittering diamond ring. He wouldn’t drop to one knee and ask her to marry him like Gabe had done to Sierra last year at Christmas.
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  She couldn’t do this. But did she need to? The church event was just a few days before Christmas. Mom and Dad would welcome her staying a bit longer.

  Maybe she’d stay in Portland until Keanan returned.

  He might come back having fallen in love with someone else. Or he might not come back at all.

  Her heart twisted.

  Maybe she’d stay in Portland forever. Now that she’d reconnected with God’s love, maybe Keanan had fulfilled his role in her life. Maybe that was the only kind of love he had to offer.

  But if that were true, why was he holding her so tightly, his face burrowed against her neck at an angle that must give his a crick? On the flip side, if it were true, why didn’t he kiss her?

  If she were braver, she’d turn her head and make the first move. But if she did, and he pulled away, her heart would be broken. Wasn’t it better to remain in this tight embrace? Let the early December wind blast against her legs and back. Where she touched Keanan, she was warm. Safe. Better to be safe than sorry.

  The man was an enigma. Surely she meant more to him than a soul to save. Someone to point to the love of Jesus. He wouldn’t hold Tracy this way, or Diana from Alpha.

  But the truth was, he had cared enough to share with her the personal love of God. If for no other reason than that, he would always have a special spot in her heart. If it had to be enough, it would be.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Somehow Chelsea managed to loosen her grip around Keanan’s midsection. She set her hands on his hips and pulled slightly away.

  He released her the same amount and looked into her eyes.

  What were those green eyes saying? If he kissed her, she’d know. If he told her, she’d know. Otherwise, it was only a guess.

  She offered a wavering smile and inched backward just a little more, capturing his hands — one gloved, one not — with hers. “If we’re going for a walk, we’d better get going before we freeze to death.”

  Something in Keanan’s gaze shifted slightly, though his smile remained in place. He pulled her to walking, holding her hand.

  “I need to say thanks, Keanan.”

  He bumped her shoulder with his arm. “For what?”

  “For being so patient with me. For caring enough to point me to Jesus’ love.” She wasn’t quite there yet, but she was closer. Definitely closer.

  His fingers clenched around hers. “My pleasure. He is so good.”

  “Yes.” Even though that wasn’t the only love Chelsea wanted to talk about. But he had to lead the way. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. Not again.

  “We can continue to share scripture daily via email, and speak of what God is teaching each of us.”

  She bit her lip. “We can do that.” It wouldn’t seem as personal as a text, but he wouldn’t have access to that medium everywhere. And it certainly wouldn’t be as personal as sitting at her table with their Bibles open in front of them as they’d done several times this week. Or as personal as closing her eyes and listening to him play his guitar. She’d joined him in worship as he sang.

  How could she let him go so far away? But there wasn’t a choice. He had plane tickets. A giant crate of solar cookers awaited him in not one, not two, but three separate countries. He had a mission to complete that would take him halfway around the world. And he wasn’t exactly asking permission.

  She was going to create an event for wealthy people in tuxedos and ball gowns. She was going to spend Christmas in the lap of luxury.

  Keanan’s voice broke into her thoughts as he told her what he’d read this morning in the book of Ephesians. How old truths had come home to him in a new way.

  The guy ought to be a preacher, not a farmer. Sure, something new flickered in her own life but, in comparison, his passion for Jesus raged like a forest fire.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.” Oh, no. Had that come out of her mouth again?

  “I have an idea.”

  She angled a glance up at him. “Oh?”

  Keanan turned on the road and placed his hands on both her shoulders. “Come with me.”

  Chelsea took a step backward. The icy wind cut through her. “What do you mean?”

  “Come to South Africa. I bet we could still get plane tickets for you. I can pay for them if you can’t.”

  “But—”

  “The flight goes from Spokane to Seattle then Dubai before landing in Johannesburg. I’d love to show South Africa to you. And Mozambique. You’ll see what life is like there. Why it calls me so much.”

  She swallowed hard. “But I don’t...” I don’t want to go. Dare she simply say it?

  Keanan’s face fell.

  Had he heard the true reluctance in her voice? How could she say no without it being a rejection of him? Because it wasn’t. Not really. She wanted to be with him, but here. At Green Acres Farm. Or in Portland. But not on a distant continent.

  “I should have remembered you don’t have a passport.” His gaze searched hers and his hands dropped to his sides. “I’m sorry. It just seemed like a terrific idea in the moment.”

  Chelsea had a passport. How did Keanan think she’d flown to Belize and Mexico? Didn’t mean she wanted to pull it out for an impromptu trip. Even with the lure of spending the winter months with Keanan. She’d only see how much more spiritual he still was than she was. Maybe being there would help her catch more of it. But it seemed easier to be on the outside from a distance than close-up.

  Besides, trips like this took months of planning, not five days. She had plans. Maybe not big plans, other than the event in Portland, but plans nonetheless.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “No, it’s okay. I didn’t think about the details. The passport. I just caught a vision of a way to stay together. I spoke out of turn.”

  Guilt grabbed at her heart. She should explain. Tell him she didn’t want to go, that she didn’t do spontaneous. She didn’t do Africa. But then what would he think of her? She couldn’t risk his disappointment. Better he think she would come if she could. Besides, he’d be so busy there, with no time for her in his preset schedule.

  No. She’d keep her mouth shut and stay home. Safe. She pulled together a smile. “Too bad it could never work out. I’ll miss you like crazy.”

  “And we’ll email often?” Keanan’s voice came as close to begging as she’d ever heard.

  She reached up, running her fingertips lightly across the hint of stubble on his face. A touch of red to match his hair, now outgrowing the short crop he’d had cut a few weeks back, just because she’d called him a hippie. Soft auburn waves covered the tops of his ears and curled up at his collar.

  Barely daring to breathe, she wrapped a curl around her finger. Hey, he’d started it. She’d felt his hands in her hair. It wasn’t fair he knew what hers felt like, and she hadn’t touched his.

  Keanan’s gaze locked on hers as he sidled a little closer. His hands held hers against his face. “Chelsea. Heart of my heart.”

  Whoa. That made hers pound a bit faster. Was he really going to say the magic words? Here and now, on a frozen Idaho road?

  She couldn’t pull her gaze from his. Not that she wanted to. She bit her lip, trying to think how to respond to his words. What was appropriate? “Keanan...”

  He reached for her, cupping her face in his hands, leaning closer. “May I?”

  Chelsea couldn’t think what he was asking permission for. She couldn’t think at all. But he couldn’t be asking anything inappropriate, and she was pretty sure this question had nothing to do with Africa. She nodded slightly.

  Keanan’s lips skimmed hers, softer, gentler than anything she could have imagined. No taking. No demanding. Just a sweet brush that awakened something inside her.

  She’d been kissed before. She’d once thought Robert might be the one. There wasn’t any question here. Keanan was the one. Her fingers still deep in his hair, she tugged his face back into range and kissed him back. He needed to know how she felt, and
words were too hard.

  His lips responded, caressing hers with greater urgency as his fingers tightened around her face.

  She melted into him, glad his hands held her up, while she eagerly tasted more. Keanan Welsh. Who would ever have guessed he had this in him?

  Chapter 27

  Keanan fingered his guitar as he stood at the side of Galena Gospel Church’s stage along with a few members of his worship band. He was going to miss this group. His gaze traveled over the people gathered in the pews, more dressed up than the average churchgoers.

  The group gathered for Brent and Allison’s wedding consisted mostly of locals with a good representation of Brent’s Irish and Korean families blended in.

  Tracy gave him a little wave from the back of the sanctuary, her other hand tucked in the crook of Tyrell Burke’s arm.

  Keanan nodded back, his hands too busy to wave. Now that was an interesting couple. If he were a betting man, he’d bet on a summer wedding there, once the house Brent was building Tyrell was completed.

  Summer wedding.

  He watched the drapery at the interior window not far from where Tracy and Tyrell chatted with Ed Graysen. Zach, acting as usher, offered his arm to Tracy, and Tyrell trailed behind them to seats halfway to the front. It would have been too much to ask Gabe to usher them, the way Tyrell had once treated Sierra.

  Gabe and Sierra’s had been a summer wedding out at the farm. Keanan had played for it, too. That had been the first time he’d seen Chelsea, a vision in pink froth as she came down the aisle toward him. It would happen again today. Any minute, but maybe not in pink. The bride wasn’t into pink.

  After that soul-rocking kiss on Thursday afternoon, he’d dared to dream she might float down the aisle toward him a third time. Next time she’d be in white and he’d be in a tux, or whatever she wanted him to wear. There’d be no hiding behind his guitar. He’d be the guy coming in through the side door the way Pastor Ron, Brent, young Finnley, and Noel did right now.