by Colleen Coble, Kristin Billerbeck, Denise Hunter, Diann Hunt
Just when she thought it might be okay, they turned a corner. She leaned with him. A squeak escaped. A moment later the bike righted itself. She realized there were two more turns before she reached her house. Three if he turned into the drive.
Gravity clawed at her body as they turned again. She hung on tight. Forgot to breathe. And then they righted again.
A few short lifetimes later the bike slowed and he turned off the engine. Silence rang loudly in her ears.
She opened her eyes. Her face was pressed into his back, her arms wrapped around him, her purse practically in his lap. Her fists clenched against his stomach.
Ack! She let loose, peeled her body off him, snatched her purse. “Uh, sorry ’bout that.”
“Not bad. A little practice and you’ll get the hang of those turns.”
“I’m so not getting on this thing again.”
He smiled over his shoulder. “Why not? Gives you a different perspective on things, doesn’t it? Scenery looks different without a piece of glass in the way.”
“I kind of had my eyes closed.”
He laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that warmed her insides. “You’re funny, Clare.”
Now that they weren’t speeding through time and space, she wished she could’ve seen the looks on her family’s faces as they’d darted away from the house. It almost would’ve been worth the ride. Almost.
“Ah, Clare? You going to dismount?”
“Oh. Oh, sorry.” She removed the helmet, set it behind her, and, not wanting to maul him again, swung her leg over without a handhold.
Her knees quivered, her legs buckled. “Whoopsy.”
He reached out to steady her, and she grabbed the lifeline.
“You’re shaking.”
She gave a breathy laugh. “Guess I am.”
He was off the bike, grasping her elbow.
She waved him off. “I’m fine.”
“Last time you said that, you hit the ground two seconds later.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I had the flu.”
“Don’t argue, woman.”
She rolled her eyes but let him walk her to the door. By the time they reached the porch, her legs were steady, though his touch made her arm hum with electricity.
“Thanks. I’ll be fine. Guess I’m not Harley chick material.”
“That was never in question.”
She deflated a little as she fished for her keys. A little excitement had her quaking in her shoes. But at least he’d come today—gotten her through that one awkward meal. Now she only had, say, about a thousand more to go.
“Thanks for the invite. It was nice to have a home-cooked meal.” To his credit, he said nothing about the odd combination of fried chicken, beets, applesauce, and muffins.
“Sorry about Zoe. She’s a little, uh, curious.”
“That’s one word for it.” His smile softened the words.
“You don’t talk much about yourself.”
He shrugged.
“Why not?”
Those brown eyes locked onto hers. Something passed between them, something indefinable. “What’s the point? Sharing leads to relationships, and relationships complicate things.”
“What kinds of things?”
Indecision flickered in his eyes as if weighing whether to answer. “I’m just passing through, you know.”
Clare saw something else flicker in his eyes. A longing? Just as quickly it was gone. Didn’t he have anyone in his life? A place to rest when he got tired of running?
“It must get lonely.”
“Sometimes.” His deep voice cut right through her.
She couldn’t imagine going from town to town. No family, no connections. Who did he talk to? Who did he confide in? No one, that she could see.
Dixie barked behind the door. Clare unlocked it and let her out. The dog accepted their greetings and dashed down the steps to sniff out the front yard.
For all Ethan’s talk about attachments, he seemed in no hurry to leave. Clare sank onto the top step and gestured toward the spot beside her.
He lowered his weight and his thigh brushed hers. She shifted away.
“Tell me about your ex-boyfriend.”
Clare frowned at him. He’d met Josh right here on her porch, but she hadn’t introduced him as her ex.
“My turn to interrogate,” he said. “Turnabout’s fair play.”
She tried for a flirtatious smile. “I suppose you’re right. But how did you know he was my ex?”
“I’m asking the questions.”
“Tyrant.”
“How’d you meet?”
She grimaced. “Through Zoe’s matchmaking business—I know, I know. Lame.”
“Not lame at all. How long did you date?”
“Five months.”
“You broke up recently?”
“How did you know?”
He gave her a warning look.
“All right. Yes, three weeks ago.”
He studied her. “Yet you don’t have feelings for him.”
“How do you—” She clamped her lips shut. It was disconcerting the way he read things. He was uncannily perceptive, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
He lifted his brows, waiting.
“I guess it wasn’t that serious.”
“Who broke up?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“That would be him then.”
She flipped her hair back. “A first for me, actually.”
“Do tell.”
She shrugged. “Nothing to tell, really; I just don’t drag things out if the guy’s not right for me. But like I said, it wasn’t serious with Josh and me.”
That last night at the Creamery flooded through her mind, Josh’s words buzzing in her ears like a pesky fly. Her face heated at the recollection. Why had he dated her so long if he felt that way? That only made her feel worse.
“Didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Well, you’re bringing up bad memories.”
“You said you weren’t serious.”
“We weren’t.”
Ethan’s brows pulled together, forming twin commas at the bridge of his nose. He stared at her until the heat wave in her face flowed through the rest of her.
“Did he hurt you?”
“Josh? Good grief, no. Maybe he isn’t Mr. Knight in Shining Armor, but he’s harmless enough.”
“Then why the ‘bad memories’?”
He just wasn’t going to let it go.
“He called me boring, okay? He thought I was as exciting as tree bark, and being with me put him to sleep faster than a prescription sedative.”
Clare winced. Why had she admitted that to a man she barely knew? Told him something she’d been too embarrassed to tell her mom and her sisters? She looked away, squirming.
He’d gotten awfully quiet. He probably thought she was boring too. Maybe everyone thought she was. Maybe she was so boring she’d wither away in her quiet house, single and alone, her only joy in life doting on her sisters’ grandkids.
A stupid lump knotted in her throat. Daggonit. She was going to make a real idiot of herself. She started to get up.
He grabbed her arm, his touch burning through her skin. His eyes bored into hers, gentle, searching. She wanted to close her own, shutter her thoughts, but she couldn’t look away—he had that effect on her. Instead she swallowed against the hard lump.
His lips tilted sideways. “You’re not boring, Clare. Not even close.”
He was just being nice. Just sucking up to his boss. Whatever, he sounded sincere, and the words still soothed her.
“Thanks.”
His head tipped back, his eyes narrowing. “That’s what the bike ride was all about.”
Her cheeks burned. Did the man have to see everything? “No, it wasn’t. Not at all. Maybe a little. Okay, yes.”
He smiled, his eyes roaming her face.<
br />
There was something warm and pleasant about the way he was looking at her. Like he was . . . charmed by her or something.
Her. Boring Clare.
“The guy’s an idiot,” he said. “Just be yourself—that’s who God made you to be.”
He had a point. Though so far it hadn’t gotten her to happily-ever-after. Not even close. Besides, God had made her aunts too, and they were spinsters. How had they ever come to peace with that?
Please, God, I hope that’s not your plan for me. I love my family, but I want one of my own. A loving husband, children, devotions around the kitchen table, all of it. Send the man you have for me. Someone godly, who’ll love me for who I am and be here through thick and thin.
She thought of the way she’d felt when Ethan had touched her. The hum of electricity between them.
And a little spark wouldn’t hurt either, God.
“Why haven’t you opened a landscape design business?” His question startled her from her prayer.
“That was random. Isn’t the interrogation over?”
“Were you at lunch?”
She sighed. Zoe. “I’ve worked at the Red Barn for eons. I’m happy enough there for now. Besides, what do I know about starting a business? Mr. Lewis handles all the paperwork, the finances, the taxes. The thought of it all is enough to give me a headache. And starting a business is expensive. Like I said . . . someday.”
She’d have to take out a loan, put everything on the line, and what if she failed? Just the thought of such a crazy venture sent a thread of anxiety worming through her limbs.
“You should. You’re really good. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful property in my travels, but your yard outshines them all.” He was studying her again. She felt his gaze, but she didn’t want to think about this anymore. She’d answered enough questions for one day.
He seemed to sense her need for escape and slowly got to his feet. “Well, I should probably be going.”
Clare stood, and Dixie came running, nudging her hand until she petted the dog. “All right. See you tomorrow, then.”
“Thanks again for the meal.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” she blurted, then bit her lip. Ethan did something to her insides, made her feel a way Josh never had. It was something she yearned for, with someone.
But not Ethan.
He stared down at her with those soulful eyes, making her legs feel weak and wobbly all over again. “Be careful what you ask for.”
Before she could respond, he was striding toward his bike. Clare watched him go, his long legs eating up the distance, his longish hair fluttering against his collar, and wondered if playing with fire was the antidote for boredom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ethan turned the mower into the shed, shut it off, and left the barn. It had been years since he’d had a yard to mow. Not since his dad had that place on Harper Avenue. He’d had no idea when he’d enlisted and left home how long it would be before he had a place to call home. Actually, he still didn’t know.
He found Clare in the greenhouse, repotting a begonia. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek that was too cute to mention.
“All done. What’s next, boss?”
She blew her bangs from her face. “Ever repotted plants?”
“Nope.”
“Grab that petunia.” Her hands wrist-deep in a pot, she nodded toward the plant and gave him instructions. “Gloves are on the shelf over there.”
He began transferring the flower to a larger pot. Clare worked at double his speed, her gloved hands sure and efficient.
She held the pot while he pulled out the flower, roots and all, and transferred it. “You’re a natural.”
He’d thought about Clare a lot since their chat on Sunday. When he settled into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes, it was her face he saw. Her cloudy blue eyes, her silly sideways smile. He wanted to punch that ex-boyfriend of hers, making her feel bad about herself. Boring was the last word that came to mind when he thought of Clare.
In fact, last night he’d found himself wondering if this attraction was worth pursuing. He’d been on his own so long, the thought made him nervous, but he’d asked God about it just the same.
“Okay, guess what?” She patted down the soil around the begonia. “It’s my turn to interrogate . . . so brace yourself.”
Ethan scowled. “We each had a turn—game over.”
She lifted a brow. “Chicken?”
Women. Always wanting to talk. “Fine. Take your best shot. But just remember.” He pointed a gloved finger. “Your turn’s coming.”
“I have nothing to hide.” She turned that funny lopsided smile on him.
“We’ll see about that.”
“What’s your favorite place, of all the towns you’ve visited?”
Amateur. “Don’t have one. Every one’s pretty much like the next.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Campgrounds mostly.”
She looked at him. “Here? Now? It can still get down in the forties at night.”
He shrugged. “I stay warm enough.”
“Rumor is you’re staying at the old Patterson place, wash up in the Green River, and rummage through neighborhood garbage cans after dark.”
He laughed. “I’m staying at the campground, using their facilities, and I haven’t gotten desperate enough to Dumpster dive. Yet. Maybe you can spread that around for me.”
“I can try, but it’s not outrageous enough to get far.” She spared him a smile, then grabbed another begonia.
He held up the petunia. “This look right?”
“Perfect. Only ninety-nine to go.” Her cheeks bunched as she smiled, the splotch of dirt spreading.
He pulled off his glove, swiped his thumb across her cheek.
She froze in place.
Her skin was soft as silk. “You have some dirt . . .” He swiped again, telling himself the first one didn’t get it all.
Those startled gray-blue eyes pulled at him. The color of storm clouds. He wondered what was going on behind the storm.
She looked away. “Occupational hazard,” she said, wiping at the spot.
He chided himself for touching her. What was he thinking? She was his boss. Regardless of any attraction he might feel—okay, did feel—he shouldn’t act on it. Flirting was one thing, but ties . . . was he ready for that?
He hoped the touch had at least ended the interrogation. But as it turned out, she was only reloading.
“Who’s Luke Fletcher?”
The name stopped his hands. Where had she heard it? Her gaze was on him like a touch.
“His name is on your jacket label,” she said. “I saw it in the truck a couple weeks ago.”
Ah. “He was a friend.”
“Was?”
That memory returned with a freshness that denied the passage of years, another sucker punch. He’d been stationed in Baghdad, eating in the mess hall when he’d received word. The food had churned in his stomach, then had come up an hour later.
“He died in Iraq. Grenade.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft and delicate, a flower petal. “Did you serve together?”
He loosened the petunia. “Grew up together. Learned to fly together. Enlisted together.”
“Learned to fly?”
“Small aircraft. Cessnas, Pipers, et cetera. My dad taught us.”
She smiled at him. “No kidding. Do you miss it?”
“Every day. There’s something about loosening yourself from the ties of earth that’s a real stress reliever.” Sometimes he’d looked down and wondered if this was God’s everyday view.
“I’m not sure how flying miles above the ground could relieve stress.”
“You’ll just have to trust me. There’s nothing quite like it.”
She shared a smile with him. “You still wear your friend’s jacket—that’s nice.”
“His mom gave it to me.” They’d been like brothers. Wearing it made him feel like a piec
e of Fletch was still with him. When he wore it, he wasn’t alone. Or maybe that’s just what he told himself.
“Does being on the go make it easier?”
It was the closest anyone had come to understanding him. “Little bit. This was something me and Fletch planned to do together after our tours ended.”
“What do you mean?”
“Traveling the country. We decided we’d try it for a year, meeting people, talking to them about God when opportunity arose. Sort of a ministry, I guess you could say.”
She stared at him for a long minute. “That’s an awesome idea.”
“When he didn’t make it, I decided to do it myself. Met a lot of people, led a few to the Lord. It’s been rewarding overall.”
“It’s been well over a year, though, hasn’t it?”
He shrugged. “Guess I just never found a reason to stop.”
Though truth be told, “on the go” was wearing thin. Finding jobs had gotten harder. And lunch on Sunday had made him remember what he was missing.
Family. Relationships. And yes, home-cooked meals.
A couple hours with her family had him longing for something he hadn’t had in years. In some ways, had never had. He admired the closeness Clare’s family shared. He hardly remembered his own mom, and it had just been him and Dad most of his life.
Someday, though, he wanted something just like that. And a little part of him wondered, as he worked side by side with Clare, if she could be a part of it.
Clare loosened the petunia from its pot. Ethan had sure shed a new light on the drifter thing. Ministry. It made her respect him in a whole new way. Despite the good he did, he must feel lonely, traveling from town to town, no roots, no home, no loved ones.
She felt bad for asking about Fletch. She’d seen the hurt in the depths of Ethan’s brown eyes. Fletch’s death had left its mark. A part of her had wanted to reach out and comfort him.
But she remembered the way electricity thrummed through her veins at his touch. The way she felt when he was nearby—all jittery—and a thread of worry spread through her, making her heart race.
It wouldn’t do to get attached. He was leaving soon, on to his next mission field, and while she did want a man, yearned for love, she didn’t want a broken heart. And she was sure that’s exactly where a relationship with Ethan Foster would lead.