by Irene Hannon
“I’ll keep that in mind. Shall we sit by the fire while the meat loaf cooks?”
“Sure.”
“Go ahead, and I’ll join you in a minute.”
A.J. made her way into the living room. The decor was conservative, but comfortable, which didn’t surprise her. The only unexpected thing in the room was a crudely carved folk-art statue on the coffee table. It was of a small boy, running exuberantly, his hands joyously stretched toward the sky. The child’s expression reflected absolute contentment and happiness, and perfectly captured what childhood should be all about. A.J. recognized it immediately. It was from the Good Samaritan collection at the shop. She knew it had sold, but she didn’t know who had bought it. She wondered if Blake saw, in the carving, all that he’d missed in his own childhood.
When he joined her a moment later, he was carrying two crystal goblets of sparkling cider.
“Fancy,” she said. “Looks like a special occasion.”
“Maybe it is.”
She glanced into his warm, caring eyes, and suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Tonight had been special in many ways. She’d learned a great deal about the man across from her. She’d recognized that at some point she’d have to deal with the questions he’d raised about her unwillingness to rely on other people. She’d realized that the romantic part of her heart hadn’t died with Eric, after all. And she was now facing a whole evening alone with the man who had reawakened those feelings in her. Feelings she wasn’t yet ready to face. Not with any man. And certainly not with this man.
But as she gazed at him, she was forced to acknowledge that, ready or not, she would have to deal with those feelings soon.
And as Blake handed her a glass, then sat beside her, she realized that the storm raging outside couldn’t hold a candle to the storm that was suddenly raging in her heart.
Chapter Eight
“That was a wonderful meal, Blake.” A.J. dipped a tea bag in a cup of hot water as she spoke. “How did you learn to make such great meat loaf?”
“After I’d been working a couple of years, I got pretty tired of fast food and frozen dinners. So I bought a beginners’ cookbook, and I actually learned a lot. Nothing to compare with that couscous dish you made, though.”
She shrugged his compliment aside. “It’s not hard. The people in Afghanistan have learned to prepare simple meals with inexpensive ingredients. It’s the spices that make the difference. The dish I served your parents is one of my favorites.”
“I can see why. Shall we go back in by the fire?”
“Sure.” A.J. stood and moved toward the living room, pausing to gaze out the window as she cradled her mug in her hands. “It still looks terrible out.”
She felt Blake come up behind her to look over her shoulder. His breath was warm on her ear, and her own breathing seemed to speed up. She half expected him to put his hands on her shoulders. It would somehow have seemed natural. But he didn’t.
“I doubt this is going to stop anytime soon. It’s a good thing we didn’t try to make it to your place.”
She felt him move away, and when her breathing was more or less under control, she turned and made her way back toward the fire. Blake was sitting on the couch, one arm casually draped across the back, an ankle crossed over a knee. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and looked completely relaxed. And oblivious to her unexpected reaction to his nearness. She considered sitting in the chair next to the fire instead of joining him on the couch, figuring that if she put a little distance between them her nerves might settle down. But she also figured that might raise questions. After all, her reaction appeared to be entirely one-sided. Blake had been nothing more than friendly all evening. Even the earlier embrace that had played havoc with her emotions seemed to have left him completely unaffected. It was her own reactions she had to worry about. Not his.
She sat beside him, careful to keep a respectable distance between them, but not so much that it would seem odd.
“How’s the tea?” he asked.
“Comforting. Especially on a cold night.”
“My mother always liked tea.”
“How are your parents doing?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“I take it communication is sporadic, at best.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s too bad, Blake.”
He shrugged. “That’s how it’s always been since I left home.”
“You could change that.”
“Meaning you think I should?”
She lifted one shoulder in response. “You have to make that decision for yourself. I’m just suggesting that I think they’d be receptive.”
As usual, A.J.’s instincts were accurate. Blake knew his parents would welcome a reconciliation. They’d made overtures through the years, which he had ignored. The ball was in his court. And lately, he’d been toying with the notion of initiating some contact. He just wasn’t sure how to begin after all these years.
“It’s not that easy to start over,” he said quietly, studying his coffee.
She was silent for so long that he finally looked over at her. She was gazing into the fire, and there was such raw pain in her eyes that his throat constricted with tenderness.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice a shade deeper than usual.
With an effort, she pulled her gaze from the flames and looked at him. “I was thinking about what you said. I agree. Starting over is never easy. But it can be done.”
He took a sip of his coffee. His impulse was to reach out and take her hand again. But he’d done enough of that for one night. He was about to ask some pretty personal questions, and he didn’t want to scare her off.
“You sound like you’ve had experience at that,” he said carefully.
She turned away, and he saw her swallow convulsively. For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. But finally she spoke, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “Yeah.”
He waited a beat. “Is it something you want to talk about?”
A.J. drew an unsteady breath, then turned back to him. There was nothing but kindness and compassion in his eyes. He wasn’t pushing her to confide, but it was clear that he was willing to offer a sympathetic ear. She didn’t share her trauma with many people. It was part of her philosophy of putting the past behind her and making the most of today. But for some reason, she wanted to tell this man her story.
“I haven’t told a lot of people,” she ventured, her voice tentative.
“I’m a good listener. And you certainly have a captive audience tonight,” he said, flashing her an encouraging smile.
A.J. took a deep breath. Blake had shared with her some of his issues with his parents. It seemed only right that she share some of her past with him. And he seemed genuinely interested. “Did Aunt Jo ever tell you much about me?”
“No. Family was a painful subject for me. She mentioned her great-nieces a few times, but to be honest, I never encouraged her to talk about you or your sisters.”
“That’s what I thought. If you’d known about the accident, you probably would have put two and two together and figured out why I sometimes limp.”
He set his mug on the table and angled his body toward her. “So the accident has nothing to do with Afghanistan?”
“Only indirectly. It was one of the reasons I decided to go.” She tightened her grip on her mug and stared into the fire. “It’s so hard to know where to start.”
“The beginning is always a good place.”
She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “We could be here all night.”
“I’m not planning to go far, anyway.”
“Okay. Then I’ll give you the condensed version of the A. J. Williams life story.”
“Start with the A.J.”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“What do the initials stand for?”
“Oh.” She made a face. “Abigail Jeanette.”
“Pretty.”
/> “Not for a tomboy. Abigail Jeanette is such an old-fashioned, ladylike name. I was always tall and lanky and athletic. It didn’t fit. So I shortened it to A.J. early on.”
Blake didn’t agree with A.J.’s assessment of her feminine charms, but he let her comment pass for the moment.
“Anyway, thanks to my mom and dad, I was totally comfortable with who I was. They always encouraged me to do my best, and I did. I excelled at basketball and soccer, and I also did well academically. Frankly, I intimidated a lot of the guys in high school because I could compete with them pretty much on their own terms and often come out the winner. Which was okay, because they respected me and considered me one of the guys. But on the other hand, when it came to dating, I wasn’t even a contender. Besides, I was taller than a lot of them. So they just didn’t think of me in those terms.
“Because of that, I didn’t date in high school. Since I couldn’t do anything about my height, and I wasn’t about to play the coy, incompetent, demure type just to get men interested in me, I figured dates in the future would be few and far between, too. Not many guys have egos strong enough to handle an extremely independent woman.
“So I focused on preparing for a career that would provide a comfortable living. Since I’d always been good with numbers, I majored in business and then got into an M.B.A. program. That’s where I met Eric. He was in his last year when I started.”
A.J. paused to swallow painfully, and Blake leaned closer. He’d never heard her mention that name before. But the man had obviously been important to her. He found himself wondering who Eric was, and if he’d hurt her.
“We dated for a year and a half, while I was working on my M.B.A.,” A.J. continued. “And when he asked me to marry him, I thought I could never be any happier. We decided to go on a ski trip with a church group over spring break to celebrate. We had a great time, and we made some wonderful plans for our future. I’ll remember that trip as long as I live.”
A.J. paused, and Blake saw her swallow. He knew she was getting to the traumatic part of the story, and he wanted to reach out to her. But he held back, knowing she was not yet ready for his comfort. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and lifeless.
“The…the accident happened on the way back. A couple of hours after we left the resort. I remember that it was quiet on the bus. We were all tired, and a lot of people were drifting off to sleep. I had my head on Eric’s shoulder, and I had this wonderful feeling of deep contentment and happiness. It was pitch-dark outside the windows of the bus, and huge snowflakes were beating against the glass. But I felt insulated from the storm—warm and protected and safe.”
She drew a ragged breath and reached up with shaking fingers to brush a stray wisp of hair off her forehead. Her gaze was fixed on the fire, but it was clear that she was seeing something else entirely, something far away and long ago.
“M-my memories after that are sketchy. I heard the brakes slam. And there was a sudden jarring, like the bus was trying to stop. There was an odd sideways motion. And then…the world tilted. People screamed. I grabbed onto Eric, and he reached for me. W-we looked at each other, and I remember the fear and…and the panic in his eyes. And then e-everything went black.”
A single tear slid down her cheek, and a sob caught in her throat. “I f-found out later that our bus slid off the road. We went over an embankment. A lot of people were killed…including Eric.”
Blake sucked in a sharp breath, and she turned to him. Her eyes were dull with pain, her voice mechanical now, almost clinical. “I survived, but my hip was crushed. It took three operations to restore a semblance of normalcy and two long years of therapy before I could walk properly. During that time I reevaluated my career plans. I’d lost interest in the business world. It just seemed so meaningless. I felt a need to do something more important with my life. That’s when I discovered Good Samaritan. You know the rest.”
Blake stared at the woman beside him, his face a mask of shock. So many things made sense now. Her independent spirit, forged from hardship. Her limp, not only a permanent physical impairment but a constant reminder of the tragedy that had stolen her fiancé and turned her world upside down. Her fear of driving in snow. And perhaps her vagabond lifestyle. Jo had hinted as much in her letter to him. Had suggested that even A.J. didn’t fully understand why she’d never put down roots since the accident. But suddenly Blake did. If you’d made plans and prepared for a certain kind of life, only to have it snatched away, who wouldn’t be afraid to make those kinds of plans, those commitments, again? Many people wouldn’t survive the kind of loss A.J. had suffered even one time; twice would be unthinkable. In her mind, it probably wasn’t worth the risk.
Another tear slid silently down A.J.’s cheek, and Blake’s gut clenched painfully. Gently he reached over and pried the mug out of her fingers. They were ice cold, as was her tea. He set the mug on the coffee table and then turned back to her. She looked fragile. And haunted. And so alone.
He’d refrained from touching her before. He didn’t now. Without stopping to consider the consequences, he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms, cradling her slender body against his solid chest. He could feel the rapid thudding of her heart, could hear her uneven breathing. For a moment she went rigid, and he was afraid she’d pull back. But then she relaxed against him, and he heard a stifled sob as she buried her face in his neck.
“It’s okay, A.J. I’m here. Just hold on to me,” he said unevenly, his voice tattered at the edges. He felt the tremors run through her, felt the evidence of her silent tears in the erratic rise and fall of her chest. And as he stroked her back, it suddenly occurred to him that in light of all she’d been through—the pain and suffering and loss—his own childhood trauma seemed petty. If she could rebuild her life out of the ashes, surely he could find a way to reconnect with his parents. To put the ghosts of his childhood to rest once and for all.
He held her for a long time, and gradually he felt her sobs subside. But she didn’t move out of his arms immediately. And he was in no hurry to let her go.
Finally, though, she drew a deep breath and pushed back. When she looked at him, her face was flushed and she seemed embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“About sharing your story?”
“No. Sorry I fell apart.”
“You’re entitled.”
She sniffled, and he reached into his pocket and held out a handkerchief. “I always have a spare,” he told her when she hesitated.
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “You would.”
“Is that an insult?”
“No. I’m beginning to appreciate your ability to always be prepared.” And other qualities as well, she acknowledged silently.
He reached over and traced the course of a tear down her cheek. She went absolutely still at his touch. “A.J., I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t need to say any more. She could see the depth of compassion in his eyes. “Thanks. It w-was a really hard time.”
“How did you make it through?”
“My mom was still alive then, and she was incredibly supportive. So were my sisters. That’s why I think it’s so important to make sure family ties are strong. My faith helped sustain me, too. Those were the reasons I survived.”
“I think there might have been a dash of fortitude and determination thrown in, too. Not to mention discipline and strength.”
She shrugged. “Those things alone wouldn’t have gotten me through without my family and my faith.”
Suddenly she yawned, and Blake glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. And you’ve had a long and emotionally draining day. Why don’t you make it an early night?”
“I want to help with the dishes first.”
“Not tonight.”
“But it’s not fair to…”
“Not tonight,” he interrupted, this time more firmly. “I know you’re used to doing things for yourself. After hearing your story, I understand why that’s so impor
tant to you. I also understand something else.” He paused, and his gaze held hers. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe one of the reasons you don’t like to let people help you is because you don’t want to begin to rely on someone again who might not be around tomorrow? That maybe you’re afraid to make plans for a future that might not come to pass?”
She stared at him, momentarily speechless. Was she afraid? Not only of letting people help, but of settling down, putting down roots, making plans? But fear wouldn’t be consistent with her faith. She believed in relying on God, of putting her trust in Him. So she couldn’t be afraid. That had nothing to do with being independent, of taking care of herself. And as for not making plans or putting down roots, well, that was easily explained. She simply didn’t want to be tied down by material things or commitments that could make her less open and available to God’s call.
Those explanations had always worked for her before. Yet forced to examine her motivations under Blake’s discerning eye, they suddenly didn’t seem to ring quite true. But she didn’t want to deal with that tonight. So she ignored his questions.
“Okay. I’ll go to bed.” Eager to escape both the man and the doubts he’d raised, she stood abruptly. Too abruptly. Because she momentarily lost her balance.
Blake was on his feet instantly, his grip firm and sure on her arms, steadying her. What A.J. saw in his eyes made her heart stop, then race on. Concern. Compassion. Respect. And something more. Something powerful and compelling. Something she wasn’t yet ready to deal with. She needed to put some distance between them. Quickly. But she seemed unable to move.
Blake stared at the woman who was mere inches away, their eyes almost level. Her story had resonated deeply with him, touched a place in his heart that had never been touched before. He’d known A.J. was a good person with a kind heart. He’d learned, over time, that she was smart and savvy and had great instincts. He’d also known she was strong. But until tonight, he hadn’t known just how strong.
In the past, he’d used the word interesting to describe her. That term still fit. But so did intriguing. And absorbing. And exciting. Not to mention appealing. Very appealing. Too appealing.