by Jillian Hart
She kissed Mia’s cheek and stood to turn off the bedside lamp. Darkness fell like a hush in the cozy room. The slab of light falling through the doorway to the adjoining room guided her as she made her way. By the time she closed the door, Mia was already fast asleep.
Her own room was cozy, lit by matching lamps flanking the bed on small antique tables and another by the overstuffed chair in the corner. As she went in search of the book she was reading, she straightened up the room as she went. Her thoughts kept going over the day. At church. At the diner. Talking with Jonah in the snowy parking lot. Thoughts of him brought peace to her spirit.
She was looking forward to spending more time with him tomorrow. It had been a long time since she’d felt this happy. She kicked off her shoes, curled up in the chair, opened her book and let the promise of happily-ever-after carry her away.
Chapter Nine
Ross opened the door of Pamela Lansbury’s Christian bookstore. The shop was busy with Christmas shoppers. Both cashiers were working away at a long line of customers with gifts to purchase. Not a good sign. He hoped Pamela had time to talk with him now. He’d been so energized by Naomi Fraser’s e-mail that he’d come straight here. Maybe he should have called.
“Ross.” Pamela found him, waltzing into sight with an armful of devotionals she must have been shelving. “How lovely to see you. Tell me, how is your son getting along?”
“He’s perfect.” Ross remembered how terrified he’d been and filled with protective rage when he’d first seen his son in the neonatal unit at the children’s hospital. “Can I speak with you alone?”
She looked a little surprised and glanced at the front. “I suppose the girls can handle things just fine for a few moments.”
“It won’t take long. I need your help.”
“Is this about the Tiny Blessings investigation?” Pamela led the way to the back door marked Employees Only. “I saw your statement on the news a while back. You need to capture that man, Ross, whoever he is, before he hurts someone else.”
“I will.” He would not fail. As soon as the door closed, he patted the folded pages in his coat pocket. “I was wondering if you remember a young woman who worked for you once a long time ago. Her name was Wendy Kates.”
“Oh, that dear girl.” Pamela face fell. She looked deeply sad. “Wendy was the sweetest thing. It was terrible what happened to her, dying in childbirth.”
Ross realized that Pamela didn’t know the full truth about Wendy’s death—or, murder, as he suspected. It was difficult keeping his emotions under wrap. “How well did you know her?”
“As well as anyone could, I guess. She just showed up one day, a little black and blue. She said her father had thrown her out of the house and she was obviously pregnant. I took her in, my heart broke for her. I don’t think she had a friend in the world, so I let her stay in the little apartment above my garage.”
Ross wasn’t surprised to learn that Wendy had been battered. It was a pattern with some men, a terrible pattern of violence and brutality. “Surely Wendy confided in you. Do you know who the father of her baby was?”
“She only called him Douggie. I don’t know if it was a first name or a last name or just a pet name she had for him. I felt so sorry for her, all alone like that.”
“Are you sure she didn’t know anyone else in town?”
“I don’t think she knew many people in town. I kept trying to encourage her to go to church with my husband and me, but she resisted. She was afraid of being judged, I think. At least that poor baby was adopted by a nice family.” The intercom in the overhead speaker came on, paging her. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I have to get back on the floor. Did you need anything else?”
“You’ve been a great help, Pamela.” Ross followed her through the door. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention this to anyone. Not even your husband. Can I have your word?”
“Of course. This is exciting to be a part of your investigation. If I think of anything else, I’ll call you.” Pamela led the way into the hustle-bustle of the shop. “Good luck, Ross. I hope you get him.”
“I will.” Ross felt certain of it now. Douggie. Another piece of the puzzle. It fit very nicely with the initials he’d found—L.M. Several prominent families in town had last names that started with the letter M. Matthews was on that list of names.
Douglas Matthews. The Matthews were a prominent family. Douglas had always been and still was the town’s golden boy. Would his family pay to keep an out-of-wedlock pregnancy secret?
Sure they would. Douglas would pay more today to keep his reputation pristine—and Wendy’s murder forgotten.
Ross grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Zach’s number. They were getting closer. Much closer.
Debra took a steadying breath, gripped the knife more tightly and roughly chopped the batch of cilantro on the cutting board in front of her. Leah’s kitchen was bright and roomy and easy to cook in, but the friendly cozy atmosphere did nothing to calm her anxiety. She wasn’t worried about how the meal would turn out. She’d been making her chicken enchilada recipe for years; it was one of Mia’s favorites, so she could prepare it with her eyes closed.
Why was she so nervous? Because Jonah was coming. That was the reason why her hands kept shaking and why her palms were damp. She couldn’t deny even to herself how much she admired Jonah. Admired him, she ordered herself. She was to admire him and nothing more.
But she could not stop the surge of hope at the sound of the front door opening or at the pleasant rumble of Jonah’s baritone two rooms away.
“Mom! He’s here!” Mia looked up from the kitchen table, where the girls had been working on crafts. With the clink of scissors hitting the scarred wooden tabletop and the scrape of the chairs against the floor, Mia and Olivia hopped up, their faces shining with delight.
“It’s Jonah!” Both girls tromped through the kitchen and into the dining room, where china clinked on the shelves of the buffet as they skipped past.
The sounds of a real home, of a real family, made the cook’s job even sweeter, Debra realized as she turned to the sink to rinse the blade. Although her back was turned to the doorway, she kept an ear out for the man’s approach.
She was at the stove checking on the poaching filets of chicken when she heard the uneven strike of his gait on the oak floor. She turned at the sound of his approach. There he was, framed in the arched doorway. Her spirit uplifted at the sight of him. Of his smile. Of his respectful gaze. She loved the quiet, unspoken happiness that marked his rugged, handsome face.
“Flowers for the cook.” He said the words simply.
The effect on her was anything but. Emotions tangled up inside her until she could not breathe or move.
He came closer and she could not stop a wish from rising up full-blown from her soul. She wished for the chance to spend more time with him. She wished for the chance for there to be more than friendship between them.
He slipped the bakery box he carried, which she only now noticed, onto the counter and strolled closer. In his other hand was a delicate china vase of fresh, pure white gardenias. “I hear these are your favorite.”
“Y-yes.” She sounded scratchy, but that was from the emotions untangling within her like a knot coming undone until there was one single truth. She was in danger of falling in love with him.
It wasn’t sensible, it wasn’t practical and it wasn’t even wise. But that didn’t stop the sweet affection from ebbing into every crack of her heart. “Gardenias are my favorite flower. Mia told you.”
“She called me today and happened to mention it.”
“Happened to? What else did she happen to mention?”
“Not much. She wanted to know how her furniture was coming along. And she mentioned you’ve been happier lately. You’ve been humming.”
“Was I?” She certainly didn’t remember doing it.
“I caught a bar or two while you were cooking. You have a good singing voice, I bet.”
“I used to sing in the church choir long ago…You look shocked to hear that.”
“By the way Mia is so determined to get you to church and save you, I thought you weren’t a believer.”
“I—I’ve had a lot of questions, I guess. I’ve taken a step back. It’s more sensible.”
“Faith is believing in what cannot be seen but felt with the heart. Sensible has nothing to do with it.” He leaned close and closer still until only the bouquet of flowers separated them.
Debra drew in a wobbly breath, feeling revealed in a way she never had before. Her heart was open again, vulnerable without a single shield to hide behind.
Panic thudded through her because if he could really see her and her flaws, her mistakes and insecurities, he might turn away from her. It was more frightening to think he might not retreat.
Terror tasted like copper on her tongue as she took a step back and hit the handle of the oven door. She had nowhere to escape. Jonah towered in front of her, all six feet of him. What did he see when he looked at her?
He set the flowers on the counter, his arm brushing her shoulder, bringing him close enough for her to smell the wood scent on his skin from his day’s work. He stayed close, a whisper away, his dark eyes intent on hers, studying her as if he could see everything.
“Since you’ve had questions about faith, I’ve got to ask. What about love? You believe in that, right?”
“Sometimes. On a good day.”
A slow smile showed his dimples. “Let’s hope I can catch you on a good day.”
She didn’t know if he was talking about faith or love, but either way, she couldn’t answer. He straightened away, giving her room to breathe and room to think. She was frozen in place. Although he’d put physical distance between them, he felt closer to her than ever before. Much closer than anyone had ever been. It was the sweetest feeling.
“Thank you for the flowers.” There. She finally got the right words out and was rewarded by his smile. “I hope you like enchiladas, refried beans and nachos.”
“What’s not to like?” He leaned against the counter to study her with his serious, assessing gaze. “You do nothing but surprise me. About the time I think I’ve got you pegged, you do something that throws me off.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“You have a high-powered career, yet you’re a good mom, a kind lady and, judging by the delicious scent coming from the stove, a fantastic cook.”
“I know you’re simply being a gentleman, but I expect more honesty from a minister’s son.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Make what easy for you?”
He didn’t say anything, just shook his head slowly from side to side. She would not give credence to the tiny twinkle of hope within her. It would not be sensible to let herself start to wish for the impossible.
Except, when she dared a glance at Jonah out of the corner of her eye, it now didn’t seem impossible. Suddenly he launched away from the opposite counter to tower over her.
“Put me to work,” he said.
So she did, sending him to open the cans of tomato sauce and tomato paste. She would describe cooking with him as companionable—nothing more would be sensible. But when she caught herself humming—twice—Debra had to realize there was more to it. Rolling up stuffed tortillas alongside Jonah made delight spiral through her. Being with him made her happier than she’d been in a long, long time.
Her feelings for him were far from practical. There was no longer any way to deny them. She topped the enchiladas with sauce and cheese, and as she put the casserole dish in the oven, she decided it would be best not to think about her feelings or her wishes for the future. She was going back to her life in a few days’ time.
Maybe it was best just to enjoy this moment, this evening spent with this man.
Debra amazed him. Jonah did his best to hide his feelings and tried hard to concentrate on what Ben was saying to him as they were talking over the recent town news. But not even his iron will could blockade Debra from his thoughts, especially when he could hear the faint lilt of her voice as she chatted with Leah nearby.
When he shifted in the chair by the fireplace, she was at the edge of his vision. Talk about gorgeous. She wore a green sweater and slacks, a shade which brought out the chestnut tones in her brown hair. She remained at the edge of his conscious and he could not seem to shake her. If he looked away, he only listened more intently for the sound of her voice.
Face it man, you like her. Maybe like was too weak of a word. He feared that liking her wasn’t the half of it. She was an easy woman to like—easy to get along with and truly fun when she relaxed a little. In the kitchen, she’d had him laughing over stories of ruined meals and cooking mistakes she’d learned when she’d first been on her own and he had to admit to a few of his own. When the meal was in the oven, they had joined the rest of the family in the living room, where the decorated tree glistened and winked in colorful splendor, and he missed that closeness with her all evening long.
For those few moments spent with her in the kitchen, he hadn’t been racked with guilt, with what should-have-been, and memories of the friends he’d lost.
It was wrong, he knew, that he’d forgotten so easily. That he’d let anything distract him from his guilt and failures. The last few nights without sleep were catching up with him. Making him tired, making him weak. He gasped for breath and bounded onto his feet.
Ben watched him with a question on his face.
“I didn’t realize how late it was getting.” A feeble attempt, but it was all he could say as he made a beeline toward the front door. “Thanks for the hospitality. Debra, thanks for the fine meal.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” She rose from her chair, too, trailing after him to the entry. “I should have made more traditional holiday fare, but it’s Mia’s favorite.”
“I think it’ll be mine, too.” He felt content, as if somewhere deep inside he believed there could be other evenings spent in her company, working side by side in the kitchen, sharing the little moments of laughter and closeness. He knew there couldn’t be, but he wished for it anyway. “We have several days before you leave—”
It was the way she responded to his half-spoken suggestion that made every last word he’d been about to say fly out of his head. She watched him quietly with the smallest hint of emotion on her lovely face, and he could read it clearly: hope. Did she feel this, too?
He cleared his throat and fumbled for words. “I’ve got some time this week—”
He was cut off by the sound of boots coming in his direction. He’d forgotten that he and Debra weren’t the only two people in the house.
Mia tromped into view, holding up a bulging holiday gift bag. “Jonah! You forgot the ornaments Olivia and I made. They’re for your Christmas tree.”
“Yeah, Jonah,” Olivia chimed in, keeping close to her mom. “We worked really hard on them.”
“Why, that’s mighty thoughtful of you girls.” He took the bag and peeked into it. “These are pretty decorations. Too fine for the likes of me. Now I guess I have to get a Christmas tree.”
“You mean, you don’t have one yet?” Mia slowly shook her head from side to side in complete disapproval. “Did you hear that, Mom? What are you going to do about that?”
“I don’t know, kid.” Debra drew her arm around her daughter, drawing her close, struggling to keep the corners of her mouth straight. “Jonah doesn’t strike me as a humbug, but if he wants to be, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about it.”
Her mirth was infectious. He couldn’t resist teasing back. “I prefer my humbug existence. I’m not about to let two lovely ladies talk me out of it.”
Ben added from across the room. “He’s not as tough as he sounds. Debra, I say, go for it—date him.”
To her credit, she blushed bright red. “Well, I don’t know about that. When it comes to dating I’m very pick
y. What if I don’t want to ‘go for it’ with a humbug?”
She had him there. Jonah snagged his coat from the closet by the door. “Maybe I’m not such a humbug.”
She was still blushing.
He jammed one arm into the sleeve of his coat and then the other, and the red foil bag of decorations crinkled and rustled as if hinting at him, too. “Let’s say I get a Christmas tree. I’m going to need some help with these fancy decorations.”
Mia clasped her hands together and danced in place, as if trying so hard to hold back her youthful enthusiasm. She struggled to sound grown-up and calm. “I’m sure we could help you with that.”
“Not if you don’t really want to,” he couldn’t help kidding her. “I can tell you really aren’t thrilled at the notion.”
She laughed. “Oh! You know I’m trying to get my mom to help you!”
“I’m fully aware of that.” He took in the deeper shade of red staining Debra’s lovely face and gave thanks for it. That gave him courage. “What do you say, Debra? Want to go Christmas tree shopping with me?”
“Oh, well, if it will help celebrate the season. I can’t have you turning into a grinch.”
It was what she didn’t say that he heard so well. Somehow, he knew she felt as bashful as he did about these feelings. They were a lot alike, he realized. And he liked the idea of being with her—but there was one catch. He was afraid to be alone with her, afraid of where these feelings would take him. He had no right giving Debra the idea that he could be serious about her.
“I appreciate your concern,” he said instead, “but what about Miss Mia? I might need her help, too. I am in serious danger of turning into a grinch.”
“Wait!” Mia protested. “You two should, uh, go alone. So you can talk and stuff.”
Debra wheeled toward her daughter, looking a little more than surprised. “What and stuff do you mean? What else would we do besides talk?”
“Uh…” Looking innocent, Mia rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if thinking up a reasonable answer.