by Irene Hannon
Finn stroked her back, searching for words of comfort. They hadn’t ever talked about faith, but based on what he’d learned about her, he had a feeling hers was strong. “Have you tried praying about it?”
“Yes . . . but there are days God feels far away.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Not an admission he’d make to most people—neither the fact that he talked to God nor that the attempt to connect wasn’t always successful. The subject was too personal. Yet he’d had no difficulty sharing it with Dana.
One more sign she was special.
“Really?” She eased back to search his face. “I didn’t peg you as a praying kind of guy.”
He lifted one shoulder. “I was raised in a faith-centered home. I can’t say I’ve been diligent in recent years about communicating with the Almighty, but I’ve been bending his ear a lot since the accident. I agree with you, though—he’s not always easy to hear.”
“That’s where trust comes in, I guess. You just have to keep believing he’s there, watching and listening.”
“True. But sometimes it’s also helpful to talk to a person you can see—assuming it’s the right person.” He locked gazes with her, willing her to understand more than he was ready to put into words.
“I agree.” Her response came out in a whoosh of breath. “As a matter of fact, since you . . . since we met, my nightmares have gone away.”
“Mine too.”
She swayed toward him a fraction, the movement so subtle he doubted she was aware of her unconscious invitation.
He, by contrast, was super aware—and a powerful urge to lean down and claim her lips swept over him.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Nor was he. When he kissed Dana—and it was definitely a matter of when, not if—he wanted the moment unencumbered by the trauma of their pasts.
However—if she stayed in his arms three more seconds, it was going to happen now. Ready or not.
Summoning up every scrap of his willpower, he gave her a final squeeze and stepped back. “We better have our snack or the flies will take over.”
She blinked, and her expression morphed from yearning to puzzled to wary. “Yes. We should do that.” She turned away.
Great job, McGregor. The lady pours out her heart, and you bring up food. Real sensitive.
“Dana.” He touched her arm, and she sent a cautious look over her shoulder.
His pulse began to pound. All his life he’d played his cards close to his vest with women. It was too easy to create unrealistic expectations, fuel false hopes, get finagled into unwanted commitments. As a result, his rules had always been simple: choose your words with care, stay in the moment, keep the atmosphere light, make no promises.
Trouble was, he’d already broken most of those with Dana.
Might as well break the last one.
“Look . . . if I’d followed my instincts a minute ago, I’d be kissing you. With any other woman, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But I don’t want to risk derailing this by rushing you. Nor do I intend to do anything that could possibly hurt you. That’s a promise you can count on.”
She let out a slow breath. “Thanks for telling me that. And for caring about protecting me. It kind of goes with that hero-to-the-rescue image you established the first night.”
“As long as you don’t expect me to wear a white hat.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of armor and a white charger.”
His mouth quirked. “Not my style, either. This is more my speed.” He waved a hand over his jeans and T-shirt.
“Works for me. Ready for that snack now?”
“Yes.”
He sat back in the rocker he’d placed beside hers, and the conversation shifted to innocuous topics while they ate their cookies, finished up for the day in the garden, and said their good-byes.
“Thanks for all your help. Mags would be pleased.” Dana wiped her hands on her jeans and surveyed the plot of ground, where two-thirds of the flowers now swayed unfettered in the spring breeze.
“There’s more work to be done.”
“But we made great progress.”
“I could come back tomorrow to help you finish up.”
“I’d like that.” She transferred her weight from one foot to the other and scrubbed at a streak of dirt on the back of her hand. “As long as you brought up God . . . do you have any interest in attending services in town? I haven’t been able to get there, and I’ve missed it. You’d like the church; the congregation is very welcoming, and the pastor gives a great sermon. He’s been there for years.”
Finn hesitated. While he was talking to God again, he hadn’t set foot in a church since his last trip to Atlanta to visit the folks.
But maybe it was time to get back into that habit too.
“Sounds like a plan. When should I pick you up?”
She smiled up at him. “The service is at ten . . . does twenty till work?”
“I’ll be here.” He bent to collect the garden tools.
“Let me do that.” She restrained him with a hand on his arm. “You’ve more than earned those cookies I fed you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Go home and have a nice, relaxing evening.”
“I’ll try.” He gave a mock salute and headed for the path through the woods, determined to do his best to abide by that promise.
But truth be told, no matter how hard he tried, his evening would be a lot nicer if he could spend it with the girl next door.
“Roger?”
As the sweet, familiar voice he’d loved for more than thirty-five years drifted toward him from a distance, Roger sighed, savoring the tender, gentle lilt he missed with an ache that never went away.
“Rog, honey . . . are you asleep?” A hand came to rest on his shoulder.
He furrowed his brow. This was a dream, wasn’t it?
No.
He was sitting upright, not lying in bed.
As consciousness fought its way back through a cloaking fog of fatigue, he struggled to orient himself. After stopping at the office for his standard Saturday morning check-in, he’d driven to Potosi. Once in Leah’s room, he’d sat in the recliner while she slept—and promptly fallen into a heavy slumber himself. No surprise there, given his sleepless nights of late.
But the hand on his shoulder was real—and when he opened his eyes, he was surprised.
Leah was standing beside him. The real Leah, not the shrew who had taken over her body. Her eyes were soft and warm and loving, just as he remembered them.
Gratitude welled up inside him, tightening his throat.
Lord, thank you for this interlude of lucidity, no matter how brief. You know these rare moments are what keep me going—and I appreciate every one.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” He pushed himself to his feet and wrapped her in his arms, relishing every millisecond of the hug she gave him in return.
As they held each other, the soft music playing in the background suddenly registered.
It was their song. The one they’d danced to at their wedding.
“Longer” by Dan Fogelberg.
He glanced toward the small CD player on the nightstand, the one he’d brought months ago after reading that favorite music could trigger episodes of clarity. It had worked in the beginning . . . but for weeks, the player had been silent. Why she’d fiddled with it this morning, and why that song had come up on the CD he’d burned, was one of life’s small miracles.
When she at last pulled back, concern creased her forehead. “You look tired, honey. Are you having trouble sleeping? Are there problems at work? Are you worried about me?”
Yes to all of the above.
“It’s been busy, that’s all. Would you like to take a walk with me in the garden? All the spring flowers are coming up—and the daffodils are blooming.”
“That would be lovely.”
“Let me get your robe.”
He retrieved it from the closet, guided her arms inside, and
fastened it down the front.
She stroked his cheek as he fumbled with the buttons. “You’re a good man, Roger Burnett. Through all these years, you’ve taken wonderful care of me. I’m sorry to be such a burden to you now.”
“You’re not a burden, Leah. Don’t ever think that. I love you. Always have. Always will.” His voice rasped, and he swallowed.
“I love you too.” She smiled, a teasing light adding a sparkle to her eyes. “And my father said it would never last.” She tucked her hand in his arm.
Once more his throat clogged. Oh, how he’d missed these small exchanges of shared history and humor!
He led her outside, where the well-tended gardens were in full spring display, pointing out all her favorite flowers as they walked.
They strolled for ten glorious minutes before he picked up the familiar, subtle tension in her posture that intensified with each step.
He was losing her.
And no matter how desperately he wanted to hold on to her, to make her remember him, there was nothing he could do to stop her free fall back into oblivion.
As moisture clouded his vision, he guided her back toward the facility.
By the time they reached the door, his loving wife had slipped away.
Yanking her hand from his arm, Leah peered at him through glazed, confused eyes. “Why are you taking me into this place? That isn’t where I live. I want to go home.”
He opened the door and signaled to an aide. “It’s too cool out here, sweetheart. I don’t want you to catch a chill.”
“You’re keeping me here, aren’t you?” She backed away from him. “You get away from me!”
The staff member he’d beckoned edged past him and approached Leah, another aide on her heels. As the two women tried to calm his wife, he retreated inside. Leaned against the wall. Choked back a sob. He needed to leave. Seeing him again would only agitate her further.
Pulling out his keys, he trudged toward the exit, blocking out the image of the shrieking woman he’d left, recalling instead the feel of his wife’s hand in his, her caring eyes, her tender voice. That was the woman he loved. The woman he intended to take care of, as he’d promised long ago. He wasn’t going to let her down.
Meaning tonight he was going diving.
10
As the final organ notes of the closing hymn reverberated through the small church in Beaumont, Dana risked a peek at her companion. In his dress shirt and slacks, the morning sun streaming through the windows behind him setting off glints in his auburn hair, Finn could be a hero from the cover of one of the romance novels she edited.
On top of that, the man could sing. He’d joined in on every hymn, and his resonant baritone had drawn more than a few admiring glances.
As if sensing her scrutiny, he looked down. “Shall we?” He gestured to the crowd surging toward the back of the church.
Taking his cue, she edged into the aisle. He joined her—and the proprietary hand he placed in the small of her back sent a thrill zipping through her. How ridiculous was that? His touch was nothing more than a simple courtesy his mother had probably taught him as a teen that had become an ingrained habit. There was nothing personal about it.
Yet the warmth of his fingers seeping through her silk blouse was playing havoc with her respiration—and no matter how hard she tried to rein in the delicious tingle in her spine, it refused to be subdued.
Once they shook hands with the minister at the door, Hazel waved them over from a small cluster of people under a redbud tree in full bloom.
“You game?” Finn hesitated, letting her make the call.
“Yes. I’ve been wanting to talk to Chief Burnett since Hazel told us about his wife, and he’s in that group.”
They picked up their pace again, and Hazel reached for her as they drew close. “It’s good to see you again, Dana.” The waitress dispensed a hearty hug. “And your friend too.” She beamed at Finn.
“Thanks. I’m glad I was able to get to church this week.” Dana surveyed the group of six. There were a couple of new faces, but most were familiar from past trips—including the chief of police, who took her hand as she greeted him.
He returned her smile, but the weariness in his demeanor didn’t dissipate. “I heard you were back in town. Are you comfortable by yourself out at the cabin? It’s kind of isolated.”
“I’m fine.” She kept her own smile pasted in place as she surveyed him. She’d noticed his weight loss from a distance last week at the café, but up close the man’s pallor was alarming, as were the dark shadows under his lower lashes and the network of deep lines etched around his mouth. “And I have a very nice neighbor who volunteered to be my chauffeur today.” She motioned to Finn as she did the introductions.
After the two men shook hands, the police chief angled toward her while the rest of the group carried on a separate conversation. “I want to offer you my sympathy on your loss. Leo was a great guy—and a first-class fishing buddy. He’ll be missed around here.”
“Thank you. I think his happiest spot on earth was sitting in a boat in the middle of his lake . . . and I know he enjoyed the hours he spent fishing with you.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Hazel told me about your wife. I’m so sorry to hear about her illness. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult it must be—for both of you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s been a challenge, no question about it.” He shifted toward Finn. “How long will you be staying in Beaumont?”
Obviously the man didn’t want to dwell on personal topics.
“About three more weeks.”
“Where do you call home?”
Finn hesitated. “For the past few months, St. Louis. But I’ll be moving on soon.”
“We’ll be seeing more of you before you leave, I hope.” Hazel rejoined the conversation.
“Oh, I expect I’ll work in a few more trips to the Walleye. The food’s great, and the service is excellent.”
“Such a flatterer.” She waved him off, but her cheeks pinkened. “You bring your neighbor with you next visit. She needs to get out once in a while.” Hazel turned to the police chief. “Dana’s been having some eye issues, so she’s not driving.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Not anymore. My vision is improving every day. I’ll be back behind the wheel soon.”
“Glad to hear that. I imagine an impediment like that could put a serious crimp in your activities.”
“It has until now. But I’m about ready to wander a bit farther afield—on the property, at least. I used to like to hike around Pops’s land.”
“You might want to wait until you’re fully recovered to tackle a hike.” Creases appeared above the chief’s nose as his gaze flicked to a thirtyish man standing nearby, whose attention was on the screen of his cell. He was vaguely familiar, but no name came to Dana’s mind. “You could trip and fall, or get disoriented. Leo owns a fair amount of property, and you might stray onto national forest land. Once you do that, it would be easy to get lost.”
“Believe me, I don’t intend to take chances . . . or go alone.” She sent Finn a smile.
Her reply didn’t seem to reassure the chief. In fact, if anything he appeared to be more worried. “Well . . . use caution. There’s plenty to enjoy on Leo’s property without venturing far from the cabin or lake.”
As another member of the congregation stopped to chat with the chief, Dana stepped back and angled toward Finn. “Ready to hit the road?”
“Yes. We have a garden to finish.”
“You still up for that?”
“Are there any of those great cookies left?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m up for it. Let’s go.”
Once again, his hand came to rest in the small of her back as they wove through the clusters of people on the church lawn. And once again, her heart gave a happy skip.
Yet as they drove back to her place and he dropped her off with a promise to return as soon as he changed in
to his work clothes, Dana sternly reminded herself not to get carried away. Finn had been clear on more than one occasion that his stay here was short. A job was waiting for him in Atlanta, and if he decided to pass on that one, there would be countless other opportunities for a man with his skills. He wasn’t going to hang around Beaumont long enough for anything serious to develop, no matter how much electricity was zipping between them.
Those were the facts.
Of course, a long-distance courtship was possible—if Finn was interested in pursuing one—but those relationships often fell apart. Absence typically didn’t make the heart grow fonder, no matter what the novels said.
On the flip side, rushing would also be a mistake.
Still . . . as many of the happy-ending books she edited pointed out, nothing could keep two people apart if they were supposed to end up together. She’d just have to put her trust in God and hope for the best.
But in the meantime, she had two and a half more weeks to get to know her ex–Army Ranger neighbor—and she intended to make the most of them.
Exhaling a slow, contented breath, Finn propped his feet on the back porch railing of his cabin and wrapped his fingers around a mug of high-octane coffee.
Yesterday had been as close to perfect as any day in his life had been since his world collapsed overseas. Church in the morning—with a beautiful woman by his side. Working outdoors, under a warm spring sun—with a beautiful woman by his side. An impromptu dinner of chips and hot dogs on the dock—with a beautiful woman by his side.
It didn’t get much better than that.
Well . . . actually, it did. There was a nicer way to end an evening with a beautiful woman than exchanging smiles and simple good-byes . . . but it was too soon to be thinking along those lines with Dana.
Down the road, however . . . a distinct possibility.
Stretching, he checked his watch and shook his head. When had he last slept in until ten in the morning? Too long to remember, after rising at dawn for years and being wired to wake at the slightest noise. Eleven hours of sound, nightmare-free slumber had been exactly what the doctor ordered.