by Hinze, Vicki
Lifemates. Cally had told Bryce she wanted him as a lifemate. An antenna rose, sparked a whole new line of thinking. One that shook Tony to the core. From the start, had Bryce and Cally’s relationship been inevitable?
It’s best I don’t answer that.
There had to be something valid in the thought. But what? And why didn’t he understand the mission? He’d never before been kept in the dark. Why?
I have my reasons.
Sunshine had taken a big risk to put his mind at ease. Truth to tell, guilt about what he’d done to Hattie in staying with her had kept him off balance and not focusing fully on the job at hand. He was second-guessing himself, his decisions, fearing her reaction to their being separated. Thank you for telling me, Sunshine. I suppose I should regret Hattie’s devotion and, inside, a part of me does. But there’s another, bigger part of me that feels relieved that I haven’t ruined her life. I worried making that vow had robbed her of her dreams.
She’s been happy. Very content and happier than most, I’d say.
I’m grateful. So inadequate to express all he was feeling, but innately he knew she understood. That understanding roused questions about her she wouldn’t answer. But curiosity got the better of him, so he had to ask. I’d be even more grateful if I knew who you are, and why you’re involved in this.
I’m just an emissary. Not important enough to warrant speculation. But I expect you are grateful, considering Thanksgiving is only two days away. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you won’t have another sad one, Tony. Next to Christmas, when you and Hattie were to wed, that’s always been your most challenging day. And yet—
What?
Yet you’ve managed to perform some wonderful work then. Odd, that. Don’t you think?
Not really. We do what we have to do. Suddenly feeling as if he’d been horse-kicked in the gut, he stilled. Hattie says we teach by experience. That pain brings personal growth. I guess because we’re hurting we then pull up that extra something—the magic.
Astute woman.
The magic. Yes, of course. Lifemates. Astute and very wise.
You’ve gained so much for others and for yourselves. So why is it, I wonder, that you do everything except to believe in miracles for yourselves?
That’s a luxury we can’t afford.
No, I expect you can’t—not right now, anyway.
After the first fifty years, you learn to waive your personal expectations.
That’s a lot of years’ worth of disappointments. Reminds me of what you told Suzie about the white lies.
He didn’t recall. He and Suzie had talked so much about so many things, there was no way he could recall everything.
You told her that when we want something badly, we often tell ourselves we don’t want it at all so that if we don’t get it, we won’t be hurt.
Yes, I did. And I believe it’s true. But Hattie and I have endured. What we’re doing here is important.
Indeed it is. And you’ve prospered, too, Tony.
Something in her tone alerted him. Subtle, but a message. And he wasn’t getting it. You sound like a woman with something else on your mind. Go ahead and say it, Sunshine. I’m first to admit that, these days, my receptors are a little clogged.
I don’t want to say it.
But . . . ?
But I’ve no choice.
The regret in her voice set his hands to trembling. His chest went tight. A message from on high.
I’m afraid so.
His heart nearly stopped. I’m being reassigned.
Not yet. You’re being ordered not to intercede in Suzie’s dreams anymore—officially.
Oh, God.
And briefed that the premonition regarding her will come to pass in two days.
Thanksgiving night?
Yes, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid so. That wasn’t to be included in the official message, Tony, but I felt you needed to know . . . to prepare yourself.
Feelings stormed through Tony. Feelings of being hopeless and lost, incredible waves of pain and sadness. Feelings of having failed Suzie as he’d failed her mother. And more sadness. Deep, crushing sadness that tripped over into the abyss of despair, into anger. I’ve tried everything I know to try to help her. Everything! I don’t know what else to do. His eyes stung. If he were in her dream, he knew tears would wet his face. In his spirit state, the tears still fell. They were just all inside.
You’ve got to try harder, Tony. You’ve got to do something. If that child drowns it’s going to kill Bryce and Cally.
I can’t let this happen. I just . . . can’t.
How are you going to stop it?
I—I don’t know. God help me, I don’t know.
Chapter 14
Sea Haven Baptist Church looked a lot different without the festival going on in its parking lot. The steeple stretched up into the dark sky, and thin rays of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds, filling the air with the scent of rain, and reflected on the stained-glass window, showering blue, yellow, green, and pink streaks onto the pristine white clapboard building. The light had to be a sign that Cally was doing the right thing in marrying Bryce. It had to be.
She linked their arms and smiled at him. “Miss Hattie says Pastor Brown is proud of the stained-glass window. I can see why. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Looking preoccupied, Bryce clasped her hand. “Beautiful.”
They walked up the steps that led to a wide double door.
Bryce reached for it, then hesitated. “Cally, I don’t think we should mention to anyone else our attitudes on love and caring and our relationship—for the kids.”
His brows had knitted and his jaw looked tense enough to make steel look soft. He was lying to himself, and hating it. “And for our pride?” she suggested.
“That, too.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I want the kids to feel secure. We know the truth about love, and I’d like to spare them the illusions, but what if it could be different for them? What if they could have the illusion, but because we told them it was an illusion, they lost their chance? I don’t want to do that to them. I don’t think we should—if it sits okay with you.”
“I see no reason to talk about our private lives to anyone else, including the kids, but I won’t lie to a pastor, Bryce.” He looked crestfallen, so she quickly went on. “Yet I can’t see any reason why he’d feel the need to ask our opinions, considering why we’re here.”
“What about when he asks us to make the vows?”
What then, indeed? “That presents a little dilemma.”
He eased his hand into his slacks pocket. What the man did for clothes should be illegal, but in a dark gray suit that did wonderful things to his eyes, he should come with a warning label. “Maybe we could compromise?”
“I won’t lie, Bryce. Lying in a church is like slapping God, and I just can’t do it.”
“Of course not.” He gazed off toward the ocean, then back at her. “Can we make the vows during the ceremony and then after the service, in private, revise them?”
She thought about that for a moment. Smoothed the skirt of her fawn silk suit with a hand that was far from steady. So long as they revised the vows, that should be okay. Of course, loving the man, she’d be lying during those revisions. If Bryce knew that, he’d just die. Actually, he wouldn’t. But he wouldn’t marry her, either. Their chance would be gone. But maybe she could avoid the revising, and thus avoid the lying. God, why did this have to be so complicated? If only she hadn’t agreed to a marriage of convenience then goofed up by falling in love with the man, things would be fine. But she had, and that left her in a dilemma. One that, if she let herself think about it, would give her nightmares. Could she live with him, be intimate and loving with him, and him not guess the truth?
“Cally?”
She buried her doubts, then met his gaze. “We’ll work it out privately.”
“Good.” Looking as relieved as she felt pensive, he opened the right-hand door.
They walked deeper into the church, over wooden floors and past empty pews that time and attendance at services had worn smooth. The light streaming through the stained-glass window appeared much stronger inside than she would have believed possible, considering the thunderheads building up outside, and bathed the altar and a huge, rugged cross suspended above it in a rainbow of soft, soothing color.
“Collin carved that cross,” Bryce told Cally, his voice low, reverent.
“I know.” Miss Hattie had mentioned it when showing Cally Collin’s wood carvings in the glass case at the inn. “He helped carve the bar at the Blue Moon Cafe, too.”
“He did?”
“Lucy Baker told me. She said it’s her husband Fred’s pride and joy.” Cally nodded, then let her gaze drift around the church. A sense of well-being, of rightness, suffused her. “It feels good in here.”
“It does.”
The door opened then closed behind them, and a flush-faced Pastor Brown hurried down the aisle, over to them. “Sorry I’m late.” He paused to grab a quick breath and offered them a winning smile. “Emergency Planning and Zoning Commission meeting.”
“This close to Thanksgiving?”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so. When situations arise, the council pays little attention to calendars or schedules.”
It fit. The villagers were Mainers, through and through. Devoted. Disciplined. Dedicated and caring. Regardless of calendars or clocks. Cally found all that touching. But, gauging from his tense expression, the meeting couldn’t have gone smoothly. She smiled her sympathy, guessing him near forty. Of medium height, with a well-trimmed beard that, while handsome, didn’t affect her at all like Bryce’s did. Yet Pastor Brown was handsome. According to Lucy, nearly every marriageable-age woman in the village was after him, though he was a bit progressive-minded to truly suit the majority of them, and a bit too close-minded, constantly trying to get Jimmy to take the “girlie” calendar off the wall of his garage, and to get Horace Johnson—the mayor, no less—to stop icing down a barrel full of beer outside the door at The Store on weekends, which mortified his snooty wife, Lydia. Both men staunchly resisted. The calendar girls, Jimmy said, were clothed in swimsuits, and Adam and Eve wore fig leaves, and Horace insisted Jesus drank wine and regular folks too needed to quench their thirst.
Bryce shook the pastor’s hand. “I’m sorry you felt rushed. We only just arrived.”
Cally extended her hand. The pastor had a nice firm grip. A woman could tell a lot about a man from his handshake. No limp, wimpy hold here. Firm, but gentle. Yes, with his looks and a handshake like that, she imagined a lot of female hearts had been lost to him.
“Word is all over the village that you want to have the ceremony on Thanksgiving.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“No, Cally. It’s fine. I’m usually at Seascape for Thanksgiving dinner, anyway.” He grinned. “I love Miss Hattie’s pumpkin pie best, but don’t tell the others. You’ll start a war that’ll net me gaining twenty pounds.”
Cally crossed her heart with her fingertip. “What time do you suggest?”
“Two in the afternoon?”
Cally looked at Bryce. He hiked a shoulder. “Sounds great to me.”
“To me, too.”
“Two it is, then.” Pastor Brown smiled. “Miss Hattie serves dinner around six, so this should work out perfectly.”
Sensing the meeting at an end, Cally again extended her hand. “Thank you.”
Bryce seemed uneasy and surprised. “Hmm, isn’t there any type of counseling or anything we have to go through?”
The pastor’s eyes twinkled, and his lips curved into a semi-smile. “Do you need it?”
“No.” Bryce placed a protective hand at Cally’s back.
“I doubted you did, so I thought we’d skip it. In the fourteen years I’ve been pastor here, I’ve never heard of one Seascape couple divorcing.” He shrugged. “Hard to beat a hundred percent success rate.”
“Good point.” Bryce smiled. “Can we buy you a cup of coffee at the Blue Moon?”
“I wish I could join you, but the commission meeting is just in recess. I’ve got to get back to City Hall.” He rubbed at his chin in the same forefinger-and-thumb way Bryce often did, rustling his whiskers. “I hope it isn’t as spirited as it was this morning. Truth to tell, I’m a wee bit weary.”
“Busy season?”
“No, I just got back from vacation. Skiing.” He let out a grunt of a laugh. “Now I need a vacation to recover from my vacation.”
Bryce chuckled. “I know that feeling.”
“See you on Thanksgiving.”
“We can’t wait,” Cally said, then walked outside with Bryce.
Black clouds sheathed the sky, and the first drops of rain fell, pattering against the walkway. She dipped her chin. “Very nice man.”
“I’m glad he dispensed with the lectures,” Bryce said. “I was scared stiff we’d be put to the test on lying.”
Her hand sliding on the handrail, Cally went down the steps, guilt swimming through her stomach, and deliberately avoiding his gaze. “We’re honest with ourselves and with God. We’ll work around the rest.”
In silence, they walked over to the Blue Moon. By the time they reached the huge, rusty anchor outside it, her nerves had settled and her stomach had stopped heaving. She hadn’t been forced to expose the truth. Grateful for the reprieve, she warned herself yet again that she could never slip. Never, not even in the heat of passion, could she tell him she loved him. He’d run as far and as fast as he could away from her.
If she had any sense, she’d run herself. Evidently she totally lacked it, because what he offered appealed to her like being a princess appeals to a little girl. Their agreement, Bryce himself, was Cally’s brass ring. It held all she wanted—her hopes, her dreams, her wishes—everything except her being unconditionally loved. Still, it was more than she dared to hope to find, and there was no way she was turning her back on it. Or on Bryce Richards.
“Cally, do you have a pen in your purse?”
She reached down to the floor and grabbed her handbag. It was late afternoon, but the Blue Moon Cafe buzzed. Sheriff Cobb had come and gone, so had Beaulah Favish, Miss Hattie’s eccentric next-door neighbor, and Jimmy had come in for a quick cup of coffee. He was such a nice kid. Teaching Suzie how to use a shovel without cutting her foot, mowing Miss Hattie’s sizable lawn and keeping everything at the inn looking nice. Miss Hattie loved that boy as if he were her own. It was easy to understand why. He had a good heart—and, it appeared, a healthy crush on Nolene, Lucy’s teenage daughter.
Cally passed the pen to Bryce, then dropped her purse back onto the floor. “What are you writing?”
“A note to the villagers to come to the wedding.” He scrawled, and the pen made a scratching sound.
“On a paper napkin?”
“Why not?” He gave her that mischievous grin Jeremy had perfected. Like father, like son.
“No reason, I guess.” Lydia Johnson would have a snit fit at the tackiness of a paper-napkin wedding invitation, but no one much liked Lydia, anyway.
He finished writing, then got up.
“Where are you going?”
“To put this on the bulletin board.” He pointed to the wall behind the bar.
Right below a Budweiser beer clock hung a cork bulletin board, covered with colorful pushpins and notes of various sizes and types. Several appeared to be shopping lists.
The old jukebox on the far wall cranked out an Alan Jackson tune that vibrate
d the walls. Cally hummed along and watched Bryce make his way through the maze of tables with the aid of Collin’s cane, shamelessly admiring his backside.
“Fills out a decent pair of slacks, that man.”
Recognizing Lucy’s voice, and realizing she had been caught bun-gazing, Cally felt her face become hot. She fingered the napkin still spread across her knees.
“Maybe you’d best switch to iced tea, sugar.” Lucy cracked her gum. “Dang me if you don’t look about to flame.”
“Quit teasing me. I’ve seen how you look at Fred. Positively carnal.”
“Yeah, but don’t tell him.” Lucy grinned. “He might think the honeymoon’s over and quit working at it.”
“You’ve been married nearly twenty years. How long do you think he’s going to believe a honeymoon lasts?”
“Another twenty.” Lucy winked, then pulled out the end of the bar cloth tucked into her back pocket. “If I’m darn lucky.”
Cally laughed.
“I ain’t supposed to tell you this, but a couple of the villagers are planning some special touches for after the wedding. I figured you’d want to know you ain’t gonna get your man to yourself for a while, if you know what I mean.”
The heat crept down her neck. “Anything I need to be concerned about?”
“Naw, nothing serious. Just a little friendly torment.”
Bryce turned from the bulletin board, thunder in his expression. Now what in the world had him so angry?
He walked back over to her. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.” Whatever it was, it was bad. She’d never seen him grind his teeth before and, if he held his jaw any tighter, he was apt to crack the bone. “Is something wrong?”
“We’ll talk about it on the way back to the inn.”
“Okay.” She whispered to Lucy. “Maybe you’d better get the villagers to tone down their plans. I have the feeling my beloved’s a little . . . upset.”
“Hostile, would be my guess. But I’ll do it.”