Hearts Surrender

by Marianne Evans

  “Nuh-uh. No. Stop that line of thinking, OK? It’s just…well…you need to be ready for it. I think God’s preparing you for that step. You have to be discerning enough to recognize what will, and what won’t bring you happiness.”

  “Like Drew,” she said.

  In the deepest reaches of her reply, he discerned shame; he saw her struggles and wishes, her passions.

  “You know, Daveny made an interesting comment at the party after Jeffrey’s baptism. She called me the conduit between Jeffrey and God.”

  “She’s right. In that case, she was absolutely right.”

  Ken gave her an appreciative squeeze, soaking in her loyalty and absolute conviction of heart. “Thanks—but not completely. Remember who else gathered around that baptismal font? A family. A community. That’s the conduit to God. You’re a very important part of that, Kiara. Daveny’s comment was given with the best of intentions, but, well, do you know what it did? It made me realize, not for the first time lately, that there’s a distance between me and the people I serve. Separation. I can’t say as I like that.”

  She turned, waiting on more. Most likely without even realizing it, she came to lean against him a bit more.

  Ken continued. “Barb and I were a somewhat insulated pair, not too dissimilar from most married couples, I suppose. Losing her left so many parts of my life empty.” He shrugged. “In a way, I realize that’s what I’ve been trying to escape from lately. The missions were, and are, a part of the healing process for me. The missions are vital, and provide for so much good, but by the same token, I can’t keep avoiding the life I built at Woodland. I can’t avoid God’s calling because of a void.”

  Kiara sighed. “You really did hit the jackpot with Barb.”

  “I won’t deny that. But, to be honest, I have to admit to being naïve about the whole thing.”

  “How so?”

  His shoulder connected to hers briefly when he shifted to watch a night bird cut across the moon. “I've been a part of Woodland ever since I was ordained. First as Associate, then pastor. I was married the whole time, so I guess I've never felt the distance, the intimidation factor. The title of pastor can close people off just as often as it helps to lend comfort and assistance. I always had Barb at my side, though, an anchor and a buffer against feeling like an outsider.”

  She nodded, obviously waiting for him to continue. Ken gave up a momentary study of the sky to look down at her. So close, he thought. And he fought off a strong inner tremble.

  “Do you feel like an outsider now?” She finally asked.

  “Right this second? No.” Frog voices filled the silence. A steady hum of insect life buzzed in his ears. She didn't look away, and neither did he. “Stewardship is the life I'm called to. The mission I've been given not just as a job, but as a calling from God. I'm happy in it. I love what I do.”

  “It shows. Believe me. It's compelling to watch you in your element.”

  “Thanks.” He paused there, because he wanted her to absorb the genuine appreciation he felt at her compliment. “Still, my position creates barriers of a sort, and I...it...”

  She watched intently, waiting. Her curiosity all but engulfed him, but he couldn’t quite complete the thought the way he wanted.

  Not yet, anyway.

  So he concluded, “It dawns on me more and more that the time for mourning, for retreat, is over. God is showing me that truth with increasing frequency.”

  Unaware of the underlying current of that statement, Kiara replied with a simple and emphatic, “Good.”

  Ken nodded. “I move on, and I cope. That’s what Barb would expect, and want. But…it’s hard.”

  He swished his feet slowly across the surface of the water, raising ripples and mild agitation. The mirrored motion of her feet drew his attention, held it fast, left his throat parched, his soul needy.

  Parts of me still ache when her birthday comes around each year, or our anniversary, or when I officiate at baptisms for the babies we welcome into our parish. I banked on more years with her than what we were given, but our lives are in God’s hands. I’m at peace with that truth, but that peace, that faith, doesn’t mean I don’t face an ongoing adjustment, or that there isn’t pain involved, and questions as to why I had to watch her wither—leaving me, and this world, piece by piece.”

  He choked up, taking a couple deep breaths to restore himself. Innocently their legs slid against one another, his roughened a touch by coarse hair, hers silky and infinitely smooth. His senses tingled and sparked. He came alive.

  “I want that kind of love.”

  Her words hit Ken like a thunderbolt. He traced his fingertips against her cheeks, then her jaw, murmuring, “You deserve that kind of love, Kiara, so please, don’t ever sell yourself short.”

  Her breathing went unsteady, and he saw her firm up her jaw and blink a couple of times, her eyes flashing even more vividly as moisture built, and receded. Quickly, he shifted emphasis, wanting to give her some comfort and equilibrium. “Right now, the thing I pray for most is that even a trace of the transformations I'm able to help bring about in others rubs off on me, too. God knows I need that mercy.”

  Silence returned, near perfect, holy in a way. No light pollution hazed the bowl of black above them. No clouds or dimming atmospheric properties spoiled this perfect slice of the stars, moon, galaxies and even the occasional slow-moving satellite and plane. Against the dock, a gentle lapping of water was accompanied by nocturnal life and the rush and rustle of tree leaves and grass reeds. The sounds soothed and calmed. Lent a bit of finality to the night’s revelations.

  “We should get back to the cabins,” he ventured at last. He extended his hand and she accepted the connection. With a gentle tug, Ken helped her stand. There was just a hairbreadth of air between them, then none at all. Their bodies brushed, their gazes connected. “Just remember that there's beauty in the simplest things, Kiara. Just open yourself up to it, and receive.”

  Hearts Surrender: Woodland Series

  11

  The walk back was quiet, but unhurried.

  Meandering left Kiara with time to think. In fact, almost too much time…

  Something about Ken’s demeanor caused questions to flow, accompanied by a sense of anxiety she couldn’t deny, or escape. This moment between them felt unfinished. She sensed hanging threads and wanted them tied up. Resolved.

  So, deliberately she slowed her pace. “Ken?” He turned, waiting. “Was there something more you wanted to say to me? Back at the dock?” Kiara waited, hoping for more from him—for anything that might connect her to him more fully.

  “No…not really.”

  On the inside, she wilted. Looking up she did her best to study his shadowed features and came away unfulfilled. A tree-hidden moon shrouded them in a deep black, and she wondered about his true reactions. The only giveaway she could detect was the quick way he averted his gaze.

  That prompted her to push. “Please tell me what’s bothering you.” She wanted to reach out, the urge so strident her body yearned. “Something’s on your mind. Maybe I can help. You're always present to everyone else. I'd be honored to be the one to listen and lend support if you need it.”

  For some reason, Kiara could tell her offer didn't hit the right mark. She realized the fact instantly when Ken sighed, then closed his eyes for a moment, almost as though in prayer. The dim, sporadic light of the night had made them sparkle. She missed that instantly.

  Maybe that was part of the problem. Kiara wanted this man—very much—and in the here and now of performing side-by-side mission work, everything between them felt right—uncomplicated and united. Ultimately, though, they would have to return to the world of reality. Kiara, the quintessence of flirt and playful, modern femininity. Ken, the traditionalist, pastor—a man of calling and humble service.

  Maggie Voorhees came to mind, and all of a sudden Kiara’s mind’s eye conjured the image of oil forming a shimmering, but tarnishing rainbow over a surface of pri
stine water. Dramatic, yes, but a proper mix would never be accomplished. Attraction could provide a lovely sheen of various colors, but over the long haul she'd end up heartbroken when she disappointed him, and he found it necessary to move away.

  Insecurity pinned her within a world of doubt. They were simply too different.

  A lengthening moment passed in stillness then they cleared the tree line. He stopped short. He nodded in the direction of a nearby birch and they moved toward it, standing beneath its cover of branches. In fact, Kiara was close enough to the trunk that her back came up against the slightly rough bark. He stood before her, tall and lithe. Broad shoulders blocked out starlight and leaves; his features were inked out, but she didn't need light to gather the image of a squared jaw, deep-set eyes brimming with affection, and compassion, the thick tussle of dark brown hair that waved against the back of his neck. Ken was...was...she wanted to use the word seductive—but the words seductive and preacher? Kiara shivered.

  At last, he said, “I don't want to leave you with the feeling that I don’t appreciate your support.”

  “I didn't think that.” Well, not exactly, she added in silence.

  “You possess the sweetest heart, Kiara. But, to you I'm a pastor, and you're my parishioner. There's a divide. It’s like I was saying. I’m not good at divides. I haven’t faced them very often, that is, until—” The words Barb passed away went unspoken, but understood. “I feel a distance, a guardedness in the way you talk to me sometimes, the way you intensify, and go formal when I try to reach out. Please, just keep in mind that I'm only a man. I have a vocation, true, but that makes me no different from everyone else.”

  This was her fault, just as she feared. She would let him down; she would fail him, and he deserved the very best. Even though she didn't think that person would ever be her, Kiara couldn't stop from asking, “What do you need? What is it you're looking for? Please tell me. Not as a pastor. I care about you above and beyond that title. So many people do. You shouldn't feel alone in this.”

  Ken clenched his jaw. She saw the taut line bloom, even in the moonlight. She was maintaining the divide, and she knew it. But, she felt terrified to step over that final threshold and lose her heart for good.

  “You're not everyone, Kiara. Not to me.”

  Confusion and uncertainty started to clear because Ken’s words forced her to connect a few emotional dots. There was something unique and powerful about the two of them, and the bonds they discovered. Ken was sounding her out about that fact. In a round-about manner, true, but nonetheless he tried.

  She pondered that fact until Ken asked quietly, “Kiara do you trust me enough to let me try something?”

  The way he asked the question made her throat go dry. Her pulse raced and a dizzy, wonderful ache slid straight through her, rendering her completely open and receptive. “How could I not?”

  He slid his fingers slowly through the length of her hair. Velvety warmth coasted in on the heels of that stirring ache. He brushed his fingertips against her neck and cheeks, cupping her face. She felt vulnerable, but weakness dissolved her bones, melding her spirit neatly to his.

  “Close your eyes.”

  His request, a mere whisper, left her swallowing cotton. He waited on her compliance, his gaze on her face. Even in the night air, she felt the warmth of his eyes, the patience and care that always seemed to motivate him. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tried desperately to remember how to breathe.

  A petal-soft whisper of air slid against her mouth an instant before his lips claimed hers. Moist as dew, as silky and sensuous as the night that cocooned them, his kiss caused her head to spin, left her pliant. A pleasured exclamation left her. Just like that, the sense of drifting to the conclusion of this evening without a completed circle—a sense of fulfillment—evaporated into the air, lifting high and away.

  He drew her into his arms, but didn't press further. Instead, he simply fed her—passion for passion, intimacy for intimacy—in kiss after warm, giving kiss. The beauty and mastery he poured into the connection knocked any other emotion and memory Kiara associated with love and physicality into total oblivion.

  She held fast to his forearms, clung to him. It was either that or she would literally sink to the bramble-and-brush-covered floor of the woods. She could lose herself in him so easily, and so willingly.

  The kiss intensified as they fell into the moment, the act deep and exploratory, provocative and open. Their embrace turned radiant and strangely encapsulating. The crackle of a branch jarred them back to reality and the possibility of being discovered. Nothing else moved around them except a soft, cooling stroke of air as they parted.

  Wordless, suffering from what seemed to be a mutual case of shell-shock, they left privacy and seclusion behind. They closed the distance to her cabin and Ken tucked her hand securely in his, caressing the back with his thumb.

  Once they reached the steps leading up to the door, she kept hold of his hand to halt his leaving and said, “I want you to know something.” He waited and she shored up her courage and unshielded her heart just far enough to take a risk. “Ken, I think of you as being much more than just the head of my church. You're a wonderful pastor, yes, but you're a wonderful man as well.”

  He stepped close and used a slow finger stroke to tuck her hair back. He leaned in close to nuzzle her neck, then her cheek. “Good night, Kiara.” He kissed her cheek then moved away. “And thank you.” There was such earnestness to the tone of those final words. “See you in the morning.”

  “I hope you have sweet dreams.”

  He turned back in mid-stride. Beneath the yellow light of a nearby security lamp that illuminated the sandy pathway between cabins, she saw him smile, and her chest swelled with happiness. “I think, tonight, that's pretty much a given. You rest well, too, angel.”

  He disappeared into the night and Kiara stood at the doorway of the cabin, stupefied. Her mouth tingled. She touched it with shaky hands, ran her tongue slowly against her lower lip. She breathed in deep and he surrounded her—scent, warmth and an ache ripe with longing.

  As quietly as she could, she pushed open the door and caught herself in a mindless stumble when her sneaker caught on the edging of the threshold. She cringed, waiting for one of the slumbering girls to awaken. Kiara nearly laughed out loud. Her cabin mates rested in silence. Thank goodness.

  Well, so much for being the sexy sophisticate. She was transported, operating completely outside of herself. She felt as giddy as any one of the teens with whom she presently kept company. She smiled the whole time she sneaked beneath the covers and tucked in for the night. Over and over again, she played out the kiss. Their kiss.

  Ken.

  He pulsed through her heart like a living thing. She closed her eyes and he was there. And he was in no way, shape or form simply a preacher any longer. She was in love. The return to reality she had been concerned with earlier seemed suddenly distant and misty. She snuggled beneath the blankets trying to make a restless body go still and comfortable.

  Ken Lucerne left her believing she had more to offer this world than the male-enchanting looks and willowy, curved frame, which heretofore had been her claim to fame. The idea of such strength of belief thrilled her—but scared her to bits as well.

  A fear of heartbreak loomed—so mist-blanketed fears resurfaced, but only for a moment.

  Ken longed, and he ached. At the same time, he struck her as being so strong, so sufficient. So Godly.

  He's just a man, Kiara.

  Daveny's words echoed, helping her grasp anew the truth that Pastor Ken—Ken—experienced needs and pains, joys and triumphs like everyone else. He succeeded and failed like everyone else.

  The night rang with a silence broken only by the steady breathing of her bunkies. Ken’s words rang through her, body and soul.

  “Ask yourself this: What would you allow yourself to write on a completely clean slate?”

  She already knew the answer. She’d write his name upon i
t and guard that slate with the entirety of her heart.

  At last she dozed, a smile playing on her lips as she drifted off to a deep, thoroughly restful night’s sleep.

  Hearts Surrender: Woodland Series

  12

  “Kiara, you are so cool.”

  Kiara couldn’t hold back an affectionate laugh at Amy’s pronouncement. “Takes one to know one, Miss Thing.”

  Amy dipped a spoon into the potato salad Kiara was creating and scooped out a sample, devouring it with a sigh. “I'm serious. You even make cooking seem chic. Where did you get your top? I love it.”

  Kiara burst out laughing again at Amy’s CD-skip style conversation. “Amy, the next time I'm feeling down in the dregs, I'm calling you, and you're ordered to say exactly those words to me over and over again.” With a downward glance, Kiara paid regard to the sleeveless pink microfiber athletic shirt she wore. “I got this at a running shop in Sterling Heights. I'll take you there some time.”

  “Deal. Seriously, I'd so love to go shopping with you.”

  The fourth day of the mission trip was drawing to a close. They were past the midway point and the results were remarkable. Backbreaking, but remarkable. Enough camaraderie and trust had been established, enough observations made, for Kiara to comfortably remark, “You know, Tyler sure is enchanted by you. Bonus? He's such a great guy.”

  Amy shrugged. “He's really nice. I like how he treats me.”

  “You should. Believe me when I say that's the whole ballgame,” Wanting to pass along as much wisdom as possible to this younger version of herself, Kiara didn’t shy away from the role of mentor.

  “I feel bad around him though.”

  “Why's that?”

  “Because I know he likes me, and honest, I like him too. I like him just fine. But…” She paused and watched Kiara dice a bit more onion and celery into the mix. “Need more milk?”