by Lori Wilde
“Not really,” he said. “I had food, water, and shelter.”
“You could have turned the oven on and burned down the house. You could have stuck a metal toy in a light socket. You could have—”
“None of those things happened.”
“No,” she said. “But it could have.”
“It didn’t.”
“Did you get taken away from them?”
“Not that time.”
“But at some point, you did go into the foster care system.”
“Yes.”
“That’s terrible.”
Her distress touched him. He could see how upset she was over his childhood. It was bonding her to him, just as he feared it would. “I survived.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Butterfly,” he said, “haven’t you learned by now that there’s nothing fair about life?”
Chapter 14
God had brought this man into their lives. She didn’t know how or why, she only knew it was so. Mark Shepherd needed Naomi, and her family, as much as they needed him.
Never mind that he rocked her sense of control to the core. She’d have to find a way to make peace with the chaos while he was there, because Mark deserved a happy holiday as surely as the rest of them. No matter what it took, Naomi was going to make that happen. And if that meant shakily overcoming her fear of taking risks, she’d do it.
Mentally, she added him to her Christmas list.
Her parents got home in time to watch Hunter, and Mark drove her to deliver the packages in time to make her deadline. Mrs. Beauchamp was so impressed with Naomi’s service, she insisted on tipping her fifty dollars and promised to spread the word about her services.
After they left Mrs. Beauchamp’s house, Naomi tried to pass the fifty-dollar bill on to Mark.
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head. “That’s yours.”
“I wouldn’t have made my deadline without you. I’d still be elbow-deep in ribbons and wrapping paper.”
“You forget I caused your delay when I fell off the sidewalk because I was too proud to use my cane.”
“No, you forget, I wouldn’t even have been able to get the packages home if you hadn’t given me a ride. Please take the money.”
He held up a stop-sign palm. “Use it to buy Hunter a gift.”
She sat there, holding out the fifty-dollar bill. “I insist.”
“Insist all you want. I’m not taking it.”
“Where did you come from?” She studied him.
“What?” He looked startled, eyes widening.
“How did you end up being so honorable? The Marines?”
“Yes, but more so my parents.”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“They showed me the path not to take.”
She cocked her head, studied him in the illumination of the dashboard light. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever met. It’s like you’re from another planet.”
“Are you saying other guys would have taken the fifty?”
“Not that part, per se.”
“What part?” The corner of his mouth quirked up. A humble half smile that endeared him to her even more.
“You were generous with your time. Spending your whole day helping me out.”
His mouth flattened as if she’d said something wrong. “Don’t idealize me, Naomi,” he warned. “I’m fallible as hell.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m not the man you think I am.” He growled low and fierce. His eyebrows dipped down in a scowl.
Goose bumps spiked up her arms. His mysteriousness and the flicker of pain in his eyes unraveled her. Left her with an all-too-familiar need to turn herself inside-out for him. Win his love. Oh, the folly of the nurturer who thought she could cure every wounded bird.
“Are you thinking about all the things you had to do in the war?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer her. Pulled up to a stoplight. In profile, he looked so tough, so badass. His dark aura was both sexy and alarming.
“What’s it really like?” she whispered, thinking of Clayton. “On the front line?”
The look he threw her was cold steel. “Trust me, butterfly, you have no idea. And you do not want to know. You just keep doing what you do best. Smiling and making things pretty.”
She couldn’t tell if he was being condescending or not, but her feelings were hurt. She wasn’t all sweetness and light. Far from it. That was the very reason she tried so hard to be cheerful and optimistic. She knew how low she could sink if she didn’t.
“I . . . I . . .” What could she say? He was right. She was clueless about what went on outside the borders of her safe little world.
“Yes?” In profile, his jaw tightened, cheekbone hardened.
“You seem to think I’m shallow. I’m not shallow.” She knotted her fists against her thighs, felt her pulse throb through the sides of her hands.
“Not shallow.” His tone softened. “Innocent. Naïve.”
“I’m not either one of those things. I just care deeply about people, and I want to help as much as I can. I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” He was gruff again. Staring out the windshield, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.
Her heart slammed into her chest and she regretted asking him. He’d been so nice to her today. So kind and considerate. But there was this other side to him that she knew nothing about.
“Why?” he said.
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to help me? I’m nothing to you.” Behind the coldness of his words, she heard the hurt little boy. The child who hadn’t been loved the way all children deserve to be loved.
“You’re a human being.”
“But why do you feel it’s your place to alleviate all suffering?”
“I don’t think it’s my place to alleviate all suffering.”
“No, just everyone you come into contact with.”
“Are you trying to push me away?” she asked, realization dawning. He was as terrified of their surging attraction as she was. That softened her knees and her heart.
“You don’t get to turn this around on me,” he said. “We’re talking about you. Why are you such a giver?”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is if you’re ignoring your own needs in favor of everyone else’s.”
She paused, the question nagging at her. In this world there were givers and there were takers. She’d come hardwired to be a giver. And yes, she got taken advantage of at times, but she was who she was.
“It’s also the way I was brought up,” she admitted. “It’s better to give than receive. Pastors’ kids hear that a lot.”
“Do you realize that if you’re always giving in a relationship, it becomes inequitable and the other person starts to feel uncomfortable always being on the receiving end?”
Robert popped into her head. She thought of how she’d liked to give him shoulder rubs, but never let him give her one in return. He’d complained once that it wasn’t fair, but she’d waved off his complaint with, “I like doing it.”
“If you don’t allow other people to give to you in exchange, you’re robbing them of the pleasure of giving.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
“Life is about balance,” Mark said. “There needs to be an equal flow of giving and receiving for relationships to be healthy.”
Was that what was wrong between her and Robert? She gave and Robert took? Uneasiness moved up her spine. She needed to call Robert. Nibbling her bottom lip, she stared out the window at the passing farmland. What was she going to say?
She wondered why she hadn’t told Mark she had a boyfriend. Yes, she barely knew him. Yes, he was only in town until he got the church repaired. Yes, they couldn’t explore this thing between them for a dozen other reasons. But she should have made it clear up front she was in a relationship—albeit long distance—but she hadn�
��t.
Why not?
Because she was thinking about breaking up with Robert for good.
She’d been tiptoeing around that idea ever since she and Robert had fought over her adopting Hunter. But now it was here, in the forefront of her mind. How could she be with a man who did not want her adoptive son?
“You were the ‘good’ child,” Mark guessed. “To make up for Clayton being the impulsive one.”
Naomi jerked her head around to stare at him. “How do you know that about Clayton?”
Mark glanced over, and shot her a guilty expression. Looked as if he’d been caught in a lie. Why? Or was she misreading his face? “I assumed that’s why you give so much, and take care of everybody. Part of being the oldest child, I’m guessing.”
“It’s true,” she said, feeling put on the spot. “Clayton was a bit wild in his younger days. Not in a criminal way, but he experimented with drugs and alcohol, ran with the wrong crowd in high school, got lousy grades, had too many girlfriends. I felt like I had to make up for his behavior.”
“The good girl got ingrained in you early on.”
She shrugged, accepting it. “By the time Clayton grew up and found his footing, he went off to the Marines just as Mom’s RA got truly debilitating. I was the only one around at that point . . .”
“So you just naturally slid into the role of caretaker, supporter, family champion,” he finished for her.
“Yes.”
Mark nodded, his gaze straight ahead on the road. “Then Clayton gets killed and Samantha does what she does and there’s this boy . . .”
She felt tears burn at her eyes. Blinked them back. She was not going to cry in front of him. It was a pit of self-pity. Not something to which she was prone, but his words dredged up the thoughts of all she’d lost. She’d had to put her marriage dreams into “park” to take care of Hunter, and her mom needed help . . . Without even meaning to, she’d ridden the wave of life situations and ended up trying so damn hard to make this good for her family.
Until Mark pointed it out, she’d not really taken the time to acknowledge what had happened. It had been gradual. Not something done to her by other people in any deliberate way, but here she was, taking care of everyone. And since her dad was busy with his flock, she often felt she couldn’t go to him with her problems the way she might want to.
“In a way,” Mark said, eerily reading her thoughts, “you’re just echoing what you’ve been taught by your dad. Other people come first. It’s not a bad thing, but you gotta have balance.”
Balance.
That word again.
“My parents do worry about me trying so hard to make everything right,” she mumbled. “But how can I let go of the reins? How could I possibly step back now?”
“You’ve got a determined streak a mile wide.” He turned to look at her again, his gentle smile kind and uplifting. “Don’t you?”
Nailed it. She did.
They were at another stoplight and he was watching her, his eyes intense. Head tilted as if he didn’t know what to make of her. That made two of them. She had no idea what to make of him either. Yes, she was attracted to him, but she knew nothing about him.
It was time to take a big step back. She and Mark had fun today. They’d shared a lot. But maybe it had been too much, too soon.
She had Hunter to think about. That little boy was the only thing that mattered. His happiness and safety would always come first. She had no business pursuing this passing attraction to Mark Shepherd.
None whatsoever.
The next afternoon, Shepherd was putting up the nativity scene on the church lawn when Hunter got home from preschool.
The boy got out of the minivan. Backpack slung over his shoulder, he climbed the steps of the Victorian, turned and waved good-bye to the driver. Instead of going inside the house, he tumbled back down the stairs and came skipping over the sidewalk to the church.
“Hi!” Hunter exclaimed.
Shepherd dusted dirt from his palms. “Why, hello.”
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Putting up the nativity scene.”
“Like the one in ouw yawd?” He pointed to the Victorian.
“Just like that.”
“Can I help?”
“Shouldn’t you let your aunt know you’re home from school?”
He screwed up his mouth, wriggled like a caterpillar. “P’obably.”
The door to the Victorian opened and Naomi stepped out onto the porch. He’d seen her leave that morning in Pastor Tom’s van and return just after lunch. He’d called to her, asking if she needed help unloading the vehicle.
She’d firmly turned him down.
Okay. She needed her space. No problem. He needed his too. Yesterday had been pretty intense.
“Hunter,” she called down the street. “Come inside for milk and cookies.”
“C’mon.” Hunter reached for Shepherd’s hand. “Let’s go.”
“The milk and cookies are for you.”
Hunter grinned and shook his head vigorously. “No.” He laughed and pointed at Shepherd. “You too!”
“I think I’m gonna hang back.”
“C’mon,” Hunter insisted, tugging on his hand.
Naomi had come down the steps. She was standing in front of the house, her hands on her hips. A welcoming smile on her face.
Shepherd melted. He’d gotten a keep-away vibe from her last night. Wanted to respect it. But now? That smile said come-hither.
It’s for the boy, you idiot.
“C’mon.” Hunter tugged harder. It was funny, how hard the boy was working. His cheeks puffed out. His face turned red with the effort.
Shepherd relented and allowed Hunter to drag him toward Naomi.
Their eyes met.
Her smile deepened. “Look here, two of my favorite people in the whole wide world.”
Shepherd’s heart skipped a beat. Wow. Had she just said that? Why? Her cool greeting that morning left him feeling like he should give her a wide berth. Now here she was with honeyed words. What had shifted?
“Hey,” he said, feeling awestruck.
“Hey.” She tucked her fingertips in her back pockets. The movement rotated her elbows out behind her back. Lifted her chest.
He tried hard not to look at those uplifted breasts. Refused to ogle her. But he did sneak a quick peek. He was only human.
“Thanks for looking after Hunter,” she said, resting her hand on the boy’s head.
“Hunter was looking for me.”
She dropped her hand from the boy’s head to his back. Took off the backpack, slung it over her shoulder. “Go on in the house, love bug. Pawpaw will get the milk and cookies for you.”
“Daddy?” Hunter still hung on to Shepherd’s hand. Looked up into his face.
“Mark and I will be along in a minute, sweetheart.”
Hunter hesitated. Glancing from Shepherd to Naomi and back again.
“Go on.” Shepherd nodded, sensing Naomi had something she wanted to discuss with him that she didn’t want the boy overhearing.
“O. K.,” Hunter announced, enthusiastically pronouncing the word like two separate letters, and skipped into the house.
“He obeys you better than he does me.”
“That’s not true.”
“He needs a male role model.” A pensive look came into her eyes, and she scratched her chin with her two fingers and her thumb.
“He’s got your father.”
“Yes, but he keeps calling you Daddy. He needs a younger male role model.”
Shepherd didn’t say anything. Wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
“I heard you’re going to play Santa for the toy drive,” she said. “I’m so proud of you for volunteering.”
Her words were a tonic. Juicing him up. Puffing out his chest. Lifting his spirits and his hopes. Ahh, those dastardly hopes.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Patsy Crouch. She said you’re making
toys too.”
“Just whittling a few things.” He shrugged. “Like I did that angel for you.”
“Where will you find the time?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“It’s so sweet of you.” She clasped both hands to her heart. “I’m touched.”
“No reason to treat me like I’m a superhero. I just know what it’s like not to have a real Christmas.”
“I’m so sorry for that.” Her eyes turned melancholy.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“All right, then I feel sympathy for that little boy who didn’t get happy Christmas memories.”
“I don’t know,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment. “Eating corn dogs and Cheetos in the car parked outside a 7–Eleven on Christmas Day is more fun than you might think.”
“Oh, Mark.” Sadness iced her voice and she reached out to touch his forearm.
At the contact, energy surged between them. Immediate and startling.
The air was warmer than it had been the day before. Overhead, the sun burst through passing cloudbanks. Simultaneously, they both glanced up at the sky. Peering through the branches of a thick old oak tree.
Hanging directly above them was a big clump of mistletoe.
The clouds shifted, changing the direction of the sun’s rays. A halo of light poured down over Naomi.
Captivated, Shepherd held his breath.
“Will you look at that,” Naomi said, head thrown back, bathing in the golden glow. “We’re standing under the mistletoe.”
Shepherd’s heart clutched, downshifted. Chug-chug-chug. “So we are.”
Her eyelids lowered and she sent him a sultry look that knocked his circuitry haywire. She leaned forward, went up on her tiptoes.
Huh? Chug-chug-chug went his ragged heart. Did she want him to kiss her?
He knotted his fingers into fists. Quelling the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until neither one of them could breathe.
She puckered her lips, closed her eyes.
“Naomi,” he whispered.
She opened one eye, whispered back, “What is it?”
“What are you doing?”
“We’re standing under mistletoe in December. You’re supposed to kiss me.”
“Naomi Luther,” he said, fully shocked. Delighted by her audacity, but shocked nonetheless. “Are you asking me to kiss you?”