“Pfff,” she spat, shaking her head in obvious disgust. “You two deserve each other.”
She yanked open her car door, climbed inside, and started the engine. Without so much as a glance at them, she backed out of the space and sped off, wheels squealing.
Despite the rather cheerless situation, Rachel and Jason shared a laugh over her parting remark, and it seemed to fuse them together with an unspoken promise of tender vows.
Chapter 30
Back inside his condo, Jason collapsed on the sofa, bringing Rachel with him. Her featherlight body fell into his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her snugly to his side. She scrambled to get up, but he wouldn’t have it. He’d waited too long for this moment.
“What are you doing, Jay?” she asked, swiveling to look at him, her breath warm and moist on his neck, her lips close enough to kiss. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt your ribs. You’d better let me up.”
His heart fluttered and flapped as if on butterflies’ wings. “Not on your life, honey.” Slowly relenting, she relaxed against his chest, where the cloth bandage was still wrapped securely around his torso. Everything about her felt right and perfect. He snagged a lock of her hair and twirled it around his finger. “Did you mean it, Rach, when you said you’d come to terms with your feelings?” He couldn’t help the husky quality of his voice, thanks to his nerves.
She didn’t answer right off but just sat there in his lap. Her toes didn’t quite reach the floor, putting him in mind of an innocent child. She clasped her hands together and touched them to her chin, then nestled in close to his chest. The pressure of her body against his and her shoulder poking into his ribs pained him a little; but the pure joy of it far outweighed any discomfort.
“Well?” he urged her, hungry for her reply, praying for the one he longed to hear. “Want to tell me what conclusion you’ve reached?”
“You want the fancy answer or the no-frills one?”
He centered his chin on top of her head and rubbed little circles into the upper part of her arm, chuckling softly. “I’m tempted to get right to the no-frills one, but if you want to work your way up to it, that’s fine.”
“I’ll try to keep my answer as brief as possible, but I am a woman, after all.” He could almost hear her smile.
He couldn’t help himself; he leaned around and kissed her cheek. “You’ll get no argument from me about that.”
She swallowed and took a couple of slow, methodical breaths. “I found one of John’s diaries.”
He gently set her back from him to look into her eyes. “Really? Did you read it?”
She gave a slow nod. “I thought I’d feel guilty, but afterward, I knew he would have wanted me to read it. I also found a letter he wrote to me way before the kids were even born.”
“You’re kidding. And he never gave it to you?”
“Nope.” She licked her lips, then pressed them together while weighing her next words. “It’s okay, though. It was meant to happen just as it did.” She settled against him again, the fit as flawless as a long-lost puzzle piece. “It helped to clear up a lot of things for me.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you probably won’t believe this, but in that letter, he actually said that if anything ever happened to him, the only person he’d ever approve of my remarrying is you.”
This rendered him speechless for several moments. Shoot, he couldn’t even move. He stopped rubbing Rachel’s arm and stared across the room at a framed photo of him and John, taken two summers ago at Lakewood Golf Course. Finally, he managed to formulate a sentence. “You’re kidding, right? He didn’t actually write that. I mean—what in the world could have possessed him to say that, especially when he went so crazy thinking you and I had feelings for each other?”
“He loved and respected you so much, Jay. True, he couldn’t bear to think of us being in love, but he also couldn’t stand the thought of me ever giving my heart to anybody else if something were to happen to him. It’s weird and paradoxical that he wrote that letter, as if he had some peculiar sense of impending doom. I hate to think about it, really, and yet his writing it gave me just the affirmation I needed.” She paused for a moment, then went on.
“I think I wasn’t ready to give myself the freedom to love again, and particularly not you, knowing that John had argued with you over me in his final hour. But when I read that letter and then his diary with entries leading up to your skiing trip…well, it just set me on a different course and freed me for thinking about…stuff.”
Jason resumed gently rubbing her arm, his heart thumping out a hard and fast rhythm. “Stuff, huh?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes—stuff.”
“What sort of stuff, Rachel Kay?”
“Future stuff, Jason Allen.”
“Ah.” He trailed a few feathery kisses from her temple area down to her jawline. “As in our future?”
“Exactly.”
***
Their kisses were lush and dense, as soft and smooth as fine silk. They involved willful gravity that kept them from getting close enough, melding lips and pounding hearts, splayed hands touching every allowable part from backs to napes to hair to waists. Each tender kiss made them long for more, and so when one ended, they drew apart, smileless, only to catch a breath and start afresh, one kiss following another until they all blended together, no ending, no beginning.
“Rachel,” he murmured.
“Jay,” she whispered.
He broke free first, and, for some time, they merely gazed at each other. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t spoken those three tender words, but for the moment, it mattered little.
“I have never known anyone as lovely as you, Rachel.”
“And you are the handsomest man on earth, Jason.” It thrilled her to say it. They laughed and touched foreheads. “I should probably get off your lap.”
“Why?”
“Aren’t I hurting you?”
“It would hurt more if you left me.”
She stole the next kiss, meeting his mouth and then moving her lips to kiss his less bruised cheek, then ever so gently the other one, then traversing to both eyes. “Poor, poor Jay, colliding with that bad car.”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad; it brought me you, didn’t it?” he said. “Speaking of, just how long would you have made me wait if that car hadn’t plowed into me?”
She put a finger to her chin. “Oh, I don’t know. Till a truck came along, maybe.”
“What? You’re cruel.”
She giggled, then quickly sobered. “Actually, Jason, it wouldn’t have been long. The Lord’s been giving me little signs, subtle but sure. I have no further doubts about us.”
He gripped her hands. “You’re sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then say the words.”
She knew exactly what he was talking about, and her heart swelled with eagerness to say them. Holding her breath and pressing one cheek to his, she ceased breathing. “I love you, Jay.”
She felt his eyes close when his lashes brushed her face. They sat unmoving, each reveling in the other’s presence.
After a moment, he gently pushed her off him. “Wait here.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“I’ll be right back.” He got up and limped to the stairs.
“Jay, there’s a bathroom down here.”
He chuckled. “That’s not where I’m heading.”
“Then what—? Do you need help?”
He took each step with care, then looked down at her and winked. “Like I said, I’ll be right back.”
True to his word, he reappeared just seconds later, nothing amiss or different, as far as she could see. “What did you do?”
“You’re a nosy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased as he descended the stairs. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“And stubborn. Close your eyes.”
/> She obeyed but not without a mountain of curiosity building inside her. “What in the world?” she whispered. “You should know I’m not very good with surprises. I always want to peek.”
“Well, restrain yourself, woman.”
A spontaneous giggle erupted. At last, he arrived at her side, his musky scent and quiet breaths awakening her senses to his nearness. She kept her eyes pressed shut until he gave her permission to open them after he’d planted himself beside her.
In his hand was a small package wrapped in gold foil with a tiny bow fastened to the top. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, placing it in her open hand.
“What? Christmas? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you give this to me earlier?”
“I—really couldn’t. It was a bit too…um, telling of my feelings.”
“Oh.” She stared at the pretty box, suddenly feeling jittery. “May I open it?”
He chortled and bent to nip at her ear lobe. “You’d better.”
Slowly, carefully, she removed the paper to find a silver box. With shaking fingers, she lifted the lid to reveal a velvet heart-shaped container. “Oh, how beautiful,” she ogled, her chest so tightly compressed it almost hurt to take in air.
“Open it,” he urged her, his warm breath tickling her cheek.
Hesitantly, she did so, shrieking with pleasure and shock at her first glimpse of two glistening diamond stud earrings. “Jason, this is too much!”
“No, it’s not.” He pulled her to him and whispered in her ear, “Actually, I’m thinking along the lines of something to fit on your finger next time. What would you say to that?”
She gasped and felt her face go feverishly hot. “Are you—?”
Once again, he got up, but this time he didn’t go far, just stood, turned around, and then went down on one knee, albeit slowly and with the tiniest wince. “Jason, you don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but I do. It’s my first proposal, and I mean to do it up right—well, minus the ring for now, if you don’t mind.” He sighed and wrinkled his nose. “I’m doing this all backwards, aren’t I?”
She giggled. “Oh, my. This is too much. But I love it—and I love you.”
“Mrs. Evans,” he said, sobering, taking both her hands in his and squeezing, looking at her through his good eye, the other one opening to a mere slit. “I promise to make my brother proud by loving and caring for you always. Would you do me the honor of being my bride, pending the purchase of a ring, which I will allow you to select at your convenience?”
She couldn’t restrain herself. Laughter mingled with tears. “Yes! Oh, my goodness, yes!” With the velvet box in hand, she flung her arms around his neck and planted kisses all over his face and neck, taking care to be gentle at the bruised places.
Between fervent kisses, they planned an August wedding, made precious promises to each other, spoke of their future with excitement, and expressed their amazement at the God they served. How incredible that He should orchestrate so fine a plan that would bring them together in this way.
Somehow, the topic of Jay’s passion for skiing came up, and Rachel suggested quite by surprise that he ought to go back out. “Next winter,” she said. “You need to conquer whatever fears you might have and fall in love with the sport all over again.”
She meant it, too, knowing that his return to the slopes would in some way help bring her a certain sense of closure and healing.
“Really?” He squinted at her in disbelief. “But I thought you’d never approve, that the memories….”
She laid a hand on his powerful arm, drawing strength from the mere touch. “I wouldn’t dream of holding you back, Jay. I’ve tasted fear, and it’s not of God; therefore, I refuse to let it rule my life. When you decide to hit those slopes again, I will be cheering you on. And”—she put her hands together in a prayerful gesture and looked heavenward—“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but if, at some point, Meaggie or Johnny wants to learn, well, I will trust you to teach them.”
“Rachel,” he whispered, touching his forehead to hers again. “Are you listening to yourself? You’ve come a long way.”
She giggled. “Don’t expect me to ever go out there, though. That’s where I draw the line. I mean, just the thought of getting on one of those—those things that take you to the top of the hill—”
“Chair lifts,” he supplied.
“Uh-uh.” She gave her head several adamant shakes. “John always tried to talk me into letting you teach me, but I had no interest, and that hasn’t changed. So, please don’t start trying to convince me that it’s fun to attach your feet to two long, skinny boards and slide down a steep, snow-covered hill.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Because I will turn you down again and again.”
“I believe you.”
“And one more thing.”
He couldn’t seem to get the silly grin off his face. “I can hardly wait to hear what that will be.”
“I would like to have another baby,” she blurted out with little premeditation. Yes, she’d been thinking about it lately, but shouldn’t she have considered her timing a bit more carefully? He’d only just proposed, for goodness’ sake!
First, his eyebrows shot up, his slit of a swollen eye widening a bit, and then his mouth dropped nearly to his knees, stunned silence holding him in its grip. But, suddenly, it all gave way to riotous laughter and a hug so tight that she struggled to breathe. “Rachel Kay Evans, you are a wonder. I can’t believe I’m still learning about you after all these years. As for your desire to expand our family, I’m all for it.”
“Really?” She let out a ragged sigh as tears of joy trickled from the corners of her eyes. Gracious, she was a seesaw of emotions. “Jason, my heart is bursting.”
He captured her and pulled her close. “Mine, too.”
And in those heart-bursting, dream-building minutes, two souls made one tender vow to love till their last breath.
A Preview of Book One in the River of Hope Series
by Sharlene MacLaren
Coming in Fall 2011
Chapter One
May 1926
Wabash, Indiana
“Praise ye the Lord. Sing unto the Lord a new song.”—Psalm 149:1
Smoke rings rose and circled the heads of Charley Arnold and Roy Scott as they sat in Livvie’s Kitchen, each partaking of steaming coffee, savory roast beef and gravy, and conversation, guffawing every so often at each other’s blather. Neither seemed to care much who heard them, since the whole place buzzed with boisterous midday talk. Folks came to Livvie’s Kitchen to fill their stomachs, but for many, getting an earful of talk and gossip was just as satisfying.
Behind the counter, utensils banged against metal, and pots and pans sizzled and boiled with steam and smoke. “Order’s up!” hollered the cook, Joe Stewart. On cue, Olivia Beckman, the owner, set down two hamburger platters in front of Mr. and Mrs. Waters and delivered them a hasty smile. Her knee-length, cotton floral skirt flared as she turned, mopped her brow, blew several strawberry blonde strands of damp hair off her face, and hustled to the counter. “You boys put out those disgusting nicotine sticks,” she scolded Charley and Roy on the run. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t allow smoking in my establishment? I don’t even have ashtrays.”
“Aw, Livvie, how you expect us to enjoy a proper cup of coffee without a cigarette? ’Sides, ar’ saucers work fine for ashtrays,” Charley whined to her back.
“Saucers are not ashtrays,” stated old Mrs. Garner from the booth behind the two men. She craned her long, skinny neck to train her owl eyes on them, her lips pinched together in a tight frown. Mr. Garner had nothing to say, of course. He rarely did, preferring to let his wife do the talking. Instead, he slurped wordlessly on his tomato soup.
Livvie snatched the next order form from the counter and gave it a glance, lifted two more plates, one with macaroni and cheese and a roll and the other a chicken drumstick with mashed potatoes, the
n whirled back around, eyeing both men sternly. “I expect you to follow my rules, boys”—she traipsed past them—“or go next door to Zeke’s, where the smoke’s as thick as cow dung.”
Her saucy remark gave rise to riotous hoots. “You tell ’em, Liv,” someone said—Harv Brewster, perhaps? What with the racket of babies crying, patrons chattering, the cash register clinking as Cora Mae tallied somebody’s order, the screen door flapping open and shut, and car horns honking outside, Livvie couldn’t discern who said what.
“You best listen, fellas. When Livvie Beckman speaks, she means every word,” said another. She turned at the husky male voice but couldn’t identify its source.
“Lady, you got to start goin’ to preachin’ school,” said yet another unknown speaker.
“Yup, yup. She’s somethin’, ain’t she?” No mistaking Coot Hermanson’s croaky pipes. Her most loyal customer—also the oldest by far—gave her one of his famous toothy grins over his coffee cup, which he held with trembling fingers. No one really knew Coot’s age, and most people suspected he didn’t know it, himself, but Livvie thought he looked to be a hundred—ninety-nine, at the very least. But that didn’t keep him from showing up at her diner on Market Street every day, huffing from the two-block walk, his faithful black mongrel, Reggie, parked on his haunches out under the awning, waiting for his usual handout of leftover bacon or oatmeal or the heels of a fresh-baked loaf of bread.
Before scooting past him, she stooped to tap him with her elbow. “I’ll be right back to fill that coffee cup, Coot,” she whispered into his good ear.
He lifted an ancient white eyebrow and winked. “You take your time, missy,” he whispered back before she straightened and hurried along.
Of all her regulars, Coot probably knew her best—knew about the tough façade she put on, day in and day out; recognized the rawness of her heart, the ache she carried straight to her bones. She’d talked to him on many a day when business had slowed and he’d hung back, telling her about his sweet Bessie or listening as she spoke in hushed tones about Frank and her deep sense of loss. Almost a year had come and gone since her husband’s passing, but she still dampened her pillow almost every night after tucking in her young sons, Alex and Nathan, saddened by how little they spoke of their daddy anymore. It made her frantic to keep his memory alive, so she constantly told them stories—how she’d met him at a church picnic on a hot July day when she was seventeen and he a mere five months older; how he’d loved to laugh and build things with his hands; how he’d thrived on playing baseball and fishing and hunting rabbits, squirrels, and raccoons; how he’d always enjoyed cooking a fine dinner for his family, rare among young men, as most boys his age wouldn’t have been caught dead alongside their mothers in the kitchen.
Tender Vow Page 30