“Nothing,” she insisted, unable to thwart the smile that inched across her lips. “I promise.”
“All righty, then …” Lacey strolled over to where Shannon was rebaiting her rod, and lasered her with a look that said Shan was on the hook along with her fish. “Then what do you think you know, Miss Squirmy Lips, because something’s up between you and Sam, and we want to know what it is.”
“Yeah, you two getting serious or something?” Cat said, tongue rolling inside her cheek. The gleam in her eyes assured Shannon there was a tease on its way. “You know, like maybe you’ve graduated from holding hands to a kiss on the cheek?”
The cheeks in question immediately heated over the memory of countless goodnight kisses at the door that focused on far more than her cheeks …
“Well …” Shannon plopped back in her chair between Lacey’s and Cat’s to deliver a sideways peek with a chew of her lip. “Maybe …”
Lacey whirled in her Adirondack chair, pinning Shannon with a threatening smile. “So help me, Shannon O’Bryen, if you don’t give us the scoop, I’ll get it out of Sam myself.”
“No!” The furnace in Shannon’s face cranked all the way up to flashpoint, her mortification blazing that Sam might think she put Lacey up to it. She put a cool palm to her heated skin. “Please don’t say a word to Sam, Lace, because I would just die if I was wrong, but I think …” She nibbled the tip of her pinky, the hint of a smile just barely sneaking through. “He may be pretty serious. Like … marriage serious.”
“Squeeeeeeee!” Lacey dropped her rod and launched to her feet to squeeze Shannon in a noisy hug while Cat stared, open-mouthed, a smile slowly curling on her lips.
“Well, holy bucket of worms, sis, that has to be some kind of record for a guy like Sam Cunningham or any guy!”
Shannon put both hands to her burning face, shoulders in a scrunch. “Stop it, you guys! Just because I think it doesn’t make it true. Sam and I are just dating, and for all I know, that’s all it might ever be.”
“Oh, puh-leez!” Lacey said with a roll of her eyes, retrieving her rod to make another cast. “Jack says the man is so far gone, he should be committed.”
Committed. Shannon caught her breath, her dream of Sam committed to her sapping all oxygen from her throat. Oh, Lord, if only …
Cat put her rod down to focus on her sister, shimmying her chair around till she was facing her dead-on. “So, why do you think that, Shan?” she asked with a probing stare, knees bunched and bare feet curled over the edge.
Shannon shrugged, almost wishing she hadn’t been born with this crazy sixth sense that could bode either good or bad. Good if she was right that Sam was serious enough to commit to her alone. But bad if this uneasy feeling she’d been having all night was more than indigestion. “It’s a bunch of little things, really,” she said carefully, hoping she wasn’t reading too much into Sam’s words or actions the last month.
“Such as?” Lacey laid her rod aside, now sideways in her chair with knees to her chest.
Shannon sighed. “I know this sounds silly, but he’s had this look in his eyes ever since Mom and Ben’s wedding last week. Kind of a heated intensity that defies his typically casual air.” She pursed her lips, head in a tilt. “It’s … almost like a horse at the gate, you know? Eyes searing the track while its body stills, every muscle twitching till the stall opens up.”
A husky chuckle tripped from Cat’s lips. “That sounds like Dr. Love, all right—a thoroughbred just waiting for that doggone gate to swing open.”
More heat pulsed in Shannon’s cheeks as her teeth tugged at the edge of her smile. “I hate to say it, but that’s it exactly. And then he keeps saying over and over how he wants to take the time to really get to know me better.”
“So?” Lips pinched to the right, Lacey peered at her through squinted eyes, as if trying to assess each word out of Shannon’s mouth. “That’s a good thing, right?”
Shannon tipped her head, mouth compressed in thought. “Yes, but it’s almost like the man doth protest too much, you know? Like he’s trying to throw me off track or something. Plus, I don’t know the details because Sam doesn’t like to talk about it, but he had a really bad experience with a girl he was engaged to in college that shook him up pretty good. So he’s made it perfectly clear that when he does get engaged again, he plans to take lots of time to make sure it’s the real thing.” She huffed out a sigh as she stared out at the water. “And let’s face it, one month does not a commitment make.”
“Ahem … almost six months,” Lacey corrected, “since you two forged a close friendship the night of the fundraiser.”
One side of Shannon’s mouth nudged up. “Driving a soused Romeo home with puke on his tie hardly qualifies as a close friendship, Lace.”
Cat grinned, eyebrows jiggling. “Apparently it does for Dr. Love.”
“Anyway,” Shannon said with a patient smile, “he’s taking me to 700 Kitchen Cooking School on Saturday night for our official one-month anniversary—”
“Wait a minute—a cooking-school date?” Cat’s feet thudded to the wood planking when she sat up in the chair, posture stiff as two tiny lines puckered above her nose.
The indigestion that had been churning in Shannon’s stomach all night kicked up a notch because she knew what Cat was asking. Why would Sam resurrect painful memories with a date that included a cooking class, when it was the very thing Eric had loved to do? “Sam already knows Eric and I loved cooking together and that since the breakup, I avoid it like the plague.” A wispy sigh drifted from her lips. “But he told me he doesn’t want anything to remind me of Eric, so he wants to erase those painful memories with good ones.”
“Or,” Cat said with a sly cock of her head, “he wants to make good and sure he eats well if you two do tie the knot.”
A shy giggle slipped from Shannon’s mouth. “I thought of that.”
“Well, I think it’s sweet and very smart, but then we already know Sam is a genius because he’s in love with you.”
Ridges buckled Shannon’s brow as she slumped back in her chair. “I sure hope so,” she whispered, “because I sure am with him, and to be honest, I never thought I could feel this way again or ever trust another man.”
“Oh, get real, sis.” Cat settled back, palms flat on the wide arms of her chair. “Anybody with eyes in their head can see how gaga Sam Cunningham is over you, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re home free.”
“Maybe not,” she whispered, the roiling in her stomach starting to rival the roll of the river.
“What do you mean?” Lacey studied her with a sober gaze, as if she already knew what was coming.
“I mean, I never told Sam the whole truth about Eric,” she said quietly, wishing a hundred times over that she had.
“What?” Cat sat straight up once again, mouth gaping.
Shannon shook her head, understanding her sister’s shock perfectly. She and Sam were best friends, confiding in each other about almost everything. But fear had kept her from revealing her most debilitating secret, something that no one in her life knew but her family. Because the shame was still too deep, and Sam’s faith had been too shallow, hinging so precariously on the very morality that Shannon espoused. And yet, here they were in a relationship that might be heading toward something more, and the guilt was eating her raw. Because if Sam and she were getting serious, this was something he needed to know.
She blinked hard to thwart a sudden sheen in her eyes. “When we were just friends, I couldn’t tell him, Cat, not only because I was ashamed, but because he always made such a big deal about my so-called wisdom and morality, saying that was the biggest reason he trusted me like he did.” Her gaze trailed out to the water, the river dark and ominous as the moon crept behind a threatening billow of clouds. “So when we started dating, I knew I needed to tell him, but every time I got up the nerve, it seemed like something derailed it. Then at Mom and Ben’s wedding, I sensed things might be moving more quickly betwee
n us, so I tried to tell him that night, insisting I had something painful he needed to know about my past. But he just shook it off, saying that he did too, but it could wait because he didn’t want to spoil the moment.”
Her eyelids flickered closed, the weight of her guilt prompting a fresh wash of tears. “So I didn’t push it, rationalizing that we’d just started dating and I would tell him if we got more serious.” A muscle convulsed in her throat. “But now I’m worried we have and Sam still doesn’t know. And to be honest, I’m worried sick that it will ruin everything.”
“Oh, honey.” Lacey squatted in front of Shannon’s chair to hug her, the tenderness in her voice helping to ease Shannon’s fear. “If Sam truly loves you—and I suspect he does—this may come as a shock, yes, but it won’t change what you have.” She paused several seconds, her silence heavy with conviction. “But you have to tell him soon, Shan,” she said softly, “whether he wants to hear it or not.”
“I know.” Shannon’s hand quivered as she brushed the moisture from her eyes. “So I guess I’ll tell him Saturday night, then, although I don’t know if he’ll want to see me anymore after I do.”
“Stop it!” Cat jumped up to grip Shannon’s arms, bending to peer into her sister’s eyes. “The guy loves you, Shan, anybody can see that, so I doubt he’s going anywhere.”
“And more importantly,” Lacey said quietly, “God loves you and redeemed you, my friend, just like He redeemed me from all the horrible mistakes I made before I came back to Isle of Hope.”
“And, man, were there some doozies!” Cat gave a sober nod, earning a thin smile from Lacey before her sister-in-law turned back to Shannon.
“Besides,” Lacey continued, “it’s not like Sam was a Boy Scout before you stirred his faith, so if anybody should understand, it should be Dr. Love.” She gave Shannon’s hand a pat. “So don’t you worry, sweetie. We’ll just pray about it right now, and everything will work out, you’ll see.”
Tears blurred in Shannon’s eyes as she gripped Lacey’s hand, craving her assurance. “You really think so, Lace?” she whispered, the barest trace of tremble in her tone.
“Nope.” Lacey stood to her feet, her stance strong like a woman whose faith had been through the fire and back. “I know so, Shan, because we serve the very God Who created hope for moments like this.” Her eyes brimmed with moisture, just like Shannon’s. “And God’s hope, my sweet friend, never disappoints.” She reached to give Shannon a tight hug that coaxed even more tears from her eyes. “And neither does God.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Shannon glanced at the clock, then stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, wondering if she would even fall asleep tonight. It was well past two in the morning, but the conversation with Cat and Lacey had heightened her awareness to the fact that she was desperately in love with Sam Cunningham—or Dr. Love to the Memorial nurses, she reminded herself—and needed to tell him the truth. Which meant she was also incredibly vulnerable to being crushed a second time.
Her eyelids lumbered closed like they were made of lead, but not before a pool of tears brimmed, alerting her to the fact that this gnawing indigestion in her gut had flared into full-blown nausea. Because frankly, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to go through it again …
When you are weak, I am strong …
The sweet whisper of God’s Word opened her eyes once more, but this time it was to the hope that she was no longer alone in the battle.
The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.
“Thank you,” she said softly, so very grateful for God. He had fought for her with Eric—for her very life as well as her soul—and she had no doubt that the strength seeping into her bones right now was His, not hers. More tears pricked, but these were tears of joy over a God Who had called her out of the darkness into His marvelous light. She had been on the brink of death in so many ways, but God had shown her through the pain that she—Shannon Terese O’Bryen, the shy and quiet twin that nobody noticed—was His “very own possession,” no matter how far she had strayed from His hand.
And, oh, how she had! She’d been raised on a solid faith and yet, just like her father, she had fallen, exchanging the love of God for the love of man, a human frailty of epidemic proportion. But even that God had turned around for good when He’d brought her to the pinnacle of faith, revealing to her soul the only truth she could really cling to … and the only truth that really mattered.
I am God, and there is no other …
“My soul finds rest in God alone,” she quoted softly, and knew to the core of her being that it was true. She’d already proven she couldn’t rest in her own strength or goodness because it had failed her so miserably before. As much as she loved her family and friends, they could not provide the true rest she craved for her soul. And even if Sam did love her with the everlasting love for which she so longed, it would never still her, steady her, save her like the unfailing love of God.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have drawn you with loving-kindness. Again I will build you up, and you will be rebuilt.”
Rebuilt.
Which meant that no matter what happened in her life now or in the future, in her relationship with Sam or anyone else, the Lover of her Soul would not forsake her like man was so prone to do.
At the thought, peace flooded, and her limbs slowly sank into the rest she needed. Eyelids edging toward sleep, she prayed a final Scripture, the words soft and warm on her lips. “Let the morning bring me word of Your unfailing love, Oh Lord, for I put my trust in You. Show me the way I should go, for unto You I lift up my soul.”
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Shannon startled in the bed, her silenced cell phone vibrating her stomach as much as her nightstand. Her heart turned over when she saw it was Sam, and lunging for the phone, she answered, barely able to hear her own breathy voice for the pounding of her pulse in her brain. “Sam?”
“Ain-chell Eyes …”
Her stomach bottomed out as her heart stumbled in her chest, the slur in his words painful proof that he’d broken his promise to himself to never get drunk again. “Sam—what’s wrong?”
“Come on, Teash, does somethin’ hafta be wrong for me to see my bes’ girl?”
Alarm prickled her skin. The thought of Sam driving drunk catapulted her from the bed. “Where are you?” she whispered, the sound harsh in a house where everyone else was sleeping.
“Right outside, babe, so come on out. And, Shan …” The husky chuckle that usually fluttered her stomach now roiled it instead. “Don’t bother to put on a robe.”
Hands quivering, she ripped her pajama bottoms off and put on a fresh pair of shorts, barely able to latch the hook of her bra beneath the T-shirt she wore. Snatching her purse off the dresser, she slipped on her Sperrys and silently opened the door, holding her breath as she eased it closed before tiptoeing down the stairs. With the utmost stealth, she locked the front door behind her and hurried to where Sam’s Vette was parked in the street.
“Give me the keys,” she said in a terse tone she seldom used, Sam’s recklessness unhinging a deeply buried temper few knew she had.
“Hey, babe.” His eyes were mere slits as he stumbled out of the car, swaying conspicuously when she stepped back from his reach. The lazy smile on his face dissolved into hurt. “Come on, Shan, I need you …”
“You need me all right,” she said in a near hiss, “to drive your sorry butt home.” With pickpocket speed, she plucked the keyless entry remote from his trousers and slipped it into the pocket of her shorts.
His suggestive chuckle reeked of alcohol. “I knew you’d come around eventually, Ain-chell Eyes. Most women do.”
“Yeah?” She smacked his arm away, pushing and prodding him to the passenger side of the car none too gently. “Well, I’m not most women.”
He skidded to a halt like he wanted to respond, but she just yanked on his shirt that much harder, dragging him all the way.
“H
ey, you’re gonna rip my favorite Armani,” he groused.
“Better than your jugular, Doc.” She jerked the passenger door open and shoved him in on top of his precious suit jacket that was folded neatly on the seat, not a bit sorry when he bumped his head on the roof.
Slamming the door, she almost smiled when she saw him grapple with pulling his jacket out from beneath his hard-muscled bulk. But, not quite. His mood was considerably testier when she got in on the driver’s side. “For crying out loud, Shan, have a li’l respec’ for my things, will ya?” he muttered, refolding the jacket just so before laying it over the console.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she started the car, figuring she’d have to give him one thing—he was the neatest drunk she ever saw. “I have respect for your things, Sam.” She turned the stereo down, not missing the irony of Keith Urban’s song, “Stupid Boy,” blaring through the car as she eased it down the street. “It’s their owner I’m not too sure about right now.” She slid him a peeved look, her tone a clear reprimand. “Especially somebody stupid enough to drink and drive, so you’ll excuse me if I’m not very happy with you right now.”
“Yeah?” His voice rose in volume, making the slur all the more noticeable. “Well, I got news for ya, babe, that goes both ways—” His words strangled into a groan as he began to fumble with the handle of his door. With split-second precision, Shannon squealed to a stop on the side of the road and flung her door open, rushing to the other side to yank him out of the car. The moment his feet hit the pavement, it was his dinner that went “both ways”—from his precious Armani shirt right on down to his beloved Cole Haan brogues, baptizing them with the foulest vomit she’d ever seen or smelled.
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