She squeezed a breath into her lungs and raised a brow to show she was still in control. “So, about this surprise?”
He took a few steps forward, his attention never leaving her face, and then, as if his thoughts turned into less pleasant realms, he frowned and stopped. “I must speak to you.”
“Then speak.”
“The camp is moving next week.”
Her forward momentum died with a sudden sickness in her stomach. “Please tell me that’s not your idea of a surprise for me.”
A smile softened the tension on his face. “I may have a thick head”—he tapped his forehead—“but it is not that thick.”
The levity took some of the sting from his announcement. “I’m sorry, August.”
He tilted his head, captivating her with his searching gaze. “Are you?”
Her gaze faltered under his and she took another look around the chapel. “Of course. You don’t expect me to know how to finish this chapel, do you?”
“I suspect if you put your mind to it, you could accomplish almost anything.”
Her attention shot back to him and she suddenly recognized one thing among many she’d failed to see during their acquaintance. He saw her as the woman she desperately wanted to be. The woman she thought she’d once been before war and betrayal weakened her from the inside out.
“I’d rather not resort to such extreme measures if I don’t have to.” She steadied her palms on her hips. “So, what if we get to work?”
He took another step closer, his beautiful smile returning to entrance her all over again. Perhaps having courage also meant utter lunacy because she suddenly had difficulty keeping her mind clear of periwinkle eyes, strong shoulders, and a dashing smile. What had become of her sensibilities?
“Your answer deserves the surprise. Are you ready?” He didn’t wait for her to answer but almost ran to a small door in the chapel she hadn’t noticed. It stood at the steeple’s base, and from Jessica’ quick view, it led to a small stairway with a skeleton of a spiral staircase twisting the one story upward to the steeple—and the mysterious, framed cross-hole.
With careful movements, he drew something from the shadows of the closet and carried it to her. At first, she couldn’t make it out, but as he neared and the fading light reflected off of his cumbersome package, Jess recognized it. A patchwork cross? Dark wood framed a cross shape filled with tens of small, colorful shards of stained-glass pieced together like a puzzle in the form of a cross. August bent beneath its weight, the window a little over half his height. The mingling shades all merged into one setting and cast rainbows against the chapel floor in a myriad of faded and beautiful hues.
“Where did you—” She gasped. The treasure hunts? Digging through the muck and remains the flood left behind to retrieve lost pieces of the church’s former stained glass windows? She grappled for her voice, for words. Some response to match the beauty of this gift. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”
“Nothing is too broken that it cannot be restored with the proper care.”
He spoke to her at the soul level, guiding her from the cocooned safety of her cage.
She met his gaze, trying to absorb this growing awareness, this tenderness. He was everything he appeared to be and so much more. Her breath shallowed, and her heart took a tremulous response forward. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head in acceptance, looking up through those luxurious lashes and spiking her pulse into arrhythmia. “My pleasure, Miss Jesse.” He gestured with his head toward the steeple. “Are you ready to set it?”
Her shoulders relaxed from the tension, the awkwardness of embracing emotions she’d tied off like a tourniquet, and embraced the distraction of work. “Yes. Please.”
The work moved forward in companionable silence and with a great deal of distraction in the form of her work partner. Suddenly, her senses came to life with everything about him... his breathing, the way he turned his body to keep sawdust from falling toward her, the spun gold links within his blond hair, the cleft in his chin. And the one feature which was quickly growing to be her favorite—his ready smile. She’d always thought people who smiled too much or too quickly held secrets, were false or oblivious, but August carried a genuine joy ready to emerge to the surface in a beautiful, breath-altering smile.
Her newfound fascination with him was her only excuse for ignoring the signs—the scent of wet trees in the air, the coolness of the advancing breeze, the darkening sky. They’d barely placed the stained glass cross securely in its new home when the first burst of thunder nearly toppled her from the stairway.
August steadied her, but she jerked free, stumbling down the remaining stairs until she reached low ground. Her pulse stampeded in her ears, competing with the thunder. The chapel walls closed in as the thunder intensified, calling her back to exploding shells, dismembered bodies, and fiery, hate-filled eyes.
She paced the perimeter inside the chapel, prowling like a cat for a hiding place.
“I will get you home.”
“There’s no time,” she shot back. “No time. The storm is already here. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere. I’m caught. Trapped. I can’t hide. I can’t.” She placed her hands over her ears as another blast drew closer, shattering through her until she stumbled.
“No.” August’s arms enveloped her in warmth and pine-scent. He swept her off her feet, cradling her against his strong chest, and marched across the chapel to the tiny stairwell closet. “You cannot hide. But you are not alone. I will be with you through this storm, Mause. I will not leave you alone.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jessica’s face paled and she paced like a caged animal from one corner of the chapel to the next, her gaze darting from wall to wall. Another clash of thunder echoed through the mountains, closer now, and she whimpered, her large, emerald eyes taking on an almost wild look.
“I... I need a place to hide.” She rounded the inside of the chapel again, murmuring to herself. “Where is somewhere to hide?”
August moved toward her, trying to gain her attention. Break the panic. “I will get you home.”
She glanced at him, her body tensed, awaiting another blast. “No time. The storm is already here. I have nowhere to go. Nowhere. I’m trapped and it’s coming for me.”
He’d heard from some of the older, former soldiers in the about their violent reactions to noises or seemingly insignificant situations as they recovered from war. To watch this strong, beautiful woman convulse into tremors before him pushed him into immediate protective action. He charged forward, sweeping her into his arms as she crumbled beneath the next thunderous crash. In four strides, he opened the narrow door leading to the steeple stairwell. Darkness shrouded them except for the faint myriad of colors reflecting off the walls from the stained glass window above.
She gripped him close, shuddering into his chest like a terrified child. He enveloped her and the feelings to protect her, holding her against him and attempting to shield her from the storm. She shivered uncontrollably, burrowing deeper into his arms with every blast of thunder.
August palmed the back of her head and tipped it to the side, pressing her cheek against him so that her good ear rested against his chest. “Focus on my heartbeat, Jess. Not the thunder.”
Her tremulous breathing and her sobs stopped at his words. Her entire body tensed.
“Hear how slow and steady my heartbeat is. I will protect you. You are not alone,” he whispered against her honeysuckle-scented hair. “Breathe in and out, slow and relaxed, like my heartbeat. My voice.”
Another thunder crash shook her with a shudder, and she gripped his shirt more tightly.
“Hold on as tightly as you need. I will not leave you.” He rested his cheek against her hair and covered her other ear with his palm, dampening the sounds outside. “You are safe, Mause.”
Her shoulders shook but her struggling slowed and her breath released in a long, sniffling sigh.
They sat in the dim stairwell as the sto
rm passed and the shadows shifted from dark to light. Her breathing slowed and became even. Her grasp loosened, and yet he cradled her. His protective hold slipped into a gentler embrace, his palm sliding up her back until his fingers brushed against the soft blush of her hair.
His throat constricted at the intimacy in the touch and he returned his palm to her back, training his thoughts into submission. Would she wish for such caresses from him? Something had changed between them when she’d arrived that afternoon. The previous suspicion had faded, her attention had lingered on him, softened... enough to encourage him with hope, but she’d never flirted or flattered him. He grinned into her hair. Of course, she wasn’t exactly the sort to do either, anyway. And that was one reason he liked her the best. No pretense.
She’d grown still in his arms, almost as if she’d fallen to sleep. He peeked down at her face in the dimness. Her eyes still pinched closed, long lashes sweeping down over her pale cheeks. With a careful shift in his movements, he pushed her damp hair back from her face and allowed his fingers a second’s linger against her cheek. Her eyes flickered open and held him captive, dark jade in the shadows of the little room. She studied him, fear dwindling into uncertainty and curiosity... and something else. New. Sweet.
The chill in the air faded into a thick heat, moving down his throat and expanding through his chest. She sat up slowly, her gaze never leaving his face, the wisped air of her shallow breaths piercing the darkened space. His other palm slid up her shoulders, over the thin cloth of her pale blue blouse, until both hands cradled her jaws. Those jade eyes still glistened with the tears she’d shed during the storm, shining now like jewels. Her lips, parted slightly, held him captive, spiking a renewed curiosity of how they’d taste. Bitter like her words had been to him in the beginning? No. Not now.
Now, he wondered just how sweet one taste could be.
***
He’d shielded her, encapsulated her in his arms for the entire storm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. There was no judgment at her child-like terror, no disgust as she clung to him with an embarrassingly desperate hold that now brought a flood of warmth into her face.
His palms rested on her shoulders as she pulled back from him, his face half in shadow and half haloed in the rainbow-light cascading down from the stained-glass cross. His pale gaze took in her face, searching for her well-being, and her heart trembled anew in a very different way than at a passing storm. It pulsed with a trepidation, a yearning new to her.
His palms moved to cup her cheeks, the calloused touch from his hard work surprisingly gentle. Wordless power, an invisible tether, drew her toward him, spiraling her insides with a swirl of energy and warmth. Her gaze dropped to his lips against her will or understanding. Would he kiss her?
Air blocked in her throat as his breath exhaled against her mouth, drawing closer. She closed her eyes, trying to brace herself for whatever might come, but the only other kiss she’d ever known was stolen from her by a ruthless German. His face surged into her thoughts, replacing the swarming warmth with a frigid stillness. Ice. Fear. Her stomach curled as the stark memory of his lips and teeth raking over hers stripped her of all curiosity.
She jerked back. “I... I can’t.”
His hands dropped back to her shoulders and he blinked. “Why do you fight so hard? I know you feel this... this same draw.”
She slipped from his hold and gripped the stair railing to pull herself to her feet. “I can’t. I can’t be with...”
“Someone who is German?” His voice hardened and he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze moving to hers, pleading and fiery, but most of all intensely fascinating.
He stood and stepped from the small stairwell out into the chapel.
“You don’t realize. It’s not as you think.” She followed him, searching for a way to answer. How to admit this shame undergirding her insecurities and second-guesses?
“You’ve made your intentions quite clear from the beginning, Miss Ross. I was only too dim-witted to believe it.” He marched to the far side of the chapel and began gathering up his tools. The pain lacing his voice sliced through her.
“August—”
“I have spent my life not meeting other people’s expectations.” He slammed the hammer into the tool bag. “I was not rich enough for my fiancée, I was not brave enough for my brother.” He shoved a box of nails into the bag, accentuating the word ‘not’. “I wasn’t strong enough for my father.”
He turned on her, those usually gentle eyes now aflame with indignation and hurt... hurt she’d caused. “I know the truth now, but then... then the knives of their rejection carved out my heart.” His palm rammed into his chest with a thud. “Now, my fiancée is unhappily married but very wealthy, my brother, in all of his bravery, has left his family because he cared more for self-glory than his own blood, and my father?” A chaff of air burst from him in a joyless laugh. “My father is dogmatic and powerful, but incredibly lonely.” He raised those wounded eyes to her, searching her face, his jaw tense. “Now, I will not meet your expectations because of the nation of my birth? It is good, then, that God does not hold the same lofty arrogance as you, for I would be a hopeless cause, as I once was but for His grace. When did you lose your understanding of grace?”
“In the treacherous arms of a German lieutenant who wanted much more from me than the medical assistance he captured me to provide.” The confession slipped out, battling against his accusations with as sharp an edge. “Who overpowered me and found pleasure in doing so, leaving me seared from his kiss and touch.” She shivered as the memory took hold again, words adding stings to the secret. “It’s not you. I know that. But... but I have no other comparison. I... I... can’t know—”
“Oh, Mause.” His endearment erupted on a gut-wrenching sigh. “My poor Mause.” He dropped the tool bag and crossed the chapel floor toward her, the fire in his gaze replaced by a probing tenderness. “Don’t you know? I am not that man. I am the man who would walk miles only to play badminton with you so I could hear you laugh.” He grew closer. “I am the man who pieced together a shattered window to show you that you are not too broken to be beautiful.” He bridged the gap, his gaze never letting her go. “I am the man would capture the thunder in his hands, if he had the power, so you would not be afraid.” He stood before her, so close and certain.
She soaked in his confidence, his... care, embracing it in the only fumbling way she knew how. Completely. “I know. I know you’re not him.”
He held her gaze and brought his hand up to brush away a tear from her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch, the strength in his promises. He shifted close enough that she noticed a darker rim of navy around the paler hues of periwinkle in his eyes. His caress slipped across her cheek to rest on her chin and she swayed toward him, entranced by his gentle entreaty.
His kiss? Would it be powerful enough to replace the nightmares of Lieutenant Snyder’s? Memorable enough to overcome the pain of his touch?
August’s thumb slipped across her bottom lip, his gaze following the gentle line of his movements. Her skin responded like the flickering of electric lights buzzing to life with energy, with anticipation for something her body seemed to recognize as wholly different from the wretched lieutenant.
His attention pulled to her eyes. “I have made a rule, though it pains me greatly.” The tip of his lips tilted. “I will wait for you to kiss me first.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Yes. You are a woman who appreciates initiation.”
Her cheeks blazed. “August Reinhold, it is not appropriate for a woman to... instigate such an action.”
He chuckled. “Where is my lovely suffragette now? Do you not believe in equality?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you have equal the right to kiss me as I have to kiss you. What better way to ensure you are prepared for such a powerful experience than to initiate it yourself, yes? Unless you do not think you have the strength?”<
br />
He was baiting her again, and despite the trepidation still quivering her stomach, her smile responded and she moved back into his space, daring him with her unswerving stare. “I’ve always been efficient at finding strength when I need it, Mr. Reinhold.”
His eyes sparkled and then smoldered, reigniting the heat in the room. “I have no doubt, Miss Ross.”
She’d never been so fascinated with a pair of lips in her life. And she’d seen plenty. She was a nurse, of course, even sometimes assisting with reconstructive surgery, but this... this was an interest far beyond professional.
Her curiosity began a steady climb to overcome her fear, and his lips were a significant motivator in the fight. She placed a palm against his chest and bridged the gap between them, slowly, battling the irrational fear of a nightmare repeating itself.
He didn’t move, only encouraged her with a daring smile she found increasingly more tempting with each breath. Challenging her. Pushing her to step outside her panic and soiled expectations.
“Mama Jesse?”
She spun around almost falling from the unexpected shift in her balance for her weak leg. August steadied her from behind, his closeness sending tingles of awareness up her spine. She forced a smile at Jude who waited in the doorway of the chapel, adorable in a set of new overalls she’d bought him last week.
“Jude?” She cleared her throat, August’s closeness fogging up every thought in her head.
What on earth was wrong with her? “Is... Is everything all right?”
He propped his palms on his hips and studied her, his intelligent gaze shifting from Jess to August. “Grandpa sent me to check on you ‘cause of the storm.”
Jess created distance from August and moved to the doorway, hoping the heady influence of the handsome German might lessen with distance. “I’m fine, thank you. I...” She glanced behind her to where August had returned to the tool bag. “August stayed with me so... so I wouldn’t be afraid.”
Jude gave a nod of approval. “Well, I reckon that’s what people do when they love ya. They stick with ya through the hard times, like you done for me.”
The Thorn Healer Page 23