Protective Instincts

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Well, someone with a Jeep knows you,” Larry replied. “Guy drives down this road once or twice a week. I almost called the cops a few times, but they threatened to haul me in for criminal mischief if I made any more false reports. Not that my reports were false. My church shoes didn’t just disappear from my closet and reappear in my bedroom all by themselves, and someone did steal my lunch one day. I made that sandwich as sure as I’m sitting at this table eating pork roast.”

  No one pointed out that he was eating chicken noodle soup.

  “What color was the Jeep?” Jackson asked, not sure if Larry had really seen the Jeep or if he’d imagined it the way he’d imagined the pork in his bowl.

  “Blue. Not one of those fancy Jeeps, either. An old one. Had a couple of dents in the fender. This guy is smart. Values his dollars.” Larry nodded his head vigorously, his white hair flopping over his eyes.

  “Is that the color of the Jeep they found abandoned earlier?” Chance asked.

  “Yeah,” Jackson responded, and it fit the description perfectly. If Larry was right about what he’d seen, someone had been stalking Raina for longer than a few days.

  “Did you happen to see the driver, Larry?”

  “Never got a good look at the guy. He did get out once. Walked up to Raina’s front window and looked inside. The lights were on, but I knew she wasn’t home, so I wasn’t worried about him being some pervert. I thought maybe he was scoping the house out, trying to see if she had anything he could steal. Good thing Matt was a pastor and not a multimillionaire.” He let out a bark of laughter that ended in a dry, raspy cough.

  Raina set a glass of water near his elbow. “When was that, Larry? You never mentioned it to me before.”

  “A year or two ago?” Larry frowned, sopping up the last bit of soup with a third piece of bread. “And I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to scare you. I’ve been watching, keeping old Bessie real close.”

  “Bessie?”

  “My hunting rifle.” He glanced around the room. “I guess I forgot to grab her on my way out the door.”

  “Thank the good Lord for that,” Boone murmured.

  “What’s that?” Larry speared him with a hard look.

  “You mentioned that you’d been seeing the Jeep for a few months,” Boone said, sidestepping the question. “Not a few years. So how is it possible you saw the guy a couple of years ago?”

  “Did I say a couple of years?” Larry rubbed his forehead, his knuckles knotted with arthritis. “That was a mistake. The guy hasn’t been coming out that long. You call the police. They’ll tell you what day it was. I called them and left a message for that Eric guy. I knew he was your friend, Raina, so I thought he’d take it seriously.”

  “You mean Andrew Wallace?” Raina asked.

  “Yes. Right. Andrew. I don’t know what it is with me and names lately.” He stood carefully, as if every movement hurt. “The thing is, I told Matt that if anything happened to him, I’d take care of you and the kid. I can’t take care of the kid, but I can look out for you. Unfortunately, that dingbat cop didn’t even bother to come out to investigate.”

  “Thanks for trying,” Raina said.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank that husband of yours, when you see him on the other side.” He paused with his hand on the front doorknob, his shoulders slumped beneath his baggy nightshirt. “Matt is the only person who ever understood about me and Dora, and I owe him big for that.”

  “What did he understand about her?” Raina asked gently, and Jackson braced himself for the answer, because he knew it was going to cut deep, make him think about all the things that were possible when two people loved each other enough to make things work.

  “That when she died, she took a piece of me with her. I never did get that piece back. No matter how many years passed. Three decades, and she’s still the only person I want to be around. Most people don’t get that, but Matt did.” He blinked rheumy eyes. “And you know, it was mighty nice having someone care about me for a while.”

  He opened the door, and Boone hurried after him, a heavy winter coat in his arms. “Hey, Pops! It’s too cold to be outside without a coat.”

  “Who you calling Pops, boy?”

  “It’s what I call my grandfather.”

  Larry snorted, but he didn’t shove away the coat Boone slung around his shoulders.

  “Would you like it better if I called you ‘old man’?” Boone put a hand on Larry’s elbow and the two made their way down the stairs, whatever Larry said in reply was lost in the rustling of the trees.

  “I should probably go with them,” Raina said, more to herself than anyone else.

  “Boone will take care of him.” Jackson tugged her away from the open door and the chilly night air. “And I’m thinking it’s not the best idea for you to be outside.”

  “He’s right,” Chance said. “If someone drove by the house after Officer Wallace left, we could be dealing with a stalker who’s so deeply enmeshed in his fantasies, he doesn’t care if he’s seen. At the very least, we’re dealing with someone who’s keeping an eye on the house, who knows when Raina is home and when she’s gone.”

  “The question is, what does he want?” Jackson asked the question that was floating around in Raina’s head.

  “Love? Attention?” Chance suggested. “He’s a crackpot, so it’s hard to say. I’m going to drive down the road, see if anyone is parked close by. I’ll call Wallace on the way. Make sure he’s updated on everything. Try not to get in any trouble while I’m gone, Jackson.” He walked outside and shut the door, leaving a cool gust of wind and sudden silence in his wake.

  “Do you think Chance is right about the person wanting love and affection? Do you actually think someone has been stalking me for months?” Raina finally asked, because she was hoping that he didn’t.

  “I don’t know. Larry seems confused, but he was pretty clear on the details of that Jeep. It sounded just like the one that the police impounded at your in-laws’ old house today. Which looked like the one that nearly ran me down. That’s two vehicles. If Larry is right about the sedan, that’s three. Could be our guy has multiple vehicles to keep from being noticed when he’s following you.”

  “If he’s following me.”

  “Don’t bury your head in the sand, Raina. Something is going on here, and it all revolves around you.”

  “I know. That’s what worries me.”

  “You don’t have to worry, Raina. You have people who care about you and a God who’s bigger than all your problems.”

  “I know, but it’s still hard sometimes.” She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the chill that seemed to had sunk so deep into her bones that she didn’t think it would ever leave.

  “What’s hard?” he asked, cupping her shoulders, looking into her face.

  He was nothing like Matt. Not quiet or easy or bookish. If he had been, it would have been so much easier to explain what she felt when she looked into his eyes.

  “This is hard,” she breathed, her throat tight and hot from emotions she didn’t want to feel. “Moving on. Letting go. It’s hard.”

  “The other option is being like Larry. Bitter and lonely and angry at the world and at God.”

  “I’m not angry. I’m confused.” She moved to the fireplace, putting some distance between Jackson and herself so she could think. “I thought I was doing it right, making good choices, following the path God wanted me on. Then the rug got pulled out from under me and—”

  “You wondered if you’d made a mistake somewhere along the line. If maybe you were being punished for not being the Christian God wanted you to be?”

  “Yes. I guess so,” she admitted.

  “It’s a game our minds play, Raina, to help us make sense of the incomprehensible. But it doesn’t speak to the truth.” He touc
hed her cheek, his fingers sliding to her nape, kneading the tense muscles there.

  “What is the truth, then, Jackson?” she murmured. “That things just happen? That tragedy is all around us, and we just have to make the best of it?”

  “That God’s love prevails. Even in the darkest times. Even when we lose everything.” He tugged her closer, his palm warm on her neck, his eyes midnight-blue and filled with sincerity and compassion. “That faith is something that grows during trials and that holding on to it leads us to the exact place where we belong.”

  Like here with you? she wanted to ask, but he leaned in, his lips brushing her temple, her cheek, her lips, and all the tears she hadn’t wanted to cry were suddenly there, in her eyes, on her cheeks, dripping down her chin.

  “Shh.” He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She could have moved away.

  It should have been easy to, but she felt drugged by his touch, her muscles relaxing for the first time in what seemed like months. And instead of moving away, she stayed right where she was, her hands on his waist, her head resting against his chest while the clock ticked away the minutes and the wind began to howl beneath the eaves.

  SIXTEEN

  She woke to the sound of a child crying. Not the frantic cries of her nightmares. The quiet sniffles of someone who didn’t want to be heard.

  She sat up, cocked her head to the side. Rain splattered against the window, another round of icy storms moving in. The wind buffeted the glass and sent sheets of rain splattering against the siding, its quiet moan an eerie backdrop to the rain.

  Was that what had woken her?

  No. There it was again! Just below the sound of the storm. A quiet sob.

  Samuel?

  It had to be. She climbed out of bed, yanked a robe on over her flannel pajamas and crept into the hallway. Boone and Chance were sleeping in the living room, the soft glow of the fire she’d lit for them undulating on the floor at the head of the hall.

  Samuel’s door was open, his muffled sobs drifting into the hall.

  “Samuel?” she whispered from the doorway.

  The cries stopped, but he didn’t respond.

  She walked into the dark room, nearly tripping over Samuel’s backpack. He’d crumpled it up, spilled all the contents onto the floor. She flipped on the light, stepping over the mess and walking to the bed. He had the pillow over his head, one thin hand pressing it close to his ear.

  “Samuel?” She touched his shoulder, felt him trembling.

  She almost backed away, almost left him there because it seemed like what he wanted. But he was a child with wounds so deep, she wasn’t sure they would ever heal. Knew they never would if someone didn’t care enough to hold out a hand and pull him close, to tell him that things would get better.

  She tugged on the pillow, and he released it, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling, his cheeks wet with tears. A picture was on the bed beside him, the grainy color photo smudged with dirt, one edge ripped off. She knew it was his family. Mother, father, a teenage sister, a toddler. He was there, too, much younger, but she recognized his wide brown eyes and thick lashes.

  “It’s hard when you miss someone, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, and he opened his mouth, let out a mournful cry. It broke Raina’s heart in a hundred ways it had never been broken before, and she reached for him. She pulled him onto her lap even though he wasn’t a baby, wasn’t her son, probably hadn’t been held by anyone in so many years that he’d forgotten what it was like.

  “I’m sorry, Samuel,” she whispered against his ear. “I wish I could bring them back to you, but I can’t. I can only give you what I have here.”

  “Until one year,” he wailed. “And I will be alone again.”

  She winced at his words. That’s the way it had been planned. A year of medical help, of therapy, of healing his body and mind. She’d been hoping and praying that someone would step forward before Samuel’s visa expired, but there was no guarantee. She couldn’t let him go back, though. She knew that now, had probably always known it. He deserved more, needed more, and if she didn’t give it to him, she couldn’t count on anyone else doing it.

  “No. You won’t,” she said, because she couldn’t tell him anything else. “We’ll work things out, Samuel. I promise. We’ll make sure you can stay.”

  He shook his head, eased off her lap, a little boy who looked like an old man, his eyes too filled with weariness.

  “No,” he said. “You have had your son, and he is gone. You do not need another son.”

  “I do not need another son like the one I had. There can only ever be one of him,” she said honestly. “But I need someone. My house is too empty now that my family is gone.”

  “My heart is empty.” He touched his chest, and Raina’s heart shattered again.

  “Maybe we both need help filling the empty places. Come on. Let’s take your family photo and put it in a frame so that it won’t be ruined.” She offered a hand, and he took it.

  “What is a frame?”

  “Something to put photos in. With glass and plastic or wood around the edges. Like that.” She pointed to a picture of a cartoon frog that she’d framed and hung on the wall.

  Samuel nodded and reached for the family photo, holding it tenderly. She handed him a crutch and he positioned it under his arm, the picture so carefully held that it might have been the finest china or the most valuable jewel.

  She had plenty of framed photos in her room, and she brought him there, lifting one off the dresser. Matt smiled out at her, his dark eyes filled with amusement. She remembered taking the picture. They’d been hiking on the Appalachian Trail a few months before Joseph’s birth, the fall foliage thick and beautiful.

  Her heart ached as she looked at it, but she slid it from the frame, placed it in a drawer that used to be filled with Matt’s T-shirts, but had been empty for almost as long as he’d been gone. When she closed the drawer, it felt like saying another goodbye.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice just a little shaky. “Let’s do this.”

  She helped Joseph slide the photo into place, showed him how to close the back, then flipped it over and handed it to him. “There. Now it will be protected. You can put it on the dresser in your room. After your infection is gone, we’ll go to the store and have copies of it made.”

  “Thank you.” He stared down at the photo, then set it on the dresser next to a picture that had been taken at the church picnic four months before the accident. She and Matt sitting in the shade of an elm tree, Joseph standing behind them, his arms around both of their shoulders. “There,” Samuel said. “Now we are all family.”

  She nodded, because she couldn’t speak, didn’t even know what to say. She’d gone to Africa because she’d needed to escape her heartache and because she’d wanted to renew her faith. She’d thought she would give plenty and expected to get nothing in return.

  She’d gotten Samuel, though. A boy who’d risked everything to save her life. The least she could do was risk her heart to give him what he needed the most. “Yes,” she agreed. “We are all family. Now you need to get back in bed. Your infection won’t heal if you don’t get the rest you need.”

  He didn’t argue, just hopped back to his room and climbed into bed. Raina pulled the covers over him, kissed his forehead, touched his cheek. “Sleep well, Samuel.”

  “Sleep well, Raina, and have the sweetest dreams,” he replied. “Good night.”

  She turned off the light, left the door open and walked back to her room. It was nearly three in the morning, but she didn’t think she could sleep. If she hadn’t had guests, she’d have gone into the living room, sat in front of the fire, lost herself in a movie or a good book.

  She paced to the window that overlooked the backyard. The wind whistled thr
ough the trees, scattering dead leaves across the ground. It gusted through the single pane glass, and she shivered. It looked bitterly cold out, but she’d rather be sitting on the back deck than be cooped up in her room. She touched the lock on the window, thought about how easy it would be to open it up and climb out into the whipping wind. Thought about just how foolish that would be.

  “I thought I heard you moving around in here. You’re not planning to make your escape, are you?” Jackson said quietly, his voice so surprising, she jumped.

  “Good gravy!” she snapped. “You scared me.”

  “‘Good gravy’?” He laughed, stepping farther into the room, his body silhouetted by the light filtering down the hall from the living room. Broad shoulders, slim hips, a laugh that made her want to smile. If she’d met him before Matt, she’d have been smitten from the first moment she’d looked into his eyes.

  But she’d met him after, and she still couldn’t seem to resist.

  “You sound like my great-grandmother,” he continued. “One of the most interesting Southern belles in all of Raleigh. The woman did have a way with words. She still does.”

  “I think I’d like your great-grandmother.”

  “Then you’ll have to meet her. She’s coming to D.C. for Thanksgiving. Might be hard to fit her and the rest of the Miller clan in my apartment, but I’ll manage. If someone doesn’t offer me a bigger space. Like a house. On some acreage.”

  “Is that a hint?” she asked with a smile.

  “No hint, Raina. It’s a blatant attempt to secure your premises for the occasion,” he responded, his Southern drawl so thick, she laughed.

  “Are you trying to charm me into it, Jackson?” Because it was working, and she didn’t think she minded at all.

  “Just trying to get what I need. Chance and I were supposed to host the meal at his place, but he burned his house down in an attempt to get out of it.”

  “He burned his own house down?”

  “I should rephrase that. His faulty furnace exploded and burned the house down. He’s homeless and living at the HEART offices for the next few months.”