Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  ~*~

  Brock tried to talk himself out of it, leveraging logic against attraction.

  Honestly, he wasn’t very well practiced in that area. So when Cheryl snuggled against his chest, his hands wove into her hair, and on instinct he cradled her head. She slipped her arms around him, and the moment the pads of her fingers began grazing over the muscles in his back, he knew he was in trouble. His pulse began to throb, and he felt his mind slip from clear thinking into the enticing fog of sensual command.

  He was holding a beautiful woman…how was it that he’d expected not to physically respond?

  “Cheryl…” He began to untangle the soft locks of her hair from his grip. She ran her hands over his shoulders to his chest and looked up. Heat surged as his gaze locked with hers, and when her lips parted, he moved to accept the silent invitation.

  Hunger seemed to fuel her kisses, and she tucked her body next to his. Brock lost himself in a moment of visceral passion before logic broke through again. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

  He pulled away, working to ignore the longing she’d awakened. She moved to follow him, to reclaim his mouth and pull him back into the fog, but he caught her face in both palms.

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered, working to tame his breathing.

  He studied her as she slowly pulled away, her fingers uncurling the grip she’d wrung on his shirt. His hands still framed her face, and he traced her jawline with his thumb. Emotions he wasn’t sure he could read passed through her eyes…mostly confusion. Maybe some hurt.

  “What did you mean to do?”

  He meant to…what? What had he wanted? This beautiful woman who had just ignited a blaze inside of his chest had an iceberg in her heart. Did he really want to mess with that?

  “I want to know you.” The words came out strong, with conviction. He hadn’t thought them through, but once they were out, he was certain they were the truth.

  “I’m right here.” She leaned in close, the moist warmth of her whisper brushing his chin. “You’re the one pulling away.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Sherbert, and you know it.”

  She pulled back. “No, I don’t. I know how you looked at me when Ethan first brought me out here. I know what that kiss was a minute ago. What else am I to think?”

  She was utterly serious. In that instant, he knew exactly how every other man had treated her. How she expected men to be.

  “That’s not me, not what I’m about.”

  “Well, maybe that’s true—I don’t know—but maybe it’s me, what I’m about.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? Guys can be forward and physical, and it’s all good. Expected. But a woman? Not a chance, right?”

  “Are you a player, Cheryl?”

  She stepped away, forcing him to drop his hands. “You don’t want to know me, Brock.” She made a move in the direction where she’d parked her car.

  With one long stride, he stepped into her path.

  “Yes I do.”

  “Brock.” Her voice cracked, and she looked away.

  He’d touched on something tender in her heart, and she wanted none of it. He wanted all of it. The conviction surged. They’d both landed back in Hayden on purpose. For many purposes actually. And this thing blooming between them? Part of that purpose.

  Crazy. Maybe he’d taken one too many slams to the head on his many snowboarding crashes. Cheryl Thompson, the ice queen, had planted deep in his heart within a week’s time. Hadn’t he been done with women? Not to mention, she’d be one of the most difficult creatures he’d ever encountered. He worked with some pretty difficult kids, so that was saying something.

  Maybe he should listen to her; maybe she was right. The things she had locked up felt ominous. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

  With that thought, a noose locked around his heart and pulled tight. Strangling tight.

  One hand reached for her face, and his fingers brushed her cheek. The coolness of her skin seeped through the pads of his fingers, and every other thought scattered. She needed warmth, and for some unexplainable reason, he longed to give it to her.

  “Yes,” he whispered, bringing her eyes back to meet his, “I do.”

  She stood still as he once again closed the space between them. With the hand that still touched her face, he tucked her close again, and the other arm he wrapped around her shoulders.

  She shivered against him. Brock was certain her physical reaction wasn’t just because of the chilly mountain air. She wasn’t alone in that one.

  This hadn’t been his plan. He was terrified too.

  ~15~

  Cheryl finger-combed her hair and piled it into a ponytail. She wasn’t a ponytail kind of girl. She wasn’t a kayaking kind of girl either. But standing with the warmth of Brock’s body against hers, his arms anchoring her close to his chest, she couldn’t say no to his invitation. That had been at E’s wedding, two days before, and in the forty-eight hours since the delusion that she could somehow step back into the shell of the young woman she’d left behind had fizzled into a filmy, wispy notion. She couldn’t be that girl without stepping into places in her heart that were forbidden.

  Today she would tell him. This had to end.

  It was time to get back on track. She would spend tomorrow calling around, making inquiries about help for Nana. Still without a clue as to what she would do with her life back in LA, she was certain she couldn’t stay in Hayden. If Ethan and Brandi were only a ten-minute drive down the road, surely it would be fine to hire someone to look in on Nana. The woman still ran the bakery, for goodness’ sake. She was doing fine, and Cheryl hadn’t seen any other signs of dementia.

  Just that one.

  She shivered, remembering the woman’s total departure from reality. And her words.

  No. It was just the trauma of having Cheryl step back into her life that had rocked Nana. In fact, it would probably be best for Nana if Cheryl left. Her life would go back to normal, and she wouldn’t have the stress of having Cheryl back in her home. It was best to leave next week.

  And that was exactly how she’d explain her decision to Brock.

  Brushing her bare arms, which still were sandpapery with goose bumps, Cheryl glanced at herself in the mirror. Her lightweight hiking pants weren’t the latest cut, but what could she expect? They were over a decade past their day. Jeans wouldn’t work for a day on the water, and the morning still hadn’t warmed up enough to convince her to wear shorts. In fact, she needed a sweatshirt. She pivoted on one foot and began rummaging through her suitcase, knowing full well she wasn’t going to find what she was looking for. Besides the jersey pants and tank she slept in, why hadn’t she packed at least one casual piece of clothing? She’d come back to Hayden, after all. Cashmere was a little overdone in these parts. Unless she planned to frequent the upper-class hits dotting the tourist favorites in Steamboat, this was wrangler and quilted-flannel country.

  Ugh. She hated quilted flannel. Had even before Hayden ceased to be home.

  Come on. She just needed a sweatshirt.

  She’d pillage E’s room.

  Solution found. After shoving her feet into her no-lace Converse tennies, she left her room and bounced down the stairs. She barely hit the landing and swung a left turn, habits from childhood coming back as though she’d never left. Ethan’s room had often been her destination. He had all the good music. Had all the good ideas of what to do with a free and clear summer day. Had the fun friends.

  Like Brock.

  A small smile pulled on her lips. What little sister hadn’t had a crush on one of her older brother’s friends? But now Brock noticed her…wanted to know her.

  He was strange. The way she’d kissed him at the wedding said whatever you want, I’m game. Men typically took that kind of move and ran with it. Brock had pulled away. They’d walked back to the reception. He’d danced with her a few times and held her hand for the rest. Didn’t leave her side, which kept her dad a
t a distance, and when the evening settled, Brock walked her and Nana to her car, brushed a kiss across her forehead, and then brought her into his arms. He asked her if she’d go out on the water with him, and now here she was, looking for a sweatshirt in Ethan’s room.

  Full circle. If only life were that simple.

  A few boxes were stacked on the floor against the wall opposite the door, but otherwise Ethan’s room sat bare. Cheryl’s steps slowed as she entered the space. The walls had been stripped of life. The pale-blue paint seemed to groan a hollow tune against her memories of posters, tacked-up sports jerseys, and Ethan’s medals and ribbons from races he’d done well in. His bed had been stripped, and the naked mattress and plain wood headboard looked forlorn.

  Ethan had moved out. His life had moved on. Permanently.

  Cheryl wrapped her arms over her chest, her hands anchoring on her shoulders. Her breath hitched as she stood alone in a room where the memories continued to collide with the new reality.

  Why was she reacting like this? She’d moved on. Her life wasn’t here. At all. Ethan had every right to move on, and in fact, that step was long overdue. And yet, here she stood feeling strangled by a loss that had long since passed.

  “Cheryl?” Brock’s voice called from down the hall.

  She startled. Had she missed his knock?

  “Just a minute.” Rubbing her arms, she stepped toward Ethan’s closet. It was probably empty, but since she was already here…

  “What are you doing?”

  Her hand on the knob to the closet, she turned as Brock leaned against the doorframe. He’d shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants, and his blue plaid flannel hung loose over a gray T-shirt. At least it wasn’t quilted. And he looked…

  Heat flared up her chest as she realized she was staring. A smirk lifted his mouth, poking at the dimple that lay just under his whisker-shadowed cheek. Those hazel-green eyes danced with laughter as they held hers.

  “Good morning to you too.”

  “Ugh.” She turned back to the closet, scolding the blush that kept giving her away. “See, you are presumptuous.”

  He chuckled, the sound moving toward her, telling her he was nearing. “No. Charming.”

  The hangers remaining in Ethan’s closet hung empty. Mission failed. She shut the door and turned back to Brock, who had stopped only a step behind her. She tipped her chin up and raised an eyebrow. “Guess what I know about charming men?”

  His smile faltered, but he held eye contact. After two breaths, the warmth of his hand enclosed around hers, and his thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Would you believe that I outgrew that stereotype?”

  Yes. Clearly he had. Maybe. “We’ll see.”

  He took a small step back, keeping her hand in his, and surveyed the room. “Wow. Kind of depressing in here.”

  Cheryl sighed. At least she wasn’t the only one. But she wasn’t going to open that door. “I was looking for a sweatshirt.”

  “Cold?” He gave her a once-over. “Why are you wearing a tank if you’re cold?”

  “That’s why I was looking for a sweatshirt.”

  “Here.” He started unbuttoning the few closures that held his warmer outer layer together.

  She held up a hand. “I do not wear flannel.”

  He paused, gave her a look that said You’re acting like a twelve-year-old, and then snorted. “Okay, fashion princess. Although I really doubt the wildlife are going to care. I have a hoodie in my truck. Will that fall within your clothing guidelines?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”

  He tugged her hand and kept it in his grasp all the way out to his vehicle. When he opened the passenger’s-side door, he leaned in, snagged the hoodie, and then wrapped it around her. His hands landed on her arms, rubbing up and down. “There. Better?”

  Cheryl nodded and then couldn’t help but dip her nose toward the oversized sweatshirt. It smelled like him—like outdoors and woodsmoke and man. Warmth enveloped her and penetrated below her skin.

  For a moment she wondered what it would be like to stay.

  ~*~

  The water rippled under the polyethylene plastic of Brock’s kayak. The strong undercurrent created small swirls in the gentle flow, just to remind the wise that its hidden power lay beneath the placid surface. He glanced over his shoulder at Cheryl, who paddled her smaller boat just a little behind his.

  What were the undercurrents in her life?

  “You ready for lunch?” He dipped one side of his paddle into the water on his right, creating a drag that both fought against his forward progress and turned him so he could face her.

  She looked over the fields that waved a fruity-green texture toward the purple-mountain rises on all sides. Brock followed her gaze, his heart singing in the beauty that swallowed them. Life here…he wasn’t sure why he’d ever searched for a life beyond this valley.

  Then again, sometimes you had to lose something before you understood how amazing it really was. Thank God He’d led Brock back home.

  “Brock?”

  Water spattered his arm and the side of his face. His attention jerked back to Cheryl, whose devilish grin matched the ornery glint in her eyes.

  “Did you just splash me?”

  With a sassy smirk, she shrugged. “Could be. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

  “Someone wants to go swimming again.”

  Her paddle dipped with fury first on one side and then the other as she moved to the bank on her right to port. She glided through the water with ease, reminding him that she was no rookie when it came to a kayak. Growing up, they’d all spent plenty of time on Gramps’s ranch: in the water, with the horses, or on the dirt bikes.

  Fun days that at the time seemed like they’d last forever.

  Today was a good day to remember.

  Brock’s boat slid against the muddy bank three seconds after Cheryl’s did. She wiggled free from the skirting, tucked her paddle into the clips, and tugged her boat securely out of the water before she took off across the long, grassed pasture. Brock hurried to follow, double-checking that both boats would remain out of the current’s reach and ditching the life vest he had zipped over his chest. He sprinted to catch her.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him as he began to close the gap between them, and a giggle rippled over the grasses. The sound seeped through his chest and soaked into his heart. Music he didn’t know he’d missed.

  Within one hundred yards of the river, he caught her, snagging her around the waist with one arm. He shifted his momentum back, and they both tumbled to the ground.

  “Brock!” she laughed, wiggling against his hold.

  He pinned her on the ground. “Did you splash me?”

  She buttoned down her lips and mocked him with her laughing eyes.

  “That’s it.” With one hand he locked both of her wrists together, and the other found the spot just below her life vest.

  “No!” she squealed. “No tickling. I hate being tickled!”

  “Maybe you’ll think next time…”

  His fingers continued their relentless attack, and she continued to laugh and scream, wiggling against him. Laughter bubbled from deep inside as he pinned her against his chest.

  “Please,” she panted. “I can’t breathe.”

  “You’re talking, which means you’re breathing.” He tested the spot above her knees, and she jerked away from his touch.

  “No! Uncle.” Her arms broke free of his hold, and she snatched his hand away from her leg. “I say uncle.”

  “Nah. That’s not going to work.”

  Their hands wrestled as she tried to contain him and he continued to reach for her knee.

  “What then?” She arched back against him.

  He fell backward and wrapped her up with both arms and legs. “You want free?”

  “Yes.” She breathed, still winded and giggling.

  “It’s gonna cost you.”

&nbs
p; She relaxed, her head dropping back against his chest. “Let me guess. A secret?”

  “Yep.”

  “And then we get to eat?”

  “Only if you like hot dogs.”

  “You’re such a pain.”

  He tightened his hold and brushed her waist again. “Watch it, princess.”

  She strained against him again, dancing away from his touch. “Okay, okay. One secret.”

  Anchoring her against him with one arm, he pushed up on an elbow. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

  She twisted, tipping her chin up to his face, and grinned. “Here it is: I actually love hot dogs.”

  Brock rolled to his side and let the arm that held her captive against him fall slack, but he fisted the bottom of her life vest. “That doesn’t count. I already knew that.”

  Her nose wrinkled up at him. “Okay. Fine, Mr. Clever. What do you want to know?”

  He studied her. The faded smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks suddenly struck him as adorable as he realized she wasn’t made up for their day on the river. Raw, authentic, this Cheryl sprawled out in the middle of a thick green pasture was the Cheryl trapped underneath the cold layers she usually maintained. He wanted to keep her just like this.

  If he asked, would she tell him why she wasn’t always this way? Why she armored herself, and what had happened in her life that had made the shield seem necessary?

  He released his hold on her life vest and reached for a wisp of hair that had fanned across her cheeks. His fingers grazed the skin of her face, warm in the unobstructed summer sun. Her eyes closed, and her mouth relaxed into a soft smile.

  He wouldn’t ask for history today. Today, she could smile in the warmth. In the light of the beautiful summer day, she could be herself without digging into the past, without trying to beat away the hurt of whatever had happened.

  Today was a day for laughter.

  “Must be thinking awful hard.” One blue eye opened, squinting up at him.

  So beautiful. He grinned as his chest tightened. “Tell me one thing you wished someone would have done or said for you in your lifetime.”

  Both eyes opened to examine him. “That’s weird. And not really a secret.”