Deep Haven [02] Tying the Knot

by Susan May Warren

  Or maybe his joy had to do with that incredible shy smile Anne had offered him over Pastor Dan’s shoulder yesterday. She’d said yes. Yes! And in about one hour he expected her to cruise into Wilderness Challenge.

  And then what? She wasn’t about to give him a second chance. He should count his abundant blessings that she would consider being in the same country with him, let alone the same fifteen acres. But it was a start. A good start. And maybe, if he put on his best behavior and acted like the gentleman he desperately wanted to be, she’d develop X-ray vision and see past his rough exterior to a man who wanted to be her friend. He wasn’t foolish enough to hope for more, to believe she might be able to trust him. He would be happy for mere civility after the way he’d treated her. Still, he could barely keep to a walk as he toweled off and headed toward the lodge.

  Granny D. had already roosted in the kitchen, and the smell of flapjacks and sausage links reached out to snag him. Noah ducked his head into the kitchen. “You’re already spoiling us.”

  Granny D. waggled her wooden spoon, delight in her gray eyes. “That’s why I’m here, young man. Now git dressed and don’t show up in my kitchen late.” She winked at him.

  Noah felt a pinch of grief. If only Mother Peters were alive, she’d be working right alongside Granny D. But Noah had failed her, right along with Anthony and a young EMT who might be lying in her grave right now. The thought wiped the smile off Noah’s face.

  It would do him well to remember exactly why he’d needed Anne to join his staff. So that kids might not repeat the crimes of their big brothers. So that hope and life might sweep through the streets of the Phillips neighborhood.

  In the cabin, Ross and Bucko had risen. Noah noticed both young men had their Bibles open. Ross mouthed the words to some hard-rappin’ beat pulsing out of his headphones. Bucko had a highlighter out. Noah dumped his shampoo on his shelf and tossed his towel on a hook. He had a few priceless minutes before breakfast so he grabbed his Bible and headed out to the campfire pit.

  He recalled sitting in the way-too-romantic shadows of the pines with Anne. With the sun winking overhead, Noah couldn’t keep a swell of hope reined in his chest. Maybe, just maybe . . .

  Friends. Only friends. He had to stay centered on that thought.

  Sitting on one of the benches, he opened his Bible. He’d been studying Paul’s letter to the Philippians, sharing a like-minded happiness with the apostle for those who had joined him in the overwhelming task of Wilderness Challenge.

  “For I live in eager expectation and hope that I will never do anything that causes me shame, but that I will always be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past, and that my life will always honor Christ, whether I live or I die. For to me, living is for Christ, and dying is even better. Yet if I live, that means fruitful service for Christ. I really don’t know which is better. I’m torn between two desires: Sometimes I want to live, and sometimes I long to go and be with Christ. That would be far better for me.”

  Knowing the man Noah had been, it wasn’t a giant leap to see that any success he saw in the ministry department depended solely on God’s ability, not his. As he’d drawn closer to God, seen salvation transform junkies, prostitutes, and narc dealers into the creations of heaven, Noah had fallen five million percent in love with the Almighty. God in heaven had his heart, and there were times—many, in fact—when he longed for eternity. Yet he understood intimately Paul’s dilemma in verse twenty-two. “Fruitful service for Christ,” the heartbeat and joy of the Christian life, done for and by the Savior.

  Noah closed his eyes. See my heart, Lord. Fill me with Yourself, and let Noah and his desires die. Take this man and use me how You will, for Your glory.

  He heard a sparrow chirping in a nearby basswood. The smell of the morning, the warmth of the sun, and the hope that lay before him because of this great commission thickened his throat. I am unworthy of Your grace, Lord.

  Tires spit gravel and he looked up as Anne drove in. He smiled and blinked away the tears. So unworthy, Lord.

  Gulping in a deep breath, he gathered his composure and sauntered out to the SUV, hoping Anne could see past the jerk who’d battered her feelings to the Savior dwelling inside him.

  Where was the man who had confronted her with the sensitivity of a piranha and treated her like a contagious disease? Gone, and in his place, Sir Gallant, complete with jokes and compliments. “You’re looking nice today,” had actually come out of his mouth with believable sincerity. She’d stifled a frown. She was a regular beauty queen in her faded jeans and university sweatshirt. Still, her heart bought it and did a wild dance in her chest. Then he’d hugged Bertha like a lost friend, took the medical bag out of Anne’s hand, and thanked her for showing up.

  It didn’t help that he’d shed his slicked-up disguise of yesterday and donned his backwoods soldier-of-fortune costume—a pair of ripped army fatigues that looked comfortable enough to spend a Saturday in, a black T-shirt, work boots, and a smile that could light up a room.

  And just when she’d talked herself out of noticing. In fact, she’d spent half the night reminding herself that his smile represented nothing more than triumph. That he saw her as nothing more than a bargaining chip with the local church. That he was more interested in her medical skills than her company.

  The charming sneak. Anne sat across from him at breakfast, watching as he spelled out the plans for the day. His gaze kept alighting on her, eliciting a spurt of delight. He had a crooked smile, and he talked with his hands, something she’d noticed before but didn’t enjoy nearly as much as now. The guy had energy streaming out of his ears, and his enthusiasm was as catchy as a flu bug in a preschool. She couldn’t wait to meet the kids, to take them canoeing, rock climbing, and share the gospel with them.

  She was turning into her father right before her very eyes.

  No, not quite her father. Her father had a saint’s heart. These kids were different. For one thing, they weren’t going to be armed to the teeth, and they certainly wouldn’t have the vocabulary of convicts. Even so, Noah’s passion to reach his kids certainly put a smile on her face.

  Even her co-laborers seemed to brim with his fervor. She met Melinda and Katie, who spent most of the meal coercing her to move up to camp immediately. She’d nearly given in to Melinda’s bright smile, sunshine against her dark, beautiful face. And Katie had the charm of her Irish ancestors, complete with a stubborn streak to match her red hair and green eyes. Ross oozed charisma and, judging by his straight teeth and Ralph Lauren polo shirt, braces and a college scholarship had been part of his background. Even Bucko, despite the screwball hat he wore on his head—was that a kitchen rag?—grinned at her, swallowing her whole with his friendly demeanor.

  So maybe she’d live through this summer, even if Noah turned out to be exactly the heartbreaker she suspected him to be. Suspected? Anne grimaced inwardly at the way her pulse galloped, the short-term memory connection to her heart obviously on the fritz.

  An African-American woman, nearly six feet of grin and opinion called Granny, waddled out of the kitchen, thrilled that they were stuffed to the gills and couldn’t move another inch. Granny’s pancakes had tasted like heaven. Anne certainly wouldn’t starve this summer.

  Noah left them halfway through breakfast. Anne breathed finally and discovered that all the staffers hailed from Bethel College in the Twin Cities. Small world, she thought, keeping her own previous address in pocket. She wanted to think of herself as a Deep Havener, and she’d start right now.

  She helped Granny with the dishes, ladled scraps into a dog bowl for Bertha—where was she?—then assembled on the lodge porch with the rest of the crew. The sun wove golden fingers between the elms and maples surrounding the camp and lit the courtyard aglow. Anne couldn’t help but conjure up the day she’d spent here with Noah, the sound of his laughter like a song in her heart.

  Out of some clasp of trees, the subject of her errant thoughts ran up holding a wad of rags. “First day of tr
aining, I want us to learn to act like a team.” Noah passed out the long strips of cotton. “This is a trust test. Melinda and Ross work in one pair, Bucko and Katie the other.”

  Anne’s heart did a rebellious flutter as she did the simple math. As if reading her mind, Noah looked at her and winked. Her knees turned to jelly.

  “I have directions,” Noah continued, oblivious to the fact that his EMT was about to fall into a heap. “The object of this exercise is to communicate clearly and learn to trust your partner. One of you will be blindfolded, and the other will give instructions and, if needed, support toward the points listed. When you reach the halfway point, you’ll find an envelope and instructions to switch. The guider will then be blindfolded and follow directions back to camp.” He handed the directions to each team.

  His smirk had tease in it. “Remember, what goes around comes around.” He waggled his eyebrows and sent Katie into a fit of laughter. Anne, however, fought a wave of fear. Blindfolded? At Noah’s mercy? What if his charm turned sour when they got alone? She stared at the rag in her hands.

  And then Noah was beside her. “Do you want to be blindfolded first? or do the guiding?” His eyes sparkled, but all mischief had vanished, as if he had seen her turmoil. His expression turned somber. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

  Oh, his gentle words and soft voice balmed her bruised heart. She could hardly dredge up her voice. “I’ll guide first.”

  “Perfect.” He took the cotton strip from her hands and tied it around his eyes, looking like a bandit. “I am at your mercy.”

  While the other teams moved off in different directions, Anne consulted her directions. “Uh . . . go forward.”

  He nearly fell off the porch, but he had enough kindness not to mention that she’d botched the first instruction.

  “Sorry.”

  Why did his goofy grin, misaimed by his blindness, make her mind muddle? And of course he had to smell woodsy and masculine. Anne took a deep breath and touched his shoulder. “Go right ten paces.”

  He obeyed like a soldier. She had to admire the way he strutted out boldly, investing in her words like she would never steer him wrong. “Veer left, about . . . um . . . eight steps.”

  In fact, he’d poured out his dreams into her hands. She realized, as he marched straight for the men’s outhouse, that she had the power to crush his dreams. She could close this camp down with one word. One negative report, one mishandled event. The thought made her shudder. A woman who could barely take care of her dog shouldn’t be allowed that much power. Noah had no business trusting her, and yet there he was, nearly plowing into the—

  “Stop!” Anne stifled a giggle. “Sorry.”

  “I guess payback is good medicine, huh?” He turned, and a smile graced his face.

  But she couldn’t ignore the fact that he knew he’d hurt her. And good. For a second, her lungs wouldn’t work. In a shaky voice she said, “Turn around and walk toward me.”

  He wore a quirky smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Was he . . . flirting with her? She fought to steady her voice before reading the next direction. “Now stop and pick up the ribbon at your feet.”

  He obeyed and stuffed the marker in his pocket. “Now what?”

  “Go forward until I say stop. But go slowly. There are a few dips in the yard that may trip you up. Just keep one foot in front of the other and you’ll get to the other side. If you start to trip, reach out and I’ll steady you.”

  He paused, and the slight smile, full of tease, on his blindfolded face made her blush.

  “Sweeter words were never spoken,” he said softly.

  12

  Anne didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She sat before the campfire, stirring a blackened-end stick through the embers, trying to sort out a stew of feelings.

  Was Noah truly after her heart or was she just a smitten fool? She tottered dangerously close to falling for his charm, and if she didn’t find her footing soon, she’d fall hard for a guy who could rip out her heart.

  Had she learned nothing last week or during her entire childhood? Guys who looked dangerous probably were.

  Anne pushed over a smoldering log, and sparks spiraled into the velvet night. The stars blinked at her, and the moon split the lake into two dark, ominous halves. She couldn’t deny the swell of joy that had gathered over her the past three days, and it scared her more than she wanted to admit. Had she dreamed his rude rebuff a week ago? Perhaps that had been a nightmare, a residue from her own fears, imagined by a heart that assumed the worst about a man who looked like a phantom from her past.

  Yes, Noah had danger on the fringes of his exuberant personality. His zest for life suggested he wasn’t afraid to face it head-on, something she couldn’t seem to embrace. She’d learned quickly in her graffiti-scrawled school halls that evasion had its merits. Noah had once accused her of trying to run from her fears, but she considered it tactical survival. Why fan the fires of terror when you can hold on to dignity and live in peace?

  She had to admire, however, the way Noah dove into each situation, unafraid of the problems under the surface. He lived with a passion that made her want to hang on for the ride. She could admit that she moved like molasses into the unknown . . . but didn’t she have good reasons? A bullet scar the size of a fist was the first one.

  Then again, there weren’t any gun-wielding drug addicts in Deep Haven, and she should stop evoking villains. Especially when they fit the description of uncanny hero.

  She chuckled to herself. She hadn’t dredged up the heart-stopping hero of that hot June day over a week ago when she met Noah. That unnamed tenor who had held her hand and carried her through the darkness on a song had set the bar for her standards. But that man—whoever he was, wherever he was—was history, and Noah, the resident hero in camouflage, was present, seemingly available . . . and if she read his emotional signals correctly, enjoying her company.

  Or she could be imagining his flirting, or worse, misinterpreting it for something else. Like bribery to keep her on his good side. To keep his dreams alive.

  At the cost of her heart.

  She drew a deep breath of night air, battling a voice inside that fed on her fears.

  Now that made perfect sense. Mr. Mercenary Bear had shifted the charm into overdrive for one reason—self-preservation. If she walked, his camp was finished. Anne closed her eyes.

  Why, oh why, couldn’t God give her a break? She seemed to be continually walking into ambush—physically, emotionally, spiritually. A loving God might put up a few road signs like Warning: Steep Grade, Beware of Tumble into Heartache, Blind Intersection Ahead, or Duck the Gun-Wielding Druggies.

  She hugged her waist, feeling again the burn of a bullet tearing through her body. Tears pricked her eyes. Please, God, guard my heart. The feeble prayer felt hollow as she mouthed it. Who was she kidding? God had betrayed her, and she’d have to possess more than a few loose screws to ever fling herself in His hands again. Bitterness welled in her chest. Wasn’t the Christian life about His love, His protection? She didn’t want to feel this way. She loved God, at least she wanted to. It wasn’t her fault she’d been shot, but her faith didn’t need to come crashing in around her.

  In truth, she longed to have the naive trust that surrounded her mother and her sister. They’d never had life bludgeon them and certainly had never seen their beliefs in a safe God blow up in their faces. All their platitudes about God’s grace being sufficient made her ill inside.

  Like they knew what it felt like to be drop-kicked by God.

  Anne tightened her jaw, tears washing down her cheeks. To add horror to the moment, she heard Bertha trot down the hill from the lodge, her dog collar clinking in warning. And ten steps behind her came the thump of boots. It would have to be Noah. Bertha worshiped the man.

  The big dog ran up to Anne. She dropped her stick and buried her face in Bertha’s fur, wiping the betraying te
ars. The last thing she needed was for Noah to see her scars. She wrapped her arms around herself, a physical barrier to the wounds inside.

  “Beautiful night.” Noah’s voice always sounded like a melody sung in a rich tenor.

  Anne swallowed her emotions, still raw and dangerously close to the surface. Noah stood beside her for a moment. When she looked up at him, he wasn’t staring at the sky but down at her. She smiled, hoping to deflect his curiosity.

  He was a devastatingly gorgeous addition to the nightscape. The moonlight softened his unruly hair and silhouetted his stature, a formidable presence against the darkness. She couldn’t help but be drawn in by his raw strength and dependable smile. By his wide hands that had felt like velvet on her arms as he led her around camp the first day. The memory suddenly made her wince. He was using her. Why did she lose her grip on that thought the second he entered her airspace?

  “Can I sit beside you?”

  She nodded, furious at her weakness. An intelligent woman with a master’s in community nursing would jump to her feet and flee.

  “I think it might be better if you moved up here so you can be with the campers 24/7. Besides, I worry about you driving home in the dark every night.”

  He tucked his hands between his knees and stretched his long legs in front of him. She noticed the rip in his fatigues and their fraying gathered hem. He’d obviously taken a dip in the lake after dinner, for his hair smelled of soap, and his redolence of soft leather and strong masculinity softened her raw nerves. How she longed to surrender to his larger-than-life personality.

  And now he was worried about her? Against her will, his words embraced her.

  “Bertha would like to stay here. She’s smitten with you.” Anne watched the dog, settled at Noah’s feet. As if in response, the Saint Bernard raised her head.

  Noah rubbed her behind one ear. “Of course. She loves me for my depth and understanding.”