Her innocence.
Noah Standing Bear embodied every vile comment, every crude grope, every invasion of her privacy in her past. His type was the reason she had run home from school every day, taunts ringing in her ears, misery in her wake. For all she knew, Noah had been one of the many who’d pushed her to tears. She’d let her guard down for the very person she’d hated as a child. So much for finding her hero.
And God had saved his soul.
She tightened her jaw against the raw truth. Mr. Mercenary with the heart-melting eyes might be the fruit of her father’s and her sacrifice. She covered her head with her arms and wept.
Why couldn’t God be gentle, just once?
A new person. A new life. The words thumped in her head as her heartbeat slowed. A new person.
People like Noah Standing Bear were exactly the type God fought for, the souls of the unloved, the unwanted . . . the hated. God took people and changed them so completely they were unrecognizable. New. As in, start over. And God’s power wasn’t halfway. God didn’t need workable material to change a person. In fact, God was most glorified when He redeemed the dregs of society.
She’d watched Noah laugh with the camp girls, wrestle with the boys, challenge, comfort, and stand beside these kids who needed a role model. Despite the fatigues, the tattoo, the etched hardness in his face, she couldn’t find one hint of the gangbanger he’d been in his transformed heart. No wonder she had come to overlook his attire, his obvious street scars. Noah’s insides, Christ in him, made him a new creation. Noah was a child of grace, not the gutter.
Anne gulped heavily, aware for the first time that God might have brought her right into the sights of a man who could truly understand her pain. Only Noah, a man who had lived in the battlefield of the streets, could comprehend her wounds . . . and her fears.
Only Noah, perhaps, would know how to hold her, to soothe her demons, to whisper comfort.
To be the arms of God around her.
Warmth started at her toes and swelled through her entire body. Could it be that God would use the very object of her fears, her scorn, her bitterness, to remind her of His love, to reach out and heal her scarred heart?
Oh, God, You do know me. You do love me. Anne’s chest filled with a whirlwind of tears as she gasped at the magnitude of God’s grace. Only the Almighty, the one who knew her heart better than she did, could deliver her perfect—her only—hero.
She raised a hand to her lips, felt again the toe-curling touch of Noah’s lips, and a wall inside her broke open. She recalled their conversations, the many times she’d asked him about his childhood. Noah had taken serious pains to hide his history . . . something she totally understood. Was it for her? Did he fear her rejection, her scorn? She suddenly hurt for the part of him he’d held inside for her benefit.
But if he had been trying to conceal his past, why had he bared his soul to a kid?
Because, indeed, Noah was a soldier of the kids’ souls. A man of courage, strength, and with a burden to minister to the hurting. Right here in Deep Haven. Regardless of the cost.
The thought made her weak. In the silence of the dark, she heard her heartbeat, thumping out possibility.
“Anne?”
The soft voice on the other side of the door nearly made her jump through her skin. She could barely mouth his name. “Noah?”
Wariness laced his tone. “Are you okay? I saw you . . . I mean . . . did you hear what I told Darrin?”
Guilty. She shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. Something about the way Noah sat beside the sobbing child had tugged at her heart, and she’d been rooted at the image of his gentleness. “Yes.”
He was silent. She pictured him scrunching his scary nylon mask in his strong grip, his eyes on the door, as if trying to see past wood and screen right into her soul. Tonight during the drama, he’d looked every inch a street punk out for trouble, and she’d even felt chills watching him stalk his prey as Satan.
She stood and opened the door. He looked broken. Something raw and vulnerable permeated his gaze.
“Hi.”
She stepped out, knowing she looked a mess—swollen eyes, hair mussed—but her attention fixed on his appearance . . . the gangbanger transformed by God.
He’d rolled down his sleeve, hiding the tattoo, but she knew what it looked like. A gray five-pointed star on his left arm, probably homemade, lopsided, and black against his skin. She gently touched his arm.
He flinched.
“You were a Vice Lord,” she said.
He took a deep breath and nodded. His expression told her that he still wrestled with that fact, and suddenly she wanted to fling herself into his arms and apologize. Forgive me, Noah, for not believing in you. You’re so much more than I expected, than I was ever prepared for. . . .
But the words lodged in her throat, caught by the look of agony on his face.
He reached out, cupped her cheek. “I’m not that person anymore.”
“I know.” How sweet it felt to say that. To mean that. “I know.”
“Anne, I . . .” He stopped and let his hand fall. “I owe you an apology. I should have told you about myself . . . about the campers, long before I dragged you in.”
“I wouldn’t have returned.” She knew it in her bones. Had he not somehow coerced her—first with her job, and then with his affection—she wouldn’t be here confronting her prejudices. Confronting and defeating.
She certainly didn’t long to join forces with him and wage war against the elements of street life, but certainly she could see God’s wisdom in putting her here—for now. This summer. With Noah.
“I’m glad I’m here.” Her eyes filled. “More than you know.”
“Really?” His eyes sparkled, deep and rich, and kneaded a place in her heart that she’d tried to harden.
She nodded, and the smile that followed felt cathartic. She’d been struggling to frown for a week and somehow letting loose the grin she’d so wanted to give him made tears spring to her eyes.
His mouth tugged up on one side, and he raised one dark eyebrow. “So, you’re talking to me again?”
She shrugged, but it was meant to tease. “Maybe.”
“Huh.” He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t suppose you’d take a motorcycle ride with a former gangbanger to his favorite place in northern Minnesota, would you?”
She looked him up and down. Dressed in a black shirt, a black leather vest that did nothing to soften the outline of his wide shoulders, and matching black jeans, he looked right off the cover of Dark and Dangerous magazine. A scent of masculinity emanated from him, setting her head to spinning. Oh yeah . . . Mr. Soldier of Fortune was back in force and completely disarming her.
She tried to act coy but failed miserably. “I suppose. If we don’t go too fast.”
He laughed, then held out his hand. “C’mon. I want to show you something.”
The wind raked through Noah’s hair, the hum of the motorcycle filled his ears, and with Anne’s arms locked around his waist for safety, he knew he’d found heaven on earth. The shoreline carved out a haunting beauty in the horizon, fuzzy, yet dark and foreboding. Noah revved the motor and found the dirt road tucked just north of town. The forest thickened—ageless maple, elm, birch, and evergreen hovering as if in sentry. All at once, the forest thinned and on either side of the road grass, smooth as silk, stretched out like wings.
“Is this a golf course?” Anne yelled in his ear. He liked her breath close, even if the smell of her did destructive things to his concentration.
“Yep!” He slowed the cycle to a roll, wanting to talk instead of scream. “A few years ago, they logged this place and left a field of ugly stumps. The city passed a referendum and turned it into a municipal golf course. Beautiful, huh?” The moon had groomed the lawn into a shimmering pool of silver, the flags on the greens whipping like masts above the sea. “I think I should learn to golf.”
She laughed. The sound of it sent his
heart soaring out before him. “How much farther?”
“Why? Are you cold?” She wore her windbreaker, but even the summertime air on a motorcycle could be nippy. Hold on tighter; snuggle closer. “We’re almost there.”
They passed the clubhouse, a parking lot of golf carts, and motored farther, into another huddle of forest. Noah felt Anne pressed closer as the shadows approached. His headlight pushed ahead a trail of light, and soon the road turned rutted and choppy.
Noah slowed the bike to a stop. “Hop off and I’ll park.”
“Where are we?” Anne swung her leg over the motorcycle, and a chill rushed in where she’d let go around his waist.
Noah pulled the bike back on its kickstand and climbed off. “Pastor Dan’s property. He’s going to build a cabin here someday.” He took her hand. Soft and warm, it fit perfectly. “It’s got the best view in town.”
He led her deeper into the forest along a narrow footpath. Twigs crunched beneath his boots, and he held his arm stiff, hoping to steady Anne. His destination lay ahead, in a milky stream of light parting the copse of brush and trees.
When they emerged, the scene snagged the breath in his throat as it always did. Below, Deep Haven glittered like a Christmas display. Pastor Dan owned just about the best property in the county, and it overlooked Grace Church and the community. Beyond the town, Lake Superior stretched to the limitless horizon, a black, ominous expanse. On the point, standing guard over the harbor, the Deep Haven lighthouse, proud and steady, beamed a stream of pure white light.
Anne drew up beside him. “Wow.”
“Yep.” Noah couldn’t decide what was more beautiful in that moment . . . the Deep Haven display or Anne, her chestnut hair tangled by the wind, her face, clean and void of makeup, her eyes sparkling as they beheld his surprise.
He forced words through his thickening throat, before he had no voice at all. “They’ve restored the lighthouse five times over the years. There are bigger and better lighthouses, like the one on Split Rock, but this one is constant. Deep Haven doesn’t want it to go out.”
“It’s beautiful. The light disappears into the night.”
“Like it’s searching for lost ships.” He rubbed his fingers on her cheek. “And sometimes it bellows out a foghorn, the sound so resonant you can feel it in your bones. As if reminding the sailors caught in the storm that they aren’t forgotten.”
She turned to him. Her eyes were wide, brimming with emotion he’d thought he’d never see again. He felt as if he could take flight and soar like one of the Superior seagulls.
“Sandra told me this story of the one time it went out. About the lightkeeper going after the victims of a shipwreck.”
“Did he find them?”
She nodded. “Even in the darkness, he saved them.” She gazed at him with a look that told him it was okay, that he could pull her close . . .
Noah stalked away, afraid of the emotions that nearly overtook him. He wanted to kiss her. More than anything else in that moment, he wanted to wrap his arms around her, inhale the freshness of her skin, and kiss her as if it was the first time.
Yes, he’d kissed her before. But somehow, that delicate moment didn’t begin to match the intensity of the feelings surging through him now. He was more frightened than he could remember ever being before, even when he’d run from a pack of cops, his future dissolving with each step. Even when he’d faced a judge and been sentenced to five years of lockup.
Even when his future turned so bleak, he’d had no choice but to turn to God.
And here he was again—desperate, fearful. Needing God to save him. Needing God to help him keep his heart in pocket when, with every aching breath, he wanted to hand it out to this woman with a smile that made him forget his very name.
Oh, she had power over him. Power that convinced him it didn’t matter that he’d been a convicted felon, a near-murderer, a gangster. Power that made him hope and dream. Power that made him forget exactly why he’d driven them to this moon-kissed scenic overlook.
He wanted to spill the truth. To tell her that he knew her better than she thought, and why fear etched her eyes.
Confess that it was all his fault.
He sucked a deep, calming breath. In. Out. In.
When Anne touched him on the shoulder, he nearly jumped off the cliff. “What’s the matter, Noah?”
He somehow found his voice in his constricting chest. “I . . . uh . . .” He ran his hands through his hair. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” That was an understatement. Aside from his ugly history, she also had no idea that he knew why she’d fled for her life from the campfire pit, as if she’d seen a ghost.
Because he was her phantom.
Anne deserved to know that his stupidity had sparked the explosion of pain in her life. He’d made the 911 call that brought the EMTs to death’s abyss; he’d been the one who couldn’t pull Anthony Debries from the clasp of drugs and death. Couldn’t stop him from shooting—
He wanted to sink to his knees with the injustice of the situation. God had given him a second chance with this beautiful woman, and the last thing Noah wanted to do was risk frightening her away. Telling her his secrets—all of them—would only shatter this fragile moment with the land mines of the past. What would she think of him, knowing he’d set her up, albeit against his knowledge, to fall hard, right into the dark night of the soul? Terrorist with a capital T. Just the image he’d been trying to obliterate. But if Noah wanted any future with her, any hope of spending every day working side by side with take-my-breath-away Anne, he’d have to tell her. Everything. He stifled a groan.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me also.” Anne’s soft voice felt like a caress.
He turned, and she was close enough to take in his arms. His hands lifted of their own accord and cupped her face. She stared at him, and the compassion in her eyes played havoc with his gallant defenses. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Oh, Anne, what am I doing here with you?”
Her breath came out in a tremulous shudder, as if she too felt the depths of his question. She brushed his cheek with her hand, and he leaned into it. “I don’t know,” she whispered, “but I’m glad you brought me here. It’s a beautiful place. And you, Noah, are a beautiful person. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”
His eyes burned, and he couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips with hers. She trembled at his touch, and it reeled him in. He held his breath and kissed her. Gently, but with a passion that told her how her words touched him. She tasted sweet, with a hint of salt on her lips, as if she’d been crying. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his arms around her, to deepen his kiss. But as much as his emotions wanted to lead, honor told him no. When he pulled away, he stared into her heart-stopping, very, very green eyes. Lord, help me. You know the desires I’ve committed to You. Help me run from my past and walk in purity with this lady.
He held her gaze. “Should I apologize?”
Her eyes glowed, and even in the darkness, he saw a blush creep up her face. “No. I’ve been wanting you to kiss me all week.” She smiled, and he heard music in his soul.
He couldn’t manage words, so he took her hand. Could she feel him shake? Did she know she’d touched a part of his heart so hidden he himself barely acknowledged it? She’d called him a beautiful person.
He hoped for a lifetime to hear those words.
They walked to the edge of Dan’s property, gazing out over the beauty of Deep Haven. The wind nestled the trees behind them, reaping the night sounds, the fragrance of fir. Anne shivered again, and Noah drew her into the nook of his arm. She wrapped her arms around his waist, unafraid, trusting.
“I’ve been waiting a lifetime to find a man like you, Noah,” Anne said softly, and his breath skipped in his chest.
Is she the one, Lord, the partner I’ve prayed for? Please, oh, please . . .
“What a lovely town to build a life in,” Anne mumbled in his embrace.
She’d disap
peared off the face of the earth. He stood outside her cabin, the sound of waves pummeling the shore, the hint of storm in the air. He’d seen her in town only three days ago—and then, whoosh, she’d been abducted by aliens.
Which, at this moment, didn’t sound so utterly awful. Disappear. Forever.
His throat tightened. This is what happened when he let himself think instead of simply moving, dodging his demons. His living and breathing, leather jacketed, pistol-toting demons.
He needed her. They were watching, and if he had any prayer of squeezing free, he needed her. And what she could give him.
He glanced at the house nestled on the end of the point, at the yellow glow in the upper window, like a lighthouse against the clutch of night. Certainly they would know where she’d hidden. The maddening urge to stomp up the path, knock on the door, and push this nightmare to its inevitable conclusion pulsed through him.
No, he’d wait. He was the one with the control, the power. He wouldn’t let the fine edge of desperation push him into the abyss of craziness.
She’d return, and when she did, he’d be there, waiting like a father for the wayward prodigal.
He hoped she showed her pretty face in time to save his skin.
20
Anne stood in the middle of the outfitter’s cabin, surrounded by climbing ropes, floppy Duluth backpacks, paddles, garbage bags, life jackets, sleeping bags, and MREs—dried packets of army rations. The smell of dust, leather, and canvas clinched the camping ambience and confirmed that, indeed, Noah had lost his mind.
Ten days in the wilderness with these kids sounded like a surefire death sentence. And the man was actually giddy about it. The late-afternoon sun slid like molten gold along the rough-hewn floor and cast her shadow over Mr. Happy, who was shoving a sleeping bag into a stuff sack.
“There are two things you need to know about me right now,” she said, still trying to drive home a point that he seemed determined to ignore.
Deep Haven [02] Tying the Knot Page 20