He leaned into her touch. “Wanted? As in past tense?” Please, don’t say yes. Tell me you meant something else. Certainly God wouldn’t answer my prayers, then yank them away the next second?
She nodded. “It won’t work. I should have told you that a week ago when you said that you lived and worked in Minneapolis.” Her eyes filled and she looked away.
He stared at her, grasping for comprehension. “What does this have to do with where I work? I don’t understand.”
But suddenly he did, and he wanted to groan. Oh no. Of course. The Phillips neighborhood, 2135 Franklin Avenue.
“I can’t go back there, Noah.” Her voice was so small he had to strain to hear it. “Not even for you.”
This wasn’t about his past . . . it was about hers. Her fear didn’t have anything to do with who he’d been but who he was now. His job, his future . . . her past.
“Anne.” He curled his arm around her despite the fact that she sat as if frozen. She was probably turning into an iceberg under all those sopping clothes. “Anne, I know.”
She looked at him then, her eyes big, round, and full of disbelief. “No, Noah, you don’t understand. It’s not about my life here or my job or my plans . . . it’s something that happened.”
“I know.” He nodded, wishing he didn’t have to tell her, wishing he had nothing to do with her fears. If she was afraid of him now when she thought him only a man who happened to have a burden for the lost street children, what would she think when she realized he’d been there, unable to stop the moment her life hung in the balance? Guilt felt like a ten-ton anvil in his chest. He fingered her wet hair, summoning his courage.
“Noah, about a year ago, I was . . .” Her voice trembled.
“Shot.” He flinched when he said it, remembering every ugly, deadly nanosecond. Her scream echoing off the walls of his heart, the shot that shattered so many lives, her eyes holding on to his gaze for dear life.
“How did you know?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Did Katie tell you?”
He lowered his forehead to hers, wondering if she could feel him shudder or hear the sorrow in his voice. “No.” He swallowed a ball of sheer grief. “I was there.”
23
God wasn’t fair.
Anne stared at Noah, the living proof that miracles happened, and knew that God had played upon them a horrible joke. Didn’t He have a heart?
She should have seen it. What kind of blinders had she donned to convince herself that Noah wasn’t exactly the man for whom she’d hoped, wanted, prayed?
Here he sat, a flesh-and-blood, dream-come-true apparition from the past. It seemed too wonderful, too awful, to be true.
Anne closed her eyes as memory swept through her. The soft touch of a stranger, the haunting melody of “It Is Well with My Soul.” She opened her eyes and studied Noah: the worry knitting his beautiful face; the small, round scar on his cheek; his incredible honey brown eyes, so warm, so riveting . . .
2135 Franklin Avenue.
She tried to breathe through her vise-gripped chest. No. God, don’t do this to me. How cruel was He to give her the very materialization of her dreams—then wrench it away by giving her a man sold out to God and to the lost souls of the street? Not. Fair.
God should have warned her He was going to start answering prayers like manna from heaven. Then she might have qualified her request for a man with a passion for the hurting and lost with a specific location.
She clenched her jaw, but tears burned her eyes. Noah was her nightmare, in devastating proportions. A heartbreaking, impossibly gorgeous dream man she couldn’t have.
Shaking, she turned her tearstained face away from Noah and everything he symbolized. “No, Noah. Please don’t say that to me. I don’t want you to be him.”
Her voice seemed pinched. As the waterfall hissed in the growing darkness, horror spiraled out of her thoughts. She began to shiver from the inside out.
If God had heard her prayers about her hero and answered, then what did that mean? Had God also heard her petition for peace and safety from the far reaches of her childhood? Could it be that He’d sent her to 2135 Franklin Avenue for a reason?
To teach her, exactly . . . what? That peace and safety weren’t in the ingredients of this mortal world? Ouch. The sheer devastation of that thought and the harsh lessons of God made her press her hands to her trembling lips. She felt the fabric of her flimsily reconstructed faith begin to rip.
Noah’s close presence raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. She wanted to turn toward his strong, solid chest, dig her hands into his T-shirt, and force him to deny it for the sake of her shattering soul.
“You weren’t there. You couldn’t have been there. Katie told you, didn’t she?” She stared hard into his eyes. The sadness in them confirmed the heartrending truth.
“You were shot while answering a call for my foster mother. Anthony Debries was strung out on drugs and had taken us both hostage. You and your partner walked into it.” His quiet, clinical explanation made her wince. His voice dropped so that every word seemed a groan. “Tony shot you from five feet away.”
She closed her eyes, wishing the words away, aching with the assault of memories.
“I was there. I tried to stop him but I couldn’t.” His voice broke. She opened her eyes and saw he’d covered his face with his hands. Then the big, tough street punk began to tremble, his grief so palpable it plunged right through Anne’s frozen body to her heart.
Noah was crying . . . for her. She stared at him, stunned. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t believe she’d actually said the three little words aloud, bared her heart to him, knowing he wouldn’t echo her words. But now her street-tough warrior was suffering because of her pain, broken over the fact that he hadn’t protected her. Something thick and warm filled her chest. He wept for her. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—dare to think that it might be because . . . he loved her too.
As she watched him, something inside ripped; then in a rush, a year of grief burst free. Fear, agony, even self-pity spilled out, like the lancing of an infection. Anne moaned with the enormity of the emotions.
In a movement that they both needed, Anne wrapped her arms around Noah.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, not surrendering to her embrace. “I should have stopped him. Then you came in and I tried to warn you, but . . .”
“I didn’t understand your warning.” She nudged closer. When he finally settled his arm around her, she nestled into his wide chest. “Noah, it’s okay.” He continued to weep as if he had been the one shot, the one whose life had been crushed. “I’m okay.”
Her own words startled her. Since when was she okay? Thirty minutes ago, her hideous scars had made her bathe in her clothes rather than her swimsuit. Ten minutes ago, her traumatic memories jerked her out of the embrace of the man she loved. Suddenly now, seeing his tears, she was okay?
Oh yes. A divine breath filled her chest, one that should have been accompanied by angels singing and heavenly trumpets, and she realized why God had brought her to this moment, this hero. No one in the entire world could understand her pain, her grief, better than Noah Standing Bear, the man who’d seen its inception.
God hadn’t been cruel.
He’d been merciful.
He’d been gentle.
He’d touched her battered soul by delivering to her the one man with whom she didn’t have to be afraid. The one man who cried for her scars.
And just maybe, yes, God had heard her prayers for peace and safety, the exact emotions she felt when enfolded in Noah’s arms. Who better to keep her safe than the one man, the very man, who had risked his life to save hers? If he’d nearly sacrificed himself to save her before, he’d do it again.
Certainly, Noah, better than anyone, would understand why she could never return to the inner city. He’d even admitted it. I know, he’d said, when she opened up her black soul. I was there.
He had been there, had tried to stop it, and now he g
rieved for her pain. This man who trembled in her arms would cut out his own heart before he’d drag her back to her fears. She felt it to the core of her heart.
A wave of pure delight filled her chest, and she spread her hands on his wide back. “Noah, it wasn’t your fault.” She leaned back, willing him to meet her gaze. “You saved my life. Don’t you know that?”
He shook his head. “Because of me, you were nearly killed. I should have stopped him, but I was waiting, trying to figure out a way to disarm him when you walked in. If I had been faster . . . or smarter . . .” Tears continued to etch trails down his handsome face.
“No. You’re not to blame for that kid’s actions.” Anne wiped a tear off his cheek. “You tried to stop him. If you hadn’t jumped him, he would have shot me in the face.” The memory of that moment, of Noah flying across the room in a full-out tackle, came back vividly. “You saved me, Noah, more than you could ever know.”
He studied her, his sweet brown eyes full, glistening, unbelieving.
“You sang to me, remember? You sang ‘It Is Well with My Soul,’ and I never forgot it. You were with me during my rehab, during all the pain. God used that song you gave to me to hold me up. I’ve never forgotten you, Noah. I’ve been dreaming about you for a year.”
His mouth moved as if trying to find words. They came out in a whisper. “Oh, Anne. I . . .” His words stopped, as if caught in his throat.
His eyes roamed her face with a longing so vivid it made her heart gallop through her chest. He touched her face gently with the tips of his fingers. A glorious, delicious smile broke out, as if he realized for the first time the meaning of her words. “Anne.”
She lifted her face for his kiss, relishing it. His lips trembled as he kissed her with such tenderness, such thoughtfulness. While his arm curled around her, the other hand cupped her face and he ran his thumb along her cheek.
The moment was so beautiful she wanted to cry all over again.
“Noah,” she murmured, finally putting a name to the man of her dreams.
Softly, his breath a whisper on her skin, he asked, “Are you still afraid of me?”
He felt her stiffen in his arms. Please, no.
“Noah!” The sound of panic laced the voice. As if slapped, Noah released his hold and searched the forest.
“Noah!”
“Over here!” He glanced at Anne. Her eyes, brimming with alarm, were fixed to his. She’d let go of his shirt and scooted away. He missed her already.
“Noah!” Latisha emerged from the trail, running at full power. Her eyes were huge white orbs in her tear-streaked face. “We need you!”
She skidded to a stop and, without a pause, grabbed Anne’s arm and pulled. “Come. Now. Darrin’s stuck on the wall of death and he’s going to die!”
What had those kids done now?
Noah dashed past them, up the trail, his worst fears leading the way.
Twilight had turned menacing. Dark shadows cloaked the ground as Noah ran, tripped, stumbled, his mind already seeing Darrin a crumpled mess of blood and bones at the summit of the wall of death.
He heard screams, the echo of his own panic as he raced to the cliff edge. Over the lake, the sky was a bruised canopy, showering darkness over the rock wall. Noah dropped to his knees and looked over. His heart nearly stopped in his chest. “Darrin!”
The kid was clinging to the face of the wall like a monkey, both hands fisted white with effort. His feet spread-eagled—one toe in a foothold in the rock, the other on a two-inch ledge. He was pinned to the wall by sheer terror.
Darrin looked up at Noah, desperation etched in his plump dark face and terror in his eyes. Thirty feet below, scattered like squirrels on the rocks, the campers had taken positions to urge Darrin up or down, Noah didn’t know which. Melinda, ten feet back from the cliff, huddled with Ross. Both looked as if they knew the inevitable.
Darrin was going to fall.
And kill himself.
Noah kept his voice calm, easy. “Hold on, Darrin. I’m coming to get you.” Noah backed up slowly, praying he didn’t send debris over on the kid. He turned around in time to see Anne and Latisha emerge from the trail in a dead run. Anne had a fierce look on her face. For some reason, it gave him hope.
“He’s stuck,” Latisha said, gasping. “He climbed about halfway up and can’t get down.”
Latisha shook, and Anne pulled the girl to herself and held her tight. Latisha’s voice hiccupped between sobs. “George dared him. He told him that if he could climb the wall, he’d get Shelly.”
Noah made a face that betrayed the sick feeling in his gut. Get Shelly? Like she was a prize? He clenched his jaw. Right. This was a dare, a sick game. Noah grabbed his climbing harness that was still there from this afternoon’s climb. He snapped two carabiners into his D ring and attached a rope to one. “I need someone to belay me!” Thankfully, the ropes had been secured under the light of the afternoon sun. He ran toward the edge and called, “Bucko, I need a belayer!”
“I’ll do it.” Anne had already hitched her webbing tight.
Noah looked at her, a shivering, soggy ball of grit. “Okay. I’ll strap you in.” Doubt lodged thick fingers into his chest, but what choice did he have?
Anne sat on the ground. He hooked her into the secure line, a rope fixed around a tree that would anchor her to the tree and keep her from sliding forward. Then he looped the belay rope around her. “You remember how to do this?” He’d given her a rudimentary lesson on belaying during the ropes course, but then again, she’d nearly plunged to her death. He wondered if she remembered anything from that day. He certainly would never forget the second he’d lost his heart.
Obviously she was more astute than he gave her credit for. “Yes. Don’t worry. I learned how to belay while I was an EMT.”
Oh yeah. Sitting there, gripping the rope, her feet planted, he nearly forgot that she was a city girl with an aversion to bugs. Her eyes glittered when she spoke. “I won’t let you fall.”
Oh, how he needed to hear that. Because right now he felt like he was teetering on the edge of an ugly plunge into darkness. He nodded at her, unable to speak. Noah picked up another harness, hooked on a carabiner, and clipped it into his rig.
“Noah, help me!”
With Darrin’s frantic words, Noah’s gaze riveted to Anne. Her calm, you-can-do-this expression centered him. Jaw tight, he looped his rappel line through the figure-eight rappelling carabiner and snapped it onto his harness. Fisting the rope in his right hand, he hesitated at the edge of the cliff, eyes still on Anne.
“I won’t let you fall,” she mouthed.
He could hear Darrin sucking in breaths, moments away from hyperventilating. Noah stepped over and moved down the rock wall swiftly, thankful for the months of classes he’d taken. He stopped beside Darrin, close enough to reach him but far enough that the kid couldn’t take a diving leap at him. Noah anchored his rappel line around his leg, then unhooked the harness.
“Darrin, very slowly we’re going to get this on you.”
Sweat glistened on Darrin’s face. His body shook, a bad sign that time ticked his life away. Noah held the harness at Darrin’s foot. “Put your foot in this.”
“I can’t.” The boy’s voice was so weak Noah could barely hear it.
“Yes you can. You got this far; you’ve hung on this long. You can do this.”
Darrin shook his head, and for a wild second, Noah thought the kid would spring off his position and into his arms, dragging them both down the cliff to a messy splat on the rocks below. “Calm down. You’re gonna be fine.”
Darrin sniffled.
“Listen, pal, pull it together.” The last thing they needed right now was for Darrin to loosen his hold, to surrender to his fears. “You have three secure points. Just lift this foot and I’ll slide the harness on. C’mon. We’ll go slowly.”
“I’m . . . gonna fall.”
“No you’re not. I’m here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to
you.”
When Darrin met his eyes, Noah saw fear so deep it went right to his soul. This was about more than clinging to a ledge. Why hadn’t he seen it earlier? Darrin had turned away from him a week ago. But now Noah realized that Darrin had wanted Noah to run after him. Wanted him to prove that he was tougher than Darrin’s rejection.
Oh yeah, Noah was up to that fight.
“Put your foot in here—now.”
Darrin lifted his foot, just an inch, and Noah slid the harness under it. “Good. Now the other one.”
Darrin hung on with white fists and complied. Noah slid the harness up his leg and tightened it.
Sweat dripped off Noah’s forehead, into his eyes. Unhooking the belay line from the D ring, he clipped it onto Darrin’s. “You’re hooked in. Now I want you to climb up.”
“What?”
Noah narrowed his eyes at him. He felt his heart beat for the first time in ten minutes. “Listen. I know this started out about a girl. About Shelly. But I want you to finish it. For yourself. You can do this.”
Darrin’s eyes were huge with terror.
“I promise you that we’re not going to let you fall. But you gotta climb up. Don’t let this thing beat you. You be the man it takes to overcome.” Noah backed away, far enough so the kid couldn’t touch him even if he jumped. “Climb.”
Darrin blinked at him. Then with a flicker of determination that lit Noah’s soul, he looked up, pushed with his legs, and reached for the next hold.
“Yes.” Yes! “You have a hold to your left. A crack. Wedge your hand in and make a fist.”
Darrin inched up. Noah’s hands were slick so he fought for holds as he climbed up beside Darrin. He heard movement and saw Bucko leaning over from the top. His expression betrayed guilt.
C’mon, Darrin—make it. For all of us.
Darrin moved with quiet desperation. Creeping up the rock face, Noah urged him on in low tones. Thank the Lord, Anne was on the other end of Darrin’s line—if anyone could secure the kid, it was his Anne.
Who loved him.
Noah fought a wave of emotions and found a toehold. He could hear several voices at the top now, angry tones. Obviously the group from the bottom had scrambled up the path to the top of the cliff and were pointing fingers at each other. Street kids were blamers, and this near tragedy had serious potential to detonate into catastrophe. Noah tensed when he heard words he’d outlawed at the camp rippling the fabric of the night, echoing foully across the lake.
Deep Haven [02] Tying the Knot Page 24