Seaside Blessings

by Irene Hannon

  “Yes. I do.” Her words came out sure and strong, and she scooted closer to emphasize her next point. “Whatever you tell me isn’t going to change my opinion of you.”

  “Don’t be so certain.”

  She let that go. He’d find out the truth of her statement soon enough. “I assume the letter is related to this.”

  “Yeah.” A spasm of pain tightened his features, and he wrapped his fingers around the edges of the bench. “She wanted me to know she’s forgiven me.”

  “For breaking up?”

  “No.” A beat of silence ticked by. “For killing her father.”

  The breath whooshed out of Kristen’s lungs as his shocking words echoed in the quiet air. She tried to process them, but her brain short-circuited.

  Clint had killed his fiancée’s father?

  It didn’t compute.

  But she did begin to get an inkling of why he’d fled cross-country.

  Can you imagine how traumatic it would be to have your whole world turned upside down, then find yourself in a new place where everyone is a stranger?

  She’d said that to him days ago, in reference to Beatrice.

  Now she understood his response.

  He turned to her, apology in his eyes. “Sorry. I probably should have led up to that rather than dump it in your lap all at once.”

  Get a grip, Kristen. Say something. Anything.

  “What happened?” Folding her hands into a tight ball in her lap, she choked out the words.

  He looked back out over the shimmering sea. “Lisa’s father was a cop, too. One day, a disgruntled ex-employee of an electronics firm took his former boss and several other employees hostage. Lisa’s father was one of the first responders, and the gunman shot him in the arm and took him hostage, too.

  “The cops surrounded the building, a negotiator was brought in, and the SWAT team was mobilized in case the situation degenerated to a tactical resolution. I was a sniper on the team. A real hotshot. I had the best shooting record of anyone—on targets, anyway.” He gave a disparaging snort, disgust twisting his features. “Real life is different, however, as I found out.”

  Clint paused, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Though he remained motionless, Kristen could feel the almost palpable tension in his body, and drops of sweat beaded on his upper lip.

  “My supervisor knew Lisa and I were engaged. So despite my stellar shooting record, he gave me the option to pass the sniper duty to someone else. I turned him down. I told him I was a pro, that I wouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of doing the job—if it needed to be done. And that was a long shot. Tactical resolutions are the exception rather than the rule.

  “But nothing followed the rules that day. Negotiations fell apart. The gunman became more agitated. He demanded that a helicopter land in the parking lot and pick him up, along with one of the hostages. The plan was for a sniper to take him out as he crossed the lot toward the helicopter.”

  “Your fiancée’s father was the hostage he took to the helicopter?” Kristen leaned toward him as the horror of the situation began to fully register.

  “He ended up taking two hostages. Lisa’s father, who was already injured, and a young woman employee. He had one on each side, to shield him. What he didn’t know was that two snipers were positioned on the upper floors of nearby buildings. Me and one of my buddies. But it was clear from the instant he came out that I had the best line of sight. Neither was optimal, though, with hostages in such close proximity.”

  All at once, Clint stood and moved a few steps closer to the edge of the cliff, keeping his face averted as he continued.

  “I settled in, lined the guy up in my crosshairs—and started to sweat. Badly. That had never happened to me before. I was always cool and in control in training, but now I was a flex of the finger away from ending someone’s life. And if my aim was off an nth of a degree, I could hit one of the hostages instead—including my future father-in-law.”

  “I didn’t think snipers were used if there was serious danger of hitting an innocent party.” Kristen dug deep to dredge up her meager knowledge of police procedure.

  “They aren’t.” Clint’s tone flattened. “But Lisa’s father was a veteran on the force. He would have known what was happening with the SWAT team. We were counting on him to create some sort of diversion that would give us an opening.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yeah. Halfway to the helicopter, he stumbled and went down on one knee, like he’d tripped. I had a clear shot for about two seconds, but I was so busy second-guessing myself I didn’t respond fast enough. By the time I pulled the trigger, the gunman was yanking Lisa’s father back to his feet. My bullet went through his aorta.”

  Kristen sucked in a sharp breath. Closed her eyes. Fought back a wave of nausea. “Oh, Clint.” She rose and took a step toward him, but his rigid stance sent a clear keep away message, just as Beatrice’s often did.

  “He died on the spot.” Clint continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his voice ragged. “In the chaos that followed, the other sniper got off a shot and took the gunman out. But it was too late for Lisa’s father.”

  “And she blamed you for his death.”

  Clint swung toward her, lines of strain etched on his face. “Wouldn’t you?”

  She stared at him, thinking about how much she’d loved her own father. How a piece of her heart had died each day as she’d watched the disease ravage his once-robust body. How she’d hated the cancer with every ounce of her being. How she’d needed someone to blame—and chose God.

  Hate was a powerful emotion...and blame was a common coping mechanism. She could understand how his fiancée had felt.

  Yet knowing Clint even for these few short weeks, she couldn’t imagine herself hating him—or blaming him.

  “I don’t think so.” She said the words slowly, still working through all he’d told her. “It was just a tragic, horrible situation. And people are human. They make mistakes. I know that firsthand. Plus, you were under incredible stress.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair, and the sun glinted off a few specks of silver she’d never noticed before. Visible evidence of his trauma, perhaps?

  But what of the invisible evidence?

  Her heart ached for him.

  “Lisa finally came to the same conclusion. That’s what this letter is about.” He tapped his shirt pocket. “But I don’t deserve her absolution. What happened that day was my fault. I was trained to handle that kind of stress. Every sniper was. Yet I choked. At the very first niggle of doubt—and I had more than one as the situation escalated—I should have stepped back. But my ego and pride got in the way. And because of that her father died.”

  His shoulders drooped and he clenched his hands into fists. When he continued, his tone was subdued. “I’ve prayed for mercy, and I believe God has forgiven me. I’m grateful Lisa has, too, but I know what happened was my fault, and I still wrestle with the guilt. I suspect I always will.”

  “Guilt can be hard to shake.” She lowered herself back to the bench, running a finger over the rough edge. “I guess all you can do is learn from your mistakes and know that if the same situation came up again, you’d make a different choice.”

  “Like you did.” Regret pooled in his eyes. “I envy you your second chance.”

  Was he talking about the sniper situation? His ex-fiancée? Both?

  She gestured toward his pocket. “If she’s forgiven you, maybe she’d be willing to try again.”

  “Not likely. She just got engaged.”

  “Oh.” Kristen tried not to be pleased about that. She should be consoling Clint, not thinking about her own future. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. I’m happy for her.”

  She studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity, but
found none. “I thought maybe... I mean, you still have her picture in your wallet, don’t you?” Now that she’d heard his story, who else could the mystery woman be?

  “Not since that day we went to Jaz’s—long before I knew she’d met someone new.” He took a step toward her. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t shared with anyone else. In hindsight, I’m not certain Lisa and I were the best match. She was a corporate attorney, very much into big-city living. I like the outdoors and small-town life.”

  “So what attracted you to each other?”

  He shrugged. “I was bowled over by her polish when her father introduced us, and I guess she saw some appealing qualities in me. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a lovely person, and we had some good times, but our interests and priorities were different. I realize now that could have caused problems down the road.”

  “We look a lot alike, though, don’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Might as well ask the question. It would eat away at her if she didn’t.

  “Honestly? It was a bit off-putting to me when we met. But as I’ve discovered, those similarities are superficial.” He took another step toward her, but stopped as a shadow of uncertainty darkened his eyes. “As long as we’re being honest, I might as well lay everything on the table. The truth is, you’re becoming very important to me. I understand, though, if this story changes any feelings you might have for me.”

  She rose to face him, recalling the day she’d laid her own past before this man, assuming he’d judge her and find her wanting. Instead, he’d surprised her by his willingness to put a better spin on the situation than she ever had, and by acknowledging her mistakes without condemning her.

  Perhaps she could do the same for him.

  Wiping her palms on her skirt, she closed the distance between them, reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. “I didn’t know you three years ago. Maybe you were a hotshot. Maybe your ego was too big. Maybe you could have changed that outcome by stepping back. Then again, maybe not. All I know for sure is that I respect and admire the man you are today.”

  A sheen appeared in his eyes, and he squeezed her fingers. “Thank you.”

  Without releasing her hand, he lifted his other arm—as if he intended to touch her cheek.

  Her lungs stalled.

  Her heart tripped into double time.

  She leaned toward him expectantly...

  All at once the jarring ring of the cell phone in her pocket shattered the stillness—and the mood.

  He dropped his hand, leaving her disappointed...and filled with a yearning so strong it scared her.

  “Sorry.” She mumbled the apology and fumbled for the phone with shaky fingers. “Yes?”

  “It’s Steve. There’s a couple here at the front desk who said they have an appointment with you for a wedding consultation.”

  She checked her watch. Talk about losing track of time. She was ten minutes late. “Tell them I’m on my way.” After pressing the end button, she slid the phone back into her pocket.

  “Your bride and groom?”

  “Yes. I have to go.”

  “I understand. It’s a workday for you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back.

  She hesitated. Was his retreat symbolic? Did he regret the confidences he’d shared—and the almost-touch he’d initiated? Or was he just trying to give her some space after his dramatic revelation?

  With potential clients waiting, she didn’t have time to explore those questions...but neither did she intend to walk away leaving any doubts about her feelings.

  She took two deliberate steps toward him. “I want you to know I appreciate everything you shared with me today. And you’re becoming important to me, too. What you said at the beginning, about Beatrice being my top priority for now, is true. But for the record, I’m interested in seeing where things might lead when the time is right. Assuming you’re willing to wait.”

  Some of the tautness in his features softened. “Patience has never been my strong suit, but I’ll cultivate it for you.”

  Her heart warmed at his husky comment, and she smiled. “That’s nice to know. And now I need to deal with someone else’s romance.” She gestured toward the chapel as her phone rang again. With an apologetic glance and wave, she pulled it out of her pocket and started back toward the inn.

  But as she talked with Mark Stephens about possible activities for a large party that would be checking in the following week, she took a quick look over her shoulder.

  Clint was still standing on the edge of the precipice, the blue sea sparkling behind his broad shoulders, the sun warming his bronzed skin, the fine mist from the surf rising behind him.

  He looked like the hero from a romance novel.

  Normally, Kristen would squelch such a fanciful notion. Dismiss it as the stuff of fairy tales.

  But today, she indulged herself.

  Because thanks to a tall, dark and handsome ranger, she was beginning to believe that maybe...just maybe...happy endings weren’t found only in storybooks.

  And that dreams really could come true in Starfish Bay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I missed Clint at church today.”

  As Beatrice’s comment floated back to her on the needle-carpeted trail, Kristen hefted her daypack into a more comfortable position. “I did, too, honey.” A lot. “But when someone calls in sick at work, other people have to fill in. He promised to stop by tonight for some cookies, though.”

  “That will be fun. I like how we all sit on the steps and wait for Clyde and talk.” Beatrice stopped and squatted beside the trail. “Look. A banana slug.”

  Kristen closed the distance between them and dropped to one knee. Unlike most of the forest creatures, the bright yellow slug made no attempt to blend in with its surroundings. “They’re very colorful, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.” Beatrice looked over at her and fingered the tie on her hooded sweater. “Thank you for bringing me on this hike, Aunt Kristen.”

  She smiled and put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I like this place, too. It’s always quiet and peaceful here.”

  “But the sunbeams went away.”

  Kristen surveyed the forest. She’d been deep in thought during the entire hike, giving Beatrice perfunctory answers to her questions as she mulled over all Clint had told her on Friday. Although the day had been sunny when they’d left the parking area, now the late-afternoon light had dimmed. High above their heads, wisps of fog swirled around the branches of the towering trees. As she watched, the tendrils dipped lower, like the tentacles of an octopus.

  A shiver rippled through her.

  “You’re right, honey.” She stood and glanced at her watch. Had they been hiking for an hour? She should have kept closer track of the time—and the weather. Northern California fog could be treacherous.

  Stomach clenching, she tightened her grip on the straps of her daypack. “I think we’d better start back.”

  “But we haven’t come to the end of the trail yet.”

  “There isn’t really an end. It joins up with other trails. Most people just walk until they get tired, then follow the same path back. Remember, we still have to make cookies when we get home. I have a new recipe called double-chocolate fudge delights for us to try.” Since her repertoire was limited, the pastry chef at the inn had taken pity on her and shared one of his recipes. Fortunately, it sounded simple and straightforward.

  “I bet I’ll like those.”

  “I bet you will, too.”

  Beatrice started to retrace their route without further protest. “I’m getting kind of hungry anyway.”

  “Would you like a granola bar?”

  Her daughter gave her a get-real look over her shoul
der. “Yuck.”

  “It’s not bad. I bet you’d like the apple-cinnamon flavor.” But truth be told, it wasn’t as appealing as cookies or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two of the things her daughter never passed up. Kristen made a mental note to replace her standard daypack fare with more appealing treats. Now that Beatrice’s appetite had begun to pick up, she was always hungry. Kids, it seemed, were bottomless pits.

  “No, thank you.”

  Kristen didn’t push. She wasn’t a huge fan of granola bars, either.

  For the next ten minutes, as they walked in silence, Kristen kept an eye on the descending fog. A few swirls were now blowing across the path, and a damp chill began to seep through her sweater.

  They needed to pick up the pace.

  But first, they needed to put on their waterproof jackets.

  “Beatrice, wait up.” She stopped and slipped the pack off her shoulders.

  Her daughter trotted back to join her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a little chilly now, with the sun gone. I think we should put on our jackets. Pull up your hood, too.”

  She dug the smaller slicker out and handed it to Beatrice, then slid her arms into her own.

  “How come it’s getting dark?” Beatrice surveyed the hilly, fern-covered terrain with a frown as she tugged the hood into place. “Isn’t it too early for that?”

  “Oh, it’s always darker in a forest with such tall trees.” Kristen tried to sound casual, despite her own worry. Beatrice was right. It was far too dark for four o’clock.

  “It’s kind of scary with the fog and all.” Beatrice edged closer, a touch of trepidation in her voice.

  Kristen agreed. But she didn’t intend to tell that to her daughter. The youngster was already spooked.

  Forcing her lips into a smile, she adopted a lighthearted tone. “I don’t know. It kind of reminds me of Brigadoon.”

  “What’s Brigadoon?”

  “You’ve never heard of Brigadoon?” She took Beatrice’s hand and resumed walking as fast as the child’s shorter legs could manage. Even with the accelerated speed, she figured they were forty minutes from the trailhead.