Inspirational Romance

Julie tried to steel her emotions as she poked her head around the door facing of the hospital room. The two male nurses were in the process of getting Michael settled in bed, adjusting the series of machines that would keep record of his breathing and pulse. Even though it was obvious to both nurses that Michael couldn't use the call button, one of them pulled the cord within reach and fastened the buzzer to the corner of the sheet.

  "Can we come in, Jimmy?" Julie asked in a quiet voice.

  The big male nurse turned and smiled at Julie. "We've made him as comfortable as we can, Julie. The rest is up to God."

  Julie heard the quick intake of air Dean sucked in. She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck before stepping into Michael's room. "We have to help each other," she whispered in his ear. The tightening of Dean's arms around her waist assured her that he had heard her soft whisper.

  The nurses stepped into the hall as Julie and Dean went into the room. From the door, Michael appeared to be sleeping peacefully. His features were relaxed and his eyes closed. His hands and arms were exposed above the covering of white sheet. His right arm was in a cast. Julie's gaze dropped to the plaster form. Through the sheen of tears misting her eyes, she glimpsed the scrawled names in red and blue ink running in random patterns across the plaster.

  "Oh, my God," Dean exclaimed. He approached the bed and reached out to touch Michael. As he laid one open hand on his son's chest, he turned a tearful face to Julie. "How are we ever going to stand seeing him this way, Julie?"

  Pain shot through Julie's insides. The remorse in Dean's eyes nearly broke her heart. Surely seeing Michael in this awful way brought back memories of Sharon's battle with cancer he had tried to bury. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close.

  Dean broke the hug and wiped a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, Julie. I know I should be stronger, but the sight of him lying there, so still and lifeless got the better of me. We don't even know if he will regain consciousness.

  A combination of emotions surged through Julie's insides as she looked down at Michael. There was an aura of silence about him that she couldn't find the courage to accept. She reached out one hand and touched his cheek, lightly pressing her palm against his jaw. His skin was warm and the familiar feel of beard stubble made her close her eyes for a moment. The years they were separated seemed to melt away, lost in a sea of hurt and time. Resisting the urge to gather his still body into her arms, Julie pulled her hand away and looked at his father.

  "I want to get a look at his chart--and speak with Doctor Murdock."

  "I'll stay here," Dean said, drawing a chair up beside Michael's bed. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

The moment Jingle Bells began playing on the car radio, Ronda Miller grimaced and reached to change the station. After three hours of nerve wracking driving on slick, snow encrusted highways, she didn't need reminded that Christmas was only four weeks away. She hated the holiday season.

Taking her eyes off the road for only a second, she rolled the dial through the channels, looking for a weather report, only to discover most of the stations were playing the usual assortment of seasonal music. Switching the dial off, she returned her gaze to the road--just in time to see the red pickup truck sliding crossways in her path.

Acting by instinct, she slammed her foot down hard on the brake pedal, momentarily forgetting the slick surroundings. The rear of the car fishtailed slightly before its tires found a dry stretch of pavement and lurched to a stop. Startled by the sudden mishap, Ronda sat frozen, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. "What the--"

The driver's door on the pickup opened and a male body in jeans and sweatshirt emerged--looking like some hunk from a wish book. Ronda stared with wide eyes as he made his way over to the side of her car. He was tall and trim, with wide shoulders that filled out the bright green sweatshirt to unusual proportions. His lower body was encased in worn denim that bore the remnants of oil stains and grease smears.

Fright briefly gave way to anger when Ronda glimpsed the broad smile he flashed at her. In the next instant, she grabbed the window crank and furiously rolled the glass out of the way so she could unleash her frustration on him.

"I hope I didn't scare you too badly," he said.

"You sure as hell scared me!" Ronda yelped. She realized then her heart was thudding against her ribcage and her neck was sweating beneath the collar of her sweater. "Why were you so careless?"

He chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "I'm having a problem with my gas pedal sticking," he explained, his gaze sliding over the tight-lipped stare she aimed at him and her tousled chestnut colored hair. "You must be Ronda," he said, smiling again. "I'm Nick Austin, your aunt's neighbor." He thrust his right hand through the open window in greeting.

"Will you move your truck, please?" Ronda quipped, ignoring the hand only inches from her face. She'd already had enough of this stranger's cheery mood and his lack of sincerity for having nearly scared her to death. At this point, she only wanted it to end so she could drive the rest of the way to her Aunt Claire's house up the road.

"Sure," he said, pulling his hand back. "Just as soon as you accept my apology."

Ronda aimed a speculative look at him. There was nothing like running head first into a brick wall and then realizing you were to blame for the encounter. "If that is what it takes to get you to move your truck out of the road," she said between tight lips.

"That's what it takes," Nick returned, his smiling mouth fully teasing her.

It was then his sweatshirt blinked at her.

A series of colored flashes assaulted her green eyes and all but totally erased her anger. A decorated Christmas tree loomed at her from the front of Nick's shirt.

"You like it," he admonished with a chuckle. "Everybody does. I designed it myself. It plays music, too," he added, reaching one hand to activate the sound. "Listen."

Annie sat in the car and looked across the cemetery. The gravestones were illuminated in the soft white light given off by the streetlights along the winding road that snaked through the grounds. Massive stones with deeply etched inscriptions stood like bleak sentinels overlooking family plots. Yellowed leaves of oak trees fluttered in the late October breeze. The rustle sounded through the car windows, bringing a fall chill to Annie's body. She gathered her coat collar around her neck and poked her hands deeper into her pockets.

When Annie left the airport terminal, her heart on her sleeve, she wanted to come to the cemetery and throw herself on Charlie's grave. The need to feel close to him was almost more than she could bear some times. It didn't seem like three long years had passed since she laid him to rest. A tear coursed down her cheek and she didn't bother to brush it away. There was no one there but her, alone with her misery and concealed by the darkness.

Charlie had been her world. Her every other thought had been of him and when he was suddenly taken away, she lost all will to go on. For months she had stayed in her house, not having the desire to work or have friends in. Even her family was pushed aside in lieu of being alone and trying to understand what had happened to ruin her life. Finally, after two months, she awoke one day and realized that Charlie had been taken from her and there wasn't a single thing she could do about it. He was gone, she would never see him again, and despite the hurt clenching her insides, she had to get a grip and go on with her life.

She immersed herself in work, taking on several board jobs for herself and a few of her fellow teachers. She began tutoring mid-grade students in math after school, a job she found very rewarding. Most of the children were latch key kids with both parents working and thus they went home to an empty house every afternoon. Annie found the kids fun to be around, once their lessons were completed for the day. Without consciously realizing it, she found her spirits being lifted.

The wind seemed to kick up, blowing the dried leaves across the cemetery and catching Annie's eye. Headlights appeared, shining through the back window of her car. She roused and sat up straighter in the seat. The lights dimmed and went out, signaling that someone had parked behind her and shut off the motor of the car. A tremor of fright raced through Annie's insides. She reached for the key and started the ignition. Even though her doors were locked and there hadn't been any violence in Montgomery for months, there was no sense taking chances.

As Annie shifted the car into gear and inched away from the curb, she saw a figure exiting the car behind her. Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, she recognized the figure as male. He closed the driver's door and opened the rear door, extracting a bouquet of flowers. Annie's foot hesitated on the gas pedal as she recognized the soldier she had drawn the map for at the USO.

Curiosity rose inside Annie. She braked the car and watched the man as he walked into the cemetery. He strode along the roadway, then walked amid the gravestones, pausing to place the flowers on a grave. Annie bit her bottom lip as new tears came to her eyes. Did the soldier have a loved one buried in the cemetery? Or had he laid flowers on the grave of a fellow comrade? There were hundreds of local men buried in the cemetery, those whose families wanted them nearby instead of in a military graveyard in another state. The thought of not having Charlie close had brought about her own decision regarding his final resting place. Though he was due an honorary place because of his undying sacrifice, she knew she would love him forever and someday take her place beside him, again.

Her face was tipped up, her eyes dark in the moonlight, his bright and sparkling. He lowered his lips to hers for a long, deep, incredibly soft kiss. He loosened her hair, ran his hands through it and buried his face in the scented strands he held. He slipped his hands completely under her top to stroke her soft, warm, smooth skin. He returned to her midriff, hooked his fingertips inside the waistband of her slacks and slowly slid them from side to side with his knuckles rubbing her tummy, easing a little further down her smooth, warm stomach with each pass.

She stood still with her head tipped back, knowing she wasn't going to stand still much longer. She was beginning to purr deep in her throat like a big cat as the swirl of passion swept and rolled through her. He teased her tongue lightly with his and she responded with building passion. He gently nibbled her ear lobes and moved to the hollow of her throat to nibble and kiss teasingly.

With a shock, she realized he was not asking or demanding anything from her. He only wanted to make her happy and bring her pleasure. Any other man she had even known would have tried to have his hands all over her by now. As his soft lips returned to hers for another easy kiss the thought eased through her brain, this is a real man! Another fascinating thought zipped through her mind. What would it be like to be his wife? With that thought, she let go of everything that held her back and offered herself to him without reservation.

She pressed tightly to him and reveled in the feel of his body against hers as he eased his knee between her legs. She took a long deep breath that caught in her throat and eased out in a low, purring moan. The feeling that stirred the first time she looked into his eyes now burst into full, glorious flight and carried her along to new heights. However, the dark, brutal, ugly memory of being hurt so deeply was overpowering and she pulled away. Her shoulders were racked by sobs. She turned to him "I'm sorry, I must go."

She had his head in her lap as she intently listened to him. The heartrending loss of his wife touched her deeply. She wept openly as did he. “Oh, Gill, it would be terrible to lose a loved one that way. Molly and your grandparents deserve much praise for helping you adjust. You might have ended like Mike without their support. The Lord puts people in our path for a reason.”

He looked up into her sparkling eyes. “Why do you think we were put in each other’s path?”

She looked down and just smiled. She was very aware of his presence—the warmth of his head in her lap alternately tied her in knots and gently worked those knots free.

He reached up to cradle her chin, brushing her breasts in the process. “I want to know you better. Molly told me if I didn’t, she was going to disown me.”

Her breath tightened in her throat as he dropped his hand to stroke her thigh by his head.

* * * *

The smooth strength he felt there was exciting and comforting at the same time. He turned and pulled her down. He continued to stroke the fine, long curve of her thigh with his free hand as he cradled her in one arm. He moved to her back to stroke and massage.

* * * *

As their lips met, she uttered a strangled moan, moved to him and hooked her leg over his. There was none of the hard, fast demanding she detested. Instead, this was slow, gentle and easy, freely given and freely taken. “Oh, Gill, I have waited so long for a man like you, for a time like this.”

He paused and took her lips again in a deep, long easy kiss that completely carried her away. She had been kissed many times before, but not like this. She had had her lips bruised and almost cut by eager boys and men, had her lips bitten and even had her tongue bitten by an overeager, somewhat misdirected boy. She had had tongues rammed half way down her throat and freakishly had men actually spit into her mouth. Needless to say none of the above did much for her enjoyment of the moment.

However, this was so different, a firm, gentle free exchange of pleasure. This man is truly interested in my feelings. He wants to bring me pleasure, make me feel good. When she opened her mouth to explore his lips with her tongue, he responded gently in kind. As their tongues danced and teased, he made a long, slow sweep up her thigh and she tensed, waiting for his touch to reach her.

Instead, he continued to her back to gently stroke. “Cathy, I’ve waited for someone like you. Believe it or not, I want to wait a bit before we continue what we’ve started here.”

The breeze off the sea travelled upward and brushed over my face. I lifted my face and closed my eyes. I was so far into the simple pleasure of it all that when he walked up behind me I did not sense him.

“Buonasera.”

I gasped and swirled around. There he was. This time, however, he wore more than a speedo-esque bathing suit. He was dressed in a pair of jeans, a graphic t-shirt that I couldn’t really see well in the dim light, and a suit jacket. His hair was finger-raked backward and he hadn’t shaved. Draco De Luca cleaned up very well. I glanced around him, then up into his eyes. He was so tall. “Draco? What are you doing here?”

“My mother is this party’s hostess,” he explained.

“Your mother? Who’s your mother?”

“Capri.”

That rang false to me for Tricia never recognized him on the beach, yet she was such good friends with Capri. Of the five years Tricia had been visiting Camogli, had Capri not spoken about her son? That would seem strange, considering.

“You do not believe me. I can see it in your eyes. May I sit here?”

I nodded feebly and shuffled over so he could sit and I could face him. I did not know if I liked a man who could read me so readily. It was quite unnerving knowing someone knew what you were thinking before you voiced it. It was as though he was snooping around in my head and I suddenly felt invaded. If it was anything I prised above all else, was the sanctity of my thoughts. Those were things that could not be taken from me no matter what else was stolen.

“I met Tricia the first time tonight. For the first few years my mother spoke about this woman, Tricia Mantle, I was living in England. For the past couple of years, I started a business in Paris. Besides, I travel a great deal at the moment. This would be the first time that I am here the same time she is.”

“Oh.” I felt like a fool. “I’m sorry. It’s just that on the beach she didn’t know who you were and I figured she would know you since her and Capri seemed such close friends.”

“No need to be sorry. Even if my mother had spoken about me, she probably introduced me as Dragon.” He spoke so softly it was almost like a breath.

My gaze fell to his lips and I found myself wondering what would happen should I just reach in and brush those luscious lips with my own. I jerked away when I caught myself and rubbed a hand over my face.

“I do not bite, Macy. I promise. I only seek conversation.”

“It’s not that.” I lied. “What would you like to talk about?”

He smirked.

My breath caught in my throat.

“I am going to go out on a limb and say that talking about why I see fear in your eyes each time you look at me is off limits. How about you tell me a little about yourself?”

“There isn’t much to tell.” I turned from him. “I’m a mother.”

“A wife, I assume?”

“Not any more,” I whispered. There—I said it. It was out in the universe and no matter how much I wanted to take it back, I couldn’t. It felt like saying that I was no longer Kevin’s wife made it true. The admission felt like I was speaking something dirty and it left a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn’t sure if we were divorced yet for I had a chance to give Martin a call. It was pretty much a done deal since Kevin wanted Sharon and me gone. I took a deep breath and lifted my eyes to the dark spot where the ocean should be and stared.

“This may sound harsh, but I am happy you’re no longer married,” he said.

I felt his breath against my ear and I shivered. I didn’t jerk away, though for it felt so good. A little intimacy after so long felt like heaven. “Why is that?” I managed.

“I have travelled a lot, Macy, and I have met more women than I can count. But I have never met anyone like you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“No. I do not speak just to hear myself or because I love the sound of my voice. I speak the truth. There is something so exotic and breathtaking about you…the way the moon glows off your dark skin, the look in your eyes when you are wondering should you kiss me or not.”

“Egotistic, much?”

“I saw the way your eyes trailed over my lips, Macy. Do you deny it?”

What could I say? I could lie. He was so close, I could scarcely think. Each time I turned to him and inhaled his scent being carried on the air, filling my body, it drove me to dizziness. I couldn’t deny it and on the same breathe I would never admit it. I couldn’t. I refused to go there again with Kevin or Draco. My heart was on the mend and I could not risk it getting broken again.

“I fear I must let my intentions known,” Draco said. He moved mouth from side to side so that his breath caressed my ear, my neck and behind my ear. “I have every intention of having you by my side, in my arms—in my bed.”

“You’re full of yourself.” I drew away reluctantly.

“No—just determined.”

He laid the Bible back in its place and glanced out the window. The young lady from the coffee shop hurried across the street, laden down by a backpack nearly as large as her petite frame. A student then, no doubt spending all her time studying and working, little time to look around at others. Rich red-brown hair tumbled from beneath her cap and onto her shoulders, a pretty frame for her fair face and dark exotic eyes. A lovely example of God's creation.

Then again…

Hers had been the only smile in the shop, or the only one not accompanied by a long slow perusal of the mortal form he wore. Not that Nathan wasn't occasionally flattered by such. But the woman's smile reminded him that once in awhile people could admire while still being simply nice.

Fair of heart, fair of form…so very fair of form. She turned at the bus stop so he could see her face and his fingertips longed to brush the rich tones of her complexion, to see if it were as creamy silken as it appeared. Ah, to feel that cloud of russet hair curling around him as they lay together, sublime indeed.

Whoa, Nathan. It's not the days when the sons of God took the daughters of men to wife. Knock it off before you need a cold shower.

He made himself pull away from the almost disrespectful thoughts and just enjoyed her smile at another passenger before the bus pulled up and blocked his view of her. Off to class, then. He'd see her tomorrow.

He hoped her day progressed pleasantly and she found the time to notice the soft fall of snow as something more than a hindrance to traffic. Perhaps then she'd feel a small measure of the comfort she brought him.

The chocolate flowed over his tongue, rich sweet delight with just a hint of bitterness. Just the way life should taste.

Luke never finished his sentence, because he passed out.

"This your boy?" the doctor asked, packing up his bag.

"No…" What definition should he give his relationship with Alexis? "He's my girlfriend's son."

The wail of a siren punctuated his statement. "Finally!" Wade ground out. He'd assisted the EMTs and firefighters at nearly a hundred emergencies, and without exception, he'd been as patient and reassuring as he knew how to be. But Wade had never been on this end of an accident before. Now that he understood how painfully frightening it was to wait for help to arrive, he'd be even more understanding in the future.

Two uniformed EMTs leaped from the vehicle, life saving gear in tow. "Hey," said the one with Martin on his nameplate, "you look familiar."

Wade nodded. "You were my instructor in the Basic Life Support class I took a couple years back."

Nodding, Martin gave Luke a quick onceover, then strapped the blood pressure cuff around the boy's arm. "He's stable," Martin told his partner. "But let's get him out of here. Head injuries can be tricky business." Together, the EMTs eased Luke onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" Martin asked as Wade climbed in behind them.

Reaching into a box near the door, Wade snapped on a pair of rubber gloves. Then, from the I.V. bar above his head, he removed one of the three-inch lengths of surgical tape placed there by the guys on the previous shift. "I know the boy," he said, holding the tape out to Martin. "We haven't been able to get in touch with his mother yet."

Martin nodded as he inserted an I.V. into Luke's arm. "Yeah," he said, hanging the glucose from the bar above, "guess it'll be better if there's a familiar face nearby when he comes to." Grabbing the tape stuck to Wade's thumb, he used it to secure clear plastic tubing to the boy's wrist. Martin signaled his driver with one hand, then depressed the transmit button of his two-way radio with the other.

Wade listened as Martin rattled off the vital statistics…blood pressure, pulse, basic inventory of Luke's condition…to a doctor at the other end. Wade hadn't worked on this particular ambulance before, and because he knew each crew set things up inside to meet their own self-specified requirements, he took a quick look around. Not that knowing where things were would do him any good. As a volunteer, he'd been trained to assist, and nothing more. He wished he'd gone whole hog, studied to become a full-fledged EMT instead of taking the Basics Course. But he hadn't, and frustrating as that was right now, Wade had no intention of complaining. Because these guys didn't have to let him ride along, and he knew it.

 "So what's your take on this?" Martin wanted to know as the vehicle sped toward Howard County General.

"Witnesses said an elderly lady drove through the intersection…didn't see Luke." Shrugging helplessly, he added, "It appears he didn't see her, either."

Martin nodded. "You want to call his mother, have her meet us at the emergency room?"

Call Alexis? It was the first time Wade had given a thought to his truck, still sitting in the line of traffic, driver's door open, keys in the ignition. "I have a car phone," he grumbled, "on the front seat of my pickup." Scowling, he shook his head. "Fat lot of good it's doing me there."

Martin handed Wade a cell phone.

"Thanks."

"Hey, we take care of our own." He paused. "I don't recall your name."

"Wade Williams."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Martin barked more information about Luke's condition into the radio.

Phone in hand and forefinger poised to begin dialing, Wade froze, gaze glued to the keypad. What would he say when she answered? He punched the on button, and when it beeped, Wade met Martin's blue eyes. "What do I tell her about his condition?"

"Ain't much to tell…yet. He's got a head injury, but we won't know how serious it is 'til we get him into x-ray."

Wade dialed Alexis's number. Four rings later, he hung up.

"Nobody home?"

"Nobody home." He'd been around the Broderick house enough to guess what had probably happened. Impatience had likely driven Luke to distraction, and distraction had driven him to the garage to fetch his bike. He could almost hear the boy saying "It's only a few blocks to Wade's house, Mom. I'm not a baby. I'll be fine."

He patted Luke's hand. "You will be fine, son, if I have anything to say about it." Lord, he added silently, don't let anything happen to him. Alexis had told him she'd lost her uncle during the Viet Nam war, that her dad had died shortly afterward. Derek's accident took him from her before their seventh anniversary. She'd had to sell her house to get on top of the bills he'd left unpaid. There ought to be a law, just one tragedy per lifetime.

 Because how many disappointments and losses could one woman bear--even a strong woman, like Alexis--before the weight of them broke her?

 “Yes, boss lady.” Stewart watched her move to the far side of the kitchen. She pushed a chair toward a high shelf and climbed up to reach something. He studied her slender, sexy form. The red apron, covered in flour, made her even more appealing. He managed to pry his gaze away from the female distraction. Grabbing the ball of dough, he placed it inside the mixing bowl to let it rise. He followed Gloria to the tables and assisted with the preparation.

“Help me with the tablecloths. I want them to go this way.” She motioned with her hands.

“How do you like running the soup kitchen?”

There was a long, lengthy silence before she replied. “I love it. It’s good to know people are going to bed with a full stomach. I see the appreciation on their faces. It makes it worth the effort.”

“I can see that.”

Gloria used her hands to smooth out the creases on the cloth. “I guess next week you will be leaving?”

Stewart didn’t know how to respond. He enjoyed working in the kitchen and the many perks that went along with it. “I guess so.”

“You deserve much better than this. You’re use to the glamorous life, not slaving away over a hot stove. You really are out of your element. No pun intended,” she added.

Stewart couldn’t believe she made a joke. He knew deep down there was a fun side to her. “They replaced my post with a new bodyguard.”

“I’m sorry.”

He heard the sincerity in her tone.

“I’m sure something else will come along.”

Stewart wasn’t interested in something else. He wanted what he had right in front of him.

“Do you mind grabbing a wet rag from the kitchen? I want to wipe these tablecloths.”

He saluted her and headed straight for the other room. “Where are they?” he shouted.

“They are underneath the sink!”

Stewart pulled open every drawer beneath the sink. He located the clean rags in the very last cupboard. He grabbed one and soaked it under the faucet. While he was completing this task, he glanced across at the mixing bowl. His eyes widened. “Oh shit!”

“Is something wrong?”

Stewart panicked. He forgot to cover the dough. He heard her footsteps approach. “No, everything is fine!” He placed his hand in the sticky dough and pulled out a rat. He cursed his bad luck. “How the hell did you get up here?” His gaze followed the dishtowel that hung over the rack and dangled near the floor.

Gloria came around the corner. “How does the dough look?”

Stewart held the squirming rodent behind his back. “It’s fur-tastic,” he stuttered.

“What?” Her brow creased.

“It’s fantastic,” he corrected. Using his other hand, he threw her the dishcloth. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

She had a curious look on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I need to step outside for a moment.” Happy that she didn’t pursue the questions, he watched her turn and head toward a table. Stewart grimaced at the large rat in his hand. He unlocked the back door and threw the dough-covered rodent outside. “Don’t come back,” he whispered. Relieved that he got rid of the evidence, he picked up the dough and tossed it in a pan. He quickly molded it to the shape of the container and placed it inside the oven. “What temperature should we bake it?”

Gloria immediately entered. “Did it rise?”

Sweat trickled down his forehead. “It was the best damn thing I’ve ever seen.” He hated to lie to her, but if she discovered what he did, the shit would hit the fan.

She instructed him on the temperature. “You’re sure working up a sweat.”

“I’m not use to the heat.” Stewart turned the dial on the oven. “I’ll help you with the tablecloths.” He brushed past and tried to act casual. “Why are we baking bread anyway? I thought this was a soup kitchen.”

She assisted him with the last table. “It is a soup kitchen, but I thought it might be nice to add a few other items to the menu. There’s nothing like warm bread to go with hot soup, especially on a cold day like today.”

Stewart tried not to think about the rat in the dough. He couldn’t imagine anyone eating it. “Can I help with anything else?”

“There is something I would like to try.”

He noticed she eyed him like forbidden fruit. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I think the cologne is getting to her.

She sniffed the air and blushed. “I want to make a stew.”

He didn’t know if he heard correctly. “What did you say?”

“I want stew for lunch.”

Stewart thought this was too good to be true. The woman finally wanted him. He placed a hand in her hair and gently stroked it. “I thought you would never ask. I knew you felt it, too.”

Gloria stared up at him wide-eyed. She reached up and slapped his arm. “I said I want to make a stew. I didn’t say I wanted to make out with you!”

He retaliated. “That’s an easy mistake to make. There’s been a sexual attraction between us since I started working here. Admit it, you feel it, too.”

Gloria didn’t say a word. She silently entered the kitchen.

Stewart followed. “You’re not as hard as nails, I know it.”

She pulled down a huge stockpot and proceeded to gather the ingredients she needed. “I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Boy, you must have been hurt in the past.”

She spun around and struck back. “For your information, I have been hurt before. And it wasn’t only one boyfriend. It was a whole bunch of them!”

The hinge squeaked as the door of the food pantry was opened. Rachael turned from the desk, putting aside the thought of returning Coach Montgomery’s call. The afternoon promised to be busy. Several of the regular families the donated food was given to each month would be stopping by. Leaving the office, she pulled the door closed and tried to put her mind on helping whoever had stopped by. She brought a smile to her lips and strode into the main room of the building.

The man she had seen in the park stood near the front door, his gaze surveying the interior of the pantry. Rachael halted and stood watching him as he appeared to be taking in the entire inventory of the room. He had his hands poked into the pockets of his long coat and a serious expression wreathed his face. She drew in a quick breath as he turned his head and she was able to see his features clearly. Angled planes and deep-set brown eyes complimented tanned skin and a chiseled jaw. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and just grazed the top of his crisp white dress shirt. Rachael saw his expensive looking suit beneath the heavy overcoat and her gaze followed his lean length all the way down to the polished leather shoes on his feet.

Her heart fluttered oddly in her chest. She raised one hand and clutched the neck of her blouse, trying to identify what she was feeling. It was so uncommon. True, she had met men in the past that aroused her interest, but she had never actually stared at one so handsome and felt her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her ribs.

“We meet again,” he said, turning a smiling face toward Rachael.

Rachael had to force her feet to move across the floor. She moved her hand from her throat and stepped behind the counter at the end of the room. As she met his gaze, she felt a surge of strange warmth flush her cheeks. Defensively, she raised her hand and smoothed the fall of hair across the scar on her face. Tipping her head to one side so that the scar remained hidden, she smiled slightly.

“Yes, so we do,” she said, her voice a bit raspy. She knew by his appearance that he wasn’t there to solicit food for himself, or perhaps anyone in his social network. He was far too well dressed and good looking to be in need of much of anything. The thought almost made her chuckle. Why should she think that good-looking men weren’t in need of much? Dashing the thought before something irrational came from her mouth she drew in a deep breath. “And what can I do for you?”

“Are you Rachael Walters?”

“Yes.” Puzzlement pulled her brows together.

The man walked past the rows of canned goods, poked out his hand and came straight toward her. “I’m Tom Montgomery.”

Coach Montgomery? The name streaked across her mind seconds before he stepped up to the counter and offered to shake hands with her. Rachael lowered her gaze to the open hand, noting the smooth palm and the long tapered fingers.

Beth’s first thought was for Max. He should be here by now, unless something happened to him. She noticed the hound was gone and heard a mournful howl in the distance. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as the memory of old campfire tales of a howling dog signifying death ran through her mind. Just old superstitions, she thought as the long, drawn howl echoed through the bottoms again.

Still, she hit 911 on her cell phone as she mounted and galloped toward the sound of the hound. She gave the sheriff an approximate location as she rode. The horse loved to run so she thundered along the road skirting thick timber and pounded across open fields. She was no weekend rider bouncing roughly in the saddle, but rather rode as smoothly as any skilled range rider. The next howl came from dead ahead. She rounded a finger of timber to hear the hound behind her. Sliding to a halt, she jerked the rifle from its scabbard and plunged into the swamp, realizing this was where she had felt so uneasy. The almost unearthly howl seemed to come from all around her.

She rounded a thicket to a scene of bloody carnage. Three of the catch dogs lay dead, ripped open by the boar’s tusks. Beth turned her head to the left and there, she found Max…deathly pale and barely breathing, sitting against a tree. Blood oozed from a jagged rip in his thigh, his belt cinched tightly above the wound. The femoral artery must be cut. It’s a wonder he hadn’t bled to death already. She knew to move him without proper equipment would kill him almost instantly. She called 911 with the location and his condition. She knelt in front of him and brushed the hair from his face.

A wane smile fleetingly crossed his drawn face. He whispered weakly, “Beth, I was a fool to leave you. You were everything I could ever want a woman to be and I left. It seems I’m going to leave again. I’m so sor…” and he slipped into the dark world of unconsciousness.

“Hello, Nancy.” Samuel sat behind her desk, one arm folded over his stomach and his open Bible in the other.

Nancy’s pulse quickened and a sick acrid feeling churned inside. Why was he here and had the nerve to stalk her like this? Hadn’t yesterday been bad enough? She didn’t want to speak to him at all, so she didn’t. Instead, she kept her eyes forward and plopped her satchel down on the chair across from her desk and turned to go check the supply closet in the hall for lack of anything better to do. She wanted to put some space between them.

“Wait.” Samuel rose from the chair and walked around the desk, blocking her from leaving.

“I want to do my work so I can go.”

Samuel stepped closer. “Please.”

Nancy turned around and headed back toward her desk, her eyes gazing at the wooden floor. “Leave me alone.”

He leapt out in front of her, forcing her to stop walking. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday.”

Eyes diverted, she pushed his arm and continued past him to her desk. “Please leave.”

He held a small bouquet of wildflowers to her face, cleared his throat. “These are for you.”

Wasn’t he being a bit presumptuous? How did he know she overheard him talking to Mrs. Thurston? The moment she had the thought, she recalled the feeling of horror that must have crossed her face and the way she ran kicking and screaming from the school building with Mrs. Thurston trying, unsuccessfully, to chase her down. How dare he put her in a position to make such an utter fool of herself? And how dare he come here now demanding forgiveness? And with flowers too? She hadn’t had a bouquet of flowers since Thomas and never under such hostile circumstances. She propped herself against her desk and sighed.

Samuel pushed the flowers toward her. When she didn’t answer,  his hands began trembling. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

She glanced up at him, never taking the flowers from his hands. She tried to look through him, into his soul, see what made the mantic. Her first impression of him was all wrong. She thought he was kind and a caring teacher to young children, but in reality, behind those dark brown eyes was nothing but a heartless phony that was no more pious than a board in the wall.

His big eyes blinked. “Nancy?”

“What are you doing at my desk? I have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me…” She pushed past and walked behind the desk, taking a seat.

“I don’t want to bother you, Nancy. I wanted to say I’m sorry. I feel horrible. I never meant to hurt you.” He placed the bouquet on the one free spot on the corner of her desk. “Please say you’ll forgive me.”

Nancy drew a deep breath and clutched the bottom of the desk. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep her facial expression calm. “I forgive you, now go.”