A Love Worth Waiting For and Heaven Knows (23 page)

 

John counted himself lucky to have a view of the Bridger Mountains from his kitchen windows. He could watch the purple-gray curtain of night lift, giving way to the soft golden light of a new dawn. That could inspire a man, that's for sure. As long as he knew toward what he was aspiring.

Lifting the teakettle from the stove, he contemplated the reverent changes in the sky. Purple slipping away to the deepest blue-gray, and faint pinks highlighting the underbellies of long, paint-brush strokes of the silhouetted clouds. He poured the steaming water into the awaiting cup, and the scent of apple lifted on the steam—sweet apple. The scent reminded him of Alexandra.

She was going to be here soon. In this house. In this kitchen. He panicked. Yesterday he'd been short of obsessed with her, his gaze drawn to her like a nail to a magnet. Helpless to break away.

He carried the cup to the table, where a hardback novel lay open, a weighted bookmark holding the page. The chair creaked as he settled into it, seeing the faint shadow of his reflection on the uncurtained bay window. Sitting alone. Hair sticking straight up, wrinkled shirt hanging crooked. Behind him was a stack of dishes he'd retrieved from the second oven.

The panic was still there. Alexandra. He ought to be relieved he'd finally found a housekeeper he could depend on, but he wasn't relieved. He was terrified. He was incredibly attracted to her. To this woman the Lord had brought to his doorstep. John would not fail her. He'd be as true as the dawn, sure as the sky, as steady as the mountains.

Reaching for the sugar bowl, he caught sight of the pictures nailed to the wall, the faint glow of the small lamp reflected in the brass frames. Pictures of Hailey, mostly. He'd started a collection, the same way his mother had. One picture had Bobbie in it proudly displaying her newborn daughter from her hospital bed. She was weary with exhaustion but beaming with joy. Bright balloons sailed in the air behind her, and flowers jammed the nightstand behind her.

Remembering that day brought tears to his eyes. He didn't want to go back to those feelings. To the time he'd taken for granted. Back then he and Bobbie thought they had all the time in the world. They'd been wrong about a lot of things. Wrong about the kind of man he was. The kind of husband.

Lord, I would do anything to bring her back. To go back in time and change those last few seconds of her life. To find some way to save her. To try harder. Be more. To have held on to her when I thought I couldn't.

He'd loved Bobbie more than his own life back
then. His love had changed over the years, become a distant fondness mixed with the terrible guilt he carried. He knew what it was like to cherish a woman.

So, how could any man bring harm to someone he loved? Gulping down the hot tea, trying to burn away the lump of emotion caught painfully in his throat, John couldn't understand. Alexandra was on the run, and she was afraid. Afraid for her life. Afraid of being hurt again. Afraid to trust in anyone. Whoever this Patrick was, he'd wounded her deep inside. Didn't he know how precious love was? How brief a life could be?

John slammed the empty cup onto the table, launching out of the chair, his hands fisted, helplessness filling him. What he'd give to have the warmth of a wife's love, the music of her laughter, the comfort of her arms.

But it was not to be. He had no one to blame but himself.

In a few hours, when Alexandra walked through his front door, he'd be ready for her. Polite. Professional. A man dedicated to doing the right thing. When he gazed upon her, he vowed not to see a beautiful woman who made him wish.

He'd see an answer to his prayer for forgiveness. Nothing more, and nothing less.

T
hings weren't any clearer in the morning, although it was a beautiful day, the golden rays of sun carpeting the stone walk all the way to John's front door. Reaching into her pocket, she took out the set of keys Bev had given her. Just in case John wasn't home, Bev had said.

It didn't look as though John was home. Relief slipped through her. She hadn't realized how tense she was over this. She rang the bell just in case. No one came to the door. Looked like she was in luck. John was gone, true to his word.

This job could work out, she realized, as she tested a key. It didn't fit, so she tried the second one. The bolt turned, and she twisted the knob. The house echoed around her as she stepped into the hallway.

Serenity gathered around her like a hug. This was a real home, filled with love. She wanted a home like this someday. Maybe it wouldn't be this lavish. It could be a single-wide trailer, for all she cared. She simply wanted
this
feeling.
This
contented peace.

Well, she couldn't stand here dreaming. John wasn't paying her to stand in his living room all day. Tucking her dreams away, she headed straight for the kitchen. He'd probably left instructions on the counter. That's what a lot of people did, in her experience.

She laid her purse on the center island, but there was no list of chores needing to be done. No instructions of any kind. The granite counter shone in the morning light, highlighting crumbs and dust and a sprinkling of sugar, probably spilled from Hailey's cereal bowl.

She decided to start with the dishes stashed in the oven. It would take only a second to load the dishwasher, and a few minutes to deal with the hand-wash items. Already feeling at home in the roomy kitchen, she found the last clean dishcloth in the bottom stack of drawers. She heard a noise the same moment she pushed in the drawer.

Was someone outside? John's house wasn't on the beaten path. Bev had an appointment in town this morning, so it couldn't be her. Gerald was out in the fields, busy with his farming. John was at work.

Maybe it was something else. She turned on the faucet, letting the water warm. Over the rush of the running water, she heard it again.

Someone was outside. Patrick?

Fear sluiced over her like cold rain. Shivering, her palms went damp against the edge of the counter. What had he said the last time he'd threatened her?
You can't run from me. You aren't smart enough. I'll hunt you down like a dog until I find you. Then you'll be sorry.

It's him. Fear made her certain. She grabbed the phone with trembling hands, but what good would that do? She could call for help, but it would take a good twenty minutes for the police to come. She was in the middle of farmland and wilderness. She could try to run out the back, but what if Patrick was waiting for her? Her car was out front. He would already know she was here.

The front knob jingled and turned. The hinges whispered open. She heard the pad of a man's boot on the wood floor.

Frantic, she searched for something to defend herself with. She didn't know how to use a knife, so she didn't bother with that. There was nothing useful in the top drawers. She yanked open the pantry door and grabbed the first thing she saw. The wooden broom handle fit into her hand perfectly, and she held it steady. Just having it made her feel stronger. At least she had something to fight with.

What if Patrick had a gun? What good would a broom do her then?

The footsteps tapped closer. Leisurely. Quietly. As if he were listening for a sign of where she was in the house.

Adrenaline fired through her. Praying for guidance, Alexandra tiptoed to the wide entry that separated the spacious kitchen from the formal dining room. The footsteps were so close. Maybe if she struck first, she'd be able to knock him down. That would give her enough time to run to her car—

A shadow filled the doorway. It was now or never. Her entire life could depend on this. She swung like a batter over home plate, hoping to get him right in the stomach.

A big male hand curled around her, stopping the swing before it made contact with a very hard-looking, very solid-looking solar plexus. Patrick was a little portly, and this man was sheer muscle.

“Whew. That's what I get for not warning you before I step into a room.” John released her hand and took the broom from her. “You have a good arm. There are local baseball teams who'd be proud to have you.”

Had she really almost hit her employer? “John, I'm sorry. I was afraid you were someone else.”

“The fiancé?” He lowered the broom. “That's all right. I'm glad to know at least you can defend
yourself. Armed with a broom. Do you have a permit for this?”

“You're teasing me.”

“Absolutely not. You could have broken a rib with the force of your swing. Wow. Come the next church picnic, I'm picking you for my team first off.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better.” Her face was burning. What did John think of her? She'd been ready to hit him. “Wait one minute. Aren't you supposed to be at work? You told me I'd never really see you. That I'd be answering to Bev.”

“Right, well, I forgot this.” He pulled a folded square of yellow notebook paper from his shirt pocket. “Went to the trouble of making up a list and then didn't leave it.”

“I was looking for that.” Her hands were shaky as she reached out for the note. There was no way to hide it, especially since the paper rattled in her unsteady grip. There was never a hole in the floor to sink into when you needed one.

“Hey, I really scared you. I'm sorry. Are you all right?” His fingers curled around hers, warm and strong and slightly callused against her skin. A strong hand, but he held her with infinite gentleness.

Gentleness she was afraid to believe in. It was too good to be true. She knew it down deep. She withdrew her hand, leaving him in the threshold, re
treating to the sink where the water was still running. “Sure, I'm fine. Just easily startled, I guess. That's what I get for not locking the door behind me.”

“It was my fault. You have every right to be afraid, considering what you've been through.”

She didn't want his pity or his sympathy. And if he kept speaking to her in that quiet, steady voice, the one that sounded as genuine as the earth, as real as a kept promise, then she was going to be in big trouble. She grabbed a plate, ran it under the water and fit it into the bottom dishwasher rack.

“You don't have to rinse the dishes.” He lifted the next plate from her grip and slipped it into the rack beside the first. “It's a top-of-the-line dishwasher. It'll clean the worst of this mess, no problem.”

She felt foolish. Of course, he was right. Top-of-the-line. Just like everything else about his life. She should have known. Boy, this first day wasn't starting out well. “Good. Then I guess I'll get this load of dishes started faster. If I can reach the dishwasher.”

“Oh, right.” He stepped aside, all six substantial feet of him. “I've got another stack of dishes hidden on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator behind the pizza boxes. Just thought you should know.”

“You couldn't put them in the dishwasher yourself, huh?”

“That's right. It's a character defect men have called Dishwasher Avoidance.”

“I've heard of that. Sort of related to Laundry Evasion.”

“Exactly. I'm glad you understand.”

“I'm a professional. It's my business to understand.” Alexandra bit her lip. Okay, he was funny and she wasn't going to let herself encourage him with so much as the tiniest smile. How else was she going to keep her emotional distance? “I've got the list now. I'll be fine.”

“The list. Right.” He jammed his hands deep into his pockets. “I know you'll be fine. I spoke to the town sheriff. He says it would be best if you talked to him. Give him a description of this fiancé.”

“Oh, John, I wish you hadn't done that.” The last thing she wanted was for other people to know about this. That was the best way to expose a secret in a small town. “I only told you about Patrick because I thought you needed to know. Because of Hailey's safety. I didn't think you'd actually—”

She turned away, too angry to say anything more. Why had he done that? He'd probably thought he was helping. But he wasn't. Now she'd be easier to find.

“Cam will keep it off-the-record. Unofficial. No one will know.” His hand lighted on her shoulder, his touch unshakable and solid. As dependable as the man. “He needs a description, so he can keep his eye out. He's on your side, Alexandra. Just like I am.”

How could a stranger be on her side? Again, she didn't know what to say. In her experience, people had never been true to their word. Not when the chips were down. Not when it mattered. And the one time she'd thought differently…well, she couldn't have been more wrong.

“I can handle this on my own.” She met his gaze, unflinching. Let him see that she wasn't as helpless as he apparently thought. “I appreciate the job, John, you know that. I'm grateful for the chance to stay with your family. But I don't need a white knight.”

“I never thought you did.” He didn't back down, didn't blink, didn't soften his voice. “But even a brave damsel can use help now and then.”

“I'm not brave.” She was living by faith. It wasn't always easy. Maybe she shouldn't have accepted this job. Maybe it had been a mistake. “If you don't think I can take care of myself, then are you worrying that I can't take care of Hailey?”

“Whoa. I wouldn't have offered you the job if I thought that.” He grabbed an open box of tea left on the counter. “How about a peace offering? We'll sit down and clear the air. How about it?”

“I'm not sure I should associate with the enemy.”

“I'm not the enemy. Just your employer. It's not the same thing.” He waggled the box at her. “I've got a bowl of my mom's cookies I'll throw in for good measure.”

“That's a good bargaining chip. It's a deal.” She gazed up at him with a wariness that she tried to hide with the smallest curve of her lips, a smile that was strained.

She wasn't used to kindness. Maybe she'd stopped believing in it. The emotional pain an abusive relationship must exact on a woman must be enormous. John filled two cups with water and slipped them into the microwave.

As the unit hummed, he grabbed Mom's bowl of cookies and dropped them on the end of the counter that served as a breakfast bar. The way he saw it, maybe it was his job to help her to truly smile again.

The microwave beeped, and she brushed past him to whip the steaming cups out of the machine. She was industrious. He had to give her that. Hardworking, kind, she'd be good to Hailey. He couldn't get luckier when it came to a housekeeper. He'd been looking hard for three weeks, and couldn't find anyone who was half as good.

That only proved to him that this was meant to be.

He dropped two spoons on the marble counter. “I trust you with my daughter. Just so you know.”

“I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.” She climbed onto a stool, careful to leave an empty stool between them, as if she was afraid of getting too close.

Yep. She'd been real hurt. It was too bad. John's
heart squeezed with sympathy for her, a pain so sharp he had to look away to hide it.

“Sometimes I feel like I can barely take care of myself. I suppose I shouldn't confess that to you.” She took a tea bag from the box he offered her. Her slim fingers tugged the end of the tea string, her silver rings flashing, and she dunked the bag into the steaming water. “Sometimes this is overwhelming. If I stop and think about it.”

“Then my motto would be Don't Think About It.”

“Exactly what I'm trying to do. But then this man wanted to hire me, and I had to admit the truth.”

“Where is this man? I'll knock some sense into him. Tell him you want to forget the past. Leave it behind you.”

“That would be good. Hey, where did that broom go?”

He chuckled. So, she could make him laugh. That didn't mean he was going to like her any more than he'd liked any other housekeeper. “Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, right?”

“It's my preferred state of mind.”

“I've spent time there.” He plunged his tea bag into the water and watched the liquid froth. The scent of apples and cinnamon warred with his senses. The tea smelled good, but it was nothing compared to Alexandra's sweetness. “You said you left everything behind. That had to be hard.”

“I was renting a furnished room in a house, where we shared the kitchen and living areas. I didn't really have much, but I did leave most of what I had. I took my camping gear and two duffel bags of clothes.”

She must have been in a lot of danger. “Did your housemates know what you were going to do?”

She shook her head, scattering her molasses-dark hair and making her earrings jangle. She appeared smaller on the chair. More fragile. “No one did. I'd cashed my paycheck that afternoon. Patrick had been watching me carefully, so I didn't want to do anything suspicious. Like closing my account. Packing my car up after work. That sort of thing.”

“He was watching you? As in stalking you?”

Her fingers trembled as she wound the string around the tea bag, squeezing the liquid from it. “I'd already given him back his engagement ring. He didn't take it well.”

“He wouldn't let you go? Was he violent?”

“He didn't think he had a problem with his anger while he was yelling at me.” She kept her voice even, as if an angry yelling man was nothing to be afraid of.

John knew better. He could see it without her words. Sense it as if he'd been able to peek inside her heart. The secrecy of quietly packing one evening, windows closed, curtains drawn, a radio
on to hide the noise of dresser drawers opening and metal hangers rocking on the wooden closet rod.