A Love Worth Waiting For and Heaven Knows (25 page)

“I should probably head out.” Her voice, and the pad of her step on the floor behind him. “I'll leave you two to your dinner.”

“Don't think you're getting out of here that easy.” He hit the fridge door with his foot. “You made dinner. You should help eat it. It's only fair. What if the casserole tastes bad?”

“You need an official taste tester, is that it?”

“No. We need a guinea pig to make sure your casserole doesn't make us sick.”

“If I don't keel over, then you'll risk it?”

“Exactly. It didn't look so good when I took off the lid. Scary.”

Hailey repositioned herself, clambering onto her chair with both knees to get a good look at the questionable casserole. “It does not, either, Dad! It's all cheesy. It smells good.”

“Smells can be deceiving.” He winked.

There he went again, making her laugh, making her troubles disappear like dandelion fluff on the wind. “Fine. I'll be the royal taste tester, since you need one.”

“Knew you'd see things my way.”

“I'll warn you. This is my favorite recipe, so if you don't like it, I'll have to raid your mom's recipe box. Wouldn't it be too bad if I ran across the potato salad recipe?”

“Dream on.” John set the bottles on the table. “It's such a secret, it's not written down. Mom's committed it to memory and will only reveal the great truths of it when she's on her deathbed. Or so she swears.”

“Hmm. Getting that recipe is going to be a challenge.” Undaunted, Alexandra stowed her purse and took one of the extra chairs at the table.

A terrible, high-pitched wail careened through the house and echoed in the rafters above.

“What is that?” John boomed like a clap of thunder. “Is that the
dog?
”

Alexandra shrank. She couldn't help it. He was a big man, wide and strong, bounding out of his chair as if the house were on fire.

His big hands closed into lethal fists.

She acted without thinking. On automatic pilot, she was on her feet in front of John, blocking him from leaving the kitchen. “She's just a baby. She's crying. I'll take care of it.”

“She's
crying?
” He stopped, the fierce look on his face falling away to concern. “I thought she was
dying.
Got trapped behind the dryer or something.”

Alexandra took a step back, confused. He wasn't angry?

“Hailey, go check on her, would you?” John shook his head, relaxed, his hands slack. “That sounds like an air-raid siren. I thought we were under attack.”

“It's amazing how something so small can make such a loud noise.” Lame, Alexandra, real lame. But it was all she could think to say as the belated rush of adrenaline hit. There was no danger. John hadn't been angry. He'd been concerned.

As he was still.

Hailey raced away to check on the puppy. Within seconds, the siren-pitched cry gave way to a yip of delight. “She's okay!”

“Good.” John swiped a hand through his hair, standing those thick dark locks on end, before pinning Alexandra with his intense gaze. “You could have told us about the crying thing.”

Was he still angry? “I figured you knew that babies cried.”

“Yeah, but, well…is it going to happen again?”

“Probably.” Alexandra felt an instinctive tightening in her stomach. Her chest felt hot and closed, making it hard to draw in air.

No, John wasn't angry. He was a powerful man, that was all. He'd been ready to help the puppy, not hurt her.

She'd been the one to read the situation wrong. To jump to the wrong conclusions. To assume a man who'd shown her nothing but kindness and
generosity would also be capable of violent anger.

A part of her figured any man was. That was the truth, and she hated to admit it.

Remembering another man in her life, and his short-fused temper, she turned away, ashamed and confused and strangely blaming John for being a man, which made him like the others. And that wasn't fair.

“I don't suppose we can muzzle her?” John's eyes were flashing—he was teasing. Not at all angry.

Not every man became angry the way her father had. Or Patrick. The tightness inside her ebbed away and she could breathe deep again.

“I think you're going to have to buy earplugs,” she was able to tease. “Or let Hailey keep the puppy with her.”

“See? I knew it.”

“Tomorrow I'll get a kennel at the pet store so we can train her. Don't worry—we'll put the kennel in Hailey's room.”

“Good. I'm hungry. Let's dish up.”

“Sure.” She was still trembling with the aftereffects of an unnecessary fear. There was no danger. There never had been.

“Hey, are you okay?” His touch was sure and his words gentle. He stood before her, not just any man, but one of strength and goodness. Her very own hero.

How could anyone be so wonderful? So true?

She withdrew her hand and put distance between them. “I'm just hungry. Are you still afraid to try my cooking?”

“Shaking in my boots.” John strode easily away in that powerful, athletic gait of his as if nothing were wrong, as if nothing had changed.

But something had.

Her hand tingled, warm and wonderful, where John had touched her. Even hours later when she was alone in the little bedroom in Bev's rental cottage, when she couldn't sleep. She sat up at the open window, remembering the heat of his touch, the connection of it, and watched a sickle moon rise into the starlit sky.

T
here was a creaking sound coming from the back of the house. The buzz of the tiny nine-inch television covered it up—almost. Alexandra's spine snapped straight. The sharp buzz of adrenaline fired into her veins and she flew off the edge of the couch.

There it was again. She didn't know where to run. Her feet were taking her into the bedroom. Even in the dark she could see the white curtain snap in the breeze of the open window. A window she'd left shut tight.

The darkness moved. The shadows became a man, and the faint gleam of metal became a gun aimed at her heart.

Patrick.

“You can't run, Alexandra. Didn't I tell you I'd hunt you down?”

She stumbled backward into the hallway, toward the light.

“You can't leave me, Alexandra. I need you.” He stalked her, the shadows fading as he followed her into the living room, the brush of lamplight showing the hard anger in his black, unforgiving eyes.

There was nothing she could do to stop him. The front door was so far away. She couldn't run fast enough. She watched in horror as his finger squeezed the trigger—

She tore away, the scream dying in her throat….

There was only the sound of her ragged breath in the tiny room, where the distant floodlight from Bev's garage cast a friendly glow against the window, smeared with rain. The window was shut and locked.

She was alone and safe. It had been a dream.

Nothing more.

Relief left her weak. She found the lamp by feel and turned it on. She followed the swath of light to the door, and into the tiny kitchen. The bulb above the sink was enough to work by—she filled a cup with water and popped it into the older-model microwave.

She hadn't dreamed of Patrick since the night she'd left. Cuddled up in the corner of her car, parked in the far end of a Wal-Mart parking lot in the shadow of a retired couple's mammoth motor home.

Although she wasn't visible from the road, she'd slept only a few hours—and fitfully. The fear felt in those dreams from that night remained real and blade-sharp as she rummaged in the drawer for the box of tea she'd brought with her.

Sweet peppermint scented the air as she ripped open the packet, unwinding the string from the bag and dunking the tea bag into her cup of hot water. The welcome aroma chased away some of the tightness inside her. But the fear remained.

It's all right. I'm safe here. She rescued her Bible from the tiny drop-leaf table in the corner and clutched it to her chest. She breathed in and out, slowing the fear, until there was only the sound of wind and rain.

There's no way Patrick can find me here. Not easily, anyway, and not tonight. It was a small town. Anyone could give him the information he needed—someone at the grocery store or someone on the street who went to the same church. Hers was the only rusty, faded old VW Bug around.

I should have headed to Minneapolis. Maybe Denver. Or back East, where the cities were gigantic and no one would remember another brown-haired woman among so many people.

The night's chill crept around her, and the damp from the storm settled into her bones. She shivered. She felt alone. So very alone.

Lightning flashed through the night, a quick il
lumination of the cozy cottage, and then only darkness.

The electricity had gone out. As thunder pealed like rending sheet metal overhead, Alexandra stood from the chair. Halfway across the living room, another lightning bolt flashed, helping her find her way to bed.

She could only take each day step by step. Just like this. That was faith. That was life. She was not afraid.

Settling onto the bed, she found her tiny battery-operated reading light on the nightstand and turned it on. The small glow was enough to read by. But which passage?

She thumbed through the well-worn gold leafs until the page chose itself. The book of Jeremiah. There was nothing random about the passage that caught her eye. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Faith. It was like groping blindly in the dark, but she trusted the way. Trusted the path beneath her feet.

Hope and a future. I could really use both right now, Lord,
she prayed. In the meantime, she was grateful to be staying with the Coreys. With John.

The thought of him was like a sweet wish. The tender longing for the weight of his bigger hand in hers.

She wasn't sure what to do about that. About John. Everything seemed so different. She closed her eyes but did not sleep.

 

“John.” Alexandra skidded to a stop on the stone walkway in front of his house. “I thought you'd be gone by now.”

“We're supposed to be. We're running late. It happens.” He drank from a cup of coffee in one hand as he tugged a sprinkler into place with the other. “I've got a leak somewhere in the automatic system, so would you mind shutting this off in about twenty minutes?”

“I could be bribed into it. What's that you have there?”

“A fresh cup of coffee. I ground the beans myself. How about a cup?”

“It's a deal.”

“Good.” John bent to turn on the faucet. “It's warm this morning. Don't you think?”

A spray of cold water gently sprinkled her, and she shrieked, laughing, into the shelter of the covered porch. “You did that on purpose.”

“Me? I'm too much of a gentleman. It was an accident.”

“An accident, huh? I'm going to remember this. Expect retribution.”

“The Bible bids us to never harm anyone.”

“I suppose heaven always makes exceptions when a woman has a good case for revenge.”

“Revenge of the sprinkler. I'm afraid.”

“You should be.” Laughing, with the wonderfully cool water evaporating on her bare arms, Alexandra followed him into the house. An earsplitting yowl met her ears. “The puppy?”

“Every time Hailey gets out of her sight.”

“You're in trouble, John.”

“Don't I know it.” He snared a cup and filled it. “Since you're here, maybe you could watch over her while we're gone. She doesn't like to be alone.”

“It's a good thing you're so strict, or that puppy would be in danger of becoming spoiled.”

“Now you're making fun of me. I'm a tough guy. I don't take any nonsense. I run a tight ship. Everyone lives in fear of me.”

“I've noticed. You're as tough as a marshmallow. I bet the puppy slept in Hailey's arms last night.”

“I'd never allow such a thing.” He winked. “I couldn't talk Hailey out of it, but there's an upside. The puppy stopped that high-decibel wailing.”

“How's the training going?”

“Accidents abound.” He held out the cup to her. “We survived, though. You could have an interesting morning.”

“I'll see what I can teach her.” She accepted the mug, and her fingers bumped his. Heat zinged up her arm.

I refuse to be attracted to him. There. Alexandra turned away as if the collision of their fingertips
meant nothing to her and went in search of the sugar. She found it in the pantry. When she turned around, John had left the room. The faint rumbling of his deep voice could be heard from upstairs.

He had a wonderful tone, masculine and strong without being overbearing. The warmth in his murmured words, the caring she heard as he spoke with his daughter, made her heart twist hard.

Not knowing what to do, she gazed into the depths of the serviceable stoneware mug that fit so wonderfully into both hands. The coffee warmed her palms and seeped into her soul. She stared at the dark liquid, wishing. Just wishing.

If she ran, she'd be safe. From the past, from heartbreak, from finding out that her mother was right. That was the real reason she'd let things go so far with Patrick.

She willed away the past with all the strength of her being, but there it was, a boomerang spinning back around for her to catch, gaining speed with its descent. She couldn't stop it. Not even the bold taste of hot coffee could soothe it away.

She heard the same words she had heard as a little girl, then as an adolescent, then a teenager, over and over again, as her mother had slurred them.
Don't think you'll grow up to be no different from me, Alexandra. Men don't have hearts. No hearts. You remember that. If a man says he loves you, then you know he's lyin'. Who's gonna love you?

The one time Alexandra had dared to hope that some man could really love her, a good and decent man, she'd been wrong. So very wrong.

Cradling the cup in both hands, she breathed in the comforting scent of steaming coffee. Let the boiling hot brew burn down her throat, but still the feelings and the past remained.

“Alexandra!” Hailey appeared on the stairs, carefully cradling a little black bundle in both arms. “You're here! You're here! I'm real glad, too, 'cuz she cries like a baby every time I leave her alone.” She bumped noses with her puppy and her voice changed, higher, sweeter. “Yes, you do, don't you, little baby?”

“Have you found a name for her yet?”

“Nope. I sorta like Emma, but I don't know yet.” Hailey stopped moving, so that Alexandra could pet the puppy. “She doesn't like to be all alone, so I'm awful glad you're here.”

“Me, too.” The puppy was warm and content, and wiggled in delight as Alexandra stroked one furry ear. “I'll take good care of her for you.”

“I know.” As if there were never a doubt, as if Hailey had never had a real worry, she handed over the puppy with a kiss to its silky head.

Safe and beloved, the puppy buried its warm nose in the crook of Alexandra's arm and whimpered as Hailey bid it goodbye.

John came racing down the stairs, a duffel bag
swinging over his shoulder. “I left a note on the counter with the credit card.”

“For the pet store. Right.” Alexandra could barely think as he swept by, reached out to pat the puppy's paw. John's fingers brushed over Alexandra's bare forearm. The faintest of touches. It could have been warm air whispering over her skin, but it was him. His touch. His heat. His presence burning through her.

“Have a great day,” he called out, already striding away, the athletic bag slung over one broad shoulder, his muscled legs stretching out to carry him from her sight.

The front door opened, then closed, and she was alone. Strangely missing him.

She
really
didn't feel attracted to him. Really. John Corey was like a white knight of old, the greatest of warriors and the noblest of men. What maiden wouldn't gaze upon him with admiration? That's all this feeling was.

He was her employer. It was as simple as that. He paid her to clean his house. Their relationship wasn't personal. In fact, they didn't have a
relationship
—they weren't even friends.

Remember Patrick? And the dream she had last night? Wasn't that all the indication she needed? Worry about what's right in front of you, Alexandra. Doing a good job for the Coreys. Keeping safe. Seizing this chance to put a little bit more cash in
her wallet. Her thin stack of twenties had already dwindled alarmingly.

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway brought her to the front window. Was it John? Had he forgotten something? Or Bev coming over to use the guest shower—the electricity on the other side of the ranch was still out from the storm.

It was a police cruiser, polished and gleaming in the cheerful morning sun. The uniformed man inside climbed out slowly, looking around. He caught sight of her in the window and tipped his hat with a friendly smile. Alexandra opened the door.

“Miss Sims? John told me to come talk to you. Says you have a problem I can help you with.”

“I'm not sure what you can do. Please, come in.”

“I'd rather stay out here on the porch, if you don't mind. Spend a lot of my day sittin'.” He swept off his hat, ambling into the shade. “I know you're probably skittish, considerin' all you've been through, but you're not the first woman on this earth to be afraid of someone. It's important to know you're not alone in this. Between me and John, we'll do our best to keep you safe.”

The sincerity of his pledge felt like the sweetest of blessings.

Taking a seat on the swing on John's front porch, with the puppy warm and snug in her arms, Alexandra told the officer about the charming man
she'd fallen in love with. He'd seemed so kind to her, so perfect.

Just like John.

 

The bell above the shop's door clattered, and from the back room John didn't look up from the thick parts book. “Be right with you,” he called out.

“You in the back?” Cameron, the town's only lawman, didn't let the Employees Only sign stop him. “This morning I got time to talk to that young woman out at your place.”

“Thanks for taking the time.” John found the part number, scribbled it down on the back of a packing slip and slammed the book shut.

“No problem. It's hard to tell. These things can go either way. She may never have a lick of trouble from that fella. Or he could show up here tomorrow.” The sheriff helped himself to the old refrigerator in the back corner and hauled out a bottle of iced tea. “She gave me a good description, and if he drives down the main street of this town, I'll spot him.”

“Good. Thanks, Cameron. You're a good man.”

“I owe ya one.” Cam held up the bottle in a salute. “Staying in your mom's extra cottage ought to help out. She'll be hard to find. No phone bill. No utilities. Plus, I'm bettin' you don't mind watchin' over her. She's downright pretty.”

“I can see where you're going with this.” Old
friends from high school, Cam wasn't fooling John one bit. “She's pretty, but she needs protecting. Not the town cop playing matchmaker for her.”

“Hey, you're awful defensive. Maybe you noticed she's pretty, too.”