A Rush of Wings (27 page)

They took his truck. He was quiet as he took her past the neighboring farms, but the quiet, now, seemed right. She could almost pretend all was right with the world as she watched the stubble of cornfields and fences pass. Cattle lay in clusters, their breath making misty clouds a foot above the ground. A shaggy brown-and-white dog chased the truck, barking, until they outran him.

They came to a small woods, and Rick parked at one end of an old footbridge. He got out and came around for her. When she climbed down, her leg buckled.

He caught her elbow. “You all right?”

She nodded. “It does that.”

He closed the truck door. “Needs therapy.”

“I know.” She walked with him to the arched center of the bridge,
brittle shards of ice crunching beneath her feet. The stream below was frozen silent. Stiff, brown grasses poked through the snowy banks beneath the leafless willows. “Morgan spoke to me last night.”

Rick nodded. “I figured he would.”

“He's hurt.” She glanced up.

Rick laid his hand over hers. “He'll get over it. Morgan always does.”

“But, Rick . . .”

He took her in his arms, and she breathed the scent of his sheepskin coat. It smelled of horses and mountain air, and she wished they were back in Colorado. “Take me back to the ranch.”

“I can't.”

“But it's different now.”

“That's why I can't.” He turned her face up and kissed her. “I love you, Noelle.” He held her face between his hands and stared into her eyes, his own deep and soft and penetrating.

She had no defense against his searching gaze. Shards of fear pierced her. The hawk screamed and plunged, wearing a garment the color of blood. Her fingers dug into his arms.

He pulled her tight. “What's the matter?”

“The hawk. Am I crazy?”

“No.” He stroked her back.

“There was a picture on Michael's wall. A photograph of a hawk going in for the kill. I see it in my dreams and . . . things trigger it.”

He stroked her hair. “Do you see it now?”

She looked into his face, firm and determined, saw the fringe of trees behind him, the pearly sky, the pale wafer sun. One V of tiny black birds, but no hawk. She shook her head. Just as in her dream, Rick had come between her and the terror.

She slid her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest. “In my dream you stood over me, as you did that day with Destiny. Will you help me, Rick?”

“Yes.” His arms closed her in.

“I just want to heal.”

He kissed the crown of her head. “I'll help you heal.”

His embrace stilled her. The terror was physical, no doubt some reaction to the trauma that had not loosed its grip. She knew now what had happened, just not how to make it stop hurting. But Rick
would heal it with his touch, just as he did any trembling animal, any creature in need. His touch didn't hurt.

She slid her hands up, rested them on his chest. “What do we do now?”

“I don't know.” He drew his brows together.

But she needed him to know. He had said when he believed he was meant to do something he did it. Where was that surety?

“I don't have all the answers, Noelle. I trust God for that.”

He could believe that if he needed to. She would only trust him.

As they drove back, Noelle stared through the windshield at the gathering in the yard. All Rick's family was bundled up and waiting when they pulled in, even Morgan, who stared directly at her. Stephanie tugged Rick's arm as he climbed out. “It's about time. We were going to go without you.”

Go where? Noelle wished she didn't have to leave the truck. But Rick came around for her, and she climbed out. Her stomach tensed as it did before a dance performance. That irked her. Was she on stage? What did she have to prove?

Hank handed Rick an ax. “I have a bum shoulder.”

Rick glanced at Noelle. “You can't walk this far.”

“What's happening?”

“Tree cutting.” He held up the ax. “We're getting the Christmas tree.” He pointed way out over the rise to a grove of evergreens.

“She'll stay with me.” Celia unfolded her arms. “Come inside, Noelle. I'll make us some tea.” Spoken kindly, it was a command nonetheless.

She looked at Rick, but his face told her nothing. This time he was leaving her to face his mother. Celia started for the house, and Noelle followed. The water was already steaming in the kettle. Celia must have intended this.

“You can hang your coat on the chair. Kitchen's warm as an incubator.” Celia steeped the tea, then poured them each a cup. She sat perpendicular to Noelle and spooned sugar into hers. Noelle would have liked cream, but Celia forgot to offer. Her face looked lined and worn, but there was no weakness in it. She looked up. “I suppose you realize both my sons are in love with you.”

Noelle startled. She'd expected some preamble.

“When Rick arrived with you, I thought Hank had it wrong last
summer when he said Morgan was seeing a lovely young woman at the ranch.”

Noelle sipped her tea. “We spent some time together. It wasn't serious.”

“It's not always easy to tell. Especially with someone like Morgan.”

“I've never spent so much time and emotion on a woman I didn't even sleep with!”
What if she told his mother Morgan's interest was only physical? But that would be a lie. He had cared, had tried to help in the best way he knew how.

“Morgan is not always as he pretends to be, as though nothing fazes him, nothing matters.” Celia dissolved another spoonful of sugar. Did she like it that sweet, or had she forgotten she already did it? “He wants to make things right. That's his genius and his cross.”

Genius, she understood. But what did she mean—his cross?

Celia stirred slowly. “He sees what others miss, whether he wants to or not.”

“I know. Rick told me what he does.”

“Not just in his professional life. His mind is always going, always seeing, always wanting to fix.” She laid down the spoon. “He's not afraid to risk, even when it hurts him.”

Noelle met Celia's eyes. Here was a mother defending her son. A wave of pain went through her for what she'd missed. What would it be like to have Celia fight for her? To have a mother's love? She wanted to reassure her, to prove she hadn't treated Morgan callously. “I was honest with him. He knew. Morgan's not in love with me.”

“Then let's discuss Rick, who most certainly is.” Celia sipped her tea. “If I offend you, I'm sorry.”

Noelle shook her head. She'd rather hear it all than have Celia's tight-lipped treatment. At least this way she had a chance of showing . . . what? That she didn't mean to cause trouble? That was practically her motto. Don't disappoint. Don't offend. Don't make waves. She had set something terrible in motion when she rejected what Michael and Daddy had intended for her, and she didn't know when it would stop. Why couldn't she handle life like that fire fighter? Face it down and not look back?

“Rick doesn't squander his affection. But once given, his heart is steadfast.”

“I know that.” She'd heard it from his sisters but also felt it in his embrace, in his reluctance to demonstrate anything before he could
no longer restrain it. Had he given her his heart? He said he loved her, but . . .

“It's the same with his devotion to God.”

Noelle set down her cup. “I appreciate Rick's faith.”

“But you don't share it.”

“I'm trying to understand it.” And that was not easy. Her experience reading his Bible, her encounter on the mountain . . . How could anyone take that lightly?

“Do you know what it means to be unequally yoked?”

She felt like a dunce, but Celia was speaking a foreign language. Noelle shook her head.

“It's when a believer tries to make a life with someone who doesn't share his faith. Throughout biblical history, it has proved devastating.” Celia sat back, her gaze as penetrating as Rick's. “If Rick had to choose between you and his beliefs, which would he choose?”

“His faith.”

Celia raised her brows. “Why?”

“It's who he is.”

“Because he loves you, he's now at odds with his brother. I don't want him at odds with God. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.” Celia obviously believed as Rick did, probably taught him the steps he'd followed. She could have no idea how strange it was for someone looking in. But Noelle did understand her urgency. Without faith, what would sustain Rick?

“Well.” Celia's eyes softened. “Thank you for letting me speak frankly. And now I'll tell you something else. I see what he loves in you, and so do my girls. I appreciate your bearing with them.”

It was so unexpected, tears stung her eyes. Bearing with them? Celia couldn't know what it meant to be swept into this family, included. “I don't have any sisters. I'm an only child.”

“Then this must be especially daunting.”

“It took a little getting used to, but it's been really great. My mother died a long time ago. I've only had my father, and he's a very busy man.”

Celia squeezed her hand. “Well, you're welcome here. I hope you know that.”

Noelle looked down at the brown-speckled hand covering hers. She suddenly remembered her mother's hand, dry and skeletal. She
had pulled away because it didn't feel right, then had seen the pain in her mother's face. A deep ache filled her.

Tara burst into the kitchen, her hair standing out like a feather duster over the knitted headband. “Come and see it, Mom. Come on, Noelle.”

Celia sent Noelle a quick, indulgent smile and stood. Pushing away her memories, Noelle followed her out and watched Hank and Rick shove the tree, bottom first, through the door. They hauled it to the corner of the living room and stood it in the stand.

Rick stepped back and slipped his arm around her, the first public sign of affection he'd shown. He said, “Tara chose it. The resemblance to her was irresistible. All limbs and no filling.”

Tara pummeled him, and he laughed as he fended off her blows. Didn't he even wonder what Celia had said to her? How it had been while he was out choosing that tree? Did he know his mother had seen what was growing between them and that she didn't like it? He must have guessed. Maybe he'd been grilled himself. Had he told his mother he was in love? Or was that something a mother just knew?

Hank stood back and surveyed the tree. “Well, the grove needed thinning.”

Therese held up one limp branch. “You can't tell until it's decorated.”

Hank rotated his shoulder. “Morgan, you get the lights on. My shoulder's acting up.”

Noelle almost smiled. For such a hale man, Hank's shoulder got him out of a lot.

“Hot chocolate in the kitchen.” Stephanie took her father's hand. Noelle watched their easy affection. She was close to Daddy, but it was different. He adored her from a distance as though anything up close and personal might break her.

“Oh, sure,” Morgan said. “Go enjoy yourselves and leave the work to me.” He glanced over. “Give me a hand, Noelle?”

Rick frowned but followed the others to the kitchen. In spite of the tense time she had just spent there herself, she would gladly have returned. Morgan had been less than pleasant the last time they were alone, and she wasn't up for any more explanations, especially when she had none.

But he only handed her the string of lights and then, taking the end, climbed the stepladder and wrapped the top, swagging the string
across the sparse branches. The ebullience in the kitchen underscored their own silence, but Noelle didn't know what to say. Letting the wire out little by little, she followed Morgan around and back until the string ended.

“The next one's in the box there.”

She looked where he pointed and brought it over.

“Have a nice chat with Mom?”

She did not want to discuss that with Morgan. “Yes.”

He half smiled. “You're a pitiful liar.”

She bristled. “It's very kind of your family to have me here.”

“I forgot the violins.”

She didn't answer. He could bait all he liked. Then she thought of Celia's comment. Morgan wasn't baiting; he was hurting. The silence stretched again. She got the next string without direction, and he climbed off the ladder to hang it on the middle branches. Now he was right beside her as she fed it out. A moment ago she had dreaded what he might want to say, but now she couldn't stand the quiet between them. It was so unlike Morgan. She held up the end for him to connect the plugs on the last string. “I'm sorry, Morgan.”

He pressed the ends together. “Yeah, I'm sorry too. I'd be less sorry if Rick would keep his hands off you.”

Before she could answer, Hank came back in with an enormous box and set it on the floor beside the tree. “Ornaments and doodads. I've done my duty; now Mom and you kids can have at it.”

Celia caught his arm. “Oh no, you don't. Put on the carols and perch on the sofa.” She nodded to Noelle. “You can help me unwrap. The others like to hang.”

Noelle sat beside her on the floor as Celia opened the big box. “These, Noelle, are the family heirlooms.” She pulled the tissue from a decoupage block with Rick's school photograph on it. Noelle eyed the gap-toothed grin with amused delight until he snatched it away.

“That doesn't need to be hung.”

“Oh yes, it does.” Celia pointed him to the tree and unearthed a tin star with
TARA
painted across it. The R was backward, but Tara took it proudly to the tree.

Rick hung his picture block in the back, then knelt beside Noelle and rummaged through the box. “Here's one I carved in Boy Scouts.” He handed her a wooden . . . bear, she guessed. “Morgan's got one in here, too, somewhere. A wolf.” He dug through. “Here it is.”