A Season for Family (9 page)

O
livia couldn't believe her boldness. It had to be the sheer fatigue taking over. If not for the feel of Heath's lips on hers, she'd suspect it was all a dream. A man hadn't kissed her since… Well, since longer than she wanted to remember. And
never
like this.

His body was warm and strong but undemanding. She'd initiated the dance and he was letting her lead. She pressed close, he pulled her tighter. She ran her fingers over his short crop of hair, he spread his palms against her waist.

He tasted like Earl Grey, smelled of Lysol.

He was wonderful.

And then as unexpectedly as it began, the kiss was over.

Heath dropped his hands to his sides and cleared his throat. She took it as an indication that he was uncomfortable and a sure sign they should call it a night.

The awkward moment was her fault. She had to smooth it over. Olivia gave in to the nervous fit of giggles that threatened to escape. The sound bubbled past her lips.

“Something funny?” He narrowed his eyes at her laughter.

“I don't know what's come over me,” she snorted.

His eyes widened. “It's called delirium.”

Heath clasped her hand in his, led her out of the big room, around the corner and through her colorful hallways. While she continued to snicker uncontrollably, he fished her door keys out of his pants pocket and unlocked her private stairwell.

“Here.” He placed the keys in her palm. “When I finally settle down for the night it'll be right next to this door.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Please don't spend another night uncomfortable on my account. I only keep a watch posted at this door in case somebody needs to get inside after we're locked up. I don't have any security fears.”

Not with you close by.

Olivia checked herself before the thought turned to words. She'd been crazy to initiate that kiss, and Heath had mercifully let her off the hook without embarrassment. The last thing she needed to do was voice a comment that made her sound needy. Or worse, assuming.

“Olivia, listen to me. You give the folks who stay under your roof far too much credit. When people are desperate, they will do desperate things.”

“I appreciate the reminder, Heath. But I'm aware of the hazards of running a shelter. I try to use good judgment and take precautions, but I've learned to leave what's beyond my ability to God. He's my shield and my comfort. I trust Him completely.”

She expected Heath to turn away, dismiss her statement. Instead, he seemed to be listening more closely, staring more intensely, as if her words were soaking in.

“I'm not sure it's wise to ever trust anyone completely.”

She had to smile. “God's not
anyone,
Heath. He's the Creator of all things, the Alpha and the Omega. His Word endures forever.”

“Okay.” Heath dragged out the word. Maybe she'd lost him.

She pulled the door wide and stepped inside the lighted stairwell. She took two steps upward, hesitated and then glanced back. “Heath, something about leaving you down here by yourself just doesn't feel right.”

“That's fatigue talking,” he reassured her.

“You'll let me know if you need anything, right?”

“You can count on it.”

 

Heath waited till he heard Olivia turn the dead bolt. He shut the security door and went to work, anxious to search the main level without interruption.

All was quiet in the men's dorm with Amos, Bruce and Nick in their bunks. Since Mary Sue had bid goodnight and locked the door to the women's quarters well over an hour ago, Heath presumed she was down for the count, as well.

He crept from room to room, closet to closet, using Olivia's spare set of keys to explore. He found two more vacuum-sealed bags brimming with green pills—one among the laundry supplies and the other in the far corner of a staples pantry.

At half-past midnight, Heath sat alone in the dining room, making notes of what he knew to be facts, looking for the common denominator.
Olivia.
She was the only one who totally made sense and his heart was heavy at the thought. If the DEA had searched Table of Hope
tonight, she could be on her way to jail. Charges might not stick, but the damage would be done.

Heath lowered his face, pressed his forehead against his palms.

“Lord, I've got to find a way to protect her from this mess. Please give me some help here.”

“I doubt I'm your first choice, but I can listen to whatever's eatin' on you.” A gravelly male voice ended Heath's brief plea.

Amos settled into the folding chair across the table. He swirled a spoon in a mug. Crackers were stacked on the edge of the saucer. “Broth,” he explained. “I gotta get somethin' to stay inside my old body before I dry up and blow away.”

“It's good to see you moving under your own steam.” Heath was annoyed by the intrusion, but relieved to see Amos up and about.

“So, tell me what's got a heathen like you asking God for help?”

“I wouldn't exactly call myself a heathen.” Heath took umbrage at the description his dad had used a time or two.

“Well, you won't pass for a choir boy, either, so we'll accept that you're somewhere in the middle.”

“Thanks.” That didn't feel any better. “Olivia tells me you used to be a cop.”

Amos nodded, fixed Heath with a hard stare. “You in some kinda trouble?”

“No, but Olivia could be and I need another person who cares for her as much as I do to help me out.”

“Name it. I love that girl.” Amos's voice was quiet, like he was worried he'd jinx himself if he admitted his protective feelings for Olivia too loudly.

Heath understood. He took a leap of faith.

“Amos, I'm going against conventional wisdom to trust you with something that could get us both shot. But being an ex-cop, I think you'll want to help out.”

A smile deepened the crags of the old man's face. He grunted, crumbled a cracker into his cup, picked up his spoon and motioned for Heath to get on with the story.

 

The little hand on the kitchen clock was just past six when Heath glanced up to find Olivia in the doorway. The look of wonder on her face made him send up a silent prayer of thanks. He couldn't recall even a Christmas morning that had been any more fun.

“What is going on in here?” Her gaze roamed the room, taking in the newcomers who were preparing a hot but bland breakfast for their pitiful band of patients.

“Olivia, this is my bride of thirty-four years, Peggy.” Biddle introduced his wife. “We're here for today and tomorrow and the next day if you need us.”

“My Bill won't shy away from a job as long as somebody gives him direct orders. That's why I'm here,” Peggy joked, sending a look of unbridled love toward her husband.

“I can't believe you're willing to come in contact with flu to help us out.”

Peggy waved away Olivia's concern. “We take the shots every year and go about our business praying for the best. If the crud's gonna get you, the crud's gonna get you. And Bill never uses all his vacation days so this is a good excuse for us to spend some time together.”

“Still…” Olivia seemed lost for words, more grateful even than Heath expected. “I don't know how to thank you for your kindness.”

His heart thudded as a deep color rose in her face,
emotional thoughts sparkled in her eyes. If he didn't get Olivia out of here, somebody was going to burst into tears, and that
somebody
was anybody's guess. He slapped his palms together, diverting attention from the red splotches on her cheeks.

“Everything's covered here. Let's go take care of the rest of your errands so we'll be ready for Thanksgiving.”

“Hey, Stone,” Biddle called and then tossed a set of keys. “Take our SUV. You'll be less likely to have a flat or need a push, and the backseat is down and ready for cargo.”

Heath raised the keys in a salute, gave Olivia a gentle push out the kitchen door and grabbed his old quilted jacket off the coat hook.

 

Olivia felt like she was being courted. She sat in the window banquette of the sidewalk café several hours later while Heath fetched their cups of espresso and decadent orders of tiramisu. It was the closest thing to a date that she'd had since college. And even then it had been a Dutch treat with some guy from grad school who couldn't afford to pay attention, much less supersize her value meal.

Heath amazed her at every turn; insisting on opening doors, expertly handling the borrowed SUV, following her directions without question, doing all the manual work and then insisting on taking her out to lunch.

She watched him across the way, his expression impassive, just as it had been the first time they'd met. He was masterful at maintaining a poker face, holding any positive thoughts captive. He gave a curt nod to the cashier as she handed over his change. While he
waited for the order to be prepared, he turned toward their table.

Their eyes locked, she smiled and his face transformed, like a dark mask had fallen away. His shoulders relaxed as if he allowed himself to exhale for the first time that day. The tenseness in Heath's jaw eased and the tightness in his lips faded. A boyish grin appeared where the flat line of his lips had been. Lips that had touched her own. Lips she could kiss forever.

I care deeply for Heath.
Her heart rattled hard, painful as she turned the thought over in her mind. But it was more and she knew it.

Lord help me, but I love him!

Olivia sucked in a breath and held it, afraid the admission would escape into the atmosphere along with the whoosh of air. For the first time in her adult life, she looked at a man through the eyes of love. Panic began to rise up from her core.

Her spirit cried out,
Father, do I dare hope for this relationship to have a future? Heath and I have both overcome great loss, so we're not so different. But the way we've chosen to respond has our lives on rails headed in opposite directions. I don't believe You would bring him into my life just to teach me one more lesson about letting go. Please, Lord, let my witness show Heath the joy of holding tight to You.

As Olivia's desperate plea ended, Heath crossed toward her, set the tray on the table and folded his long, lean body into the low chair. He served her first and then himself.

“How about telling me what you were thinking just now?” He tore open two sugar packets at the same time and upended them into his demitasse.

“Why do you ask?” She scooped the dollop of
whipped cream off her dessert and floated it atop her espresso.

“Because ten seconds ago there was a pretty smile on your face and now you look like your picnic is about to be rained out.”

She was tempted to give him a truthful response, to share her overwhelming sense of both love and fear. But she needed time to analyze the unfamiliar feelings. Tomorrow would be soon enough to share her heart, and if tomorrow never came then she'd trust God to work it all out for His glory.

“I was just thinking about how similar we are.” She hated only telling part of the truth.

“And that was so sad it made your face cave in?” As he cocked his head to one side and slanted an expectant look her way, he savored a spoonful of tiramisu.

She followed his lead and dug into her dessert. “Umm,” she moaned, her eyes closed as she delighted in the rich flavors.

“Come on, answer the question,” he insisted. “Am I so awful that it bothers you to have something in common with me?”

“Oh, of course not, Heath.”

She rested her spoon on the plate and then wrapped her fingers around his wrist. The skin was warm where her cool fingertips met his flesh. He cupped his other hand over hers, the heat from his gentle touch settling like a treasured quilt over her soul.

“Then please explain.”

“In our own way we're each orphans.”

“Huh.” He huffed the one-syllable response. “Hadn't thought about it that way, but I guess you're right.”

“And I was wondering why God let both of us experience tragedy so early in life.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “You don't need to feel sorry for me. I wouldn't call my circumstances
tragic.
Yeah, it's awful that I was separated from my birth family, but that hardly compares to your situation. Losing your mom and then your dad running off. That's just wrong. A man's supposed to take care of his family, you know?” Heath bobbed his head. A look of disgust knitted his brows together. “But see how far we've both come?” he reminded her as he shook off the moment of melancholy by pulling his hand away and turning his attention back to their dessert. “We finished college and got stable jobs, not bad in this economy.”

“But you said my potential is limited.” She cared what he thought.

“Like a lot of my comments, that one came out all wrong. I meant your
earning
potential, but I have an idea for how you can have your tiramisu and eat it, too. And all to benefit the people you support at Table of Hope.” He smiled, clinked his small cup to hers and raised it to his lips with a wink of a dark brown eye. The man was being downright playful.

“Oh, really?” What harm was there in going along with him? “Tell me more, please.”

“I can do better than that. Drink up and I'll show you.”

“T
he warehouse club is that way.” Olivia pointed east.

Heath continued on his westward journey, excitement building over the brainstorm that he hoped Olivia would call a
God thing.
If Heath was right, this could open doors to her amazing talent and create a nice revenue stream for the shelter as a byproduct. “Did I say we were headed directly to the warehouse club?”

“No, but that's where we need to be going, and soon.” She tapped on the SUV's dashboard clock. “It's getting late and we have groceries to buy.”

“I promise we'll finish all your errands so just sit back and enjoy the detour. It's only about fifteen minutes out of the way and it'll be time well spent.”

“It's bad enough that we took an hour for lunch, Heath. We really need to get back to the shelter to relieve the Biddles. What if they need something?”

Heath reached into the center console and produced a black leather case containing a cell phone. “Detective Biddle told me he left this in the car on purpose. He can reach us if anybody has a problem.”

“I just don't know about this. I'm not comfortable wasting time while others take care of my business.”

“Then let's not waste the time. We skipped Bible study last night so why don't you give me a dose right now?”

Olivia whipped her head to the left. Her indigo eyes were wide, assessing. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I never get the benefit of the doubt with you, do I?” He shot an exaggerated look of exasperation in her direction. “Is it any wonder my glass is half-empty?”

Olivia turned her face left and right, taking in the surroundings. “I haven't figured out where we're headed yet and I grew up in this town. Shouldn't we be using that thing?” She pointed to the fancy built-in GPS.

He tapped his index finger against his temple. “I have an uncanny sense of direction. Trust me, boss lady. We're not a couple of lost sheep.”

“What a perfect setup.” She straightened in the seat, a gleam in her eyes as if a brilliant idea had struck. “I have a favorite story from the Gospel of John if you seriously want to hear it.”

“The floorboard's all yours.” He swept his palm, a sign to take it away.

Olivia shared the story of Jesus being the good shepherd, the one way to the Father. “Isn't that
one-way
business the reason people criticize Christians for being narrow-minded?”

“Narrow thinking is not the same as the way to the Father being narrow. Every religion has a pathway that claims to lead to righteousness, but it's always paved with works and efforts to earn favor.”

“But my mom always told me faith without works is dead.”

“That's because what we do for others is our response
to mercy. We serve out of gratitude, not fear or some effort to win eternal brownie points.”

Heath turned his head as if looking for an upcoming street sign. In truth he was taking a moment to let Olivia's explanation take root.

“Olivia, do you think we only get one chance to take God up on that grace offer?”

He felt the pressure of her hand on his arm. Warmth seeped through his jacket and into his skin where she squeezed tightly.

“Heath, He never gives up on us. Christ wants to save every last one of His lost sheep. And that's exactly why I love the story of the Good Shepherd.”

A knot of anxiety thickened Heath's throat. He'd been lost all his life, in so many ways. He exhaled loudly trying to free the stress along with the breath from his lungs. How incredible to have new mercy each day no matter how little he deserved it.

“Did I say too much?” There was worry in her voice.

He flipped on his right blinker and pulled to the side of the road, coming to a stop against the curb. His heart told him this moment was important, deserved eye-to-eye conversation.

“Everything you've said from the time we met until just now has been what I needed to hear. I've always understood with my head, and we know that's a skeptical place. I never let it sink down into my heart, until just now.”

She rested a gloved hand along his jaw, her eyes glittering as brightly as her smile.

“If this is what your mission is all about, then I believe your potential is unlimited.”

“Thank you for saying that, Heath,” Olivia whispered.

Thank You for opening my eyes, Lord,
Heath prayed.

Rising from his core was a desperate need to pull her into his arms, bury his face against her gosh-ugly stocking cap and kiss the crown of her head. But this intimate time was not about intimacy. He wanted Olivia to be certain that he knew the difference.

“Now, back to our road trip, Miss Livvy.”

A small frown puckered her brow. “You're the only person who calls me by my full name these days, and I like hearing it. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,
Olivia.
” He angled his head in salute. He loved her name, and everything about her.

Far too much.

Heath checked the side mirror and blended the SUV into traffic. Best to put the hands that itched to hold her on the steering wheel and keep the thoughts that wanted to run wild under control.

“How about finding us some tunes?” he asked.

While she fiddled with the radio dial, it gave him a moment to think, to calm the thumping in his chest. This assignment needed to be wrapped up, quickly. If the plan he and Biddle initiated today panned out, things would be kicking into high gear very soon. Then he'd be free to get on with a new life.

Once the weight of undercover worry was off his mind, he could reach out to his oldest sister and tell her why he'd ignored her letters. In his backpack was another envelope from San Angelo with a fresh postmark, still unopened. She was unusually persistent. Like Olivia.

Heath watched a smile touch her eyes as she found
a station that pleased her. He'd give just about anything to please her for a lifetime.

What if I tell her the truth?
The thought was appealing.

And which truth would that be, you big liar?
He scolded himself. The whole time she'd been sharing her heart with him he'd been making up one story after another, saying anything to get the job done. The only time he'd been completely honest was a few minutes ago.

No, it was out of the question. He wouldn't sacrifice the trust she'd learned to give others so he'd benefit. Especially when there was a stronger-than-average chance she couldn't forgive his deceptions.

Better to stick with the plan than launch into the unknown with no strategy at all.

“Hey, I recognize where we are, now. That Jack and Jill's bakery makes the best doughnuts in Waco. And over there is an art gallery that I visited a few times when I was a kid.” Olivia mentioned it moments before Heath pulled into a fifty-yard-line spot near the front entry. “I haven't been here since before my mother died.”

“You know this place, huh?”

“It's one of the nicest in this part of the state.” She sounded impressed. “They have a reputation as a launch-pad for local artists.”

“That's a good enough recommendation for me. Let's take a look inside.”

Heath climbed out of the SUV and rounded the front bumper to get Olivia's door. He grasped her hand to help her to the ground, letting go reluctantly. He allowed himself to sweep an arm behind her protectively, block
ing the cold wind as they crossed the few feet to the entrance.

The bell above the door jingled when they rushed inside, stamping their feet against the freezing temperature.

“Come on in here where it's warm!” A fortyish man with a goatee stepped from behind a counter in the back of the store and approached with a smile. “My name's Lance. What can I do for you folks today?”

“We needed a break from cabin fever.” Heath stepped up to offer his hand. “I'm Heath and this is my friend, Olivia. Mind if we take a look around?”

“I'll be offended if you don't. Just give a yell if you have questions.”

Olivia left Heath's side, eager to explore. She wandered among the paintings, admiring the work of artists talented enough to be displayed in a professional gallery. She'd never even have the boldness to show at the community art festival, much less a place like this.

She slowed before a wall of figurative paintings, the humanlike images blurred and blended into their activities; a dancer became one with the mirror, a cellist's bow ended where the musician's arm began. Olivia turned slowly, encircled by the light, color, texture and perspective.

“I so admire the hard work it takes to hone talent like this. Someday I hope to paint at this level.”

His palm pressed against her shoulder to get her attention. His touch ignited a spark that chased away the chill in her core. She angled her face upward so their eyes met.

“Sweet lady, you're not only certifiably crazy, you're blind as a newborn jackrabbit. How can you see the potential in other people and miss it in yourself?”

She ducked her chin, fiddled with the zipper pull on her heavy jacket. His knuckle brushed the underside of her jaw, tipped her head back.

“Olivia, folks aren't just being nice when they make a fuss over your murals at Table of Hope. When I first saw them, I was sure some professionals had agreed to donate their work just so they could use it as a write-off.”

“There you go, thinking the worst.”

“Exactly!” He threw up both hands. “Your painting is so amazing that I never thought for a minute to give credit to an amateur.”

“So, we agree. I'm an amateur. What's your point here?”

He took her by the hand and tugged her across the hall to an empty display space marked with a RESERVED placard. The walls were bare and waiting to be hung with vivid canvases that would fetch good prices from collectors and decorators.

“My point is that you have an income source that needs to be tapped. Imagine what could be accomplished at Table of Hope if you boost your budget by selling your paintings.”

She stiffened, began to back up from the very idea. But Heath squeezed the hand he still held, refused to let her pull away.

“You can't tell me you've never thought about this,” he insisted. “Anybody with an artistic bent dreams about being successful at one time or another.”

She wanted to stamp her boot, deny that his words were true. But she'd glanced at the canvases on her walls upstairs more than once and imagined the day they would hang in a gallery. The foolish thought must have shown on her face. He pulled her closer, tucked
her beneath his chin, and held her in the crook of his strong arm.

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, Olivia. Needing to be validated is human, and you keep telling me how much you've studied human nature so you already know what I'm trying to say. If your gift can help earn the money that lets you support the mission, how will it be a bad thing?”

He stepped in front of her, placed his palms on either side of her face, cupping her head gently. “You know that Bible verse about not hiding your light under a bushel basket?”

She nodded, her throat too clogged with emotion to speak.

“Well, there you go. Even God is on board with the plan.”

“There's a plan?” she asked, closer each moment to losing her composure.

Heath nodded. “I hope you won't be angry with me for poking my big nose into your business.” He led her to a nearby bench where they sank down together, shoulders touching companionably.

“When you loaned me your truck the other day I smuggled one of your paintings over here.”

Olivia dropped her forehead into her hands, too embarrassed now for Heath to see her face.

“Which painting?” she mumbled through her fingers.

“The one with the sun setting over the suspension bridge. It looks so much like a sinking ball of fire you can almost hear the Brazos hissing. I brought it to Lance, the guy we saw up front. His folks own this place. He said that if the rest of your work is that good he'd like to have a private showing for you and the sooner the
better. They'll invite designers who like to get in on the ground floor with new artists. Lance was pretty excited when we talked. He said collectors will be anxious to buy before Christmas.”

“Heath, I don't know what to say. I need some time to digest this news.”

“You don't have to say anything.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, rubbed lightly in circles as one would with an anxious child. “You're not obligated to do anything. If this doesn't appeal to you, then chuck the whole idea. I just thought maybe you and that old Chevy of yours had something in common.”

Heath leaned over and pushed his shoulder against hers. “You know what I mean? Needing a little nudge to get you movin' on your own,” he teased.

She dropped her hands from her face, returned his goofy smile and leaned into the arm he held open in invitation.

“What do you say we go talk to Lance and invite him to drop by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, like he wants to visit the flu zoo.”

“If it's necessary, Lance can come in the side door and climb straight upstairs. And if the others are better when we get back, he won't even need to do that. Besides, he ought to see your murals. I'm sure rich ladies would pay you big bucks to liven up their boring dining rooms with rain forests and waterfalls. Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

“I'm self-taught. After my dad left, I painted the boring dining rooms of my rich neighbor ladies and they paid my utilities in exchange.” She smiled at the memory of her early efforts.

“Then I'd say you already have a toehold in the Waco art scene. Now, how's that for positive thinkin'?”