From Scratch (17 page)

She could feel her hair turning gray as she waited for his eyes to open. “Sean, I am very confused. I thought we were starting to be friends?” She was just becoming comfortable with being his friend. And now what?

He shifted his head. His eyelids opened to half-mast. “We are. But I want more. I want to take you out to a nice dinner with tablecloths and waiters. But that doesn't really matter unless I know what you want.” His voice sounded husky and soft to her ears. “What do you want, Maggie?” His words melted through her, breeding new questions and revealing old worries.

She rested her cheek against the back cushion of the sofa. “I don't know what I should want,” she whispered.

He inched his hand forward lightly toying with a wayward curl.

Sliding out of his reach, she swiveled her head to face the far wall.

The cushions on the couch shifted as he slid toward her and cupped her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. “Hey, where did you go?”

“I'm here.”

“Maggie, don't.” His lips drew tight.

“Don't what?”

“Don't shut me out. For some reason me asking you out on a real date to a real restaurant freaks you out. Why?”

“You finished?” She asked, pointing to his mug. Not waiting for an answer, she took the cold cups of tea and retreated into the kitchen. She yanked the tea bags from the mugs, tossed them in the trash can, flipped on the faucet, and scrubbed past the point of clean. The anger and the terror burned like sulfur in her stomach, warring against the hope that only moments ago had been budding to the surface.

One mug clanked against the stainless steel sink with Sean's light touch on her shoulder. “Maggie,” his voice was low. “Listen to me. I don't know what makes you fear dating or relationships, or even men, but I want to understand. I want to help you. Let me help you.”

The warm streak of a single tear fell down her cheek. She turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. He drew her in and rested his chin on her head. A shudder ran through her entire body, as the tears she didn't know she needed to cry flooded his shirt front. His arms were a safe haven she didn't know existed. She was thankful for the comfort.

He's my champion.

God gave her the answer.

Let me help you.

She'd been waiting nearly a decade for the security of those four words. He would have no way of knowing what providing her help would require.

Eventually, she would need to explain everything to Sean, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to revel in the simple joy of answered prayer.

~*~

The images were grainy on the six-by-four inch monitor, but he watched clearly as his beautiful Mary Margaret ran her fingers down the stupid police chief's chest. Rage boiled him. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils. A cleansing breath meant to calm and retain control. The boil slowed to a simmer. He moved the joystick control to the left and followed the couple's movement through her dank apartment to the used sofa.

Couple.

The word felt like acid burning holes in his brain.

The small-minded cop didn't deserve to walk on the same soil as his beloved, let alone be in a room alone with her. He would teach him that lesson very soon. The cop was just another in the long list of loose ends Mary Margaret forced him to tie. But he would gladly bind a knot around this frayed ribbon.

He zoomed the camera lens on her face. Although the monitor was diminutive in size, reflecting only varying shades of gray, he imagined the color of her sapphire blue eyes sparkling up at him almost as if she could see him. He reached his hand forward and stroked her cheek, his fingers running along the cold smooth surface of the screen.

Rolling his chair to the far side of his desk, he flipped on his printer and a whirring sound filled the tiny back storage room that served as his office at the demeaning job he'd been forced to acquire to adhere to his early release. A means to an end.

Swinging his attention back to the monitor, he depressed a single button to the left of his camera controller and blinked as the screen shuttered nearly twenty times in rapid succession. The printer expelled all twenty photos in under sixty seconds – the benefit of having countless used computers and digital devices at the ready in his role as a computer repairman, skills he acquired at the behest of the penitentiary system. Not a glamorous job, but one that had served him well as he prepared for his reunion with Mary Margaret, allowing him access to the technology, low and high, to reach his goals.

He lifted the first picture from the newly printed stack, the ink still moist to his touch. Unlike the monitor, his pictures were in full glossy color and revealed the subtle beauty of his bride to be. His eyes became transfixed on every feature.

High cheekbones. Full lips. Clear porcelain complexion. Long wavy hair, once angelically blonde, the only mar of his beautiful gift. She was a stunning masterpiece The Lord had created just for him.

He lifted the blue scarf around his neck and inhaled her delicate fragrance still lingering in the weave.

Without looking, he reached for the stack of photos and flipped through them like the pages of a live action comic strip. He watched her smile widen and her eyes flutter close. Lifting a glass of water to his lips, he smiled as he took a long deep drink.

The final photo in the stack stuck to the picture before it and he pried them apart with the force of his thumb and forefinger. With a snap, the pictures fell away from each other and he saw his beloved with her lips touching that man.

The water glass shattered in his grip. Blood dropped on his pants leg from a gash in his palm, severed by the glass. He looked at the pieces scattered across his lap, floor, and desk, shimmering like crude diamonds. Lifting the largest fragment from the floor, he turned it over in his fingers as he stared at the photo. He depressed the piece of glass against the cop's face, dragging the jagged edge across the picture in swift, sure strokes. Each movement became quicker, as he slashed the cop's face and superimposed his own features in the blank spot.

Calm washed over him.

She was alone again. Waiting for him.

He lifted the now nearly perfect photo of Mary Margaret and drew a heart around her face with his bloody finger.
Soon, my sweet. Soon.

13

Sean arrived at her apartment the next morning with a picnic lunch and a pair of hiking boots in her size.

“How did you know my size?” she asked, suspicious, as visions of Mitchell's acute attention danced in her head.

“I asked Jane and Millie to take a guess. Millie was right.” He grinned.

They spent the day rambling through the six-mile loop connecting Old Man's Cave and Cedar Falls in Hocking Hills. Stopping midway near the falls, they enjoyed a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and apples.

The mist dampened her hair and clothes, sending chills through her body. She couldn't suppress the shudders that rolled through her or the whine that slipped through her lips.

Sean pulled a small burner and a tiny pot from the backpack and filled the pot with water. He set the liquid to boil and began rummaging through the bag. In two quick moves, he shoved her massive, curly mess of hair under a toboggan, and dropped tea bags into two pop-up mugs that had also been stashed in the bag. Her champion.

Maggie nibbled on her bottom lip, trying to ignore the flutter of her heart as he poured the steaming water into the two cups and handed her a mug with a wink. The cadre of butterflies stationed in her stomach stretched their wings.

She sipped, ignoring the scalding burn as the tea chased a path to her stomach. She could barely feel the cold chilling her toes, the rain on her face, the hard rock under her bottom, or the scorching heat of the metal cup in her hands. Her mind raced as she tried to form protective walls against the full-court press of woo he was giving her. If she wasn't careful, her heart would soon be a puddle for him to splash through and she would be forced to run again.

He blew across the top of his mug, his face mostly hidden by his tattered baseball cap. “How's your tea? Too hot?”

She took another tentative sip. “It's perfect.”

“Naw, but I think that you just might be.”

The butterflies zoomed to a swirling twister in her tummy. Looking at the water surrounding them, she ignored the pull of his gaze on her and sipped her tea, the sound of the rushing waterfall pounding out the silent lull in their conversation. Her giant mound of ever growing hair popped the toboggan to the top of her scalp. Sighing, she set her cup on the rock beside her and tried to readjust her cap. “So much for perfect,” she muttered.

Sean chuckled. He leaned forward and yanked the cap over her ears and just above her eyes. With his forefinger, he raised her face to meet his gaze. “Maggie,” his voice was low and barely audible over the crashing falls. “I am all in. Crazy, beautiful hair included. I know it's a lot to take in. And it must feel as if I flipped some switch, but sweetheart, this thing between us, it's been burning a slow, steady flame since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

With a gulp, she tried to ram her expanding heart back down her throat. Dipping her chin, she broke the connection with his eyes. “Sean, I think we should just stay friends.” She twisted the cup between her hands and stared at the falls. “You don't know me. And I don't want to run the risk of losing your friendship. Of having to leave.”

He grabbed her hand, forcing her to look at him. “Leave? Maggie, who said anything about leaving?”

“No one, but what if you and I…what if we try and date…”

“I like the sound of that,” he said with a grin.

Her eyes did a synchronized somersault. “What if we try and it doesn't work out? You are my landlord. We live in the same extraordinarily small town, one on which you have dibs.”

“Dibs? Gibson's Run isn't the last cookie in the jar.”

“No, but your life is here, always has been, and mine just started. If we try and fail, I would end up having to leave and start over.” Again.

Raising a single finger to her face, he traced the subtle curve of her high cheekbone. “Then let's not fail.”

“Sean, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“What kind of game are you playing?” she whispered.

“Game?” His forehead pinched, creating a deep crease between his eyes. “I don't play games with people.”

“Some people do.”

“Maggie, I'm not some people and I'm not giving up so easily.” He tossed the remainder of his tea over his shoulder and threw the used teabag in the wrapper from his sandwich. He thrust the trash and his pop-up mug into his backpack. “Maggie,” he said, tugging on her shoulder and forcing eye contact. “I'm warning you right now, I'm pushing this thing between us as if I'm the last out running to first.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

Sitting back on his heels, he shot her a toothy grin. “Well, my dear, your new suitor, if you'll have me, is a former ball player. You'll just have to figure that one out.” He reached out his hand to her and she laid her empty cup in his open palm.

Suitor. Such an old-fashioned word, but gentlemanly, befitting the man. She had a suitor if she wanted one. A shiver ran through her body that had little to do with the cold. She waited for the inevitable fear to consume her, but all that followed was a sense of calm, of knowing that she was on the right path. She stood, wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, and adjusted her hat.

He linked his hand with hers, guiding her down the subtle slope and back to the main trail.

“So you were a baseball player…”

He yanked her close to his side and draped his arm over her shoulders. “Just ball player. Drop the base.” He smacked a kiss against her wool-covered forehead. “But no worries, we've got a few months to teach you the ins and outs of the game. We'll make you an aficionado before spring.”

She wiggled free and scooted a few steps in front of Sean. “Spring?” she called over her shoulder. “You are awfully presumptuous, Chief Taylor.”

He grabbed her hand. She stumbled over her feet, landing with a thud against his chest. “You can stop being difficult now,” he said, lifting her chin. “I'm not giving in, Maggie. You'll just have to get used to the idea of us.” He tossed his backpack over one shoulder and hugged her against his other side with a tug. His stride was double the length of her own, and she struggled against running.

She planted her feet and leaned forward, gripping her thighs.

Sean grunted as he tumbled head first toward the edge of the trail. Wet leaves formed a smooth path like a slide. His hand thrashed forward and clutched at her ankle for support. The force yanked her toward him.

She skidded to a stop, grabbing hold of a sapling jutting out of the ground. Mud sloshed against her face; her heartbeat filled her ears.

“Hang onto the tree, Maggie,” Sean yelled. The pull of his weight lessened against her leg. He tossed his backpack on to the trail as he clung to a tree root with his opposite hand. Dragging himself against the slope, he threw a leg toward the path and lurched for a rock partially submerged under a pile of brush. Within minutes, both of his feet were flat on the trail and his hands were reaching toward her.

“Take my hand,” he said, his voice a rumble of a whisper.

She looked from the tree, strong and solid, certain it would hold her weight, to his waiting hands and hesitated.

“You're gonna have to trust me, Maggie. I won't let you fall.” He stretched his hand slightly closer to her. “I promise. Trust me.”

She closed her eyes and extended her left hand, grasping for his waiting palm. Gulping air, she felt his grip tighten around her wrist and her eyes snapped open. Her feet dangled high above the seemingly bottomless ravine. The bark scratched at her hand. A line of sweat dropped down her cheek disappearing into the pit below.