Heartache and Hope (4 page)

Chatter through the glass entryway mingled like a horde of crickets along with the tinny melody of country music. A peal of laughter punctuated the chaos and the sudden realization struck that everyone seemed to know one another. Had they been there for a while, exchanging pleasantries? Had she gotten the time wrong? She checked her watch as panic gripped her.

Maybe this is a mistake.
Maybe I'm just walking into a hornet's nest…about to make a fool of myself. What if I can't finish the race? What if I garner donations for this cause, attesting to finish what I've started, and fail at following through with my promise?

Daylin paused at the entrance, drawing a long, cleansing breath as she considered the voice that had seemed to echo to her from the mountains New Year's Eve. The words rang more loud and clear than any coming from the diner and she clung to them once again.

Trust me…

She tugged at the entrance door and warmth welcomed her in. The rich aroma of coffee danced around a cacophonous backdrop of conversation. Immediately, her gaze traveled to the glass-enclosed dessert case which must have been recently restocked. In addition to the seasonal pie staples of pumpkin and cinnamon-apple, she drank in pecan, blueberry, French silk, key lime, cherry, and a double-decker creation with a layer of drizzled filling that mimicked rich, dark velvet.

That one…I'll have the velvet concoction with an extra shot of whipped cream. Sprinkle it with milk-chocolate chips, if you don't mind.

Resolve did battle with nervous energy and desire. Daylin stumbled into the familiar game of justifying her craving. After all, a slice of pie would calm her nerves and ease the sharp wiggle of doubt in her belly. Others in attendance here had indulged in the treat—the evidence was strewn across the tabletops. Why not she, as well?

“Daylin, wow.” A male voice drew attention from behind. “Is that really you?”

The inner food battle disrupted, Daylin turned toward the voice and nearly stumbled into Patrick. She splayed a hand over his chest to steady herself and felt an array of corded muscles beneath the button-down dress shirt and silk tie. A quick glance up into his face and there was no mistaking the shock of black hair and striking gray-blue eyes that carried the intensity of a feral animal.

Wolf. The nickname returned and suddenly she was sixteen again, sharing a Gatorade with him after practice.

He'd always been take-charge, focused, a confident leader. The scent of aftershave, something clean and woodsy, drifted her way. He'd put on a few pounds—all muscle for sure—and a couple inches in height, as well. Her pulse skittered as he drank her in.

“Yes. No…” Daylin hesitated, considering the fact that she could still walk away from the craziness of the rash decision to come here this evening. She could sprint for the door and no one would stop her. Not this man standing before her or a soul in the crowd.

Except for Vera.

The thin, kindly older woman crossed the room, closing the distance between them. As she neared, Daylin righted herself, releasing her hold on Patrick. She brushed her dampened palm on the front of her calf-length wool skirt. This was definitely not how she'd envisioned the reunion.

“I see you made it back, honey.” Vera pressed a cup of coffee into Daylin's stuttering hands. “I knew you would, gaugin' from the sparkle in those honey-brown eyes of yours last time I saw ya. Good for you.”

“Yes, well…” Trembling, Daylin wrapped her palms around the restaurant-grade, cream-colored ceramic mug and let the warmth seep through her. So much for making a clean getaway. “I'm having second thoughts. I'm not so sure about this.”

“Only one remedy for that; hang around and get sure, then.” Vera winked as her gaze drifted toward Patrick, who'd turned briefly to greet another arrival, and then back to Daylin's fingers wrapped so tightly around the mug that the blood had drained from her knuckles. “God has you where He wants you, and He doesn't plan on letting go.” She clucked her tongue as she nodded toward Patrick. “Same for that one. No sense trying to wrestle with the Man Upstairs. He'll win the battle every time. I suggest you both grab tight and hang on. ”

“I…we were friends once, that's true.” Heat seeped from the nape of Daylin's neck to the crown of her head as she followed Vera's gaze to Patrick's unadorned left hand. Like a wave crashing ashore, the meaning of Vera's words registered. Daylin refuted them, wagging her head like a dog shaking off water. “You've got it all wrong. I'm not here for
that
…not looking for that at all, as a matter of fact. I am
done
with that.”

Not in a million years do I want to get mixed up with another man and leave myself open and vulnerable. I know how it plays out…how it ends.. Been there, done that, and I'm taking a break from that particular boat ride. Docked at the shore and staying there, yes ma'am I am.

“Sure you are.” Vera's laugh was a soft cackle. “But, like it or not, the Man Upstairs, well, He has His own cruise line, and sometimes it leads to places we haven't even begun to consider venturing. So you watch the signs, you hear, climb aboard when He tells you to, and go where He leads you.”

“I'll…OK.” Daylin sipped from the mug, her fingers trembling as the coffee scalded a trail down her throat.
Good grief. The woman
is
a mind reader. “
If you say so.”

Daylin turned slightly to observe Patrick. His smile, vibrant and contagious, had her lips curving upward. Just as she remembered, his charm was virtually undeniable. She'd fallen beneath its spell once—as a sophomore at Lake Meade High School. Not that Patrick had any inkling. He'd been two years ahead of her, moving toward college and a successful future. Any kindness he showed her was simply his way of helping her feel like she was part of the team—not completely alone in the world. If she'd wanted more—and, truth-be-told she did, he certainly didn't seem overly interested.

Vera flitted away once more, off to fill an order and tend to a table of customers as Patrick turned his attention back to Daylin.

“Sorry about that.” He rubbed his palm along his jawline, and Daylin noticed a smattering of stubble. He wore a magnetic-red silk tie along with his button-down shirt, but the tie's knot had been loosened and it sat like the tail of a kite that had been displaced by the wind. “We didn't get to finish our introductions. It's been forever—or at least it seems that way.” He touched her elbow gently. “You look great.”

Daylin smoothed her hand over the fabric of her skirt once more, thankful she'd taken a bit of extra time with her makeup and outfit. The skirt was fashioned in a slimming cut, the blouse in a shade she knew flattered her Irish complexion. She already felt a bit lighter, perhaps from her treadmill walk that morning—or as a result of the complimentary way Patrick's smiling gaze danced over her. “I've put on a few pounds, but I'm working on it.”

“Aren't we all?” He patted his midsection beneath the navy shirt that sported a crimson Dash for the Dream emblem that matched the disheveled tie. Daylin failed to locate a single belly roll through the cotton fabric, and doubted he could—even with a magnifying glass—locate an inch to pinch. Who was he trying to kid? “I'm so glad you sent that email.”

“In all honesty, I'm not quite sure why I did. But your return correspondence was so encouraging that here I am, ready to go. I'm glad I came. It's great to see you again.”

“Ditto.” His gaze deepened and the words resonated with sincerity that extinguished Daylin's nerves. “I'm thrilled that you expressed interest in running the half-marathon.”

“Or I could walk it, if running is too much.” Her gaze slipped to the apple pie once again. Yes, she felt a bit lighter but her thighs still yawned with the protest of their morning workout. But, she had to admit, it was a good kind of yawn—one that told her she had a lot of living yet to do and she'd better get on with it. “Do you allow that? I'm kind of…”

“Just perfect for marathon training.” Patrick finished for her as he turned and led her toward the small crowd of attendees who'd scattered throughout the tables and booths. “I remember how you pummeled the pavement in high school. You have a daunting second wind.”

“
Had
. And that was merely in the five-K and once in a while in a ten-K. Both were tackled a long time ago—practically in a different lifetime.”

“OK, now you're making me feel old. It wasn't
that
long ago.”

“Long enough.” Daylin simply shrugged in response. “I'm not quite in runner's…” She let the statement fade, figuring he'd get the drift as she began to shrug from her jacket. The hem of her skirt swished around the top of leather boots.

“Let me get that for you.” Patrick eased a sleeve from her arm, folded the jacket and then returned it to Daylin to drape over her arm. “What have you been up to since I saw you last? How did you end up here, in Knoxville?”

“I was just about to ask you the same.”

“Well, we'll definitely have to chisel out a little time to catch up.” He winked, and her insides turned to mashed potatoes same as they did in high school when those gray-blue eyes connected with hers. “But, lay your worries to rest, Daylin. You can do the run. I know you can. I've seen you in action, and it was pretty amazing.”

Amazing…he'd called her amazing. Patrick's tone was smooth caramel.

“We have a great support network. Everyone's in this together, as a team. On top of that, we have three full months to train. That's plenty of time if the desire to tackle the mountain, so to speak, is in place
and
we're consistent in our work-outs.”

“What sort of work-outs?”

Would she have to join a gym, lift weights and—oh my goodness—wear tiny cotton running shorts? Memories of the skimpy cross-country shorts and singlet that were customary high school race attire heated her cheeks. Dressed in such an outfit today, she'd surely resemble a muffin top spilling over its cup.

“We'll ease you in slowly. I promise not to break you.” Patrick laughed as her lips pursed into a mortified frown. “Come on over and have a seat with the group. Drink that coffee while it's hot, and we'll go over all the details. Everything here is informal, so don't sweat a thing. I've got your back and so does the rest of this crew. Most are veterans to the program, but several—like you—are new to Dash for the Dream.”

Daylin turned toward the small crowd as they offered a flurry of welcoming waves coupled with hearty hellos. With that kind of enthusiasm, it was easy to feel as if she belonged. A smile tickled her lips as nerves rested.

“See?” Patrick handed her a navy T-shirt, the same hue of his dress shirt, emblazoned with the trademark crimson Dash for the Dream logo. “It's official. Everyone's happy to see you and anxious to meet you. Here's your team shirt.”

“But, I haven't—” She took a step, stumbled and bobbled the coffee, splattering warm liquid over her fingers and onto Patrick's shirt. “Oh, I'm so sorry!” She grabbed a handful of napkins from the nearest dispenser and began to dab at his shirtfront. No, there was definitely no inch waiting to be pinched there, just a terrain of sinuous muscles. “I'm sorry to say this is typical for me. I'm a certified klutz. Did I burn you?”

“Not at all. It's OK.” Patrick glanced down as she swiped at the mess. “A little stain remover and a trip through the wash cycle, and I'll be good as new.”

The thought of Patrick spinning through the rinse cycle, those mesmerizing eyes lifted toward her, brought on a flurry of laughter. Daylin pursed her lips, trying her best to suppress the giggles. “I…I'm so embarrassed. Tripping over my own two feet,” she muttered. “Yes, that's a good sign of things to come. OK, I'll just shut up and…sit down now.”

“No need to be embarrassed.” The voice, firm and raspy, came from behind Daylin. “Here, sit with us, dear.”

Daylin turned to the booth on her right and nestled slightly behind to see a woman with a shock of shoulder-length silver hair who looked to be nearing sixty. Could it be…?

“Mrs. Litton…Frannie?”

“That's right, Daylin.” Without hesitation, Frannie encircled Daylin in a bear-hug. The scent of Shalimar drifted, evoking memories that had lain dormant for more than a decade. “It's been a while, and I have a few more gray shingles covering the roof. But it's so good to see you again. How
are
you?”

“I'm well…busy as ever.” Daylin gave Frannie a squeeze. Her eyes had the same shape as Patrick's, a similar intensity, but held more blue that gray. Her smile was broad and heightened the sincerity of her words.

“Oh, I remember how kind you were to drive me home from practice when I was so often without a ride. Thank you again for that.”

“It was nothing. Walking the roadside alone was dangerous. Besides, Patrick always asked me to offer.”

“He did?”

“Of course he did. He worried over you, dear.” She clucked her tongue. “And I'm not the only one who noticed how much he enjoyed your company. Didn't you know that?”

“No, I suppose I didn't.” Yet now, the very thought warmed her. How could she have missed Patrick's concern…his interest? And, did he still feel an inkling of that interest? “I guess I've made quite an entrance. I'm sorry about the coffee—and Patrick's shirt.”

“No harm done. He's trained through so many rain showers he's guaranteed not to melt. And a little stain never hurt anything.” She made a motion with her hand as if to sweep the matter away. “Let's get you a refill of coffee. There's still quite a chill outside. The weather's supposed to moderate over the next few days, though, according to Channel Ten's meteorologist. Let's hope he's on the mark.”

Frannie motioned for Vera as a little girl in the seat beside Frannie scooted onto her knees and splayed her palms across the tabletop while she craned for a better look at Daylin.