Safe in His Arms (9 page)

Lindsay's wide eyes and the strange look on Emma's face as she twisted in her harness to look up at them made it clear he'd said too much. He might as well have announced how amazing he thought she was. He released his grip on the handle, and Lindsay started forward again without looking over at him.

Finally, she chuckled. “You make me sound like Florence Nightingale or Mother Teresa or something. Like in Matthew 16:24, ‘If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.'” She shook her head. “I can assure you I'm not as selfless as you think I am.”

“There you go quoting scripture again.”

“I have to do something with all those memory verses I learned in Sunday School. My quoting ability always makes me the life of the party.”

The words of a few verses he'd memorized himself long ago filtered through his thoughts, but he tucked them away. He had a point to make. “All I'm saying is it's okay to miss something that was more than a
hobby
to you.”

“You didn't buy that, huh?”

“All those ribbons gave you away. It took a lot of dedication and pain to earn those.”

“Okay, you got me.”

Lindsay started forward again, and the condo complex came into view in the distance. Joe searched for a way to stall her longer, but he'd already been doing that. If he kept at it, he would have to explain why. Even he didn't know the answer to that.

“Running was the one thing I did for myself,” she said after a long time. “I always felt close to God as I ran, testing my body and listening for His guidance. I've felt guilty about missing running, especially with
everything my family has lost, but not being able to get out there has left another void in my life.”

“I know what you mean.”

Joe could sense Lindsay's gaze on him as she weighed his words, but her next comment surprised him.

“You do know, don't you? Earlier, you said something about running making me feel complete. How did you know?”

“I'm not suggesting that there weren't days when you had to force yourself to put on your running shoes. But once you were out on the road, didn't you know without a doubt that was where you were supposed to be?”

For a few seconds, Lindsay didn't answer, and when she finally did, her voice was thick with emotion. “It was exactly like that, but I still don't understand how you know that. Is there something you feel that way about?”

He didn't know whether it was her question or that he'd been waiting for her to ask it, but Joe found the words pouring out of him like volcanic ash during an eruption. “A void for me would be never to strap on a weapon again, never to pin on a badge and not to have the chance to serve the public again.”

His chest squeezed. Was now the right time to tell her the rest of the story that still weighed on his heart? Should he tell her how the events from the night of the accident related to his own loss of confidence and his fear that he would lose the job that meant so much to him?

She swallowed visibly, as if she recognized that he'd said something significant, even though she couldn't know what else he'd been tempted to tell. But then she smiled.

“And do you often ‘feel the burn' in your work?”

“It was an analogy.”

“If you say so,” she said with a chuckle.

Part of him was relieved for the break she always gave him, and part was frustrated that she hadn't demanded to know more. It was long past time for him to tell her the rest of the story he'd kept from her, for his benefit as much as hers.

But it was so easy to walk along with Lindsay in companionable silence. This felt so right. And after he told her, things between them would never be right again.

Lindsay saved him from having to acknowledge he was a coward by stopping and staring up into the trees that formed an arch over the running trail.

“See what I mean?” she said. “You have to feel close to God out here, surrounded by His creations.”

“I'm glad you have that if it helps you.”

“Was it your mother's death that caused you to lose your faith?”

Joe blinked, surprised by the question. It wasn't a subject he enjoyed talking about, but even it was easier than the one he'd been considering. “I guess her death had something to do with it. She was definitely the strongest example of faith in our family. She was the one who corralled us together for church on Sunday mornings.”

It had been years since he'd thought about his mother kneeling with him in prayer next to his bed, but now he could see it as clearly as if it were yesterday.

“She'd be disappointed to think that her death caused me to give up on God,” he admitted.

“But you didn't.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn't believe, you wouldn't have given me that poem.”

“The poem? Are we back to that again?” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I told you it was an impulse to give it to you.”

“Was it an impulse that made you carry a poem around in your trooper's hat? A poem that says, ‘Don't be afraid. You are a child of God. You are precious in his eyes.'”

“No, it wasn't like that.” Even as he said it, he wasn't sure. Had he on some level wanted to reclaim his faith, even if he wasn't ready to commit to it?

“I don't know why I kept the poem. My friend Cindy gave it to me and told me that a police officer gave it to her during the lowest point in her life. Her husband had left her. She'd lost her job, and then the officer stopped her for speeding. When she burst into tears and the whole story spilled out, he reached into his hat and pulled out the poem to give to her.”

“Oh, that must have been an awful time for her,” she said.

“It was. I still don't know why Cindy passed the poem to me.”

Lindsay stared at him, a knowing look in her eyes.

“It probably just impressed me that the guy carried it in his hat, so I started doing the same.”

“You think that was all it was?”

He frowned because even he was beginning to wonder. “I never intended to pass it along to anyone.”

“But you did, and I'm glad you did. It reminded me that, like in Luke 1:37, ‘For with God nothing will be impossible.'”

She smiled at him, and like he always did, he felt that smile all the way to his toes. But then, as she turned to
look ahead again, something must have caught her attention because she jerked the jogger to a stop.

Parked behind Lindsay's car was a sedan he didn't recognize, with a driver still behind the wheel. He stiffened, but instead of feeling the instinct to touch his weapon that was still locked in its case back in his truck, he felt a territorial reaction.

Jealousy? That was ridiculous. He was never jealous. He had no business feeling that way over Lindsay, anyway. So why was he watching that car and hoping the driver didn't turn out to be younger or taller or better looking?

“Were you expecting someone?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?” He strained his eyes to get a better look. “A guy?”

“A man and a woman. They're my parents.”

L
indsay straightened her shoulders and then pushed the stroller forward. She hadn't done anything wrong, and yet she felt guilty as she watched her father and mother open the doors and climb out of the car.

“They didn't say they were coming by,” she told Joe, though he hadn't asked.

“It's Nannie and Papa,” Emma called out with glee.

By the time they reached her driveway, Lindsay's parents were standing together, leaning against the driver's side of the car. Her mother had her arms crossed over her chest, and her father was twirling his keys.

“Well, there she is,” her father said, as he bent down to get on Emma's level. He reached down and unbuckled the child from her harness and lifted her onto his hip.

“Hi, Mom and Dad,” Lindsay said.

“Where have you been?” her mother asked her, while eyeing Joe suspiciously.

Her father was the first to step forward. “I don't think we've met.”

“But…you have,” Lindsay said, falling over her words as she locked the jogger's brake. She released
the handle and stepped carefully toward the group of adults.

“Joe, these are my parents, Brian and Donna Collins.”

“Mom and Dad, this is Trooper Joe Rossetti. You met…at the hospital.”

Lindsay braced herself as her father stepped back from shaking hands with Joe. Usually, her mother was easiest to read, her anger or frustration obvious in her tight jaw or a flash in her eyes. But this time her father's annoyance was more obvious in the way he kept jangling his keys.

“Trooper Joe and Aunt Lindsay went running with me,” Emma announced. “It wasn't very fast.”

“I guess you ran for a long time because Nannie and Papa have been waiting here a whole hour,” Donna said.

Her mother might have been talking to Emma as she let her gaze pass over the jogging stroller, but the message appeared to be for Lindsay alone.

“I'm sorry we made you wait.”

Lindsay was sorry about a lot of things right now, and that she'd been out running around, almost literally, when her parents had arrived at her home was just one of them. The annoyance she felt that her parents hadn't called first was another. This wasn't the first time since Emma had started spending the majority of her time at Lindsay's condo that her parents had shown up unannounced, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Brian touched his forehead to his granddaughter's. “We tried to come just after dinner, so—”

“I'm hungry,” Emma said, as though she'd just now realized it. “I want dinner.”

“Dinner?” Donna lifted a shocked brow. “That poor child hasn't had dinner yet? It's nearly seven-thirty.”

Lindsay shot a glance at Joe, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and then turned back to her mother. “I know it's a little late, but she fell asleep on the way home from day care. Then Joe came by with a jogging stroller, and—”

“Were you napping at almost dinner time, dear heart?” Donna stepped over to where Brian was holding Emma and brushed the child's hair back from her face. “Now you won't get any sleep tonight at all. You tell Aunt Lindsay not to let you nap so late anymore.”

“Okay, Nannie.”

Joe took a step forward. “I messed up the schedule tonight. Sorry about that, Lindsay.” After he sent an apologetic look her way, he turned back to her parents.

“I was just so excited about the new toy I found that I had to bring it to Lindsay immediately,” he continued. “Emma wanted to try it out right away. Did you see? Lindsay can already walk steadily with it. She'll be running with it in no time.”

“Lindsay has more important responsibilities than running now,” Brian told him. “She might not have as much free time for her hobbies anymore.”

Joe opened his mouth, looking as if he was about to come to Lindsay's defense, when Emma made a tortured sound.

“I'm hungry,” she moaned.

Donna reached up to touch her granddaughter's arm. “Here, Emma, you and I can run into the kitchen and see what we can make for a late dinner.”

“Oh, don't worry about it, Mom,” Lindsay said quickly. “We were planning to have something easy tonight. It will only take a few minutes.”

“We're having hot dogs and macaroni and cheese,”
Emma announced, as if it was some great accomplishment.

“Oh” was all Lindsay's mother had to say about that. It was enough.

Lindsay pretended not to notice the odd exchange between her parents. Her father was the first to look back to her.

“Maybe Emma should spend tonight at our house. Wouldn't that be fun, Emma?”

“Can I, Aunt Lindsay?”

“Don't you remember?” Lindsay said, trying to force down the anxiety that gripped like a fist inside her chest. “You're going to Nannie and Papa's tomorrow and staying for two whole nights, so it would be best for you to wait until then.”

The child appeared to think it through before she asked, “Can I bring Monkey Man and my pink suitcase?”

“Sure you can.”

Lindsay let out the breath she was holding slowly, but she couldn't slow her racing pulse. It was to her benefit that Emma didn't yet have the reasoning skills to realize that her stay at her grandparents' house could have been extended from two days to three and then from one more to forever. Lindsay knew it only too well. If she'd learned nothing else from her accident, she knew that nothing was forever.

“I had better get inside and get started.” She sent Joe an apologetic look and started backing away. “So, I guess I'll see you later.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Oh. Right.” He opened his mouth again, but he must have thought better of whatever he'd intended to say because he closed it again.

Relief flooded through Lindsay's veins. Had he been
about to offer to stick around and face her parents with her? As much as she was grateful for the thought, it was about the last thing she needed. Her parents were already upset enough with her without adding that to the mix.

“Uh. Lindsay,” he called after her when she was almost to the front door. “Do you want me to put the jogger on your deck until you plan for a place to store it?”

“Oh. Sure.” She hadn't thought about storing it yet. Just as she hadn't thought about whether it was wise to delay dinner or let Emma nap too late or spend over an hour on a walk with a man she found too appealing for her own good. “Yes, the deck will be fine.”

“I'll just drop it off and head out. See you later.”

“Thanks so much.” She wanted to say more, but how could she, when her parents were right there, listening to every word? She hated that after everything Joe had done for her, she would have to leave him to walk back to the library to pick up his truck. But what could she do?

With a wave, she started into the house, her mother following closely behind and her father taking up the rear and carrying Emma. Brian stopped by Emma's toy box in the living room and stayed there to watch the child play, while Donna followed Lindsay into the kitchen.

“What was that all about?” her mother said.

Lindsay cleared her throat as she turned back to her, switching the oven on to Broil for the hot dogs. “I don't know what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. You were on a
date
tonight when Emma hadn't even had dinner, and you were pushing her around in an expensive gift
that you never should have accepted. And now that you're finally feeding her, you're giving her…that.” She pointed to the boxed macaroni that Lindsay had set next to the stove.

“It wasn't a date,” Lindsay answered in a low voice.

Her mother made a sharp sound in her throat, causing Lindsay to look up from the pot of water she was watching too closely for it ever to boil.

“Of all the things I just said, that's the one you chose to comment on?”

Lindsay stiffened, feeling transparent. How could she explain it to her mother when she couldn't even make sense of it herself? She'd made so many excuses lately about why she was spending so much time with Joe, and they all sounded empty now.

“I just wanted to clear that up.” Lindsay wanted to stop there, knew it was enough. Yet the words kept bubbling like the water on the stove should have been but wasn't. “Joe—I mean Trooper Rossetti—found the jogging stroller online and thought it might help me out, so he bought it. I insisted on paying him back for it.”

“Well, at least you did that.”

“And the jogger really is great,” Lindsay continued, unable to stop. “Emma loves it, too. It will be good for the two of us—Emma and me—to get some fresh air together.”

Her mother only shook her head until Lindsay stopped talking.

“You've always been sensible about men before. Why would you pick now, of all times, to change that?”

Lindsay turned to put foil on the broiling pan to cover her surprise. “Mom, you're getting the wrong idea about us,” she finally managed to say.

She wanted to believe it, too, but the fact that she
was fighting back resentment over her mother's words gave no support to her argument. It hurt that what her mother called
sensibility
probably had been awkwardness around men, and it hurt even more to realize that Lindsay wished she could have been different this time. With Joe.

“Are you sure it's the wrong idea?”

“I'm sure. Really. It's not like that.”

“How did you even come across Trooper Rossetti in the first place? We haven't seen him since—” Her mother's breath caught, and her eyes shone with another round of the many tears she'd cried over the past six months. “Since that night.”

“His name was on the original police report, so I went to the state police post to ask him some questions. I thought he could fill in some of those blanks about the night that D…the night of the accident.”

Would it ever get easier to talk with her mother about Delia's death? Would she ever get over feeling responsible for separating
two
mothers from their daughters?

“I told you that some stones are better left—”

“Unturned? That's what you've said, Mom, but these questions were making me crazy. I had to know.”

“Fine. But how did you get from asking questions to gallivanting around the neighborhood with him, pushing Emma in a stroller?”

“We weren't gallivanting. It was just a walk.”

But semantics aside, she couldn't blame her mom for asking because she wasn't entirely sure herself how she and Joe had reached that point. Maybe in the beginning, she'd been looking for answers and he'd been searching for absolution, but somehow they'd gone from there to
laughing together and pushing a jogging stroller. She'd enjoyed the whole ride more than she wanted to admit.

“If you think you're keeping some big secret, that grin gives you away.”

Lindsay hadn't even realized she was smiling, hadn't felt the expression slipping onto her face, but she removed it. What did it mean when she couldn't stop smiling when she thought of him?

“Mom, he's just a friend,” she said, as much for her own benefit as her mother's. “He felt badly for us and was trying to do something nice. You always taught us to do things for other people. Why is it not okay for me to accept kindness from someone else?”

“Don't turn this around on me. We also taught you not to go accepting gifts from men.”

“I said I was paying him back for it.”

“Don't you get it?”

Lindsay jerked at the sharp tone of her mother's voice, and she swallowed as she turned to look at her.

“Have you thought for one minute about who this man is that you've invited to spend time with you and Emma?”

“Of course I've thought about it.” In the beginning, she'd thought of little else, so it surprised her now to realize how long it had been since she'd let Joe's role in the accident matter to her.

“Then you have to remember how he came into your life? Into
our lives?
”

“No, Mom, I
don't
remember.”

“Well, I do. I remember that young man in the soaked uniform walking up to us in the hospital hallway and telling us how sorry he was—” Her voice caught then, and she took a few steps away to the window so she could stare out at the darkening sky.

“Was Joe—I mean Trooper Rossetti—the first one to tell you…what happened?”

Her mother shook her head. “No, the officers who came to the house did that, but he met us at the hospital. Outside your room.”

“Is that why it bothered you so much that he was here? Because he reminds you of that night?”

“That has nothing to do with it.
We
have nothing to do with it.”

Lindsay doubted both of those claims, and her skepticism must have shown because her mother folded her arms over her chest. “This is about you. Delia put a lot of trust in you when she named you as Emma's guardian.”

“I know that, Mom.” Trembling inside, Lindsay poured the pasta into the finally boiling water and put the broiler pan in the oven, leaving the door partly open. “You know I'm honored that she thought of me.”

“If you're as
honored
as you say, then I'm surprised that you're thinking about your social life—friends or whatever it is—when you should be focused on Emma.”

Lindsay opened her mouth to argue the point, but then she closed it. Could she really say she'd been making Emma her top priority when she'd been spending so much time thinking about a certain state police trooper?

“But, Mom, I'm doing everything I know how to become the best caregiver I can be for Emma.” At least she'd thought so, but now she wondered if it was true.

“Do you think Delia would agree?”

The words struck Lindsay with more force than a blow ever could have. Eyes burning, Lindsay turned away to pull the broiler pan from the oven. What would Delia think about the time Lindsay had been spending
with a man instead of focusing on Emma? What would she think about
which
man?