Sweet Blessings (Love Inspired) (11 page)

“You have to wrench on it or it won't open.” Her hand bumped his as she grabbed onto the door handle. “Just yank—there it goes. It sticks.”

“I see.”

Her car was pretty old. They'd stopped making this model, oh, about ten years ago, he figured, not that he was a car expert. But she kept it clean and in good repair. As he held the door while she settled into the bucket seat, he noticed it was clean and repaired with duct tape, which wasn't so noticeable on the gray upholstery.

She wasn't raking in the bucks at the family diner. He didn't need to see her car to know that. The restaurant did a healthy business, but this was a small town. It sounded as if it supported three sisters and their families, and it couldn't be easy.

He thought of the life he'd left. The suburban acreage in Lake Oswego, a nice tree-filled suburb of Portland. He'd even had a stretch of lakefront beach. It was a view his wife had loved. It was why he'd bought her the house. Thinking of home made his knees go watery as he crunched through the ice and snow to the driver's side. The house was gone. Everything was gone. Even if he wanted to, there was no going back.

She waited until they were safely across the railroad tracks and a few blocks from her trailer park. “Are you going to tell me why you're so eager to go?”

“You aim straight, don't you?”

“I don't see any point in pretending I didn't see the bag. You were going to slip out, weren't you, when you came across those horrible men.”

“That's pretty much what happened.” He kept his
gaze on the road. It was tricky, he had to go slow because the fog absorbed the light and reflected it back, so the town streets were nearly invisible. Plus, he wasn't familiar with this stretch of highway.

He didn't offer more of an explanation. He figured she deserved to rant and rave or silently fume…or just accept it—whatever she needed to do. He was wrong. There was no denying it.

Amy McKaslin had a real life. What would she know about his? She had sisters and a business and a son, maybe more kids. He didn't know. She didn't wear a wedding ring, so he figured she was divorced. His guess was that she struggled to make ends meet, like any family.

He really didn't want to know anything else about her. He was already part of the fog, rolling with the rising wind. Already anticipating the dawn and the snowy drive through the state. Where he landed next was anyone's guess.

He'd leave it up to fate, or God, if He was still noticing.

“You'll need to turn right up here.” Amy broke the silence and leaned forward against the restraint of the shoulder harness to help look along the road's shoulder. “There's the sign. Right here.”

He caught a flash of a small sign, the kind apartments and house developments use. Oak Place, it said in snow-mantled letters on a spotty green background. He followed the narrower lane along a
windrow of shrubs and turned, as Amy indicated, by a line of small mailboxes mounted on a two-by-four.

He saw the first trailer house. It was neat and maintained, but a good thirty years old. Then a second, newer one. And more, all quaintly lined up along the road, windows dark except for the occasional floodlight blinking on as the car drove by.

“Mine's the one with the rose arbor. Just pull in under the awning.”

He did, noticing the single-wide was modest, and its front yard was white with snow. Another vehicle, which he remembered was Rachel's, had nosed in beneath a makeshift carport, and the whole passenger's side was covered with ice and snow.

“Home sweet home.” Amy reached for her purse from the floor behind his seat. “Did you want to come in? I'll make you hot chocolate this time.”

“No, I just wanted to see you were safe.”

“So you could leave?”

“Something like that.”

Amy wished she could be angry with him, but it wasn't that easy. How could she be angry with someone that wonderful? He spoke so well and knew how to make hollandaise sauce without checking a recipe and stood tall when danger called. Not the usual wanderer looking for a job. And that left the question, why? She instinctively knew it was a question that would only make him turn away.

Some things were better left in the past where
they belonged. She thought of the foolish girl she used to be. Everyone deserved at least one free pass, one “do over.” Maybe that's the way it was for Heath.

“If you want to come in for a second, I'll write you a paycheck.”

“It wouldn't be right. I'm running off and leaving you shorthanded again.”

“You work, we pay. It's that simple.”

“Nothing is ever that simple.”

“This time it is.” Amy wished she didn't like Heath so much. That's what this was—she couldn't lie to herself anymore. And why bother? He was leaving. “Come in for a few minutes and warm up, before you head back.”

“I'd appreciate that. It's a long walk.”

“And cold.” All the way up the slick steps, she wondered what she was going to say to Paige. Her older sister had been upset they'd hired a man with no references; they hadn't even asked him to fill out an application, just the paperwork required by the state and federal government.

Amy fit her key in the lock and wiggled it until it gave way enough to turn—it was tricky in the freezing weather. The bolt clicked and she opened up, grateful for the warm air fanning her face as she entered. Peace. It wrapped around her every time she came home. The pile of toys neat in the corner by the couch. The pictures of family—of her sisters, of Paige's son and dozens of Westin from the moment he was born on up.

She noticed Heath closed the door behind him, looking neither right nor left as he followed her into the kitchen. While he set the keys on the corner of the counter, she filled two cups with tap water and set them in the middle of the mounted microwave. It hummed as she extracted items from the cupboards. Aware of Heath watching her the whole while, his presence shrank the small space until it seemed there were only the two of them and the walls pressing in.

For some reason, he must have felt it, too, because he didn't look comfortable. Maybe because he was a big man and the alley kitchen was narrow. He hardly fit in the walkway between the counter and the corner of the stove. Edgy, he didn't seem to know where to look, glancing quickly from the toys to the pictures to Westin's artwork tacked on the fridge.

Maybe it was the trailer—a lot of folks looked down on them, as if they were only for poor people. But she wasn't poor. Not when she had so many blessings.

Maybe it was because she was still in her pajamas and they were more strangers than friends. She reached for the business checkbook and a pen. “Did you want to take a seat?”

“Sure.”

He didn't look any more comfortable in the small chair at the little dinette set that had once been her mother's. The set was a bright Valentine's-Day-pink with metal sides and legs. It was a very feminine-
looking table—and if that wasn't bad enough, all six-plus feet of him barely fitted in the small chair that was as pink as the little table.

The microwave dinged. She removed the steaming mugs and ripped open two packets of cocoa mix. “I know, it's not sophisticated but this kind does have the little mini marshmallows.”

His jaw clamped and a muscle jumped along his jaw.

Okay, maybe he didn't like marshmallows. “I can scoop them out if you want.”

“No, it's all right.”

It didn't look all right, but she didn't say anything more. She stirred the mix until it dissolved and spooned the tiny marshmallows from his cup.

“You think I'm looking for a husband, don't you? That's why you're bugging out of here as fast as you can go. No, it's okay. I'm not mad.” She slipped the mug in front of him.

It had flowers on it and said in rainbow-colored writing, The Best Mom Ever! with, I Thank God for You printed beneath it.

Heath stared at it as if the cup were the single most horrible thing he'd ever seen.

“It was the only one without a chip in it. I have a six-year-old boy and no dishwasher. Being hand-washed around here is hazardous for mugs.”

The color drained from his face.

Maybe it wasn't the femininity of the cup that
was bothering him. If she'd been thinking, she would have remembered there was also the Bible passage on the mug. He wasn't a churchgoer. She knew how it felt to feel pressured about one's faith or lack of it. Through her own experience, it seemed God came to those who needed Him most when they needed him.

Heath surely looked as if he were a man hurting. She switched the cups and reached for a spoon to transfer the frothy marshmallows. “Maybe you wouldn't mind this one as much. It's just got a little chip.”

“No, don't bother.” He nudged the damaged mug back. The tendons stood out like ropes in his neck.

“Look, I can't do this.” He pushed away from the table. “Keep the money. I appreciate the job, I do. I just—” he glanced around, the light draining from his eyes as he headed to the door “—can't.”

She hadn't even had the chance to finish the check. Where was he going? And on foot? She grabbed the keys, for she meant for him to drive back to town. He could leave her car at the diner and she'd catch a ride to work with Rachel. It was too cold for him to walk all the way to the diner. She hated to think of him cold and alone and miserable.

What would make him bolt out of here as if he'd been set on fire?

Then she looked behind her at the wall. Westin's framed baby pictures decorated the space between the fridge and the wall. Adorable pictures of her son when he was first sitting up and learning to walk.

In those pictures, it was hard to miss his downy soft platinum hair, sparkling blue eyes and the way he was all boy. Westin at that age had a spirit as sweet as spun sugar….

Looking at those pictures, she realized exactly why Heath's heart was as lost as one of the black holes Westin was always reading about. Tears wet her cheek before she realized they were falling.

Please, Father,
she prayed,
help him.

There was no answer in the endless silence.

S
he found him in the snow, just standing there as if he'd gotten only that far before the pain took over. Tiny perfect crystal flakes had gathered in his dark hair and graced the breadth of his shoulders. He was such a big strong man and yet how could any one person be mighty enough to withstand the immense grief he'd known?

Sympathy moved through her as she laid a hand on his wide back. She wasn't surprised at all that he felt like steel. But she wasn't prepared for the virulent explosion of emotion, like a supernova's shock waves, that radiated from him and into her. She felt as if she could feel his soul.

Oh, Heath.
She'd never known such agony; not the loss of her parents when she was young, not the desperate life in a cruel city. Nothing she'd been through compared to the pain she felt rolling through her.

It was an all-encompassing pain. And how could it be anything else? A child was infinitely precious. How well she remembered the thrill and the intense burst of love she'd felt the first time she'd held her son in her arms. She tried to imagine Heath with his son. The pride he would have felt. And more, so much more. He would have harbored every hope of happiness for his son. A joyful, carefree childhood and the chance through education or training to achieve his dreams.

She knew, too, Heath would have dreamed of spending the years to come with his boy. Of lazy summer afternoons fishing along the shady banks of a quiet river. Of loud roaring crowds and hot dogs and a perfect view of home base. Of college graduation and the pride a father took in his son growing into a fine man.

The ashes of those dreams remained, imprinted forever into Heath's soul. But otherwise, they were gone like ashes scattered in a bitter wind.

She leaned her forehead against the unyielding plane of his shoulder blade. She was barely aware of the bitter cold, accumulating snow and dissipating fog curling around them, shrouding them from the neighbors, from the street, from the world.

There were just the two of them and Heath didn't move. Except for the rise and fall of his chest and the thump of his heartbeat, he could have been cast in stone. In some ways, Amy realized, he was.

She hadn't held a man in a long time, but she simply did it without knowing why. She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the thick muscled feel of him, and held on. Overcome, she pressed her cheek against his back and did the only thing she could. She let him know that he wasn't alone.

And so they remained until the sun warmed the cold black mountains to the east. The first streaks of gold haloed the tiniest of snowflakes that fell like a promise over the crisp white earth. Dawn came as wide streaks of light broke free from behind the mountains.

Heath slipped from her arms, without a word of explanation or apology. She pressed the keys to her car in his hand along with the thick fold of bills—her tip money from yesterday, since his paycheck was still half-written on her kitchen table.

He didn't say a word as he pushed the keys and money back into her palm. Pure pain twisted his face as he walked into the glare of the sunrise and disappeared from her sight.

 

The most beautiful mornings seemed to always follow the cruel storms.

The cheerful sun had Amy blinking against the brightness as lemony rays shot through the slats of the diner's white window blinds. She poured two cups of coffee from the first batch of brew of the day. The front door was still locked—they had four minutes to go until opening time, and she needed it.

Stifling a jaw-splitting yawn, she brought both cups of coffee to the far booth near the kitchen, where Jodi was lacing up her tennis shoes. She was bleary-eyed from working a late shift at her second job. Single moms had to do what they could to make ends meet, even if it was working late at night.

The dawn seemed unaware of their indifference. Sunshine beamed between the slats in the opened blinds and warmed the morning. Amy tried to keep her thoughts on the day ahead—Westin had a doctor's appointment this afternoon and she needed to go grocery shopping. She had to call Kelly because, with Heath gone, she was likely going to have to work a shift tonight and would need a baby-sitter.

“I suppose Paige'll be here soon on a rampage.” Jodi winked as she gave the sugar canister a nudge and it slid to Amy. “She's been gone for two weeks. She'll have all kinds of energy saved up for us. I'm looking forward to it.”

“Sure, because you're not related to her.” Amy loved her oldest sister. Everybody did. Paige was just…used to being in charge and that had been fine when Amy was ten but now that she was twenty-five, it was a different story.

Plus, when Paige found out Heath was gone, Amy was going to get another lecture on the proper method of interviewing employees to safeguard against this kind of thing. Poor Paige, she did everything she could to protect herself, to keep bad things
from happening. She tried so hard, but, as far as Amy saw, there wasn't much to be done about preventing some things.

Just like with Heath. Amy dumped plenty of sugar into her coffee and stirred, watching the dark liquid, remembering how Heath had made her hot chocolate last night. Odd, she couldn't remember the last time a man had made her anything at all—maybe if she could remember her father, but she couldn't. The everyday minutia of that happy life had blurred with time. She couldn't draw his face in her memory anymore. And as for Westin's father, well, he was more the kind who demanded to be waited on.

Remembering how lost Heath had seemed, shrouded by fog, blanketed by snow, she hoped that wherever he was, he'd found peace. Surely God took special care of lost souls, saved or not. She'd always found great comfort that in spite of the dark, lonely time in Seattle when she'd turned her back on her faith, God was watching out for her regardless.

Not that she would have recognized it at the time, but she was wiser now. She had faith that Heath wasn't alone—not truly.

Across the empty main street a freight train rumbled along the tracks, the boxcars hiding the green park and meadows as they rolled endlessly on. Amy sipped her coffee, savoring the peace, and tried again not to think about Heath. Tried not to wonder where
he was. Had he found a motel to catch a few hours sleep before driving on?

Finally, the caboose capped the end of the long procession and, as the train disappeared from sight, the town fell silent and motionless. Not even the white-faced Herefords in the field behind the tracks moved. Nor did the thickets of buttercups and dandelions. If she squinted, she could see the brand-new roofs of homes in the subdivision beyond that. All was still there, too.

Peace. Amy absorbed it as she sipped her coffee.

“There's Mr. Brisbane's truck.” Jodi swigged back the last of her coffee. “Time to get to work.”

Amy took her cup with her, leaving Jodi to flip around the open sign and unlock the front door. It was a few minutes before six, but for the morning group, it didn't matter. They were more family than customers anyway.

Amy just wished she wasn't so beat. Exhaustion weighed her down, and she felt as though she was moving in slow motion as she pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. She was on the grill for the breakfast shift, so her thoughts were already turning to putting on extra bacon for Mr. Winkler and maple sausage for Mr. Brisbane. She was thinking ahead to their orders—she needed to open a new can of jalapeños—so when she saw the hulking man at the grill, she didn't recognize him. Adrenaline shot into her blood.
Oh, no, more trouble…

No, it was Heath. He was at the grill. He was starting to cook.

What was he doing here? She hadn't spotted his pickup in the back lot when she'd arrived. She hadn't heard him come in, but it really was him. He didn't look up as he slapped thick strips of bacon onto the grill. The sizzle and snap filled the long stretch of silence as her thoughts switched tracks and she realized that he was real and no dream.

“‘Mornin'.” Abrupt, cold as glacial ice, he kept his back firmly turned. He finished with the bacon and began setting links of sausage on the grill.

He'd been busy while she'd been in the dining room drinking coffee. Bread stood in the industrial-sized toaster ready to be put down. The pancake batter was mixed, and he'd already put a pan of muffins in the oven. Incredible.

“Good morning.” Amy opened the fridge and pulled out a big batch of cinnamon rolls, iced and fresh and ready to be heated. “I wasn't expecting you.”

Heath remained silent and stiff. A stone statue couldn't have been less interactive.

He stared through the order-up counter into the dining room while he worked, as if he were very interested in Jodi's conversation with Bob Brisbane about the snow that had come and gone, and the damage to the front windows.

The kitchen seemed silent in contrast. Way too silent. Questions rushed to the tip of her tongue, but
she didn't ask them. She didn't know why Heath had returned, but she sensed if she asked him about it, then he'd be gone for good. So she reset the oven, careful not to get too close while she rescued the perfectly baked muffins.

“Sorry I'm late.”

He didn't sound sorry, he sounded empty. “It was just a few minutes. Don't worry about it.”

“It won't happen again.”

“Okay.”

He was treating her as if their earlier emotional intimacy had never happened. She could still feel the deepest of sorrow clinging to him. And if he needed distance to cope, she could give him that. It wasn't as if there could be more anyway. She wasn't looking for love—that was absolutely out of the question. Maybe they would wind up as friends, and a girl could never have too many of those blessings.

Heath looked like someone who could use a friend, too. “Did you get any sleep?”

“I didn't, but that's not unusual.” She loaded the industrial-sized toaster as the door jangled, announcing another customer. “You?”

He shook his head instead of answering and turned his back. His message was clear. The conversation, such as it was, was over.

The deputy shouldered through the threshold, uniformed, his hat in hand. He caught her gaze, nodded
once as if he wanted to speak with her when she got the chance, and took a table near the back.

Since Heath looked purposefully busy, keeping his back rigid, his head turned, it wasn't hard to figure out there was no point trying to help out in the kitchen. He could handle it, and he clearly wasn't comfortable around her, so she let him be. On her way past the coffee station, she snatched the carafe and the back of her neck tingled. She knew Heath was watching her, although when she looked up, his attention was on his work.

It was likely to be a busy morning, she thought as she squinted at the sun-bright windows. Several pickups and cars were starting to fill the parking slots outside. Jodi was busy with the regulars, so Amy grabbed a folded newspaper and headed straight for Frank's table.

She didn't ask if he wanted coffee, he always wanted coffee, so she simply turned over the cup in its saucer and filled it with the steaming brew. “I don't know if I thanked you enough for all you did last night.”

“It's my job, you know that. I was glad I was able to help out.”

“It wasn't your job to stay after those men were arrested. Or to carry plywood and nail it up, and nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise.” She handed him a menu. “Will those guys be out on bail anytime soon?”

“The bail bondsman wouldn't cover them, so they're staying until their hearing on Monday morning. Maybe a stint in lock-up will give them time to do a little thinking, and they'll straighten up.”

“I hope so, for everyone's sake.” At least she didn't have to worry about any more retribution, at least for now. She trusted the local law enforcement to keep an eye on the situation. Just think, if both the deputy and the sheriff hadn't been so willing to hop out of bed in the middle of the night, how much more damage would those two drunks have done?

Amy shuddered at the thought. “Do you need some time, or do you know what you want?”

“I already have a hankering for your eggs Benedict.” He scanned the listings. “You wouldn't be able to make that a combination meal for me, would you?”

“For you, anything.” She took back the menu, scribbling on the ticket as she went and underlining, Generous Portions, because she owed Frank, too.

“Order in.” She clipped the ticket to the wheel, but Heath ignored her as he sprinkled cheese into the open face of a cooking omelet.

It was pretty clear this was how it was going to be between them. As the morning passed in a flurry of activity, Heath didn't look at her once. He spoke to her only when absolutely necessary for the job.

While she was disappointed, if that's what he needed, then fine. Thinking about what he'd lost, she gave deep thanks for her son. The best gift she'd ever
been given. She couldn't let her mind roll forward to imagine losing Westin—no, she couldn't
think
about it. She just couldn't.

But for what Heath had suffered, he had her respect. She didn't question him. She didn't try to talk to him more than necessary. Paige came in, all aflurry, bent on calling every last glass man in the phone book to get the best price. She was a good businesswoman, but Amy's heart was no longer in the loss of a window or the thoughtless retribution of two sorry men who'd been fired from the mill, as Frank had told her on his way out the door.

She might have a ten-year-old car and a job that wasn't fancy, exciting or impressive, but she could provide for her son. She lived modestly and she didn't have a high-school diploma. Some people might not think she had a lot, but they would be wrong. She had everything. Everything that mattered.

Although the morning was busy, she made sure she found time to give Paige a hug, call her son before Rachel took him to school, and thank God for the blessings in her life.