The Sweetest Gift (The McKaslin Clan: Series 1 Book 2) (11 page)

So had she.

She would give anything to go back and ask the Lord to take her instead.

But the past could not be changed. It wasn’t a tape to be recorded over or a movie take to be refilmed. And from that day forward, she’d done everything she could to make up for what had happened. She worked hard. She learned more. She volunteered. She rescued a puppy from the animal shelter.

It was never enough. How could it be?

How did she stop the pain gnawing at her heart like a hungry termite? Nibbling away on the edges so that the hurting never stopped? With every bite there was less of her, and she didn’t know how to ever feel whole again.

And there stood Sam, as invincible as the night and so amazing and capable, he looked as if nothing could ever defeat him.

All he had to do was hold her, and he could ease this pain. In his arms she felt comforted. She needed him, in the deep places in her soul where no light reached.

“You did all you could. Sometimes that’s the only truth there is. And you have to find a way to live with it.” Tender, his words. Caring, his touch as he held her arms. When she planted her hands on his chest to push away, he stopped her. “Trust that the Lord put you in that situation for a reason.”

“What reason? I held her while she died, and what really mattered inside me died, too. And do you know the worst thing? Do you know what I did when the rescue team found us? My first thought was, I’m going to live.” There, she said it. “Now you know how petty I am.”

He knew the worst of her. He wouldn’t want her now. There was no way she was going to see that on his face. See his affection for her change to hatred.

But he didn’t let her go. He pinned her to his chest and held her there. Tears scalded her eyes and came in a hot burning wave that drowned her. Tears of sorrow and horror and loss broke loose and crashed through her. Sorrow for the other people, wounded and broken, she couldn’t save.

Sorrow for the pediatric floor nurse who had no trauma training, no emergency nursing. For her oldest sister she loved so fiercely and for her loss that would never be healed.

She cried because now that Sam knew, he couldn’t stand her either. And, she feared, maybe God, too.

He’d called her to be a nurse, and she’d failed her sister and failed her fellow Christians.

She’d failed Him.

And while it was too late, she couldn’t do enough to make up for it. Not now. Not ever.

Choking on her own failure, she had no one to blame but herself. She pushed away from Sam, and this time he let her go. She yanked open her door and he didn’t stop her. She drove away, spitting gravel as she drove too fast, watching his image in her rearview mirror.

He stood bigger, taller. A man of substance and honor and courage, surrounded by the night, blessed by the silvered moonlight. As she rounded the corner, he disappeared from her sight.

The stars winked, bright and perfect, above the cemetery. Their light hazed down on the headstone of pure white marble. Carla would have approved. He was still healing the knee he’d blown out, the femur he’d broken in five places during the crash and the gunshot wounds from the fight with the enemy.

Now this new wound. She’d told him she’d never forgive him for letting Mark die, his navigator and his best friend. She’d been in love with Mark, but he’d rejected her. She’d married him only so she could be a pilot’s wife. An officer’s wife.

That was the greatest wound of all—inflicted when he’d come home to the wife he loved more than his life. He’d endured capture and torture and watching the deaths of his closest friends and held on with this steadfast faith and his unconditional love for his wife. The goodness that had helped him hold on in the face of cruelty.

All he’d wanted to do was love his wife. Have a good life with her. And she’d turned away from him. Blamed him. Told him she wanted a divorce and sped away, only to die in a car accident twelve minutes later.

She’d taken his heart with her to the grave. He felt as if the only light on this earth he’d believed in had been snuffed out.

And he was alone in the dark.

Sam startled awake to a silence that felt as thick as sorrow. His breathing, the rustle of the sheets as he flung them off, the groan of the mattress coils as he sat up to bury his face in his hands emphasized just how alone he really was.

Would it always be this way? And why, tonight, was he wondering that question? For the first time since the day he’d buried his wife, he wanted to love again. How insane was that? Her betrayals had cut him deeply and remained a scar on his soul.

Never trust a woman with too much of you. That’s what he’d learned. He saw it over and over again over the years, with his buddies from high school and from the service. Marriages that didn’t last, that couldn’t stand the test of time. And many of those that lasted, did so with sadness and distance for the children’s sakes or because divorce was unthinkable.

This was Kirby’s fault. She made him want to believe. She made him want to try. She made him wonder, what if this time with her it could be different?

Anger speared through him, both hot and sharp. The pain was a physical one that had him bounding up from the mattress and stumbling around a snoring Leo sprawled out on the floor. Sam yanked on his wrinkled pair of jeans as he stormed into the hallway.

She’d surprised him tonight. She’d rattled him. She’d knocked at the defenses surrounding his heart, and those defenses were holding
…barely.

Yep, this was all her fault.

Tonight her house was dark. Had she come home? He’d driven straight from the airport, but her car wasn’t in the driveway. Worried about her, he’d cruised through town but hadn’t spotted her car parked along the main street. She had probably gone home to her family, he figured, or to one of those sisters of hers and some serious girl talk.

At least, that’s what he hoped. The thought of her alone and hurting tore at him.

He’d kept an eye out for her lights next door, but she hadn’t come home.

She doesn’t need you, man. She had family. She had her pick of men more worthy than him. But he wanted to be the shoulder she leaned on. He wanted to be her shelter from the storms of her life. Why?

Because she’d made him feel. Strong. Worthy. Wanted. She’d clung to him, her fingers clenching the knit fabric of his T-shirt. She’d held him so tight. She needed him.
Him.
She’d felt so fragile and precious and—

Whoa, hold it right there, man. That’s the kind of thinking that got you into trouble last time.

And what a mess of trouble that had turned out to be.

He padded through the kitchen, stole a root beer from the fridge and popped the top. The soda was ice-cold on his tongue and fizzled down his throat. But nothing would soothe him on this night, so he set it on the counter.

The clock on the stove said it was well after two. Was Kirby home? He couldn’t see her driveway from this angle, and all her windows were dark. Wait, there was a movement. Outside, on her back porch.

Adrenaline shot through him. His first thought was a burglar. But no, it couldn’t be. The shadow was too slim, and if it was a burglar, it was a very unambitious one. It was a woman, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders as she eased onto the top porch step. She hid her face in her hands, a perfect image of misery.

Kirby.

T
he fence boards groaned. It was Kirby’s only warning before a dark shock of hair and two eyes peered over the top of the boards. Sam climbed over the fence like an escaped prisoner, or maybe a spy on a mission, and landed upright, on both feet. The little spaniel gave a yip of greeting and ran over to wiggle in a circle around Sam’s ankles.

“Can’t you use the gate like a normal person?”

“Why be normal?”

She rolled her eyes. She should have known she couldn’t escape him. That’s why she hadn’t come straight home. Why she’d driven around the countryside for a while, thought about heading to her parents’ house and decided against it. In the end, she wanted to be alone.

And still did.

Thank goodness it was dark. She didn’t think she could look Sam Gardner in the eye. She stood and dusted off her sweats. “C’mon, Jessie, time for bed.”

The spaniel refused to come, preferring to orbit Sam’s ankles. Sam’s big hands looked rough, but they were gentle as he knelt to stroke the dog’s back. Steady and caring.

Mr. Perfect.

Why did that suddenly make her angry? Kirby fought a quick wave of despair. There was no way he’d treat her the same way. No chance that he’d pull her against his chest and hold her close forever.

There was no chance of being wrapped in his arms and finding hope. As if she could finally start living again.

That didn’t make any sense, because she
was
living, she
was
alive. She had her own house and a perfectly useful life. She volunteered and worked and was faithful. She tried to be a good daughter and sister.

“You’re not okay. Don’t lie me.” Sam’s touch grazed her face, drying away a tear.

She wasn’t crying. She blinked hard to keep the emotions dammed up where they belonged. “I’ll
be
all right.”

“That’s not good enough. Sorry. You need a friend, and here I am.”

A friend. Yeah, that’s what she needed. “I have plenty of friends.”

She turned away, fighting a suffocating sorrow that was pulling her down. She needed to be alone. She wanted to get away from Sam so he wouldn’t see what a mess she really was.

“Bet you don’t have a friend like me.” He brushed windswept hair from the side of her face, exposing her more to him.

Exposing too much. Panic welled up, too.

Choking, she stumbled away.

“I’m not going to leave until I know you’re all right.” His step sounded on the deck behind her.

Kirby felt his closeness like a radiant heat. Felt it like a brush to her heart. Like a comfort to her soul.

“I told you, I’m fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the memories. The images of what a plane crash could do. Of blood and horror and fire.

“Liar.” He curled his fingers around her nape, his fingertips skimming the skin an inch below her collar. “Scars from a fire. You were burned.”

She nodded. “Half of my back. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t anything compared to—” She took a few deep breaths. Nothing hurt more than the emotional pain. The horror of that night. And the guilt of every day since.

He wanted to ease her pain. “I was flying in to pick up a team of SEALs on a black ops mission and took a direct hit. There was nothing I could do. Next thing I knew, my bird was smoking. I had no controls and we were dropping. We hit hard. I mean, I did everything I could and it was a bad impact. I couldn’t believe the three of us were still alive. We were all busted up real good.”

“Did people die?”

“Yeah. And why me? I lived. I was hurtin’ bad, but the luck of the draw, the way the bird went down, I had no control, nothin’. We hit trees or we would all have been dead. I think of that crash nearly every day of my life.”

“You were a good soldier, too, weren’t you?”

“Passable. Good enough that we put up a good fight before we ran out of ammo.”

“You were hurt?”

“Yeah.”

She heard the sadness in his voice, the honesty. See how noble Sam was?

Her voice cracked with the respect she felt for him. “You were captured?”

“Yep.”

She went cold. He’d had it so much worse than she could ever imagine. “You were rescued?”

“I was. But my buddies died and there was nothing I could do. To this day I feel responsible, but I can’t go back and change anything. Sometimes bad things happen. It’s hard to accept, but it’s true. And when things go wrong, all we can do is our best to deal with it.”

Hot tears crept down her cheeks. “I’m sorry your friends died.”

“Me, too.” His voice cracked, raw and thick with emotion. “I had the privilege of living, of going home to the wife I loved more than my life, and attended my friends’ funerals. Men who died while I survived.”

“I know how that feels.” She wanted to wrap her arms around him and take his pain. To do anything to keep him from hurting. But what right did she have? He was not hers to love.

He never would be.

Sam cleared his throat and stared up at the stars so crisp and bright. “That’s why I retired. I couldn’t bury any more buddies. Living is better than dying, but it sure is harder. It took me a long time before I figured out I still had a life. And it dishonored their memories if I didn’t do my best every day to enjoy my second chance.”

“But you were a hero.”

“No, I’m just a man, Kirby.”

“I was a nurse. I couldn’t make a difference.” She couldn’t ever forget.

Or forgive herself. So how could he forgive her?

“All those people you couldn’t help.” Sam could feel her pain as if it were his own. He knew about guilt. He knew about sorrow so deep it reached clear to the soul. “Don’t blame yourself. You did all you could.”

How could he be so kind? He knew the worst about her. The very worst. She wasn’t a good person. Not at all. “I should have done something. The injuries were too critical. I—I can’t talk about this. C’mon, Jess. We’re going in.”

Sam’s words stopped her. “Maybe God made sure you were in that plane on that day for a different reason. Maybe you weren’t meant to save them.”

“No, I can’t accept that God would let people I know were good and kind die. I was supposed to help them. I’m a nurse. I’ve been called to be a nurse, and on the day it mattered, the day when it was clear God had made me a nurse for a purpose, I failed them. I failed Him. I failed myself.”

There. It was only the truth. Shame crashed through her with the force of an ocean wave, knocking her off balance, and she lurched toward the door.

As often as she prayed, she’d never found any comfort. Any answer. Any solution other than to keep trying to be a better nurse. To hope one day she would make a difference. Finally do right by herself, her fellow man and God.

“Or maybe you weren’t there to save them, Kirby. But to comfort them in an impossible situation. Maybe God doesn’t sit up on high clouds making planes crash. But maybe He does make sure that when things go wrong in this world, there are faithful and merciful people in our lives who can make tragedies bearable.”

“But I couldn’t—”

“Maybe you were there to be a comfort to your sister and to those you’ve known all your life, when they needed comfort most of all.”

That could
not
be true. Kirby leaned her forehead against the glass pane in the door, her hand at the knob. She stood perfectly still, but she was breaking inside. “I was no comfort to anyone, I’m sure.”

“Yeah? You make a difference every day. I’ve seen you at work. I know the kind of person you are, Kirby. You shouldn’t feel guilty. You should feel glad you were there where you were needed. You need to take responsibility for what you did, not for what you were never responsible for. You cared for the dying. You did what you could to ease their suffering.”

There had been so much suffering. She’d felt so inadequate to the task that day.

“God must have smiled when you were born, because He knew you were a good, gentle soul, and that makes a difference, Kirby. Maybe it is the only difference we can really make in this world. To be kind and compassionate. To love.”

She felt as if she were crumbling from the inside out. The hard wall she’d put up around the wounds in her spirit, to hide all her fears and shame, was cracking. Sam’s gentle baritone punched at those defenses, and they were coming down. Every last one.

Like a breached dam, all those pent-up feelings and stored-up pain cascaded free, moving through her, falling away.

“Let it go, Kirby.” He folded his arms around her middle, supporting her so that her back was to his chest. So secure, holding her up when her knees wobbled.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Just let go. Let it go.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” His lips brushed the crown of her head in a tender kiss. “Or it will consume you until it’s taken everything valuable about your life.”

“Maybe that’s the way it should be.”

“And what good is that gonna do you? Or those people you couldn’t save? What about God? Is that why He spared you? So you could live in the past, trying to correct something that was never your fault? Or would He want you to embrace all the blessings He’s given you and keep making a difference in this world?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. I volunteer—”

“For the wrong reasons. And that makes all the difference.” He kissed her cheek, a warm brush of sweetness. Of caring.

Of love? she wondered.

“It’s late.” He released her. “Let’s get you inside.”

He opened the door and her dog dashed in first, anxious over Kirby’s distress.

Sam moved past her in the dark kitchen, found her box of dog biscuits on the counter and handed one to her spaniel. “You were a good girl,” he told Jessie. “Go to bed, go on.”

With a look of uncertainty the dog glanced at Kirby, whined and then obeyed, trotting down the short hall and disappearing into the nearby bedroom.

“You’re next.” Sam took her by the hand, commanding but gentle.

How could a man be so strong and tender at once? She admired him even more as he led her down the hall, set her on the edge of her bed and knelt to tug off her shoes. The love she felt for him doubled inside her. Tripled. Expanded until she brimmed full with it, a bright pure light of affection that hurt as much as it healed.

“You be smart and listen to me, because I’m right about this. I promise.” He gently nudged her shoulder, guiding her down to her pillows, and tucked the covers up to her chin. “
He saved us, not because of the good things we did, but because of His mercy.
Let go and let God, okay?”

How was she going to defend herself against him now? He’d stolen her heart. She loved him with all of her being. With all her soul.

His kiss grazed her lips. Warm as velvet, gentle as mercy, as thrilling as first love.

As true love.

“Sleep well, beautiful. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She couldn’t speak. She was too raw. Too drained. She could only watch as he moved through the darkness, substance and shadow. He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone.

But not lonely.

God had meant Sam to come into her life. Not only to help her, but to love her.

Sam was the one. The one she was meant to love forever and for all time.

Sam watched dawn take over the sky and decided to get up from the front step and make a pot of coffee. Strong enough to keep even him awake. He had a long day of work ahead. The accountant was going to go over the books with him, and that was scary. He was going to have to figure out how to keep up with the paperwork or hire a bookkeeper to do it.

The thought of sharing the quiet of his office with anyone, especially a woman, made him decide that he’d rather learn to do it himself. After all, he was a businessman. He ought to be able to figure out the books.

Leo trotted into the kitchen, yawned and looked pointedly at his bowl.

“Here you go, boy.” Sam filled the dog bowl with kibbles.

While Leo ate as through he’d been starving, gobbling and crunching and gulping, Sam grabbed the bag of coffee from the freezer. It took less than a minute to get a pot brewing, and the warm comforting scent encouraged him. He might make it through the day to come.

Sleep had eluded him. Why? He hadn’t been haunted by the past in his dreams. He’d been up thinking about Kirby. No, he’d been trying
not
to think about Kirby.

He’d worried about her. He was concerned about her. He cared about her. About Miss Perfect In Every Way.

He grabbed his favorite mug off the drainer and filled it with steaming coffee. Leaving the rest of the pot to brew, he headed to the front door. Kirby was probably up by now, letting her little dog into the backyard. He wanted to check on her, but his feelings were too raw.

He needed to figure out how he felt about her before he saw her again. He needed to know how to act. Everything had consequences, and last night he’d kissed her. He winced. He loved kissing her. He hadn’t meant to kiss her. It had simply happened.

“C’mon Leo.” He yanked open the front door, deciding to avoid her.

Whatever he was feeling, he wanted to get it straightened out before he saw her again. It was the smart thing to do.

Except he should have checked out his window first. There she was, looking like everything good in the world, standing in her front yard. She wore a modest blue sweater and black pants, and her hair was unbound, soft and shimmering and glorious.

She was beautiful. More so today than he’d ever seen her. How was it that she grew more lovely every time he looked at her?

Leo barked and bounded down the front steps, and it was too late to do anything but follow him out into the bright sunshine. The little spaniel gave a yip in greeting and the dogs sniffed noses, then took off running around the front yard together.

“I’m running late this morning,” he explained as he knelt to grab his morning paper from the sidewalk. “How about you? How did you sleep?”

“Good. I start at seven this morning.” She pushed up her sleeve to glance at her gold watch. “I’ve got to get going. Thank you for last night, Sam. For everything you did.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”