Wanted: A Family (11 page)

He dried his palms, then took the towel from her hands, ushered her to the table and pulled out a chair, gently guiding her into it. Then he knelt and cupped her foot. Before she could protest, he removed one of her shoes, then the other.

Callie's heart galloped like a runaway horse. “I, uh, my shoes aren't as comfortable now that my feet have started to swell.”

Why had she said such a personal thing?

“I can see that.”

The concern she heard in his voice and the gentle, caring expression on his face heated hers. What was this man doing to her with just a look?

Moonlight filtered through the window, highlighting his features. His woodsy scent drifted closer.

“Though from what I've seen, ladies worry about fashion more than comfort.”

“I, uh, won't make that mistake again. Well, at least until after my baby's born,” she finished, not sure if she made sense.

With still-damp hands, he encircled her right foot and massaged her toes through her stockings, something far too intimate for a man who wasn't her husband to do. She tried to retract her foot from his grasp, but his nimble fingers continued kneading her toes, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her until she almost groaned.

She should stop him. She would. “Jacob.”

“Hmm?”

“You shouldn't.”

But her eyelids drifted closed under his gentle, yet firm touch. His hands slid down her foot to her arch. He rubbed the curve, his fingers easing her aching bones. It was all she could do not to purr like Stripes. His hands moved to the heel, then back to her toes.

When he set her foot on his knee, her eyelids flew open. The intimacy heated her cheeks and she yanked her foot out of his grasp. “I… My feet are fine. Let's finish the dishes.”

“Let me do something for you for a change.”

He lifted her other foot, ministering to that one as he had the first. Each stroke of his fingers eased the throbbing in her feet and fulfilled her need to be cared for. A need she hadn't known she possessed. Since adulthood, she'd been the one to take care of others. Until now.

She reminded herself that Jacob Smith couldn't be trusted. He might be kind, considerate and hardworking, but he kept his past secret. Why? Had he been harmed by others? Had he done something evil? No, she couldn't believe him capable of harm. Was he simply a lonely man?

Whatever his past, something had brought him to town.

Jacob lowered her foot to the floor. At the loss of his touch, disappointment slid through her. A silly reaction.

He tugged her to her feet then handed her shoes to her. “Go on up to bed. I'll finish here and lock up.”

His no-nonsense tone kept her from expressing her gratitude that for once, someone had eased her burden. That someone took care of Callie Mitchell, instead of the other way around.

“Are you sure, Jacob?”

“Very.” His tender gaze collided with hers, and then he cupped her jaw. His touch made her wobbly on her feet. “You work too hard. It's the least I can do.”

He stepped closer and closer still, until he stood mere inches away. Tiny gold flecks bordered the dark mesmerizing pupils of his eyes glittering in the lamplight, and then settling on her lips. And stayed.

“I see you every day. Every day your beauty socks me in the gut. Not just outside, but inside too, the heart of who you are. And I wonder what it would be like to hold you in my arms.” His Adam's apple rose and fell. “Do you wonder that, too?”

She couldn't look away. Couldn't speak. Could only nod.

“May I kiss you?”

Every rational thought fled her mind as she looked into those clear pools of jade. And saw nothing to harm her. What if… What if Jacob Smith was the caring man he appeared to be? What if she could trust and lean on him? What if God had brought Jacob here to mend more than her house? To mend her aching heart? Knowing Jacob would turn to Him in God's time?

With all those questions burning in her mind, Callie looked at his lips—soft, full, slightly parted—waiting for
her answer. The slight pressure of his hand under her jaw felt right, as no touch ever had.

She wanted his kiss. Wanted it badly. Refusing to heed the warnings churning inside her, she rose on tiptoe, the only answer she could give. As she slid her arms around his neck, her shoes clattered to the floor.

His lips captured hers. Gentle, teasing, sending shivers up her spine and curling her toes inside her stockings. He pulled her closer and she clung to him, then she raised her palms to caress the sandpaper of his jaw. The pressure of his lips grew stronger, bolder. She returned the pressure, her response to the man left her weak-kneed and wobbly.

Jacob's breathing grew rapid, matching hers. Oh, when had she ever felt like this? His fingers splayed in her hair, sending pins to the floor, unleashing her hair—and triggering her faltering common sense.

Chest heaving, gasping for breath, she pulled away from his arms. Like a starving man, his eyes devoured her. Something passed between them, something unspoken yet powerful. So powerful it frightened her.

She took a hurried step back. “Good night,” she said, then fled the kitchen, leaving her shoes and the last remnant of her composure behind.

 

Struggling to control his breathing, his need for Callie, Jake planted his palms on the counter, hunched forward, the memory of Callie's sweet lips beneath his searing his mind. Sheer torture. Nothing had prepared him for his strong reaction to their kiss.

With shaky hands, he washed and rinsed the tumblers, almost dropping the last one as he set it on the counter, then loaded the dishpan with the pots and pans. While they soaked, he dried the tumblers, peering though the kitchen window at the patch of night sky and the stars twinkling
overhead, and relived that kiss. Beneath his tense fingers, the glass squeaked.

One kiss wasn't enough. He wanted more. He wanted Callie.

He released a shuddering breath and laid the towel aside, tackling the roasting pan. Nothing in his relationship with Susan prepared him for his powerful feelings for Callie.

After sharing that kiss, a kiss that bonded him to Callie in a way he couldn't understand, he knew he would do anything for her. He'd go to the ends of the earth to protect her. To comfort her. To take care of her.

Yet, he'd read the panic in her eyes, the resolve to keep him at arm's length immediately before she stepped away and fled from him. The truth slammed against his lungs. She knew what he just now recognized. Callie was a strong, independent woman who didn't need his protection or comfort. What she needed from him, he couldn't give. Or fix. Or build.

She needed his heart.

His heart wasn't worth having.

Shriveled from years of neglect. Frozen at the hands of Susan and Lloyd's betrayal. Etched with the filth of prison.

Callie deserved more. So much more.

Why had he, even for a moment, believed they had a future together?

He hadn't robbed that store. He hadn't deserved that year in jail. What did it matter? Those who learned about his time behind bars didn't believe in his innocence. Didn't trust him.

If only he could tell Callie, be honest with her, but he didn't dare take the risk. If she reacted as others had, he would be destroyed.

But hadn't he also seen her response, that undeniable
pull between them? A pull that would disappear the moment Callie knew about his past. He'd witnessed the lowest depths of man's depravity. Freed months ago, he still felt dirty. Unclean. No matter how often he scrubbed his skin.

As he finished drying the last pot, he glanced around the tidy kitchen. Nothing more to do here.

He locked Callie's house, about to return to the lean-to out back, then hesitated on the stoop. He should leave. Tonight.

That's what a smart man would do. Get out of town before the ugliness of his past touched Callie. But he couldn't leave her in the lurch. Not with all the work that still needed to be done.

Not only did the past stand between them. The future did, too. The baby Callie carried would need a strong, wise father. A Godly man. He didn't know how to create a family. He had never experienced such a thing. Didn't have that faith in God she prized. His past had taught him to run, to keep moving on before staying brought pain.

Better to remember why he came.

He entered the lean-to and dropped onto the cot, staring at the drawer that held those postcards. If he hoped to find his mother, he didn't have much time. Any day now, the unwed mother from Bloomington could arrive and expose his past.

Tomorrow, he'd look at the newspapers. See what he could find. And move on.

He released a gust of air, together with the pent-up desire to get close to Callie Mitchell.

He didn't dare. Some things were better left alone.

C
allie handed the tray loaded with plaster up to Jacob as he stood on the ladder, repairing the ceiling. In her
bedroom.

After the kiss they'd shared last night, she couldn't look at Jacob without her stomach fluttering like it held a bevy of butterflies. Every word, every glance and movement, multiplied her awareness of the man and their location.

The bed seemed to have doubled in size, her personal items scattered around the room—her hairbrush, robe and slippers—left her feeling edgier than chickens facing a dog in the henhouse.

As Jacob packed the crack with plaster, smoothing the edges as he worked, each stroke bunched the muscles in his arm and back. Callie's mouth went dry, yet she couldn't look away.

After last night, nothing would be the same between her and Jacob. She wanted to shrug off the significance of that kiss. Wanted to pretend that there would be no consequences from that kiss. Wanted to forget that the blood in her veins had surged with that kiss.

The truth was undeniable. She was attracted to Jacob Smith. The man was a drifter.

Without faith.

A mystery.

And
worming his way into her life.

Her heart lurched. That scared her silly. She would not care about this man. Especially since he behaved as if that kiss they'd shared had never happened. Yet that kiss shouted in the silence, tightened in her shoulders and shook in her hands.

She had to do something to cut the tension stretching between them like a taut rubber band about to snap. What could she talk about? “Commodore certainly put a damper on things last night.”

“The man's scowl could topple a hot-air balloon.”

“He's never been an easy man. But losing his only child… That wound won't heal.”

“Maybe it would, if he quit picking at the scab.”

“What do you mean?”

He glanced down at her. “Instead of harping at you about giving up this house, if he'd pitch in to help, he'd fill that chink in his heart.”

Good deeds, exactly as Jacob did now repairing the crack in her ceiling, fixing the porch and rails, making the house livable, doing every conceivable chore to make her life easier and in the process becoming indispensable.

Well, she wouldn't allow herself to need him that way. Hardworking didn't equal trustworthy. Trustworthy meant everything to her. So why did his presence make her feel more alive, more energized and eager to greet each new day?

“Commodore blames the house for Martin's death,” she said, determined to keep the focus on her father-in-law and off all these thoughts about Jacob.

“Until Commodore lets that go, he'll never find peace.”

Would Commodore ever find peace as long as she lived
in this house? Her gaze traveled the crown molding, slid to the imposing chandelier, then dropped to the wooden floor she'd waxed until the boards gleamed. Most of the rooms in the house resembled this one—elegant, yet not fussy—and spacious, the height of the windows matching the lofty scale. The house wrapped her in a cozy cocoon of childhood memories.

She ran her hand along the windowframe in need of a fresh coat of paint. The house needed restoring, much as the unwed mothers who would fill its rooms—each with her own story, her own struggles, each with a heart—in need of mending. Here they'd find peace, acceptance and God's love. She'd see to that.

“I'm surprised that Martin's accident hasn't destroyed my love for this house, but, if anything, I cling to it more than before,” she said softly.

“I've never had a place to call home, but I can see how this house reminds you of happy times with your family.”

They both avoided the subject of that kiss and all it implied, pretending it meant nothing, when each small touch or glance sizzled. Still, more than attraction, more than that kiss connected them. She and Jacob knew the heartache of not having or losing family.

“You understand,” she said, knowing he did, yet wishing he didn't. For that link was powerful.

As Jacob descended the ladder, her gaze locked with his. “I do.” He smiled—a gentle, encouraging gift. “In some ways the house is your security and your father-in-law's adversary, or so he believes.”

“With Commodore dead set against my living here, if I didn't love the house, I'd let it go rather than deal with his attitude. But the house means more to me than feeling at ease here. It provides plenty of room for Elise and her
baby, and room for several unwed mothers who may need a harbor in the storm.”

“Tell me why you want to open your home to these girls.”

“They're wounded and desperate. I know how desperate.” She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. “You see, my dearest friend, just sixteen years old, got with child. She and I were naive, barely knew the facts of life.” She gave a wistful smile. “Nell was beautiful. Red hair, blue eyes, full of life…”

Life was fragile.

“She fell hard for a college boy home for the summer. When he returned to school, he wrote that he was engaged to someone else. Nell was devastated. She never told me about the baby. She never told anyone.” Tears stung the back of her eyes. “Rather than face the shame of having a baby out of wedlock…”

The words stuck, but determined to make Jacob understand why she had to give these girls a home, she forced them out, each word scraping against her throat. “One night she slit her wrists and bled to death. Her baby died with her.”

The sorrow on his face threatened to undo her. Unable to hold his gaze, she studied her hands. “The day before Nell took her life, she'd been examined by a doctor.” She blinked rapidly, holding her tears at bay. “Otherwise, we'd have never known why she took her life.

“At her funeral, I made a promise. A promise that I'd never let another girl I knew go through that alone.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I intend to keep that promise. These girls need someone to care about them. Someone to listen to them. Someone to help them without judging them.”

Jacob cupped her face in his hands then drew her into
his arms. “I'm sorry about your friend. What a tragedy. I understand why you want to help.”

That Jacob's arms felt like home made Callie step away.

“But, Callie, others may not see it the same way. Housing unwed mothers will bring trouble. You've got a lot to handle as it is, without dealing with opposition from the community.”

“I can't let public opinion sway me. Not when I believe this mission is from God.”

The skeptical look on his face only proved what she already knew. Jacob Smith didn't have faith. Didn't understand that God could speak through His Word, through listening to His quiet voice or by providing opportunities. Proving once again that Jacob Smith was exactly the wrong man for her.

“Why do you think you need to advise me?” She thrust the plaster mixture at him and stalked toward the door. “You can handle this job alone.”

 

Jake didn't understand Callie at all. One minute, she'd been sharing memories, even a personal tragedy. The next, she'd stomped off like she couldn't stand the sight of him. Well, he'd have no problem handling repairs to Callie's ceiling alone. Though the job would take more time, as he ran up and down the ladder to mix and carry plaster.

Though he'd only been trying to help, his warnings upset her. Even if this was a mission from God, as she'd said, did that mean she couldn't look at the facts? He'd seen enough of life and enough of this town to know that Peaceful wouldn't allow her to give unwed mothers sanctuary without resistance. Trouble was brewing, starting with that biddy at church.

Yet he admired Callie's dedication. Yes, and that
very pretty mouth of hers. He sighed. How could a man think clearly when Callie Mitchell had stood mere inches away?

His heart tripped in his chest. If his mother had had someone like Callie in her life, someone to provide help instead of hindrances, perhaps she'd have kept him. Instead of leaving him in an orphanage, as if he wasn't worth the turmoil he'd caused. Why had she made that decision? He couldn't rest until he found the answer. Until he'd unlocked his past.

He just had to find the key.

 

Callie opened the newspaper to the Society page and a headline leaped off the page.

News must be scant this week. Which of her guests had been the source? Certainly not Jacob. Elise was unlike
ly. That left the Fredericks or Mildred. Whoever was responsible, this item could be a blessing in disguise.

Callie had planned to wait until work on the house was completed before raising funds for the unwed mothers' home, but this publicity would give her an opening she needed. Or breed more opposition. If so, what choice did she have? The time had come to seek community support. She'd go to the town fathers, to the newspaper with a plea for backing.

But first she'd talk to Pastor Steele. If trouble brewed, perhaps he'd help stem the tide of negative opinion.

Lord, again I ask, if this endeavor is in Your will, please provide as only You can.

No time like the present. She grabbed her purse, slapped her hat on her head, drove a hatpin through the crown, and then tugged on her gloves.

As she left the house, Jacob strode up the walk, his long strides swallowing the distance between them, a smile lighting up his face. He took her breath away.

“Looks like you're heading out. Mind if I walk along? I need to stop at the Mercantile and get supplies to fix that chimney.”

“I'll pay for them.” Callie dug through her purse. “Any idea how much?”

He laid a hand on hers. “I'll take care of it.”

“I can afford to handle the expense of materials.” She frowned. “What I can't afford is to pay you a wage.”

“Who'd want money and lose the great deal I have? I like eating at your table…” His gaze locked with hers. “…and having you near.”

The intensity of his regard rippled through her. “I…I like that, too.”

And she did. Too much. She forced a light tone. “I may
not be back until time to fix supper. Don't worry. You'll get your next meal.”

“I look forward to it.”

Callie fought the desire to be that woman Jacob looked forward to. She wouldn't get wrapped up in a man who didn't love God.

They parted ways at the corner of Liberty and Serenity. He gave her one last lingering look, then turned west toward the Mitchell Mercantile. With her heart thudding in her chest, evidence that Jacob meant more to her than she wanted to admit, she turned east toward the church.

She found Pastor Steele in his office, preparing his sermon for Sunday. She took the chair across from him.

He gave her a warm smile, the kind of smile that welcomed confidences. “What do you have on your mind, Callie?”

“Perhaps you read in the Society page that another unwed mother will soon arrive at my home.”

“I did.” He chuckled. “Which I suspect has something to do with why you're here.”

Callie leaned forward in her chair. “I'm here to ask you to support my plan to house unwed mothers, to provide for their needs and give them shelter from reproach.”

“I applaud your plan. Too often these girls are thrown to the lions.” He sighed. “And the babies' fathers go their merry way.” He fiddled with the fountain pen on his desk. “Has it occurred to you that Peaceful might not welcome this home?”

The concern in his eyes dampened Callie's enthusiasm, but only for a moment. “I suspect a few will criticize, one in particular.”

“We both know who that would be.”

“But isn't that always the case with something new?”

“You make a good point. Far be it from me to try to talk
you out of what I believe is an important calling. But I need to warn you that it's possible more than a few will oppose this.” He sighed. “Plenty of believers feel sinners deserve reproach. That they've broken God's commandments and should be ostracized. They forget the command, ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged.'”

How could she ask? “Could you preach a sermon that would take a stand welcoming these girls to our community?”

“I'll preach on judging others, on forgiving others. Sermons based on God's Word. I can't endorse the unwed mothers' home from the pulpit, but I'll give my time and a donation and hope others will do the same.” He peered at her over his glasses, then shoved them up his nose. “Human nature being what it is, I'll be praying this doesn't divide our congregation.”

With the pastor's prayers and her own, surely God wouldn't allow that to happen. “I'll do the same. I'd hoped everyone could see the value of helping these girls.”

“Everyone rarely agrees on anything, even the meaning of Scripture.” He grabbed a sheet of paper. “There's much to consider here. If one of these girls leaves her baby after it's born, just slips away in the dead of night, you'll need the services of a lawyer.”

Pastor Steele's words put a knot in Callie's stomach. She hadn't even considered such a possibility.

He wrote a name and address on the page. “I recommend a fine man in Indianapolis who can advise you. Write and explain what you're planning. He'll know the legalities involved.”

“Oh, thank you.” Callie took the sheet. “I'm going to have to keep you stocked in pie.”