A Time to Build (Love's Time Book 2)

by Dora Hiers

  She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. Of its own accord, her hand reached out to connect with his back, to offer comfort. That’s all.

  He lifted his head, the misery on his face palpable, and mashed a shaky hand through his hair before he continued. “They called me a hero for pulling her out of the car. But I knew the truth. I was a heel, not a hero.”

  What? How could he even think that? “Why do you say that, Carson?”

  His anguished gaze lifted to collide with hers. “Because when my boss finally convinced the hospital staff to let me visit, I stopped by every evening after work. I took my time walking down the hallway, dreading the moment I would step into her room, knowing that the stench of burnt flesh would assault me, that it would stick on my clothes and my hair, and that it would stay with me until I could get home and wash it off with a shower.”

  She jerked back as if he’d slapped her.

  He took a deep breath, his chest heaving. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his throat. “I’d pause next to the bathroom door, so I could prepare myself, but it never worked. All I could think about was you. And how you must have suffered.”

  God had rained down incredible mercy on her. She didn’t remember much of the actual explosion that had devoured her flesh. Thankfully, God had wiped that memory away, totally and irrevocably. Her life was marked by the before and after, and she’d suffered plenty afterward. The excruciating pain of skin grafts. Extended hospital stays. Thousands of hours of physical therapy.

  But the worst…

  Her breath caught and struggled to escape her lungs. She swiped her sweaty palms against her jeans, forcing the air out.

  The worst had to be the wounded looks from her mom and dad, constant reminders that she’d been the one to make it out of the basement and not her baby sister.

  She stretched a hand to rest on his broad back. “That’s not an uncommon reaction, Carson. You felt bad for your friend, for what she suffered. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “I’m not finished. You won’t be saying that in a minute.” He exhaled a ragged breath, twin vertical creases lining his forehead.

  Oh.

  “I hated myself a little more every time I walked through that door. When I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the smell or stop the cringe at seeing the charred skin, and all the machines she was hooked up to. I had to constantly remind myself that she was the same sweet little Lilly underneath all that swelling.” He stopped talking, and a visible tremor racked his body.

  Like a dagger poised to strike again.

  Was he trembling because he couldn’t stand to see his friend in pain? Surely that’s what caused his reaction. Not…

  She wanted to jerk her arm back, a tug of war going on between her heart and her head. Willing her rather uncooperative limb to stay curled around his back, she stole a quick glance out the entrance to the barn, seeking an escape from his repulsion, longing for the familiar solace of the noises and smells of the ranch.

  Soft sounds filtered through the blood pulsating through her ears. The grazing of the animals. An occasional hum or swish of a horse’s tail. Her gaze stilled on the giant maple tree in the yard, the branches swaying and the leaves ruffling as a slight breeze swept across the farm and drifted inside through the barn opening.

  She longed to feel that gentle wind whip through her hair as she urged Lightning into a gallop. Yearned to grip the leather reins in her fingers, to feel the harnessed power of the horse under her thighs. Her heart screamed for release from the torment of loving Carson. Why, God? Why did you plant this love in my heart for him?

  His quiet words interrupted the stillness inside the barn and the earnest prayer going on in her head. “Then one evening I walked into her room, and the stench didn’t assault me like it had every day since the accident.”

  Jillian gasped and jerked back, her arm dropping away, afraid she knew where this was headed.

  “The poor kid didn’t make it. After surviving that horrific fire and all the surgeries, she died from infection. Infection.” He said the one word as if he still couldn’t believe it, shaking his head.

  “I’m so sorry.” And she was. Truly.

  He took her hand and clutched it between his own. “Jillian, maybe I couldn’t deal with your scars back then, but that doesn’t mean I—”

  She recoiled. Couldn’t ignore the pain squeezing her chest any longer. She’d convinced herself that he’d left to find himself, to heal from the loss of his dad. The fact that he’d stayed away for so long seemed to reinforce that but now…

  He’d left because of some blotchy skin?

  “You left because of my scars?” Her voice came out hoarse and raspy, as if she’d been fighting a fire.

  “Partly but—”

  She couldn’t suck in enough air to function. Sure, she’d suspected as much, but it was altogether different to hear him actually admit it.

  They’d been friends. More than friends. They’d shared a tight bond that she’d always secretly hoped would lead to a future. Hoped that he could look past her disfigurement, see beyond the physical and into her spirit, because he knew her. The only reason she’d finally relented, allowed him to see her…imperfections.

  She’d been wrong about him. So wrong.

  “It took me a long time, but now I realize that you’re—”

  With blurry vision, she bolted off the bale, swiping at her runny nose with the back of an arm. Barely able to make out the entrance to the barn, she shot toward the sun’s beam.

  “Jillian, wait!”

  She shook her head and waved him back, staggered through the opening, blinking against the bright sunlight.

  Wait? She’d waited thirteen years. Wasn’t that long enough?

  She’d been the young and stupid one. Obviously, nothing had changed.

  He’d been repulsed by her body. And she hadn’t even revealed all of it, just a glimpse at the grafts along her shoulder and arm.

  If she’d driven away her best friend, what man would ever think her beautiful?

  Looks like it’s just You and me, God.

  ****

  Carson pinched the bridge of his nose.

  He’d hurt her again. That was so not his intention. How could he have botched up his confession so badly? When all he’d really wanted to do was make her see how beautiful he thought she was.

  With a moan, he took off after her. She’d already made it to the truck and had wrenched the door open.

  “Jillian, please.” Carson halted, his arms hanging limp at his side. He couldn’t force her to stay.

  The look she shot over her shoulder said it all. Anguish and pain. Surrender and release. She’d expected so much more from him, and he hadn’t lived up to any of it. She was giving up on him.

  A sigh came from his gut.

  It was probably for the best. Corbin was the right man for her. The vet would always be there for her. He’d be a good provider and, as a healer, would undoubtedly make a good family man.

  God, will I ever break free of the pain from my dad's death and find peace? Will I ever be the man Jillian needs, the man she deserves?

  6

  “Thank you. I appreciate your consideration.” Carson gave the receptionist his most gracious smile and slid the application across the desk, giving it a couple impatient taps before he lifted his hand.

  Not even a smidgen of interest reflected from the lady’s face as she accepted the flimsy piece of paper and tucked it away in a file.

  Probably never to be seen again.

  He nodded and pivoted, pushing through the glass door and stepping out into the bright sunshine. He glanced up at the cloudless Carolina blue sky, the warmth tingling his cheeks.

  It was the perfect day to find a job, but, apparently, God had other plans. He hadn’t gleaned even a nibble of interest from the twenty or so applications he’d filled out today.

  He sighed and yanked the door open to his new car. He’d sunk most of his savings into buyi
ng a slightly newer model than the clunker he’d sold before heading home, but at least he had a way of getting around now without asking Cam for a lift. This one should last a few years.

  And he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. That is, if he could snag a job.

  He eased out of the parking lot and glanced at the red digits on the dash. Almost four o’clock.

  Just barely time to make his appointment at the burn center. If traffic cooperated.

  He negotiated through rush hour traffic as workers began filing out of the high-rise buildings and clogging the downtown streets on foot and in cars.

  Finally, he arrived at the medical center and found a parking spot. Heaving a relieved sigh to see that he made it with a handful of minutes to spare, he snatched the paper copy of the email and hustled inside the building, bracing himself for the familiar assault of sterile scents as he whizzed through the glass doors.

  Signs directed the way to the burn unit. His long stride got him to the receptionist desk just as the clock reached four thirty. Made it! Out of breath, but just in time.

  Panting from the exertion, he inhaled antiseptic and—

  He slowed his breathing and took a hesitant sniff. Only a trace of that awful stench of burned flesh. Thank You, Lord!

  “Hi. I’m Carson Lambright. I filled out an application to volunteer here—” he flashed the email confirmation above the desk “—and I received word that I was approved. I’m here for an appointment with…”

  Oops. Who was it? He glanced down at the paperwork in his hand, scanning the document quickly for a name. Why hadn’t he looked at it before he arrived?

  “Mrs. Peterson?” The receptionist saved him with a reassuring smile.

  “Yes.” His gaze verified the name. “Mrs. Peterson it is.”

  “She’s expecting you. Right this way. I’ll show you back.”

  ****

  “So, do you play any sports?”

  The deep voice beckoned to Jillian from the hallway of the step-down burn unit.

  She startled, her fingers poised above the door handle. She knew that voice.

  As if Carson didn’t demand enough of her sleeping time. Now he had to haunt her during the daylight hours, too?

  “Oh yeah? I have a friend who used to play. It won’t be long, and you’ll be back in the game,” Mr. Deep Voice said.

  A young female voice responded, but Jillian couldn’t hear or understand the words. But then the man laughed, reminding her again of Carson. His laugh was the only one that had ever made her heart soar.

  Another deep rumble came from the room, but she couldn’t make out the softly spoken words, only the tenderness and the caring tone.

  She gave her head a vigorous shake. Surely she was mistaken. There was no reason for Carson to be here at the hospital. Certainly not visiting Maria, the sixteen-year-old burn victim Jillian had pulled out of a house fire a couple months ago.

  Probably just a doctor who’d stopped by to chat with the teen.

  Yesterday’s shift had been brutal, and Jillian hadn’t slept at all last night. Her imagination was working overtime, that’s all.

  She knocked and mashed the handle with more force than she’d intended, pushing the door to Maria’s room open wide. She ambled inside, her steps hesitant, fatigue drooping her shoulders.

  But she’d promised Maria she’d come by today, and she wouldn’t let her down. Maria’s parents were migrant workers and couldn’t risk losing their jobs by being away for an extended time. They came by to visit as much as they could in the evenings, but otherwise, the girl had so few visitors.

  Jillian knew how that felt. To be alone in a hospital room all day intensified those feelings of helplessness, isolation, unworthiness. Magnified the pain, especially without anyone to hold your hand. Intensified the guilt, either as a sole survivor or because one felt responsible. In Maria’s case, she’d been the one to fall asleep with a candle burning in her bedroom.

  Jillian’s? Her sister hadn’t survived.

  She blinked back a tear. She’d do her best to help Maria fight those feelings. To help the girl see that she was still loved, still beautiful, even while her body and her brain—and everyone else!—attempted to tell her differently.

  She rounded the corner of the room, and gasped.

  Carson? That was him. But what was he doing here?

  She turned around, intent on a quick escape, but her shoe caught on an electrical cord. She stumbled, her hands flailing out in front of her.

  The man was beside her in an instant, steadying her with a gentle touch of his hand, the concerned look in his eyes causing her pulse to skitter. “Hey. You okay?”

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out in a croak. Too much smoke inhalation yesterday. She cleared her throat.

  “I’m talking to Maria. I could ask you the same question.” His lips curved deliciously in one corner, and the coffee-colored flecks danced in his eyes as he leaned close. Too close.

  Soap and hard work mingled with the fresh outdoors and the lingering scent of leather and hay. An alluring blend for her, impossible to resist. Automatically, her head angled toward his neck, her eyelids fluttered closed, breathing deep of the enchanting combination.

  “You wouldn’t be stalking me, would you?” His soft words blew out on a whisper, meant only for her, and tickled her cheek.

  Her eyelids snapped open. She frowned at the amusement twinkling from his eyes. Enjoyment at her expense.

  “You wish.” She gave him a slightly-more-than-playful swat on the arm and took a step back. Maybe she should wait in the hall until his visit was over.

  He reached out an arm to snag hers, putting a stop to her escape, and flicked his head toward the chair next to Maria’s bed, the smile still lingering on his lips. “I promise to behave. Please. Sit.”

  He sat down, this time in the seat furthest from Maria, and tapped the arm of the chair next to him before pushing it closer to the patient’s bed. Then, he crossed his legs and adjusted the thin fabric of the hospital gown, looking totally comfortable in the foreign garb visitors were required to don. At ease in a sterile hospital room that reeked of heavy-duty cleaner to mask the hideous odor of burned flesh. Relaxed, smiling tenderly at the girl whose face was unrecognizable from her former self.

  How would Carson react if he saw the picture? The one on Maria’s phone of her and her boyfriend dressed for prom, adoration shining from the girl’s dark eyes as she gazed at her boyfriend, her face a smooth, dark complexion?

  Jillian knew the beauty lurking beneath the angry scars. But Carson? Would he shrink back in horror if he compared the photo to the girl in the hospital bed?

  Probably as much as the boyfriend. The guy had been by to visit Maria once. A brief ten-minute visit. He sat, stiff and stony-faced, in that very chair as Carson, although pushed as far away from the bed as possible, avoiding even a single glance at Maria.

  Jillian tamped down a sigh and chose to ignore the man’s invitation. She stepped closer to the bed, her already overwrought emotions on high alert.

  “Hey, girl. How are you feeling?” Jillian patted the top of the sheet, careful not to touch the girl. At this stage, any contact was excruciatingly painful.

  “You know that tire commercial with the puffed-up cartoon character? That’s how I feel. Like my body’s so engorged it’s going to explode.” The teen’s swollen lips barely moved.

  “That’ll go away.” Eventually.

  “How long?”

  “I can’t answer that, Maria. It’s different for every person.”

  Coward! Jillian scolded herself for not being entirely truthful. Although the swelling would dissipate, it’d be at least a year before Maria felt better. And even then, with countless surgeries to endure for the rest of her life and, in situations like this, the never-ending finger pointing and whispering, the pain and humiliation never truly left a burn victim.

  She offered a weak smile, patting the sheet again. “But, I’m proof that it
does.”

  Why was Carson here anyway?

  Fatigue won over her determination to stand. Jillian sank down on the hard cushion, her hands gripping the arms of the chair, and stole a sideways glance.

  Green eyes glowed with something she’d not seen in a long time before his eyelids shuttered, closing her out. When he opened them again, his attention flitted back to Maria.

  “You two know each other?” Maria asked, her gaze pinging between them.

  Jillian nodded. She licked her dry lips, composing an answer, not quite sure how to respond.

  “Actually, we grew up together. And right now, while my sister and her new husband are on their honeymoon and I’m taking care of her place, Jillian and I are neighbors.” Carson filled in the gap with a smile and a dare directed at her. “But honestly, we didn’t plan to meet here. How cool is that?”

  Cool. Hmmm. Not quite the word she would have used to describe seeing him here. More like weird. Bizarre. Supernatural.

  Supernatural…as in a God thing? God, did you have something to do with this? I’m not laughing.

  She ignored Carson’s dare, deciding instead to change the subject. The stack of textbooks on the side table snagged her attention. “Did your teacher visit?”

  “Yeah. She brought some books but told me not to worry about homework if I didn’t feel up to it.”

  “Probably not quite there yet, right?” And wouldn’t be for a while.

  The teen’s long dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks. Her head dipped to her chest then jerked back up. Poor thing was drifting off to sleep.

  Jillian slipped from the chair and tapped the bed frame. “Maria, why don’t you get some rest? Carson and I will go to the cafeteria and catch up over coffee.” She glanced at Carson. He nodded in agreement. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She didn’t want to speak for him. He probably had other things on his agenda. Like taking care of the animals. Or deciding which part of the country he was headed next.