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

by Dora Hiers

  Faith, knowing that the Creator of the universe loved them.

  Not that he’d helped in that regard. She’d managed to achieve her dreams without him by her side, cheering her on.

  He sucked in a breath, remembering the night Jillian had shared her closely guarded secret with him.

  Prom.

  What should have been a special evening filled with treasured memories. He’d spoiled it, not just the night, but also their relationship, beyond repair.

  Because after dancing most of the night, with her soft frame molded to his, he’d driven them to a favorite parking spot and gotten a little carried away.

  Not that she hadn’t relayed her story and warned him about her scars plenty of times, worry shading her eyes. He could handle a few scars, right?

  Wrong!

  He’d slid the strap of her dress down over a shoulder, far enough to blaze a trail with his lips along her delicate skin, hoping to melt her resistance. That she’d finally say yes.

  But then he saw the angry puckering, pronounced by the creamy ivory of her skin next to the scar tissue. His beautiful Jillian. Scarred for life.

  Before he could wrangle his reaction into submission, he’d pulled away, shrank back against the seat, shocked.

  He’d known Jillian since elementary school, and yet he’d never seen the scars. She’d kept them hidden, as if they were something to be ashamed of.

  Jillian had construed his reaction as horror. Why wouldn’t she? How could he have blown it like that? But that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He wasn’t horrified at her scars.

  Only at how she must have suffered.

  He rubbed the stubble lining his jaw, the shame at his reaction coming up to bite him even now. Maybe this plan, this idea, would help her see the truth.

  That he thought she was beautiful. That her scars helped to shape her into the person she was today. The same person she’d been then. A shy, sweet spirit. Loyal and devoted to her friends. To him.

  Maybe she just needed to see the words in action, to hear them spoken again and again, to believe it.

  Just like those girls in the hospital.

  All they needed was reinforcement that true beauty radiated from the inside. And Jillian was just the person for the job.

  “Good morning.” A silver-haired waitress appeared at their table, a coffee decanter in hand, interrupting his thoughts.

  They both tipped their cups upright, and after filling them, the wrinkled hand set the decanter down and fished around in the pocket of her apron to pull out a pad and pencil. “What’ll you have?”

  They gave their orders.

  “Be right up.” She slid the pad and pencil back in her apron, scooped up the carafe, and bustled away to the next table.

  “Spill.” Jillian’s hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her bangs hanging low over sandy-colored eyebrows. She blew out a breath, sending strands of silk to flutter, exposing the forest green depths of her eyes.

  He gulped down a swig of coffee.

  Beautiful wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe Jillian.

  She propped an elbow on the laminate tabletop and planted her chin in a palm, studying him. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Those girls need you.”

  “What?” Twin lines furrowed between her eyebrows.

  “They need you to show them that there is life after a burn injury, even the most severe.”

  Her only response was to roll her eyes. Fiddling with the spoon, she twirled it over and over in her fingers.

  He continued, his voice barely registering a whisper among the loud chatter and clanging of plates in the crowded restaurant. “That their scars don’t define them or their worth. That they are still…” He held her gaze. “Beautiful.”

  She coughed, and the spoon clattered to the table. Her hands disappeared somewhere under the table. He couldn’t see her fingers, but he was quite sure they were tugging at her shirt sleeves.

  Her spine snapped straight, and her shoulders stiffened. Fire blazed from her eyes. “I seem to remember a different reaction from you.” Her words came out brittle, like newly formed icicles that used to hang from the barn, the kind that cracked and became daggers when he and Camdon whacked them with a bat.

  He deserved to be whacked with a bat. He hid behind his coffee cup. The hot liquid scalded as it slid down his throat. “I was a kid, Jillian. But, yeah, I was a jerk.”

  He’d matured eons since then, but that was no excuse. Could he ever make it up to her?

  “Those are some of the things you could discuss with them. Like weeding out the guys who can’t appreciate their struggles and the pure strength it took to get them where they are. Telling the guys who can’t see their inner beauty to take a hike. Putting off physical intimacy until marriage.”

  Her eyebrows lifted until he was sure they were pretty close to arching off her head.

  He held up a palm. “I know. I know. But, I’ve changed, Jillian.”

  “How?” She veiled her expression by nudging a thumb against her chin and covering her mouth with her hand. With elbow propped on the table, she waited him out.

  “You’ll never believe me.”

  “Try me.” Her dubious tone only reinforced his statement.

  “After what happened with you—”

  “You mean what didn’t happen? Let’s set the record straight.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Well, I never tried again. With anyone else.”

  He could see the revelation sink in. Saw the shock settle on her face. Again, her hands dropped under the table, and she pressed her back against the vinyl-covered seat.

  “Not once? In all those years?” Her voice held more than a hint of disbelief.

  Could he blame her? His reputation hadn’t exactly been above reproach, but then, anger and rebellion had held him hostage for so long. “At first, I was just so ashamed of how I treated you, of how you might have interpreted my reaction. Eventually, it became more of a punishment.”

  Her sweet face held no condemnation, no judgment. She just nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “But then God took a hold of me.”

  That got her attention.

  “Here you go.” The silver-haired server suddenly appeared, sliding heaping plates of steaming breakfast on the table toward them. The lady’s timing stunk.

  “Do you need anything else?” The woman’s gaze tracked the stiffness of Jillian’s spine, the surprise in her slacked jaw, before skittering across to him. A knowing expression transformed the leathery face, and she flicked her head once. “Well then. Enjoy. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.” She pivoted and practically jogged away from their table, her rubber soles eating up the distance back to the kitchen quickly.

  He stared at the stack of fluffy pancakes, butter oozing off the pile and melting in a puddle on the plate, mingling with the thick, hearty slices of bacon. He didn’t move to pick up the fork. His appetite had disappeared.

  Jillian hung her head over her plate of lightly scrambled eggs and bacon, her fork still on the table as well.

  He hadn’t meant for the conversation to head in this direction. With a sigh, he gently lifted her fingers off the table and wrapped them in his. “Do you mind if I pray?”

  Tears glinted like dewdrops on her long lashes. She nodded and bowed her head.

  He uttered a heartfelt blessing over the food and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her fingers.

  “Thank you.” She swiped a palm over both cheeks before lifting her head to grace him with a bright wattage smile, although a bit weak. “I suppose I could talk with them. Share some of my experiences.”

  Her face lit up but not from looking at him. She stared off at some imaginary point in the diner, twirling the fork through her fingers absentmindedly. “Has the hospital considered starting a program for burn victims? A mentoring program, connecting survivors with current patients to guide them throug
h the fears they face today and into the hope that tomorrow will be better.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” His heart sighed as his idea spread wings and took flight. Just as he’d hoped it would when he shared it with Mrs. Peterson, the Burn Clinic Administrator. And when she’d suggested, with gentleness and compassion softening her expression, that since he had no credentials, he should find a survivor to help implement the program, he knew just the person.

  “Beauty in the Scars.” The name came out on the breath of a whisper. It hadn’t just been the idea that had held him hostage since the day he’d walked into that empty hospital room where Lilly had been. No, he’d even known the name.

  Her gaze whipped to him. Her features softened, her lips forming a silent “oh.”

  How could he have abandoned this beautiful woman, ditched a forever kind of love? All for what? Over a decade of wanderlust?

  But, back then, rebellion and his inability to deal with his tangled emotions over his father’s suicide gripped him in a fiery hold. His anger would have destroyed her love, demolished any fragile hope for a future.

  Thank You, God, that You have the power to bring beauty out of the ashes.

  ****

  Jillian slid past Carson and into the seat, ignoring his familiar smell of soap and the earthy scent of outdoors that clung to his clothes. Had she just agreed to this crazy idea of his? What was she thinking?

  How could she possibly consider revisiting that agonizing pain, staring into those sweet young faces brimming with tears and fears every day? She would be living those horrendous years all over again.

  And advice?

  She scoffed, not bothering to muffle the sound. She wasn’t qualified to dish out advice on how to live a rewarding life after a burn injury. How could she?

  Yeah, she might have a job she loved, but the deepest longing of her heart hadn’t come to fruition. Nor would it ever.

  Carson slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, his broad shoulders filling most of the space in the small car, gently brushing against hers. She sucked in a breath at the contact.

  He’d always done that to her. His bigger than life personality. His wounded soul. His sweet words. All whispered and reached deep, connecting her spirit to his with a soothing touch.

  She inched away from him, pressing herself against the door, so their shoulders wouldn’t touch. She couldn’t bear it, knowing her dreams were so close she could touch them but always hovering just out of reach.

  Like her dad used to do with her and Maria as toddlers, before their world disintegrated. He’d dangle their favorite dolls, just out of reach, and when they grabbed for them, he’d jerk his hand higher.

  That’s how she felt about her love for Carson. So close, she could almost touch it. Yet, forever dangling and being jerked just out of reach.

  Propping her elbow on the armrest, she stared out the window.

  Visiting the hospital every day. Running into Carson. So not a good idea.

  He snaked an arm around the back of her seat. Her gaze skittered back to the big man next to her.

  Angled toward her, cinnamon specks shimmered from his eyes, and a dimple peeked from under the heavy smattering of whiskers.

  She reached out, her hand halfway to his chin, before she realized what her stupid limb was doing and jerked it back. She’d forgotten for a minute. Blotted out the hints he’d dropped about a job. That without one, he might be leaving again.

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the soft spot of her palm, sending all sorts of delicious, dangerous feelings to zap through her veins. She held her breath, trying to ignore the hammering pulse as it swooshed through her ears.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, his masculine scent filled the cramped space, until she felt all she could breathe in was him.

  A gentle kiss from a friend. That’s all it was, Jillian reminded herself when he placed her hand back on her thigh and turned his attention back to the car. A gentle kiss from a friend.

  Love.

  Like that doll. Forever dangling just out of reach.

  14

  Oh, God, help me make up for my past with this woman. Help me be someone she could love today, here and now. I want her in my life, forever and always. Please give me a settled spirit and…a job would be nice. Something to offer her besides my sorry self.

  On their way back from the diner, Carson turned into the fire station parking lot and killed the engine just as his phone vibrated on the center console.

  “Sorry, Jillian. I need to take this.” He scooped it up, shooting her an apologetic smile. “Carson Lambright.”

  “Mr. Lambright. Justin Blackstone with Blackstone Construction in Raleigh.”

  How could it be possible for his stomach to soar and dive at the same time? But that’s what it felt like.

  “Mr. Blackstone.”

  “Call me Justin.”

  “Sure.” Blackstone. That name rung a bell. But Raleigh?

  “You applied for a position with my father’s construction firm in the Charlotte area, but unfortunately, he’s not hiring right now. I hope you don’t mind, but he was so impressed with your application that he forwarded it to me. I agree with him. I like what I see.”

  That was a mighty quick answer to my prayer, God, but Raleigh? Really? That’s not exactly within courting distance.

  He answered Mr. Blackstone’s questions, his gut twisting in knots. Jillian fiddled with the door handle, her gaze directed out the passenger window, but he sensed her rapt attention on the phone conversation.

  “Normally, I interview in person, but since my dad’s already met you, I’m good with his recommendation.”

  He named a salary figure, a number Carson could live on quite comfortably. More than he’d ever made, actually.

  “How soon do you think you might be able to start work?”

  “I’ll need some time to think this over.” Was he nuts? The job was being handed to him on a silver platter, and he was telling the guy he needed time to think it over? But he needed time to pray, to consider the implications of a possible long distance relationship.

  He closed his eyes, massaging a finger and thumb across his brow.

  “Will a week be enough time?”

  His gaze jerked toward Jillian, his heart as heavy as if concrete had just been poured on it. “Yes, sir. That should work.”

  “Great. I’ll expect to hear back from you by next Friday.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Disconnecting the call, he tamped down the groan that threatened to erupt from his gut and tossed the phone back onto the console. He breathed deep, but all he could take in was Jillian’s clean, pure scent.

  Not helping.

  He mashed the handle and forced limbs that felt like anchors to slog around the car.

  Lord, thank You for this opportunity. Please forgive my confusion, lead me on the right path, and clear up my muddled emotions. Help me to give Mr. Blackstone a definitive answer by next Friday.

  He opened the door for Jillian, averting his gaze from the long, athletic legs that stretched out, until fingertips burned a hole in his forearm and warm hazel eyes peered up at him. “Was that a job offer, Carson?”

  He nodded, unable to find the words yet, unwilling to break her heart once again.

  Her mouth rounded, and her irises transformed into that luscious green. “That’s wonderful.”

  “Yeah.” His voice came out gruff. I really am happy about it, Lord. Trying anyway. That counts, right?

  “You don’t want to talk about it. I understand.” Her hand slipped away from his arm, and she edged away from him, fumbling through her purse, digging for her keys. “I’ll see you around.”

  So not how he wanted her to leave.

  He stopped her with a gentle hand to her shoulder, pivoting her around to face him, her back pressed against the truck. He mashed his palms against the door on either side, blocking her exit, fencing her in. “What if I do want to talk about
it?”

  Her gaze skittered everywhere but at him.

  He nudged her chin up with his thumb, waiting.

  ****

  “Then talk.” Why did her tongue suddenly feel swollen and her throat parched?

  She’d breathed easier during fire rescues than standing here pinned against her truck, Carson’s long arms planted on either side of her, muscles bulging from those massive arms, his broad shoulders blocking her view.

  Becoming her view.

  She closed her eyes, shuttering her vision, knowing she’d be dreaming about him again tonight. Longing for a release of the dreams that had plagued her since…forever, it seemed. When would the dreams ever leave her alone?

  What did he want from her?

  He was torturing her.

  She inched her chin away from his touch, but she was still held prisoner inside his arms.

  “It’s in Raleigh.” His voice came out husky, and his chin dipped downward.

  What? Oh, the job offer was in… “Raleigh?”

  Her heart plunged to her toes. That meant he’d be leaving again. There was no way he could commute from Harrison to Raleigh every day.

  “I didn’t know you were applying for jobs in Raleigh.” She could hardly squeeze the words through her tight, dry lips.

  “I wasn’t.”

  Her head wobbled, trying to shake loose the cobwebs. If he hadn’t applied for the job—

  “I applied for a job with a construction firm in Charlotte. They aren’t hiring, but the guy here forwarded my application to his son. In Raleigh.”

  “That’s…” What? Nice?

  No.

  Not. Nice. Not nice at all.

  But it was a job, and Carson needed a job, right?

  Her chest heaved with the exertion of breathing deep, but all she took in was…

  Him.

  Sunshine glinted off his dark hair. A cool breeze blew through, ruffling his longish tresses so that they stood up, a delicious blend of coconut and hazelnut drifting through the air. His shampoo? Her fingers itched to weave through his hair, to draw his head down and…

  Please, God, a little help here?

  She tugged her sleeves down. Anything to keep her hands occupied.