Love's Late Arrival (Sweet Grove Romance Book 1; First Street Church #8)

by Sharon Hughson

  She left her hand there for a moment too long. Heat radiated from his skin, and it awakened something inside her.

  Pulling away, she waved goodbye and rushed toward her car. She felt his eyes on her and wondered what he saw. A principal out of her element? A middle-aged woman in old clothes? Or something else?

  Warmth gelled in her abdomen. His touch made her yearn for a deeper connection.

  But he’s a parent of one of my students.

  It took the entire drive home to banish thoughts of Roth Stryker and his daughter.

  10

  Roth rubbed his wrist, feeling the warmth from Kyanna’s gentle touch. It was so easy for a woman to know how to handle teenage flirtations. His instinct told him to stroll over and wrap an arm around his baby girl. Stake a claim.

  He didn’t. Instead, he waited until the three teenagers wandered back toward the fire before collecting s’mores ingredients. When the female youth leader gave her talk, he found himself nodding in agreement about the importance of good choices and being serious about the future, even as a teenager.

  Now it was Wednesday, and the pleasant truce of the weekend was long forgotten.

  Ariel glared at him, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s Homecoming!”

  Roth ground his teeth together, counting to five in his head so he didn’t blast her. He wasn’t so old that he didn’t recall the importance of such events. But since the hospital president informed him there would be a surprise visit from the investors, things at work had been strained. He’d been scrambling to compile the reports needed to prove they maximized their staff at minimum cost without sacrificing patient care standards.

  “I’ll take you.”

  “Not this again. Please, Daddy.” Her voice tapered into the little girl whine that used to guarantee his acquiescence.

  Roth shoved his fingers through his thinning salt and pepper hair. When did forty-five feel so old?

  “You don’t have to sit with me.”

  She stomped her foot. “Everyone will make fun of me.”

  “Did they make fun of you Friday?”

  She glared at him. “That was church. So not the same thing.”

  “You’re still grounded from the graffiti incident and hiding the letter from the school.” He leaned forward, and the chair springs squealed beneath him. “You’re lucky I’m letting you go at all.”

  “I’m not lucky to be chained to my dad at Homecoming.”

  She clomped the few steps to her room. Roth steeled himself for the door slam. After a brief delay, it came.

  He slouched against the couch. I need help. Why did you leave me, Muriel?

  But there was no answer.

  For a moment, he wondered if he should pray. Muriel believed God heard and answered prayer. What had that gotten her?

  Roth tugged at his hair.

  He stared at his wrist and imagined the principal’s lovely hand there. Too bad they weren’t friends, because he could really use some womanly advice on parenting.

  Warmth oozed through his chest.

  He didn’t want to be friends with the woman. He wanted her to touch him again, chat with him over coffee and smile in that way that made his heart spin out of control.

  The realization scared him.

  * * *

  At 6:00 on Friday night, Roth groaned. He’d finally dumped the trio of investors in the vice president’s office, but he wasn’t finished for the night.

  “Let’s discuss this further over dinner.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion from his boss. Roth had opened his mouth to say he had plans, but he didn’t think taking his daughter to a football game was significant in the face of lost revenue.

  “I’m not even in accounting,” he grumbled, shuffling a stack of folders to locate his smart phone. “This isn’t in my job description.”

  Not that he’d be complaining to the president of the board.

  Staffing expenditures were the biggest outlay for the hospital. In fact, show him a business where they weren’t and he’d lay odds that it was a mechanized industry of some sort. His job was to hire, fire, and schedule the medical staff, while his human resources counterpart handled the support staff scheduling. Her numbers still ran to him on payday.

  He fumbled with his phone and pressed Ariel’s number, steeling himself for a blowup.

  “You shouldn’t call while driving.” Her voice sounded mature as she quoted his advice back to him.

  She’d been practicing her driving more fervently in recent weeks, expecting to get her license on her birthday in December. If she kept her grades up and didn’t make any more visits to detention, he would happily take her to get it.

  “I’m still at work.”

  “Game starts at 7:00. Parking will be hard to find if we’re late.”

  He drew in a breath. May as well just say it. “I’m not going to be home until 9:00 or later.”

  “I’ll get a ride from someone else.” She sounded pleased about that alternative.

  “You’re not going without me.”

  She gasped. During the silence, the beat of her music drifted over the line.

  “I’m sorry. My boss is demanding my presence in a meeting.”

  “But it’s Homecoming.” She sounded teary. He hated when she cried, especially when he caused it, like now.

  “I’ll make it up to you. Maybe we can go to the Cider Mill tomorrow?” She’d been begging him to take her for several weeks.

  “Make it up?” She scoffed. “There’s only one Homecoming game.”

  Roth sighed. His fingers scrubbed his scalp. If he kept up with his frustrated hair pulling, the receding hairline was going to become a balding pate.

  “There’s always next year.”

  More silence.

  “Whatever.” The coldness in her voice froze his heart.

  “Ariel—”

  But she’d already ended the call.

  Roth stared at the ceiling, wishing someone would step in and show him how to make his daughter happy while keeping his boss content. The two were rarely at odds, but tonight couldn’t have been a worse time for it to happen.

  “I’ll make it up to her.”

  The muttered words didn’t soothe the guilt stirring his stomach. And that didn’t bode well for a dinner with people he couldn’t offend.

  Roth straightened his desk while his printer churned out the requested reports. He glanced toward his phone, wondering if there was someone he could call to take his place with Ariel.

  But, no. He was alone in this thing called parenting.

  And today he was drowning.

  11

  Darkness seeped through the windowpane. Kyanna shivered even though the temperature in her office hadn’t changed.

  She ignored her grumbling stomach and refreshed the page on her health care provider’s website. Still nothing about her blood test, so waiting until Tuesday’s appointment with the oncologist seemed likely.

  Oncologist. Rubbing her hands over her arms, she tried to dispel the goosebumps. The homecoming game would start soon, and she moved mechanically through the computer shutdown procedures while her mind struggled to return to principal mode. The straps of her two bags cut across her chest, and she realized there wasn’t time before kickoff to load them in her car.

  She dumped them onto her office chair and switched off the lights before pulling the door shut and locking it.

  Shadows stretched at the dimly lit intersections of each hallway. Her soft-soled shoes squeaked in the silence. At this time of night, she understood why filmmakers used schools for horror movies. She turned toward the music rooms, passing through the band room where an exterior door led into a narrow loading zone.

  As she stepped outside, a street lamp at the end of the alley blinded her for a few moments. She locked the door and paced toward the brilliance, blinking away the spots in her vision.

  By the time she rushed through the stadium gates, the announcer was introducing starting lineups. Kyan
na’s growling stomach plummeted. She’d planned to stand with the cheerleaders holding the welcome banner for the players.

  Too late now.

  She ate a greasy burger from the parent-run concession stand and visited with a few people. Music swelled from the band at half time. The announcer exclaimed the score -- a close game, with the Shorthorns trailing by a field goal.

  Immediately after the teams jogged toward the locker rooms, crews flooded the field to roll out tarps for the court processional and unfold the platform where they would stand. She took her place to present bouquets to each princess.

  Time stretched through the court announcement. It seemed the sweaty football escorts had showered in cologne. When the boys’ musk mixed with the girls’ fruity, flowery scents, it became something nuclear. Her head pounded louder than the bass drum.

  After volunteers cleared the field, the marching band performed. A throb pulsed at the base of her skull, flaring like a firecracker when the whistle sounded to start the third quarter.

  Kyanna massaged the back of her neck and located her vice principal, Drew McKale, monitoring the entrance. A sporadic flow of students wearing Shorthorns jerseys or face paint returned to the game.

  “I’m heading home.” She stopped beside him. “Headache.”

  “Sitting by the band didn’t help.” He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “Get some rest.”

  Cars and trucks crowded the parking spaces near the field, but the closer she got to the buildings, the more deserted the lot became. Noise from the game muted and cut off completely when she turned into the shortcut back to her office.

  At the far end, bodies pressed against the wall of the gymnasium. Kyanna stopped and squinted. Light stretched her shadow, casting everything into silhouette.

  “You’re out of bounds.” Her firm statement echoed off the concrete walls.

  A masculine voice swore. Her gut twisted, and an invisible hand pressed her onward. Her knees wobbled as the murkiness swallowed her.

  The flashback bombarded her mind. A dozen shadowy figures blocked the mouth of the alleyway. Her boyfriend slid protectively in front of her. Expletives echoed around them.

  In the present, she sidled forward until the couple became clearer. A man, not a student, pressed a girl into the wall, her arms above her head. Torn fabric sagged away from her chest.

  At her approach, the man swore in Spanish and began working at the fly of his pants, holding the girl in place with his shoulder.

  More memories rushed in. Pain as her arms twisted behind her. Punches and kicks brutalized her date. Sour breath tainted by alcohol and marijuana swept hot across her face, gagging her.

  Eyes blinking away her own horror, Kyanna shuffled forward. The girl turned her head. It was Ariel Stryker.

  The bottom dropped out of Kyanna’s chest. “Let her go.” The tremor in her legs didn’t affect her voice.

  The attacker shoved Ariel to the ground and sprinted straight at Kyanna. She cringed away, but he slammed her into the cement wall. Her back muscles screamed, and air rushed from her lungs.

  “Such a pretty rich girl.” The words whispered in her face many years ago rang with the retreating footsteps. The aching muscles reminded her of being held by one boy while another rubbed bloody knuckles across her cheek. His other hand slid into the waistband of her skirt.

  Kyanna gasped and shook off the breathlessness. There wasn’t time for this. She jogged toward Ariel’s still form. Kyanna gasped at the sight of the girl’s face, bruised, with blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

  “Ariel?”

  The girl opened her eyes. Tears flowed into her hair.

  Kyanna reached for her, but drew back when she noticed the flimsy silk camisole shredded to reveal red scratch marks around one of her breasts.

  Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Did he…rape you?”

  Ariel shook her head. Kyanna took shallow breaths to avoid breathing in the smell of copper tainting the air. While she cradled the trembling girl against her, she ordered her pulse out of her ears.

  “My sweatshirt.” Ariel pointed to the ground.

  Kyanna stumbled to her feet. The world spun and righted. She snatched the sweatshirt and held it out. Ariel pressed the black fabric over her bare chest and scooted up the wall until she stood on legs that quivered like a bush in a windstorm.

  Stomach acid burned Kyanna’s throat. “Let’s get to my office.”

  She unlocked the door while her mind whirled. Ariel tried to take a step but her legs faltered. Kyanna wrapped an arm around the tiny waist and supported the girl’s slight frame.

  The surge of adrenaline faded as they stumbled into the band room and through the gloomy hallways. Kyanna’s stomach ached, and her hands trembled.

  Lord, help me. I don’t know how to deal with this.

  Her brain recited procedures, but she’d never had to help a victim after witnessing the crime. Violence thrummed through the air as it had all those years before.

  She fumbled with the keys and unlocked the main office.

  “Gonna puke.” Ariel’s choked voice pealed in the quiet.

  Kyanna hip-checked the door into the nurse’s office and flipped the light switch in the restroom there. Brightness blinded her. Ariel stumbled along the wall and leaned over the commode.

  Kyanna pulled the door shut, sagging against the frame. It didn’t block the sound of retching.

  She moved to the medicine counter and twisted on the water. Her stomach lurched. Acid and partly digested food surged upward, and she hung her head over the sink. She coughed and gagged. Tears dripped off her cheekbones.

  How much worse must Ariel feel? How close had the man gotten to violating her?

  Images rose in her mind. Dark hands ripped at her skirt and blouse. A cold brick wall pressed into her back. In the distance, sirens blared. They saved her that night.

  She sucked in a mouthful of water, tepid but soothing, swishing it over her teeth before spitting. She scoured the sink until her vomit was gone.

  In the silence after she shut off the water, Kyanna heard muffled sobs from the bathroom. Her heart wrenched, and she had to bite back tears.

  I need to be strong. Lord, grace please.

  She opened the door slowly. Ariel slumped against the far wall, knees curled into her chest, smart phone in her shaking hands. In the light, the bruises on her face were angry purple. Tears smeared blood along her jaw.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  Ariel’s gray eyes peered at her, wide and bloodshot, her forlorn expression so opposite from the familiar cockiness.

  “Pictures.” She extended the phone, hands shaking. “Proof.”

  Kyanna scrambled to put the words into context. Ariel wanted pictures of the damage to prove what had happened?

  Kyanna’s stomach lurched into her throat. She swallowed hard to keep from gagging again.

  “You want me to take them?”

  Ariel nodded and slid up the wall.

  The sweatshirt dropped toward the ground. Kyanna gasped at the obvious finger marks, red gashes turning to purple, covering Ariel’s left breast. The tattered camisole barely concealed the other breast.

  Kyanna raised the phone and snapped a photo, stepping closer to zoom in on the damage to the girl’s chest and face. Ariel turned around, lifting her light brown hair. A goose egg formed at the base of her skull, and purple ringed her delicate wrists.

  Kyanna didn’t bother to wipe the tears sliding down her face, just kept pressing the button on the phone. Would her trembling hand ruin the pictures?

  “I should call the police.” This should have been her first thought, but she’d been too busy revisiting her own terrors.

  Ariel shook her head and pulled the ruined camisole away from her mottled flesh.

  “I should put that in a bag. There might be DNA.”

  While Kyanna searched the drawers beside the sink, Ariel pulled the sweatshirt over her head. Sharp cries warned Kyanna that it hadn
’t been a pain-free effort.

  After she shoved the shirt into a plastic bag, her legs jittered. She leaned against the doorframe.

  “If you don’t want the police, maybe the hospital.”

  Ariel shook her head. “My dad’s there.”

  Her dad. Roth. She should have informed him immediately, but she’d been vomiting and crying, unprepared for this sort of crisis. Or the slew of personal nightmares it would bring back.

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  Kyanna shuffled from the room. Her stride lengthened when she reached the central hallway. After two tries, her fumbling fingers guided the key into her office lock. She found the phone number for the police station and dialed it.

  After accessing the student database on her computer, Kyanna relayed Ariel’s address and a brief recounting of the attack to the dispatcher. When the woman asked her to hold the line, Kyanna informed her that she had to get back to the victim. Could they contact her father at home later? Ariel needed to go somewhere safe and comfortable.

  By the time she finished the call, her hands and knees had stopped trembling. She collected her possessions and returned to the nurse’s room.

  “I don’t know his name.” Ariel’s voice sounded stronger.

  Kyanna rounded the corner into the restroom. Ariel leaned against the wall, limply holding the phone.

  “What did he say?”

  Ariel’s blank eyes stared through her.

  “Weren’t you talking to your dad?”

  She shook her head. “I recorded a video about what happened. To give the police.”

  Ariel’s eyes slid shut. Kyanna pulled her into her chest, and those thin shoulders started shaking again.

  Lord, help her.

  When Ariel stepped away, Kyanna jerked tissues from a box and handed them to the teen. The girl mopped her face, hissing when she pressed too hard on her bruised cheekbone.

  The pained breath stirred Kyanna. A tidal wave of ire swelled in her gut. She clenched her fists.

  I can’t be angry now. That’s not what Ariel needs.

  Kyanna closed her eyes and inhaled, holding the air in her lungs until they ached. She expelled the breath and opened her eyes.