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

by Sharon Hughson

  Ariel stared, her expression blank.

  “We need to call your dad.”

  “I can’t talk to him.” Tears welled up and overran her eyes.

  Compassion pinched Kyanna’s heart. “Let’s get to my car. I’ll call him.”

  Ariel leaned against her, shuffling along like a great-grandmother. Kyanna shut off the lights and locked the doors, and led the victim to her car. Once she’d settled Ariel into the front seat and tucked a blanket around her shivering shoulders, Kyanna took the girl’s phone. A photo of Roth waited on the screen.

  She pressed the call icon and shut the door, walking to the driver’s side while the phone rang.

  “Ariel, I’m on my way home.”

  Kyanna’s breath froze. Tears clogged her throat, so she cleared them.

  “It’s Miss Patchett. Ariel’s with me.”

  He sighed. “I told her to stay home.”

  That explained why the girl hadn’t been keen on calling him.

  “Roth…” The name tasted right on her tongue, and her tone softened. “She was attacked.”

  “What the h—”

  “I’m in the school parking lot.”

  “What about the police? Does she need a doctor?”

  Kyanna took a steadying breath. “She’s hurt in a different way.” She hoped he wouldn’t force her to spell it out for him. “I’ve called the police, but she doesn’t need to face them without you.”

  “I’m a danged fool. Shoulda locked her in her room.”

  Lord, don’t let him blame himself. Give me words.

  “I promise to take care of her.”

  His silence was a volume of pain. Kyanna’s throat tightened, but she swallowed the threat of tears. That time had passed. She had to be strong for this family.

  Kyanna had slid behind the wheel and started the engine before he replied.

  “Where will you be?”

  “Can I take her home?”

  “She’s got a key. Be there in twenty.”

  Kyanna looked at Ariel beside her. “It’s your dad.”

  More tears flowed down her swollen cheeks. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Kyanna put the phone back to her ear. “She’s sorry, Roth. Remember that.”

  After a pause, he said, “Hand her the phone.”

  Kyanna clutched the phone until it hurt her palm. “You should wait until you see her.”

  With a firmness that bordered anger, he said, “My girl needs to know I love her. Now.”

  Kyanna blinked and handed the phone to Ariel, who had to push the blanket aside to free a hand. Kyanna’s lips wobbled when she tried to smile reassurance.

  Ariel gulped and pressed the phone to her ear.

  Kyanna backed the car out, swiping her hand across her cheeks.

  Dear Lord, help.

  12

  The leather-wrapped steering wheel squawked beneath Roth’s death-grip. His teeth gritted as he glared at the red light holding up his escape from Rosewood. After the dinner meeting, his mind couldn’t fully comprehend the phone call.

  His heart pole-vaulted into his throat, strangling him. It was his fault his baby girl was hurt. He should have been home to take her to the game. The burr of guilt gouged his soul.

  When the light turned green, he stomped the gas pedal and lurched backward into the seat. In a few turns, he merged onto the highway leading to Sweet Grove.

  Ariel was a teenager, so he shouldn’t have expected her to stay away from the Homecoming game. Once again, he’d failed her. With what horrible consequences this time?

  Bile surged into his mouth. He couldn’t choke it back or stop the memory from assaulting him.

  The waiting room had a morgue-like quality, even with the constant blare of news on a television across the room. A number-filled screen informed families where their loved ones were in the surgical process. Beside Muriel’s number, the words in surgery blinked like they had all morning.

  His phone vibrated against his hip. When he pulled it out, he read a text from his mother-in-law. Did she think he wouldn’t pass along any updates? She’d wanted to be at the hospital, but someone had to stay with Ariel.

  The volunteer at the desk stood and called, “Mr. Stryker?”

  Roth jolted to his feet, shoving the phone in his pocket. At the volunteer’s request, he followed her through a winding corridor and into a small room with a pleather couch and two straight-backed chairs.

  “The doctor will speak with you momentarily.”

  Roth paced the narrow room, running his hand through his hair. The door closed behind him, and he whirled to face a man with a hospital mask hanging around his neck. His blue scrubs had dark splotches near the knees.

  “Mr. Stryker, we did everything we could.”

  Roth’s world tilted.

  “The tumor was tangled in a blood vessel, and the removal started a bleed.”

  The voice droned on, but Roth’s ears numbed along with his heart. His wife had died on the operating table. When they discovered the brain tumor was operable, they’d allowed hope to grow. Now, she was gone.

  His knees buckled. Strong hands gripped him, steered him to the couch. He collapsed on the seat. How could he still be breathing when Muriel was dead?

  Roth blinked away the tears and stared at the taillights of the car in front of him. He hadn’t even realized he’d come up on it so fast.

  He couldn’t keep Muriel alive, and now he’d failed to keep their precious daughter safe.

  He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. A stinging palm pulled him fully into the present.

  In that hospital five years ago, he’d been certain his life had ended. But when he’d gone to his in-laws’ home and Ariel raced to hug him, he’d been blessed with a second chance. There was another person who depended on him, and since that day he’d worked hard to give her everything she needed and wanted.

  With all they shared, he had trouble digesting the news she’d been skipping school last year. Didn’t they have a good life? Hadn’t he given her dance lessons and art classes and a new phone every year?

  Finally, the bright green sign welcoming travelers to Sweet Grove appeared. He turned on First Street, and a couple blocks later took a right onto his street. His foot relaxed away from the accelerator.

  With white knuckles, he navigated the tight turn into the narrow drive. He stomped too hard on the brake and edged beside the Toyota SUV in the driveway. Kyanna’s car.

  Roth closed his eyes and inhaled. Air expanded his lungs to bursting. After holding it for a second, he exhaled, opened his eyes, and jerked the handle on the door, shoving it away from him as he slid out.

  The pumping of his heart urged him to walk faster. Cool air slid across his flushed skin. Before he reached the front door, it inched open. Kyanna’s blonde hair, tucked behind her ears, glowed like a halo in the light from the house.

  “That was fast.”

  She stepped onto the stoop and pulled the door closed.

  Roth wanted to push past her, get to Ariel, but the grief etched on Kyanna’s face stopped him.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “She was assaulted.”

  Roth jerked as if he’d been shot. Kyanna shifted close enough to rest her hand on his arm. Her cool fingers grounded him.

  “It happened in the walkway between the band room and cafeteria. I was taking a shortcut back to my office when I saw them.”

  “Saw who? Who hurt my baby girl?”

  Kyanna shook her head, and her grip tightened on his forearm.

  “Not a student. Someone older. He shoved me into the wall when he ran past.” Light glistened on the tears in her eyes. Roth squeezed her hand. “I didn’t get a good look at him, and helping Ariel was my priority.”

  He was thankful for that, really, but now he needed answers. “What about the police?”

  “I asked them to meet you here. You might need to call them.” Her voice shook.

  “I’ll handle it.” H
e gulped back frustration. It wasn’t her fault he was powerless. “Thank you for helping her.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t see her attacker better. It was so shadowy.”

  Roth squeezed her hand again, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms, find solace while he gave it. “Can I see her?”

  Kyanna nodded, and her shoulders slumped a little. Did she expect him to be angry?

  Roth pushed the front door open and started past Kyanna. She placed her other hand over his. The look in her eyes screamed a warning.

  “Prepare yourself. Her face.”

  Roth’s stomach plunged to his feet, but he pulled away and stormed into the house. Ariel huddled in a ball on their sofa, swathed in a blanket he didn’t recognize. He rushed toward her, opening his arms.

  She tripped as she stood, and the lamp cast light across her face. A red and purple bruise marred her left cheek. Pink encircled her throat.

  Ariel fell against his chest. Roth pulled her tight, cringing when she winced.

  “Sweetie.” The endearment he hadn’t used in years emerged on a choked sigh.

  The coppery scent of blood choked him as he planted a kiss above her ear. A large knot swelled on the back of her head.

  Molten fire surged through him. His arms tightened on her waist. If he could find the man who did this to her… And suddenly, nausea slammed his gut like a fist. A man did this to her. Did he steal her innocence too?

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Kyanna. She laid her hand on Ariel’s shoulder.

  Ariel pulled away enough to look at the woman, and a smile wobbled onto her tear-streaked face. She opened and closed her mouth.

  Kyanna patted Ariel’s shoulder. “I bet you’re glad your dad’s here.”

  Ariel’s teeth chattered as she nodded. It had to be well above seventy degrees in the house. How could she be cold?

  “I’ll head home.”

  Kyanna’s gaze shifted to Roth. “I put one shirt in a bag. I’m sure the police will want it.”

  Roth ducked his chin and watched Kyanna walk toward the door.

  “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

  Ariel curled into his side. Her head bobbed.

  Roth quelled a tidal wave of emotions and cleared his throat. “I appreciate you taking care of her.”

  Kyanna’s lips trembled. “God’s providence sent me where I was needed. I did what anyone would do.”

  But as the door closed behind her, Roth knew she was wrong. The parable of the Good Samaritan proved many people walked away from someone in trouble.

  Thank God Kyanna Patchett wasn’t one of them.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Roth closed the door behind the deputy. His eyes felt leaden, and a glance at his phone showed it was nearly midnight.

  But the report was filed. The deputy took his statement while a female trooper inspected the evidence of assault on Ariel’s body.

  His stomach churned at the thought. Seeing the pictures on her phone made him nauseous, and then fighting mad. If he could get his hands on the man who marked her body like that, he’d leave a few marks of his own.

  He staggered into the kitchen where he drained a couple glasses of water. Leaning on the counter, he stared into the darkness beyond the window. Heaviness pulled his heart into his belly.

  His baby girl had paid the price for his negligence. If he could redo the day, he would come home on time and take her to the game.

  During her statement, Ariel said she’d started walking to the high school. It wasn’t more than a mile, and Arthur Marones had hailed her from the passenger seat of “an old boat-like car.” They’d had a few swallows of alcohol. At half time, they returned to the car for a little more refreshment, provided by Arthur’s “cousin.” It was the cousin who pulled Ariel into the alley.

  Roth stumbled to the doorway of Ariel’s room. Huddled in a fetal position on the queen-sized bed, she looked small and helpless. He tiptoed to her side, then leaned over to smooth her hair, a little ratty now since she’d showered after the physical inspection and went to bed before it was dry.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” The whisper ripped along his scratchy throat. “I’m trying to be a good dad.” And failing.

  He pressed a kiss on her temple, relishing the silky feel of her hair on his lips, the tropical scent filling his nostrils. He watched her sleep until his shoulders ached and his eyes burned.

  Would she be okay if he went to bed?

  He didn’t want to fail her again.

  * * *

  Saturday, Ariel stayed in her room, huddling beneath her comforter, occasionally playing a game on her tablet, but mostly napping. In the afternoon, a knock on the front door roused Roth from his place at the computer where he’d been reading articles on how to help victims of trauma.

  He shoved his reading glasses on top of his head and rubbed his eyes. On his steps, Kyanna held a smallish box, the sunlight turning her hair to gold.

  She raised her chin. “Good afternoon. I wanted to check on Ariel.”

  Roth backed into the house, motioning her inside. Her flowery tank top made her eyes look bluer than the sky.

  He blinked at the dim interior of his living room. “Ariel’s in her room. She’s been sleeping a lot today.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  Roth froze on the path to his daughter’s room. As if his feelings mattered. He turned his head, noting the compassion creasing her lips and flooding her eyes.

  He sighed. “Blaming myself. Trying to figure out how to help her cope.” He shoved his hand into his hair, ramming his fingers into the glasses he’d left there. Heat pulsed up his neck as pulled the glasses away.

  “I think we’re all going to play the blame game for a while. It’s normal.”

  He frowned, catching the insinuation of her words. “Why would you blame yourself?”

  Kyanna raised her eyebrows, and he saw the glaze of tears in her eyes. “I knew Arthur was trouble, but I didn’t do anything to keep her away from him.”

  “Everyone has to be accountable for their own actions.” He touched her arm, quickly pulling away from the silky skin. “You aren’t to blame for what Arthur did or who Ariel spent time with.” Air rushed out when he huffed. “I failed to show up when my daughter needed an escort to Homecoming.”

  “She could have stayed home.”

  Roth cocked his head. “What sixteen-year-old would miss such a big social event?”

  Kyanna shrugged. “Clearly, the only person to blame is the attacker.”

  Roth clenched his hands. His fists yearned to connect with that man. “The police have leads, but they told me not to hope for a conviction. Apparently, the residents of the apartments where the cousin lives tend to cover for each other.”

  “If I can identify him…”

  Roth waved her to a stop. He knocked on Ariel’s partly open door. She rolled toward him. The bruise on her face was purple and black, and he glimpsed the red welt on her neck. Frustrated rage swelled in him.

  “Miss Patchett is here.”

  Ariel nodded and struggled into a sitting position. Roth twisted to beckon the principal forward and nearly collided with her. A warm apple pie scent drifted from the woman. Her lips curved into a semblance of a smile, but worry etched lines around her eyes.

  Roth motioned her into the room and leaned on the doorframe.

  “I brought you something.” After handing Ariel the box, Kyanna sat on the end of the bed. “That’s quite the shiner.”

  Ariel fumbled to open the gift. When she removed the lid, an assortment of chocolates made her lips twitch into a smile. “Chocolate is the answer to most problems. Thank you.”

  Kyanna patted the blanket bump that concealed Ariel’s leg. “You’re welcome. I wish I could do more.”

  Ariel’s lips trembled. Kyanna scooted closer and opened her arms. His daughter fell against the woman’s chest.

  A strange yearning washed over him as Kyanna str
oked Ariel’s hair. No matter how much he tried, he could never be mother and father to his daughter. She needed a woman’s gentle touch and sympathetic ear.

  Roth backed away, pacing through the kitchen, trying to wrangle his wayward thoughts. Kyanna was the principal. She cared for all the students. But his heart thumped out a coded message: You need her.

  A few minutes later, Kyanna emerged from the bedroom. Roth stood beside the front window, unable to fake concentration when this woman filled his heart and mind.

  “She agreed to meet with the school counselor, Miss Willis. Would you like me to schedule an afternoon appointment so you can join them?”

  Warmth stirred in Roth’s chest. “I think a solo meeting is best for now. If she wants, I’ll attend next time.”

  “Ella Mae is great with the kids. And I know she has experience helping people overcome victimization.” Kyanna stepped closer. “You might feel better if you talk this out.”

  “I’m not ready to feel better.”

  She grimaced. “More self-flagellation?” She squeezed his elbow. “Don’t make yourself a martyr. That won’t help Ariel.”

  A dart pierced his mind. Was he focusing more on blaming himself than helping Ariel?

  “Ouch.”

  His mutter brought a rueful smile to her lips.

  He looked at the pink petals. The pounding in his chest made his throat constrict.

  Her eyes widened, and she sidled backward. Her warm touch slid away, and he tightened his fingers into a fist to keep from grabbing her hand.

  “I’d like to leave my number. In case you need anything.”

  Roth moved toward his laptop bag and snagged a notepad and pen from the side pocket. If he’d had her number on Friday, all of this might have been avoided.

  While she scribbled on the paper, he studied the lines of her heart-shaped face and triangular nose to distract himself from what ifs.

  Her hair feathered against her chin as she turned to hand him the paper. Their gazes clashed, and color flooded her cheeks. She studied him, hand extended.

  “Leave it on the table.” His words sounded gruff.