by Cheryl Wyatt
“My to-do list is about a mile long,” Chloe groaned.
An owl hooted outside. Chance rose and stretched. Then he eyed his watch. “It’s nearly midnight, and I’ve got an early class in the morning with new recruits. If I didn’t have to get up before the birds, I’d stay longer. I need to chat with Brock a minute if he’s still up and grab a few things from his place before I go.” He offered her an apologetic glance, which is when she remembered she had his jacket still draped over her shoulders.
She went to remove it, but he shook his head. “I like the way it looks on you better.”
She brushed fingers along the dark denim, enjoying the rugged-but-soft texture. “Are you saying I can keep it?”
He smiled a slightly sad grin as a flash of nostalgia drifted like a sideways sunset across his handsome face.
“For a while, but not forever. It was the last gift Mom gave me before she died, or I’d let you have it.”
Her hand fell to his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. I know you’ve been there.”
She nodded. Swallowed back lumps. How had she come to care for this man already? Frightening. Not having words for once in her life, she nodded and her bangs slipped from behind her ear.
His vision drifted there and for a moment he seemed mesmerized. His hand moved as though to brush them back off her forehead, but his fingers curled into his hand.
She couldn’t deny the disappointment flooding her.
But it was for the best that they didn’t act on this emotional attraction. If they did, it would be a detriment to her dreams. She moved so her chair sat safely between them, creating a physical barrier like the one she was trying to keep in place in her heart.
“I’ll see you and Ivan tomorrow afternoon,” she said in her best professional tone. It must have fallen short because he dipped his head and grinned. The way his dimples seemed to wink at her, maddening! Flustered with herself, Chloe grabbed her papers and went into an organizing frenzy.
His grin only widened as he knelt to pet Midnight, then ventured slowly toward her door. He paused halfway and peered back at her. His eyes said he didn’t want to go. Her heart answered that cry with a squeeze and made her glad he took his time getting to the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it.” Chance’s stuttering had waned the more time he’d spent in her presence. “Let’s do this again sometime. Often as we can.”
His kindness gave her something to look forward to. “I’d like that.” She reached to shake his hand. “As friends.”
He ignored her hand and stared deeply into her eyes. “I like being with you, Chloe.”
Don’t say it back. Don’t.
Hand snaking back to her side, she bit her lip against the sentiment trying to burst from her throat. If she admitted out loud that she liked being with him too, she might be tempted to let this fly like a fighter jet beyond the runway of friendship.
And she just couldn’t. Not with her dreams just within reach.
She felt adrift when he turned away and walked into Brock’s unit. The air around her grew empty and filled with loneliness.
She crossed her arms over herself and rested her hands along his jacket’s sleeves. Then she tilted her head down and breathed in his manly scent evident in the traces of woodsy cologne. Powerful, like the draw that had pulled his eyes to hers while he took reluctant steps away. Though he couldn’t possibly see in the window, she noticed that he cast glances over his shoulder, like he hadn’t wanted to end their time together.
She could relate.
After one last, lingering glance her way, he closed Brock’s door behind him.
Chloe remained on alert after Chance left, waiting to hear him emerge from Brock’s unit. What seemed like hours later, footsteps sounded on the boardwalk. Was she imagining that they paused outside her door?
Chloe took a step, nearly stumbled over Midnight, sleeping in his bed beneath the window, and watched Chance walk to his car. He must still be in the process of moving. He had armfuls of clothes and teetering stacks of books. Titles she recognized as global bestsellers, as well as famous classics.
He was an avid reader? This big, bad Special Ops soldier? There were so many layers to this man. “Special is right.” She sighed and closed her blinds so she didn’t feel like a stalker spying on him as he loaded the Jeep.
Since Chance seemed to do a lot with Brock, that meant she’d no doubt see Chance more than anticipated. She’d also see him while working with Ivan, but that was a professional environment. Here at Evie’s B&B she could be more casual, friendlier.
Chance had said his dad wasn’t typically this difficult, but that using Midnight might not work. In such cases, Chloe didn’t push the issue of animals in her therapy.
But Chloe felt in her gut that Midnight could help Ivan far faster and better than if she only used traditional therapy.
Ivan was already in jeopardy of it being too late, too long after the stroke to do much good as far as regaining dexterity and mobility.
Chloe yawned and rubbed her temples. It had been a long day, filled with a roller coaster of emotions. Chance’s unexpected friendship and her attraction to him. Fiona’s medical emergency. The complications with planning her program in Refuge. She headed toward her bedroom, knowing she needed to get some sleep so she could tackle whatever challenges the morning would bring.
The next evening, after a long grueling day of errands related to building her Refuge program, Chloe sat down with Ivan’s chart. His therapy had brightened her day, even though Ivan had been a real pill through it and refused most of her new exercises.
Complicating matters, she’d been disappointed not to see Chance. Ivan said he’d taken a new recruit to lunch because the recruit had asked about Chance’s church. That Chance had chosen to go to lunch rather than see her during Ivan’s session needled her, even though she knew her reaction was ridiculous.
Her fax machine bleeped and she approached it. Good. Ivan’s physician faxed her more of his history.
She kicked off her shoes, grabbed a pear and sat at the small kitchen table Evie had furnished.
Midnight lay down on top of her feet.
“Hmm. Ivan likes to work with clay. He has an Internet business and sells custom-made chess sets online. Let’s check them out, Midnight. What do you think?” While Midnight chased a katydid across the floor, Chloe went online.
Images of beautifully handcrafted games appeared. Chloe set down her fruit. “Wow. He is really talented.”
Empathy flooded her when a message appeared that said: “Due to family emergencies, we are unable to process orders at this time. We apologize for any inconvenience. Please check back next season.”
“So sad.” Chloe determined that minute to get Ivan to the point where he could work on his chess sets again.
More pictures scrolled across the screen. Chloe’s heart melted at the images of family and friends that came in and out of focus with the slide show.
“That must be Ivan’s late wife. Chance has his mom’s smile.” Speaking of Chance, image after image of him rolled across the screen. Some recent, some not.
“Wow. Ivan is really proud of his son.” She wondered if Chance knew all these photos were on here.
She giggled at one of Chance holding a stringer of catfish. “He looks about ten years old here. And severely sunburned.”
Another image scrolled. Chance in full dress blues. “Wow. Air Force guy. I must admit, he is so handsome he takes my breath away.”
The next image caused her face to flush. Must be recent because it was Chance, looking similar to now, on a lake in a fishing boat with Brock.
She leaned in, very close. They were both shirtless and standing in camouflage shorts flexing ballooned biceps, wash-board bellies and goofy grins.
She cleared her throat and grabbed papers off the table, then proceeded to fan herself furiously with them.
Thankfully, he was not shirtless in the next few ph
otos. Those big, bulky guys must be part of his team. PJs or Pararescue Jumpers, Mandy had called them.
She’d look pararescue up after perusing Ivan’s site and chart and formulating a written game plan. Images on the family-owned business site caused even more compassion to well up.
“Midnight, good buddy, we really have to work on Ivan. Okay? Starting tomorrow, let’s do our best to help him get as much of his life back as possible.”
The dog licked her hand, which she normally wouldn’t allow. But she hadn’t paid much attention to him today.
Giggling, Chloe got down on the living room floor and played until they were both worn out. Then she took him for his evening walk and readied for bed.
She wrestled with her pillow. Flopped, tossed, turned. The more she thought about Ivan and Chance and the family photos and all they’d lost when they lost Chance’s mother and Ivan suffered his stroke, the more sleep eluded her. Turning her pillow to the cool side didn’t help.
Ivan’s Web site had given her intimate glimpses into their lives. And the Pararescue Jumpers site gave her a peek into the life of Chance, a true hero. The man who was becoming frighteningly intriguing to her and who felt far too familiar and fascinating for the little time they’d spent together.
And it seemed clear that the interest ran both ways.
Certainly the attraction did because she caught him checking her out every time she turned around, the same way she did him when he wasn’t looking, which wasn’t often.
This man was a rare breed. One who was, as their pararescue creed stated, willing to risk his life for others. The creed scrolled through her mind and left her more unsettled.
It is my duty as a pararescueman to save life and aid the injured. I will be prepared at all times to perform my assigned duties quickly and efficiently, placing these duties before personal desires and comforts. These things I do, “That Others May Live.”
That creed also meant he’d never give up his duty for any woman. Not even his wife. Just like her dad, his career would always come first.
Nevertheless, her determination to be involved in this family was about Ivan, not about Chance and not about her. She must really be tired. Otherwise her brain wouldn’t have brought the ridiculous and very premature concept of marriage into the mix.
If Ivan didn’t start rehabbing soon, he’d never regain use of his hand, which meant he’d never build his beloved chess sets again.
This case was time sensitive, and she owed Mandy a major favor. More than that, she’d come to care for Ivan.
Ivan had been worse than ever in his resistance this week. But that only fed her dogged determination. Even though time with Chance’s father cut severely into her planning and research time, plus the other work she needed to do to launch the animal-assisted therapy program proposal.
Chloe shook her head and punched her fist into her pillow, trying to get comfortable. No matter what opposition bounded in her path, she was determined not to let anything prevent her from going back. Slowly, she closed her eyes, plans marching across her vision as she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Five
She was back.
With dogzilla.
And an armful of flowers so large they camouflaged her lovely face.
Chance was floored to find his dad’s neck craning to see the bouquet ambling up the drive. He had expected to meet his dad’s fury. Instead, he wore a slight, lopsided grin. “She came back again? Gutsy, that girl.”
Chance smiled as he reached to get the door for the lovely person God had sent to answer his most desperate prayer: that Ivan would snap out of his grief-driven depression enough to try to physically rehabilitate.
He knew Dad well enough to know that when he snapped back from the crushing blow of losing his soul mate, he’d regret not working harder to regain use of his limbs.
Chance swung the door open to see her vivacious grin, an expression that made his heart feel as if it hit a trip wire.
“Hey, soul-ja boy. Take this.” She plopped a large paper bag in his arms, not pausing to see if he’d protest.
Soul-ja? Maybe he wouldn’t tell her just yet that technically he was an Airman and not a Soldier. He rather liked the way the title rolled off her tongue.
Pleasant smells wafted from the bag, warm against his skin. He peeked. “You bought dinner?” Surprise streaked through him. His mouth moistened and his tummy rumbled.
“Nope. I made dinner. I bought the foam since you two bachelors seem hesitant to part with it.”
Surprisingly, the “bachelor” statement didn’t seem to upset his dad. Only because the smell of delicious barbecue had no doubt reached Ivan’s eager nose.
“Hello again,” she said to Ivan and set her medical bag on the folding chair near the door. Chance really needed to get the rest of Ivan’s furniture in here.
She placed the vibrant flowers on the coffee table in a vase she tugged from her bottomless bag.
Just how much sunshine could one girl bring?
Chloe approached Ivan and chattered like they were old friends, even though Ivan had vowed to banish her after their last session, when she’d apparently pushed Ivan to bump up his strength training.
Chance’s gaze veered to Midnight, who had accompanied her in and who now watched Chance carefully, soulfully. Vying for trust and affection. Chance’s gaze snagged on something, echoes of fear embedded deep in the dog’s dark, cavernous eyes.
Then the mutt’s mouth relaxed into a friendly pant that made him look like he was laughing. His eyes livened as they sought Chloe. The dog obviously loved and trusted her with his whole being.
Ivan might not have a soft spot for animals, but Chance sure did. He had the sudden urge to pet Midnight, but didn’t suppose he should with the dog being on duty.
Dog on duty. In his dad’s house. His dad, the antidog person. Chance wanted to laugh at the absurd twist of fate. Chloe seemed to have Ivan wrapped around her slender fingers, despite Ivan’s steely resistance. No wonder Mandy hadn’t elaborated on what she meant about Chloe being unconventional.
Chloe cast a glance over her shoulder, proving her eyes were truly as green-yet-golden and her hair as glistening as his dreams convinced him of last night. “Can you take care of drinks? Otherwise dinner might get cold.”
“I’ll pour us water.” Then he’d brew after-dinner tea.
After they’d eaten the delicious lunch of Chloe’s barbecued spare ribs, Chance stepped from the room to give her a chance to rebuild critical rapport with his dad without feeling like Chance stood over her shoulder.
Three minutes.
That’s all it had taken her to gain Chance’s full trust. For that’s all the time it took her to get Ivan to run through the neurological and strength checks that the hospital rehab team couldn’t coax out of him in three weeks.
Chance stood in the kitchen of the tiny house that he’d rented for his dad and himself and slowly moved them into over the past weekends, much to Ivan’s protest. But his doctors had said he could no longer live alone, and Chance couldn’t bear sending him to a nursing home.
Chance reached for the teakettle, then froze when memories poured into his head. Steeped in sentiment, he studied the kettle and smiled as memory after happy memory slid through his mind. The forgotten images of his mom were an unexpected gift from God in the midst of grief that would have ground him into dust if the strong sense of God’s presence and mercy hadn’t accompanied them.
The kettle had been Mom’s for years. She had it as far back as he could remember. The dings, dents and faded design evidenced how old it was. How she’d loved it. Used it.
Wow. He missed her.
What I wouldn’t give for another day.
His throat knotted and his fingers quivered slightly as he grasped the handle that her hands had so often held when serving tea for the never-ending stream of guests in their home. His mom had a gift of hospitality. People warmed easily to her. She had a welcoming way about her. Most importantly
, she could talk Ivan into anything.
Chloe reminded Chance of her in that way.
Feeling suddenly steeped too long in loss, he shoved the memories asunder, tucked them away for later, and put water on to boil.
The last thing he wanted was to waver on a crumbling ledge of emotion. Nausea accosted him.
Combat nature rising up to take a militant stand, Chance mouthed a sustaining scripture, clenched his fist and turned his attention away from stark sadness and toward the kettle. Focusing on others fought self-pity.
The combined antidotes of faith and fortitude worked.
What would Chloe want? What would Mom choose for her? Chance looked around the cupboards. There. Decided. He opened the package of blooming tea and put the lump near the glass pitcher. Maybe the bloom would impress Chloe.
Alone in the kitchen, Chance smiled.
Mandy had informed him when she’d arrived to sit with Ivan yesterday that Chloe was a tea and flower fanatic.
Why he wanted to impress her was beyond him, but he did. Tea on task, he stepped toward the doorway to watch them unobserved. Mandy and his other teammates’ wives had dropped by Evie’s to welcome Chloe to Refuge. And they had evidently filled Chloe in on tidbits of Chance’s life. Had Chloe asked for the information? Or had his teammates’ good-hearted, meddling, matchmaking wives offered the info unsolicited?
Chance studied Chloe and wished he knew.
The teakettle whistled. He set it aside and shut off the burner before returning to the doorway leading from the kitchen to the living room.
A familiar smell caught him off guard. Chloe pulled a glass pan from her bag that smelled suspiciously like the banana-split cake his mother always used to make for Ivan because it was his favorite dessert. And Chance’s.
Without thinking, he drifted toward the smell.
Giggling took his attention from the cake she set on the coffee table. Chloe. Her laugh was like emotional tech support. He dialed in.
Ivan gave a harrumph and leaned on his four-pronged cane. “I don’t eat any woman’s dessert except for my wife’s.” But Ivan licked his lips as he eyed the cake.
