by Camille Eide
“For what?”
“I’m writing a series of feature articles for The Master’s Call magazine. Hers is the first. It’s a follow-up to her biography that she and I collaborated on a few years ago.”
“You wrote a book? How exciting.”
Ian shrugged.
“What’s it called?”
“Worth the Price: The Janet Anderson Story. Catchy title, eh?”
“Sounds intriguing.” She twisted and leaned against the door to get a better look at him. “So tell me the Janet Anderson story.”
He took a deep breath. “Janet is a missionary—a rather unusual one. She talks to people on the street about the love of Christ. Gangsters, drug dealers—the kind of people who murdered her husband and son.”
Emily gasped. “Murdered? How?”
Ian checked over his shoulder and changed lanes. “Janet’s husband and son were part of a street ministry in L.A. They were talking with some gang members, leading them to Christ. Some others from the gang got agitated and jumped them. Both men were stabbed and killed.”
“That’s awful.” She couldn’t imagine living with the horror of losing someone to that kind of violence. “How devastating for Janet, both of them being taken at once like that.”
“When it first happened, it shook her world. And her faith. But in her grief, she said God spoke to her, gave her a choice. She could keep asking why God would allow such a tragedy, or she could trust God no matter what and go on serving Him faithfully. In time, she chose the latter. But the amazing thing is she didn’t stop there. In spite of the way her husband and son died, it became Janet’s personal mission to find the men who had taken their lives and share the love of Christ with them. And others like them.”
“How incredible. That’s like ... the ultimate case of turning the other cheek.”
Ian clamped his lips.
“I think that kind of work would be hard for anyone, but especially for someone who’d lost her family like that.”
He checked his mirror, glanced over his shoulder, and changed lanes again. “Janet’s husband and son believed their message of faith in Christ was worth risking their lives. That message cost Janet almost everything. But she decided the price of their deaths deserved a worthy return, so she picked up where they left off and carried on. That’s her story.”
“Unbelievable.” Janet Anderson sounded like a remarkable woman, someone Emily would like to meet. “So what did you do during your week with her?”
“She has a wee flat downtown, but she spends all her time on the street. I went everywhere she did, journaled her every move, met the people she knows. Had dinner from a tin can under a bridge. There was a lad who didn’t want to talk, but she didn’t let up. She invited him home for a meal. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but Janet said God gives her a special understanding about people, and the lad wasn’t dangerous, just lonely. She told him the Lord would never leave him, and, after they talked for a while, he gave his life to Christ.”
Emily frowned. “Is she ever afraid? After what happened, especially? I would be.”
Ian shook his head. “No, I don’t think she is. Somehow, her faith in God has only become stronger through this. She has a saying. ‘Faith isn’t expecting God to give us good things; it’s trusting the goodness of God in the face of tragedy.’”
“Wow.” Emily replayed the words, letting them sink in. “She’s right, of course. But that’s not always easy to live out. A lot of people give up on God after a tragedy.” Give up on God, on family, on your only child ... “I wish my dad could meet Janet.”
“If anyone can understand tragic loss, she can.” Ian frowned, as if he wasn’t sure that was such a good thing. And yet, he clearly admired Janet’s courage, loyalty, and incredible faith. What a rare find in a friend.
“How did you meet her?”
It took a moment for him to answer. “She was a friend of Katy’s—my wife.”
Emily’s cheeks blazed. She should have known.
“She died. But perhaps you already knew that.”
“I’m sorry, Ian, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s all right.”
Emily frowned down at her fingers intertwined in her lap. “How long ago?”
“Nine years.”
She turned her attention to the passing homes and buildings as they approached the outskirts of Newport. His silence sent a pang that hushed her as well. She wanted to know more, but if he didn’t volunteer, she wouldn’t ask.
After a while, he spoke. “Katy attended a youth mission training school in Hawaii while I—during our engagement.” The last word rattled out like gravel. Ian grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a drink. “Janet was there doing a series of lectures, and she and Katy became good friends. I didn’t meet Janet until ... after.” He took another drink, swallowed with a loud gulp. “At the funeral.”
The hollow sound of the word sent a dull pain through Emily. She studied his rigid jaw with a sinking heart. Oh, way to go, Em. Good job brightening Ian’s mood.
As they entered Newport, Ian drew a deep breath. The noon sun dazzled like a jewel set high in the sky.
Driving through the historic Nye Beach neighborhood, Ian caught his first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. The calm water sparkled, a pleasant surprise. The salty air, stirred by a mild breeze, felt cool but grew warmer by the minute. He navigated the narrow, old streets until they found the Victorian retreat center where Grace’s group was staying. It was perched on a small cliff overlooking the beach.
Emily found someone in the manager’s office to let her and Ian inside. “I need to check on something. I’ll be right back,” she said.
Ian tossed his old leather duffel onto a chair and glanced round the main meeting room. Several comfortable-looking couches and chairs furnished one end, dining and game tables the other. A long window overlooking the ocean extended the entire length of the room. He stood at the window and stretched, allowed the blood to flow back into his cramped calves. What an incredible view of the endless, shimmering sea. Definitely a magnificent day.
When Emily returned, she looked guilty.
Ian held back a smile. She was rubbish at hiding what she felt. Hopefully that would never, ever change. “What’s up?”
Going a bit pink, Emily bit her lower lip. “I checked to see if Aunt Grace has been taking her medicine. And it looks like she has.”
“So that’s it, your big scheme?” He cocked one eyebrow. “I thought you had something really twisted in mind, like short-sheeting the beds or switching round all their teeth.”
Her laughter bubbled out easily, dissolving her look of guilt. “Really. That’s what you thought?”
He nodded. “But it turns out you’re just a spy.”
“The truth is Aunt Grace can be a little forgetful. Which always poses some risk. But she still has her dignity, and I worry about her being embarrassed. I know, I worry too much.” She sighed. “Yep, that’s my big scheme. Now you’re going to say I need professional help.”
Ian bent down close and gave her his gravest look. “Emily, you can be free of this deviant behavior. The hardest part is behind you now that you’ve admitted you have a problem.”
Emily chuckled. “Okay. Now you’re laughing at me. I guess it’s only fair after the deer thing.”
Her smile was so playful, and she gazed into his eyes with such tenderness that he froze, captive. His heart drummed out a sudden, wild rhythm. They stood so close she could probably hear the hammering in his chest, maybe even see it.
“I promise to check into a program, now that I’ve—” Her eyes grew wide.
Man, what are you doing? He spun and went to the window. As he stood looking down at the ocean, he could feel her eyes on his back. What am I doing?
“Maybe we should look around,” Emily said quietly. “See if we can figure out what they have planned for the weekend.”
He turned round, but Emily was already heading out of the room.
It didn’t take long to find the group’s itinerary posted in the kitchen. According to the schedule, Grace and her friends were on a guided tour of the lighthouse, then on to a whale-watching tour in the afternoon.
“That leaves us with no choice,” Emily said. “Until she returns for dinner, I guess we’ll have to console ourselves with all this stunning ocean and miles of beach.”
Emily had never seen such a gorgeous beginning of June at the Oregon coast. The water sparkled with a silvery shimmer beneath a cloudless, blue sky. Clusters of people populated the beach in both directions. A tingling sense of excitement crackled all around, as though a collective, pent-up energy had been released into the air.
As Ian and Emily walked along the water’s edge in the firm sand, Ian’s gaze panned out over the glistening sea. “Miserable way to spend a day.”
“I know, right? Breathtaking ocean and clear, blue sky—totally lame.”
Ian lifted a foot to model his flip-flops. “Thanks for stopping at the mall. I wasn’t thinking of the beach when I packed.”
“You could pass for an Oregonian now—if you don’t speak.”
She’d dressed in shorts and layered T-shirts with an Oregon Ducks sweatshirt tied around her waist. The weather could be unpredictable—even the sunniest day in June could turn numbingly cold if the wind picked up.
They headed south along the beach, an endless stretch of sand and driftwood, of kites and dogs, of kids and couples. No work, all play. This was good. She’d been working so long and so hard at building up the kids at the ranch that she’d forgotten to recharge, just to relax.
Emily raised her face to the midday sun, drinking in its warmth, letting it soak into her skin and melt away the last traces of winter. She filled her lungs with the salty air and let out a long, cleansing breath.
“Emily?”
“Mmm?”
“Tell me about Aunt Grace.”
A sudden chill chased away the warmth. She stared at Ian. “Why? I mean, what do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “Is she sensible?”
“Yes.”
“And what sort of person is she? Is she good-natured?”
Emily frowned. Why did he want to know? He already had a grandmother—he didn’t need another one. “Yes. Even with her memory sometimes fading, her character is the same as ever. She’s a very kind, gracious woman.”
“Is she now?” He slipped his hands in his pockets as he walked. “That’s how I always imagined her. From the letters.”
A few yards ahead, a young couple threw a stick into the water for a tireless black lab. The dog retrieved it and headed straight for Ian, tail wagging, the stick poking out of his mouth like a dripping cigar. The man shouted an apology, but Ian took the stick from the dog and sent it hurtling down the beach. The dog tore off after it.
Ian tossed a nod at the couple and waved, then turned to Emily. “It was kind of you to stay with Grace all this time.”
Was? “Not at all. It’s more like repaying a huge debt of gratitude. And not just for me. My mom lost her mother when she was young too, and she spent a lot of time with Uncle Thomas and Aunt Grace.” Their footfalls landed in two different tempos on the wet sand. “And later, Grace was there for me when I needed her. She still is. She’s always treated me like a daughter.”
“So the two of you are close, then.” His strides lengthened and he edged ahead.
In spite of her daily running routine, she had to work a little to keep up with him. “Yes, we are. Nothing’s changed, even though the roles are sort of reversed now. She needs me. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.” Except let you drag her off to some other country.
Ian nodded. “Good.”
With any luck, that was enough to satisfy him. Curling strands of hair blew across her face. Emily tucked them behind her ear. She could ask him what he intended to do once he met his great-aunt, but she was pretty sure she already knew. Her sense of dread grew.
“And is she well now?”
“What do you mean by that?” Her pinched voice sounded childish, even in her own ears, but it was too late to do anything about it.
A hint of confusion creased his brow. “I mean her health. How is she?”
“She’s ... as well as can be expected for a woman of her age. And in her condition.”
The frown deepened. “What condition?”
She’s old. She’s not strong. And she’s ... old.
They walked in silence for a minute.
Emily’s pulse skittered as she prepared herself for the inevitable question.
“Emily, is there something—?”
“Can she make it halfway across the world in one piece? Isn’t that what you really want to know?”
Ian stopped walking and stared at her.
Emily stopped too, fully numb with disbelief at what had come out of her mouth. Her throat went dry. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Ian. I don’t know where that came from. And I interrupted you. What were you saying?”
But Ian just shook his head slowly, eyes locked on hers.
Emily took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I know Maggie wants Grace to move to Scotland and that’s why you want to see her, but she can’t make the trip.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he frowned. “She can’t?”
Emily stared at her feet and shook her head.
“Emily?”
For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. “What?”
“Is that true? Or is it something else?”
It was the truth. Of course it was. She looked up.
A pair of dark eyes bored into hers. “Are you hiding something from me?” His voice was deep and quiet, not at all what she expected.
Angry tears stung her eyes. Don’t cry! He’ll think you’re psycho and take her away for sure. She blinked hard, raised her chin, and looked him in the eye. “I honestly believe it would be too dangerous for her to travel that far.”
“Dangerous?”
She nodded.
Ian took a long, deep breath, let it out slowly, turned, and took off walking.
She forced herself to move and jogged to catch up.
He strode several yards in silence. “All right, then.”
“‘All right’ what?”
“There’s no point in discussing it now, is there? Not without Grace.”
“Grace? But she can’t ...” A prickle of frustration quickened her steps. “She’s not capable of making a sound decision about something like this.”
Ian’s profile gave no clue to his thoughts. Finally, he stopped and faced her. “Listen, Emily, do you trust me at all? Even a wee bit?”
What was he asking of her? With her feelings such a mess, all she could do was stare into those unrelenting eyes.
“No one wants to harm Grace or threaten her well-being. I’m sure you know that. But I need to talk to her, see for myself. Can you give me that?”
And what would he see? Would he see Grace as Emily did?
God, can I trust this man?
This man—Ian MacLean. The Ian she’d known through years of correspondence. The Ian she’d known as wise, selfless, and caring.
She pulled in a shuddery breath, eased it out slowly. “Okay. But when you talk to her and realize I’m right, will you tell Maggie that Grace can’t come?”
Hands on his hips—probably bracing himself for another outburst—he held her in a long, scrutinizing stare, then pivoted away from her and stared at the sea. His torso expanded with every breath. “All right,” he said, slowly turning back around. “A ban on the topic until we see her. Deal?”
Relief swept through her. As they walked Emily picked up seashells whenever she spotted whole ones.
Ian began picking them up too, and when he had collected a handful, he blew off the sand and handed them to her.
A dizzy feeling crept over her, making her knees tremble. Probably just low blood sugar mixed w
ith keeping up with his long strides. She hadn’t had time to eat breakfast.
“Hey, are you hungry?” Ian asked. “I’m starving, and I saw something that looked like a chip shop back there.” He pointed to a small, shop-lined street just off the beach.
“The Chowder Bowl? Yeah, that sounds really good.” Fabulous. Ian MacLean had a talent for reading minds.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So what was it like growing up in Scotland?” Emily asked. The little bistro table on the boardwalk outside the café offered a good spot for talking over bowls of steaming clam chowder, and gave them a perfect view of the beach and the glittering horizon beyond.
Ian stirred the ice around in his root beer. “I grew up in Paisley on and off. And other places. But Claire and I spent a few summers at the farm with Maggie and my granddad Liam. We helped during shearing season. And for a while, our whole family lived in the old cottage.”
Emily took a bite of the creamy chowder. “That must have been fun, all together like that.”
The cell phone in her pocket chirped, followed by a vibrating hum.
“Fun? It was cramped. And isolated. Claire and I had to go to secondary in Stirling.”
Pulling out her phone, she said, “Secondary? Is that high school?”
He nodded, taking a bite.
Emily checked the screen. Jaye.
Where R U?
Maybe a brief reply wouldn’t be rude.
But brief would never cut it with Jaye.
Yet it was brief or nothing. Emily quickly keyed in At the beach with Ian MacLean and hit Send. Cupping her chin in one hand, she asked, “So how far is it to Stirling?”
He studied his next spoonful thoughtfully. “About a five-hour drive.”
Chirp-hum.
“Really?” She touched the view message button with her thumb, keeping her eyes on Ian. “Wow. That seems like a long way to go to school.”
Ian sipped his soda. The faint curve of a smile peeked around his straw.
Instead of exploring what Ian was finding so funny, she glanced down at Jaye’s message:
What??!?! Friar Tuck or Johnny D??? Photo!! Now!!
