The Fireman's Homecoming

by Allie Pleiter

  Clark thought about all the broken places he’d been, and the damage he’d done until he’d found himself lying in the bottom of that drainage well with nowhere to look but up. “Could be.” He looked down at his father’s truck, parked in the spot marked “Chief” for the last time. Someone had decorated the small sign for the occasion. He swallowed hard, knowing God had just handed him the opportunity to say what needed saying. “You know, Pop, I get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “I’m not saying what you did was right, but I know you’re sorry. And though I’m still messed up about how I’ll handle it, I get it.”

  There was no need to talk about what “it” was—they both knew, had both carried the weight of it around for weeks. Pop didn’t reply, but looked at Clark with a clarity the two hadn’t shared in a long time.

  “I’d do anything for her. I’d pay any price to be with Melba, to know my life would include her. I...” He wanted the right words to communicate the paradox of his thoughts, and they weren’t coming. “It will be a long time before I’m at peace with what happened, but I do understand. What you felt. I don’t think I could have until Melba. Until I felt the way I do.” Clark held his father’s eyes. “I’m done with all the hurt, I hope. I don’t want us to lose the chance at these years ahead of us. You have my forgiveness.”

  They hugged, and Clark felt his father’s breath catch with the emotion of the moment. “I needed that,” Pop said, his voice rough and soft. “I’m so sorry.”

  They looked out over the town they both had sworn to protect. He really truly had come home. In so many more ways than he expected. Clark had always known he’d need a solid anchor inside to do this job. He’d looked for it when he bought the boat, but the true anchor was never out on the water. It was inside, in the tender space between himself and those he loved.

  “I went to see him,” Pop said quietly. “To put it right.”

  “Who?”

  “Mort. Last week I met with Pastor Allen and talked the whole thing out. He arranged for us to talk, to try to reconcile things. I thought I owed it to you and Melba if you were going to have any...kind of chance at...things.”

  Clark wasn’t expecting that at all. Well, maybe in a couple of months—if they had that with Mort, for he seemed to be fading faster than anyone anticipated—but hardly now. “What happened?”

  The pause before Pop answered was so long Clark began to worry. A long sigh filled the evening sky before his father answered. “He didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know who I was. So I just told him I was sorry but didn’t have the heart to tell him why.”

  Sometimes, Clark thought, grace isn’t soft at all. Sometimes grace is so sharp it hurts.

  * * *

  There was only one place to go. After she’d hugged Dad so hard he’d started scowling at her, Melba settled Dad in for supper with Barney and drove to Clark’s house. She didn’t even bother calling, didn’t want to even try to go into this on the phone. This was face-to-face news. Her heart was an odd combination of pounding and peaceful as she rang his doorbell.

  He was in jeans and a T-shirt, still toweling off his wet hair. “Hi there.” The pleasure and affection in his eyes made her stomach do delightful flips. He’d been dashing in full uniform at the party two nights ago, but he was equally heart-stopping now, tousled as he was. “Just got in from a run.”

  I love him. It hummed through her with the same life-anchoring certainty of her earlier realization, the one she came to share. I love him and he loves me. It seemed too wonderful and yet effortlessly genuine—as if the world simply could not have lined up any other way. The whole day had sung that truth to her, hadn’t it? Melba started to cry.

  “Hey, whoa, everything okay?” Clark pulled her in and she soaked up the strength of his arms. He held her tight—assurance-tight but not smother-tight. Just perfect. It stunned her how a world so jumbled could settle itself into such peace even though not much had changed.

  No, everything had changed. Everything that mattered.

  “Melba? Love?”

  The endearment only doubled her joy, and she looked up at him and tried to smile through the tears streaming down her face. “I’m fine. I’m wonderful.”

  His puzzled features told her he wasn’t convinced. “You are? Want to explain?”

  Melba held out her hand, knowing Clark would place a handkerchief from his pocket into her outstretched palm. “I’m not even sure I can. I want to try.” She dabbed at her nose and eyes while Clark touched a tender kiss to the top of her head. “It’s gone, Clark. Poof, gone in a wonder of a moment. I mean, I’m sure it’s not completely gone, but just about.”

  Clark put her at arms’ length. “You’ve lost me.”

  Melba shook her head. “Oh, I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain this right.” She let Clark pull her into his living room, settling her on his couch.

  “Start over.” His grin looked like he had all the time in the world, even though she’d just shown up on his doorstep unannounced. She smelled the soap on his skin as he wrapped an arm around her.

  Breathing in a Help me, God prayer for some way to put the last two hours into words, Melba reached into her memory for a sensible starting point.

  Reach into her memory. She could do that. She could always reach into her memory. What a gift that was.

  “Dad had a string of neurological tests done today—he gets them every month now—and Dr. Nichols asked to speak to me while Dad was busy with the technician. I thought he was going to ask me about Dad’s little escapade yesterday with the coffeepot—I didn’t tell you about that, did I?”

  Clark raised an eyebrow. Escapade had become their code word for anything that went haywire in Dad’s thought process and caused a commotion. Escapades were fast becoming a daily business. “We can skip over that detail if it’s not important.”

  “It’s not.” Melba paused for a second to realize the genuine truth in her remark. She smiled. “It’s not.”

  “So...” Clark cued.

  “He didn’t want to talk about Dad at all. He wanted to talk about me. He gave me a long, kind speech about the genetic path of Alzheimer’s. He was very gently trying to tell me that I have a fifty percent chance of carrying the mutated gene that causes the disease. If the mutation is present, it’s a hundred percent certain I’ll get the disease. And I’d pass the same risk of mutation along to my children. He was so sweet about it, saying how hard this fact must be, how strong he thought I’d been through Dad’s illness. He gave me the name of a genetics testing lab that could run a blood sample and tell me if I carried the mutation. He said he’d understand if I decided I didn’t want to know, but that I could find out if I felt it was important.”

  Clark’s face grew serious. “It is important, Melba. Have you decided if you want to know?”

  Melba could only smile. Now she’d get to watch the same realization wash over Clark’s face. “Clark, I already know. I don’t have the mutation because Dad can’t give it to me.” It had taken her a second to put the facts together as well, and when she had, it had been enormously difficult to hide her emotions from Dr. Nichols. Hopefully the doctor took her shock to be from the seriousness of the decision, not the revelation that struck her.

  Clark blinked, his eyes widening as he remembered what he knew. “He can’t. He can’t have passed the mutation on to you.”

  “Because while Mort Wingate is my dear dad, he’s not my father.” She grabbed at Clark’s shoulders as tears fell anew. “God spared me. He spared my children. He gave me the best of everything even when I thought it was the worst of everything. I had the best father in the world but God protected me from the one thing Dad couldn’t. It’s a gift. It’s a gift, not a mistake. All the hate, the anger, the blame, it all just dissolved the moment I realized it.”

  Clark shut his eyes for a moment
, and Melba had the blessing of watching a deep gratitude come over his face. When he opened his eyes, they were full of emotion. “It never occurred to me, Melba. Not once.”

  “I know. I mean I should have put the facts together, but...”

  “No,” Clark said, taking her face in his hands. “I mean I would have married you anyway, even if you did carry the whatever-it-is. I’ll stand by you no matter what.”

  “What?”

  He blinked, truly unaware of what he’d just said. For a moment he just looked at her, and she saw the depth of his love in his eyes. The world unfolded a little further to hold all that new joy. Melba waited, her smile filling every inch of her heart.

  And then it hit him, and he squinted his eyes shut and laughed. “I had it planned so much better than this.”

  Melba was not even trying to stop the tears streaking her cheeks. “Than what?”

  “Out on the boat with a big ring and all kinds of romance. I had the storybook proposal all planned. And now I’ve sort of botched it all to pieces, haven’t I? Another Clark Bradens mess-up.”

  “No, it’s perfect. It’s all perfect. Messy, but perfect, so it fits right in.”

  He kissed her. “Nah, I can’t do it like this. It’s got to be done right.” He pulled back a bit, and she recognized the look of a plan brewing in his eyes. “Give me back my handkerchief.”

  “Huh? It’s already wet.”

  “That won’t matter. In fact, I think it kind of adds to the whole thing. Close your eyes.”

  Stumped, she followed his instructions, laughing at the humming he made while he did whatever he was doing.

  “Okay.”

  Melba opened her eyes to see Clark’s breathtaking smile above the white square he held. Scrawled in ballpoint ink—she didn’t know where the pen came from and she didn’t care—was “IOU 1BIG?”

  “I owe you one big?”

  Clark rolled his eyes. “One big question, the big question. Done right. All the trimmings.”

  “But I’d say yes right now and...?” He didn’t let her finish the thought, silencing her instead with a kiss that made the world reel around her.

  “Because,” he said when they paused to catch their breath, “we’re home here and we’ve got all the time in the world.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Refuge by Linda Goodnight

  Dear Reader,

  Life has a way of tangling us up. Mistakes heap pain, illness robs the innocent, disasters happen, and a broken world threatens to pull down our faith. Hard as it can be, our finest defense is always grace. In my world, grace often comes in knitted form. Years ago, I began a prayer shawl ministry at our church on the recommendation of a fellow knitter. It’s been one of the most amazing, rewarding, faith-building experiences of my life. If you’d like to know more about how to implement a prayer shawl ministry in your community, get in touch with me at www.alliepleiter.com or P.O. Box 7026 Villa Park, IL 60181, and I’ll be happy to share information and encouragement.

  Questions for Discussion

  Has someone ever given you a helping hand during a crisis? How did it bolster your ability to cope?

  Was there a Clark Bradens in your high school? What did people think of a shady character like that? Do you know what happened to him?

  Charlotte says Melba “needs backup.” When was the last time you called in friends to help you in a tight spot? When did you fail to reach out?

  Clark says “you never get hurt running to something, you get hurt running from something.” Do you agree? Why?

  Does your church have “a deacons’ board like a SWAT team?” Is that ever a bad thing?

  Have you had a secret pull the rug out from under you? Do you feel you handled it well? What would you change if you had the opportunity?

  What’s your opinion of Clark’s “Escape Clause” tactic? What do you do to keep an even keel when life gets hectic?

  Mort seems to have given many people in Gordon Falls their first job. What was your first job? What did you learn about life from it?

  Have you ever longed to ask your parents what their marriage was like before you were born? Why or why not?

  Were Clark and Melba right or wrong to switch off their cell phones—even for thirty minutes?

  What would you do if you found a stack of old letters between your parents?

  George says “The world is full of things we all regret and can’t fix. It’s the whole point of grace.” Where has this been true in your life?

  Melba draws much comfort from Psalm 139. Is there a psalm that has stood out like that for you in your life?

  Melba tells Clark, “If you leave, all this will just follow you.” Have you experienced that in your own life? What did you take away from that experience?

  What—or who—is your “safety line”? If you don’t feel like you have one, what can you do about it?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!

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  Chapter One

  Left hand riding lightly on his thigh, Austin Blackwell held the reins with the other and picked his way through the thick woods above Whisper Falls, Arkansas. If one more calf strayed into this no-man’s land between his ranch and the cascading waterfall, he was putting up another fence. A really tall one. Barbed wire. Electrified. Let the folks of the small Ozark town whine and bellow that he was ruining the ambience or whatever they called the pristine beauty of these deep woods. They just didn’t want to lose any tourist money. Well, he didn’t want to lose any cattle money, either. So they were on even playing field. He’d never wanted to open the waterfall to tourism in the first place.

  Now, every yahoo with an itch to climb down the rock wall cliff and duck behind the curtain of silvery water traipsed all over his property just to mutter a prayer or two. Wishful thinking or pure silliness. He’d made the trek a few times himself and he could guarantee prayers whispered there or anywhere else for that matter were a waste of good breath.

  Something moved through the dense trees at his left and Austin pulled the horse to a stop. Cisco flicked his ears toward the movement, alert and ready to break after the maverick at the flinch of his master’s knee.

  “Easy,” Austin murmured, patting the sleek brown neck while he scoped the woods, waiting for a sight or sound. Above him a squirrel chattered, getting ready for winter. Autumn leaves in reds and golds swirled down from the branches. Sunlight dappled between the trees, although the temperature was cool enough that Austin’s jacket felt good.

  He pressed his white Stetson tighter and urged the bay onward in the direction of the falls, the direction from which the movement had come. Might be the maverick.

  “Coyote, probably.” But black bear and cougar weren’t out of the question. He tapped the rifle holster, confident he could handle anything he encountered in the woods. Outside the ranch was a different matter.

  The roar of the falls increased as he rode closer. Something moved again and he twisted in the saddle to see the stray heifer
break from the opposite direction. Cisco responded with the training of a good cutting horse. Austin grappled for the lariat rope as the calf split to the right and crashed through the woods to disappear down a draw.

  Cisco wisely put on the brakes and waited for instructions. Austin lowered the rope, mouth twisting in frustration. No use endangering a good horse in this rugged, uneven terrain.

  At least the stray had headed in the right direction, back toward the ranch.

  “Yep, I’m puttin’ up another fence.” He patted Cisco’s neck with a leather-gloved hand. Somewhere along the meager stretch of old barbed wire the calves had found a place to slip through. Maybe in one of the low places or through a washout from one of the many creeks branching from the Blackberry River. Finding the break across three miles of snaggy underbrush would be a challenge.

  But Austin liked it up here on the grassy, leaf- and hickory-lined ridge above Whisper Falls. Always had, especially before the stories started and people came with their noise and tents and plastic water bottles. Before the name changed from Millerville to Whisper Falls—a town council decision to attract tourists. He understood. He really did. Ruggedly beautiful, this area of the Ozarks was isolated. Transportation was poor and there was little opportunity for economic growth, especially since the pumpkin cannery shut down.

  The remoteness was why he’d come here. The economy was why he ranched.

  Those were also the reasons the little town had changed its name and started the ridiculous marketing campaign to attract tourism. Whisper Falls. Austin snorted. No amount of marketing moved God to answer prayers.

  He shifted in the saddle to look toward the ninety-feet-high waterfall.

  Here, the Blackberry River tumbled faster than near the ranch, picking up speed before plummeting over the cliff in a white, foamy, spectacular display of nature’s force and beauty.

  The solitude of the woods soothed him, helped him forget. Nature didn’t judge the way people would. He could be himself. He could relax.