Heart and Soul (Love Inspired, 251)

by Jillian Hart

  Be real, Michelle.

  Common sense didn’t stop the stab of longing that pierced through her chest. It didn’t stop the pain of it.

  She wiped her feet on the welcome mat on the front porch. She locked the door behind her. As she did every night, she hung her denim jacket on one of the hangers inside the entry closet. There was a note tacked to the message board in the kitchen by the phone. Her mom was the queen of organization.

  “Michelle, went to supper and a show with your gramma. Make sure you start the dishwasher when you get in. Don’t stay up too late.”

  There went the hope that her parents were out together. After all this time, she knew better than to hope. But it was one of those wishes that never died, that flickered to life new and fragile every day.

  The message light on the answering machine was blinking and she hit the playback button. The old machine ground and hissed and clicked. There was a message from older sister Karen, calling to remind Michelle about her shift tomorrow at the coffee shop. A message from some old guy looking for Dad.

  Michelle groaned at the third message. It was from Bart Holmes. The farmer who lived down the road. The same Bart who’d been mooning after her sister Kirby, until Kirby had married.

  As if! In disgust, Michelle erased Bart’s nasal voice. She was so not interested in going out to dinner. She’d do her best to avoid him in church. She was not interested in joining his Bible study, either, thank you very much! Couldn’t he get a clue?

  Just her luck. The guys she didn’t want to notice her, pursued her. And the one that she did want to notice her was so far out of her league, she might as well be trying to jump to the moon.

  Give it up, Michelle. She squeezed dishwashing soap into the compartment and turned on the contraption. She left the kitchen to the hissing sound of water filling the dishwasher, and hopped up the stairs.

  Every step she took was like a glimpse at her past. School pictures framed and carefully hung on the wall showed the six McKaslin girls, all blond and blue-eyed, alike as peas in a pod, smiling nearly identical smiles.

  As she climbed toward the second story, the pictures grew older, marching through the years. To high school portraits in the hallway and Karen’s and Kirby’s wedding pictures. Everyone looked so happy and joyful, all the sisters crowded together in colorful bridesmaid dresses in both sets of wedding photos, but one sister was missing. Allison.

  Nothing would ever be the same, she knew, as she stood before the final picture in the photo saga of the McKaslin family. Karen’s newborn daughter, Allie was named in honor of the sister who had died so young.

  What other pictures would follow, Michelle wondered? There would be more babies, more weddings. She had no doubt her two currently unmarried sisters would find love.

  Would there be love for her? Or would she always be like this, running behind, left in the dust. She’d watched as her sisters were old enough to do what she couldn’t: ride horses, ride bikes, go to school, become cheerleaders, go to the prom, go steady, marry a great guy.

  She’d always felt as if she’d never caught up as her sisters grew up and left home. And in the grief of losing Allison, she’d felt like she’d lost her family, as well. The house that was once full now echoed around her as she made her way down the hall.

  She supposed that’s why she wanted to fall in love. To try and finally have what had been so wonderful and then slipped away. The warm tight cohesive love of a family and the happiness that came from it.

  “Patience,” Gramma was always telling her. “The good Lord gives us what we need at just the right time.”

  Well, how long would she have to wait? Her steps echoed through the lonely house that once had been filled with laughter and love.

  She knew better than to hope that a stranger, a man passing through town on his way to a more exciting life, would be the one who could save her from this aloneness.

  She was old enough to have stopped believing in fairy tales. But she wanted a happily-ever-after of her very own. She wanted a white knight on a fast horse with a heart strong and true.

  That it was impossible. There weren’t men like that in the world. Well, maybe the world, but absolutely certainly not in tiny, humble Manhattan, Montana.

  She could see Brody’s window from her bedroom. Just the corner of it, where a small light shone through the dark and the winds and rain. Her heart caught and remained a stark ache in the middle of her chest.

  Brody would be moving on come morning. She knew it. That’s why she was sad as she brushed her teeth, washed her face and changed into her pj’s. The sadness deepened as she said her prayers and turned out the light.

  It wasn’t about Brody. That wasn’t it. It was the promise of what he could be. Of what she wanted a man to be. Protective and disciplined and honest and strong. The kind of man who would never lie, never fail, never betray her and love her forever.

  Were there men out there like that?

  Only in fairy tales.

  She drew her comforter up over her head and closed her eyes.

  “I’m in.” Brody kept the lights off as he sat on the little balcony deck, tucked beneath the awning just off the small apartment bedroom. “I took a spill on the bike, but—”

  “Are you okay?” His partner sounded concerned.

  “When haven’t I been? I’ve crashed and burned before.” He’d learned how to avoid serious injury during his training. He related the sequences of occurrences that had him bunked up in the McKaslins’ spare apartment. “Banged up, but I’ll survive. I don’t have my pack with me, or I could start surveillance tonight.”

  “You’re on the property? Man! Talk about Providence.”

  “No kidding.” Hunter Takoda was a good partner, the best of the best, and they’d worked together for the past five years.

  “Your footwork paid off. I’m going to head out tonight, once the lights are out and everyone’s bedded down for the night—”

  He heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and high beams upon the driveway cast spears of light around to the back of the garage, where he was.

  Because of years of being partnered together, Brody didn’t need to tell Hunter that he had to check something out. Hunter waited patiently on the other end of the secure call while Brody limped through the dark apartment as fast as he could go, stubbed the toe of his injured foot on the leg of the coffee table, bit back the gasp of pain and crouched in front of the windows.

  He heard the garage doors crank open as a big gray car—the one registered to Mrs. Alice McKaslin—drove into the garage beneath him and out of sight. He heard the engine die, and the garage doors eased downward.

  A tidy, well-kept woman in her fifties, wearing a dress and heels, tapped down the walk to the front porch, opened the door and disappeared inside. Lights flashed on in the kitchen windows, but the blinds were drawn.

  “I’m going out tonight. I’ll rough out the property. There’s got to be a few more service roads around here than I could find on the map. McKaslin’s moving the money somehow.”

  “Think it’s a family operation, like the last case we busted over in Idaho?”

  Brody thought of Michelle’s easy goodness. It was hard to see her engaging in criminal activity. “I may just have to spend some time ferreting that out for sure.” Wasn’t that too bad?

  “Oh, I know. All those pretty blond women.” Hunter laughed. “Yeah, I did the original surveillance. I know what you’re thinking. When was the last time we got to work with really pretty women?”

  “Really pretty and really decent women don’t have a tendency to garner the FBI’s interest.” Brody hoped Hunter wouldn’t figure out the truth—that he had a personal interest in Michelle.

  Interest. That’s as far as it could go. He could secretly like her, what did that hurt? As long as he kept his objectivity. He was a professional. He was the best in the agency at what he did.

  He’d finish this job the right way.

  Chapter Four

&nb
sp; As Michelle saw it, there were only two problems with having a horse. One was that she had to get up every morning at five to feed and water Keno and change his bedding. And the second problem was that the stable was in the opposite direction of the garage.

  “Stop that, Keno.” She flicked her ponytail out of his mouth and gave him a sharp glare; the one that said, cross me and you’ll regret it.

  Except that everyone, even her horse, already knew the real her. Ever playful, Keno shook his big head from side to side. The instant she bent back to work, he tugged on her ponytail again.

  “All right, all right. I know.” Michelle rescued her hair and leaned the pitchfork against the side wall of the stall. “I’ve got things to do, I don’t have time to let you order me around this morning.”

  Keno, her best friend ever, knew when he had the advantage and moved in to cinch the deal. He leaned the length of his nose against her sternum and stomach, as if to say he loved her. And what was a girl going to do about that?

  Michelle melted like hot gooey chocolate left in the sun and gave her horse a hug back. “Okay, okay, you win.”

  The big dark bay shook his black mane and nickered in excitement. This is what she got for ignoring him yesterday. “It wasn’t as if you were neglected, you big baby. You had the other horses to keep you company.”

  The poor, neglected gelding stood still while she snapped the blue lead rope onto his matching nylon halter and led him through the wide stall door into the pasture.

  What a great morning for a ride. The morning was fresh and the breeze sweet and warm as the new sun welcoming her. As boring as it was living in smallville, this was worth it. Freedom sparkled all around her, and she laughed at the nuzzle of Keno’s whisper-soft lips against her face.

  She buried her left hand in his sturdy mane and braced the other on his back. She hopped on, pulled herself astride. Keno shifted with her weight, holding back all his power and energy until she sent him into an easy lope that made his mane dance and the meadow speed by.

  She hadn’t ridden him yesterday, and he stretched his legs now as she leaned forward, gripped him hard with her thighs, and urged him into a faster run. But to where?

  She could nose him into the rays of the rising sun and take him on the river trail, as she often did, or she could circle him around along the fence line. Yep, that’s what she’d do. Because from the rise near the house, she’d get a good look at the garage. She’d be able to see if Brody was up yet.

  And if he was, she’d invite him in to meet her parents. And since she had several clients this morning, she’d take him with her on her way to town and connect him up with his bike. That way she’d at least be able to say goodbye to him before he rode off forever.

  Speaking of goodbyes, there was her dad’s truck. The old tan-and-white pickup lumbered down the driveway and kicked up a soft plume of dust into the clean morning air.

  Dad was going to town? He was usually in the fields this time of morning, checking the crops and irrigation equipment. There were always a thousand things to keep him busy.

  But to head to town? Nothing was open, not even the coffee shop.

  Brody. The realization pierced through her chest, leaving a physical pain. Surely Mom and Dad found the note she’d left, detailing the events that led to the stranger staying the night in the garage apartment, and Dad was taking charge, like always. He was taking Brody into town.

  What? Without getting to say goodbye to him? As if!

  Michelle signaled Keno to stop. At the crest of the knoll closest to the house, she could see the garage and the windows above it. The blinds were open, so that meant that Brody was obviously up. Thanks to the low angle of the sun, she could see right into the apartment. No one was there.

  Sadness ripped through her, sharp as a razor blade. And how could that be? She’d only know Brody for what, like thirteen hours, and most of those she’d been asleep. So why did she feel so sad? As if she’d lost something of immense value? It made no sense.

  He was gone. She laid the heel of her palm over her heart, wishing the sadness would stop. Watch over him, Father. Keep him safe on his journey. Help him find whatever he’s searching for.

  Michelle swore she could hear the faintest answer, but the wind gusted and the seed-heavy grass rattled before she could grasp the words.

  It was as if the sun had gone down on her, and how much sense did that make? But that’s what it felt like as she walked Keno back, cooling him off before she brushed him down in the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

  Maybe it was the promise of a man like Brody. The hope of what she wanted in her life. A big strong man who was a little tough, looked a little dangerous, who was unique. A rugged individual. A good man of faith with a gentle heart.

  There had to be men like that somewhere in the world. All she wanted was the right man. The best man. Someone she could love with all her heart.

  Yeah, like they just fell out of the sky like rain.

  She checked the water in the trough, poured grain, forked fresh alfalfa into the feeder and gave Keno one last hug before she locked the stall gate after her. She hadn’t felt this lonely in a long time, so why now?

  Her steps echoed in the stable, melancholy sounding. She remembered when the stalls were full, and her sisters were always around, coming and going, cleaning stalls or grooming their horses. Now there was only the brush of dawn at the open doors as she stepped out into the morning alone.

  Meeting Brody had done this. It made her wish—for one impossible second—that her life could change. That she could find love and a family of her own. That she would be able to be loved and to love, to give her soul mate all the love she’d been saving up in her heart just for him.

  Whoever he was.

  Well, not Brody. That was for sure.

  At least it was Friday. She’d better remember to give her sisters a call—well everyone but Kristin because she lived in Seattle—and set up a game tonight. It was her turn to host. What was she gonna do for food?

  They could barbecue, but then she was a disaster when it came to Dad’s propane grill. She’d set the cobs of corn on fire last time. She wasn’t the best cook, so she didn’t want to torture her sisters with some lame casserole. Wait, maybe she’d pick up a take-and-bake pizza from town. Perfect.

  Feeling a little better, she kicked off her boots at the back steps and skidded to a stop in the threshold.

  There, seated at the round oak table in the kitchen’s sunny eating nook was a dark-haired man. She recognized the tousled shanks of hair and the long powerful curve of his shoulder and back.

  Brody. He was here? He hadn’t left?

  Her knees felt unsteady, so she leaned against the door frame realizing too late that she’d swept her sleep-rumpled hair into a ponytail, and she hadn’t showered. Without makeup, and wearing a pair of old cut-offs, she had to look totally gross. She had to smell like her horse.

  She was afraid Brody was going to leap out of his chair in horror and run on his injured ankle for the hills.

  She couldn’t blame him if he did.

  “Here, Michelle, honey.” Her mom noticed her first as she turned from the stove. “You’re just in time. Do you have a full morning at the Snip & Style?”

  “Yeah.” Somehow she managed to talk like a normal person—with consonants and vowels and words and everything. “I’m, uh, didn’t know Brody was here.”

  It was the nicest surprise ever.

  He twisted in the chair, hooking his arm around the ladder back, looking like a dream come true as he smiled. Slow. Steady. “Your mom offered me breakfast and I’m not about to turn down a home-cooked meal. Mrs. McKaslin, I can’t remember when I’ve had such a privilege.”

  “Goodness, you’re awfully well mannered for a biker.” Michelle’s mom tried to look stern, but pink blushed her face as she set two more plates on the table. She was pleased with the compliment. “Call me Alice. Michelle, I put your plate in the oven to keep warm. Mick’s is in there,
too.”

  “He’s not with Dad?”

  “He’s not up yet. He’s not answering his phone, anyway.”

  Michelle knew better than to say anything more. She grabbed a hot pad from the hook on the wall and found her plate in the oven. Uncle Mick was a sore point in the family. Her stomach tightened with worry over it as she headed to the table.

  “Who’s Mick?” Brody asked, absently, as if to make conversation in the suddenly tense silence.

  “My uncle.” Michelle dropped into the chair closest to him. “He’s going through a divorce and lost his job, so Dad hired him on to help out this summer.”

  “Hmmph!” was the only comment Alice McKaslin made as she switched the burners and set the frying pan heavy with hot grease on a trivet to cool.

  Brody quirked his left brow.

  Michelle knew his question. She didn’t even need to ask. How weird was that? “Uncle Mick is Dad’s favorite brother. I was named after him. I was supposed to be a boy, so they named me Michelle instead of Michael. Anyway, Uncle Mick’s not the most responsible of men. He’s a rad uncle, but he’s—”

  “—never grown up, and that’s not attractive in a forty-nine-year-old man.” Her mother’s stern look said everything. “Now, it’s time for grace.”

  Michelle clasped her hands and bowed her head during the prayer. As she whispered an amen, she looked at Brody and wondered. Was it chance that he’d landed here? Or was he part of a bigger plan?

  He looked noble with his high proud cheekbones and the slant of his straight nose. He sat straight in the chair, head bowed forward as he added a silent prayer to the end of her mother’s grace.

  Okay, she had to like him even more for that—if it was possible to like him any more than she already did. He was so sincere and faithful as he muttered an amen and reached for his fork. He looked a little sheepish as he caught her watching him.

  “I always say a prayer for my mom and dad. They’re in heaven.” He shrugged as if a little embarrassed.

  Could he be more perfect?

  “Brody,” Alice said as she poured a glass of milk, “where are you from? That’s some accent you’ve got.”