Heart and Soul (Love Inspired, 251)

by Jillian Hart

“Are you up doing chores?” Michelle asked into her cell phone as she wielded her pitchfork in the dawn’s first light.

  “Hello? Where else would I be?” Jenna sounded about as thrilled as Michelle felt. “Do you have power yet? We don’t. No lights, no phones.”

  “Bummer.” Michelle gave a quick thanks that their lights had come on sometime in the night and that their cell phones were working. “No power means no electricity for the water pump. Are you packing water?”

  “Oh, just a few dozen ten gallon buckets. My arms are stretched like a Gumby doll’s. Really. Where’s a generator when you need one? Or a big strong handsome hunk living over my garage to help me out?”

  What news she had to tell Jenna. But not on the phone. With her luck, Brody would come walking down the stable aisle and overhear. Or one of her sisters would show up. Or her mom. Then everyone would know.

  Besides, it felt too personal to talk about on the phone. She felt as if Brody’s love was too good to be true, and if she dared to say out loud, “I found the one. The man I want to love the rest of my life,” then he’d vanish. Or some disaster would naturally follow.

  Disaster did have a tendency to follow her around, and so she saved the news for later. “So, do you want to go on a ride this afternoon?”

  “I’ve got work, but I could ride by after supper and we can take the horses to Bible study?”

  “Cool. Great idea!” That would give them all the time in the world to talk. Plus, they hadn’t gone on that long of a ride in ages. “Call me.”

  “Later!” Jenna’s connection went dead.

  Michelle pocketed her phone and laughed when Keno gave a gentle yank on her ponytail. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  The big dark brown gelding nibbled on the back of her neck, an affectionate gesture, and she put down her pitchfork to pull him into a hug. She rubbed her fingertips along his warm silken jawline and cheeks and up under his mane. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes, wuffling softly, a low contented sound that said it all.

  Yep, it was going to be a great day. The world felt at peace after the storm. The dawn’s golden light was like a gentle promise of good things to come. Larks greeted the new day. The wind was lazy, stirring against her skin.

  And she was spending the morning with her very best friend, Keno. Soon, she’d ride him out to the fields to bring her dad a pot of coffee, just because. And then she’d see him. Brody.

  The thought of him was all it took to make her feel as if she were floating. She couldn’t believe it. He loved her. Not just a warm glow kind of a love, but the real thing. All the way to his soul, with he-would-die-for-her devotion.

  What had he said? I love you, heart and soul.

  The way she loved him.

  Thank you, Father, she remembered to pray as she gave Keno one last rub under his chin.

  She had a good life. It wasn’t the excitement of a big city and it wasn’t the thrill of an ambitious life, but it was all she’d ever wanted.

  To wake up before dawn and watch the sun peer over the jagged edges of the breathless Bridger Mountains. To witness the day coming new to the world as she worked in the paddocks. To be with her best friends, the horses and to have her family close.

  To feel the changes in the land—the planting seasons, the growing seasons, the harvest. To live where she had so many roots. This place was her entire world. She had everything her heart had ever desired.

  But would she leave it for Brody? What if he asked her to?

  What if he wanted to marry her, but he didn’t want to live in a small town on a farm and while away the hours on the front porch?

  What if his dreams were different from hers? What if he could never be happy here?

  Put it in God’s hands. That’s what Pastor Bill always said. So, that’s what she’d do. She would pray and ask the Lord to guide her. To trust that He would work these questions out in His way and in His time.

  Hadn’t He brought Brody to her? Surely He hadn’t done that without knowing it would work out. Right?

  This was no different.

  She poured grain in Keno’s trough and latched his stall gate. When she was putting up the pitchfork she heard it; a different sound than she’d heard on any other morning.

  She rushed to the main stable doors and skidded to a stop at the sight of three sleek black SUVs, with dark-tinted windows speeding toward her uncle Mick’s bungalow.

  Ten minutes after five, and they were moving in, ready to make the arrest. The SWAT team was in place, situated around the perimeter of the yard, ready to protect, if necessary, the agents climbing out of the vehicles.

  It was a simple plan, to keep downwind from the house with the team members in the back to make sure Mick didn’t run. The hope was to arrest him unsuspecting in his truck on the road, where he was less likely to be armed and there would be less chance of a shoot-out. Where there were no passersby by to step in the line of fire.

  Brody hoped to take Mick quietly, without harm to anyone.

  Not to anyone, Brody amended, thinking of Michelle as he remained crouched in the shadows of the draw with the creek behind him, his boots in mud. He was hyped, tense with anticipation. His every sense was alert to the unexpected.

  He waited soundlessly, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. He was ready. Prepared for the worst. Praying for the best.

  “Glad this is your last mission, buddy?” Hunter broke the silence.

  “You know it.” This mission had been the worst, eating at his conscience. He’d lied to good people, been someone he wasn’t. That was wearing on a man of faith.

  How was Michelle going to take this? It troubled him. Worry burrowed deep in his stomach and didn’t let up. They’d had a good evening together.

  Last night, basking in the happy glow of their evening together, he’d had hope.

  But this morning, in the cool damp, he was filled with trepidation. Maybe it was because of the bitter tang of adrenaline in his mouth or the tension balled in his guts. For whatever reason, he’d misplaced that hope. Lost it on the way from being Brody—the man Michelle McKaslin loved—to becoming Gabe Brody, FBI agent, armed and dangerous.

  “He’s coming down the stairs,” crackled in his ear. It was Dan Thomas from the SWAT team. “Our target is in the kitchen. Getting his keys. Okay, this is it.”

  Brody felt the familiar calm spill through his veins. They were good to go. Anything could happen, and he had to be sharp, focused and prepared. He forced every last thought of Michelle from his mind and concentrated.

  He realized this was the last time he’d be in danger like this. The last time he would lay his life on the line for his country. He prayed for a peaceful end. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt.

  And while he was at it, he would pray for God to fill Michelle’s heart with understanding.

  The crackle over the earpiece was the first indication something was wrong. It wasn’t Dan. It was Pierce. “We’ve got a civilian. A woman on horseback.”

  “Michelle!” He was on his feet before he remembered to stay down. He only knew he had to protect her. If she got in the way and bullets starting flying, she’d be caught in the cross fire. He growled into his com, “Pierce, get her outta here.”

  Dan again. “He’s on the move. In his truck. Team one, move in.”

  Brody moved fast and low. Had Pierce gotten Michelle to safety? What if she was scared? What if she tried to warn Mick?

  Thoughts of everything that could go wrong and things that had gone wrong on other missions flashed through his mind.

  Pierce can handle it, he had to remind himself. He calmed his icy, near-the-edge adrenaline. He was intensely protective when it came to the woman he loved.

  Concentrate, Brody. Mick’s rusted old truck was bouncing down the mud-puddled lane, coming closer. The window was rolled down broadcasting classic country music. Johnny Cash crooned as two vans tore out of the underbrush and skidded to a stop in the road in front of Mick. One mo
re from behind.

  Through the cracked windshield and the scope of his rifle, Brody read Mick’s confusion. C’mon, Mick, stop. Do the right thing. Make this a peaceful arrest.

  As if Mick heard him, the truck skidded to a stop, sliding in the mud toward the creek, where cottonwoods and the deep water blocked him on one side. The cut of the hill penned him in on the other. He was trapped.

  “This is the FBI. Hands up, Mick, where I can see them.” Brody used the bed of the truck as a shield as he moved. Kept his weapon steady, site true and his finger on the trigger as Hunter threw open the truck’s door.

  “Brody?” Mick looked confused. “Is that you? What in blazes is going on here? I thought we were haying this morning.”

  “I’m not your friend, Mick. Now keep your hands up. Slide out nice and slow.”

  “Hey, I’ve got no beef with you. What is this about?” Mick took one look at all the weapons pointed at him, the very determined men in flak jackets and, holding up his hands, climbed out of the truck.

  Two agents helped him to the ground.

  Brody stood, feet apart, gun aimed at the back of Mick’s head as the handcuffs snapped shut.

  Around him men were shouting orders. The teams were moving in, the unit peeling off to search Mick’s house. His safe, his computer, all his personal records would be confiscated and everything inside the house turned upside down.

  It’s over. The mission was done. The enormity of it sank in, and Brody removed his weapon once Mick was secure. He was free now. He’d leave Hunter in charge and find Michelle—

  Wait. She’d found him. He felt her presence as surely as the sun on his back and the earth beneath his boots. A tingle of apprehension settled in his midsection. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Michelle. She’d dashed onto the road, up from where Pierce had to have taken her near the creek. She stood in the muddy center of the lane, looking as fresh as the morning, as genuine as the countryside spread out around her.

  She wore a pair of faded jeans and simple white T-shirt. Beneath the brim of her baseball cap, her eyes shone with tears. Her beautiful rosebud mouth, the one that had said, “I love you,” to him looked as if she’d tasted poison.

  That poison was him.

  She scanned the huge FBI letters on his chest, then his gun that had been aimed at her uncle. Her lower lip trembled and she turned away.

  She didn’t need to say a word. Her silence was worse than if she’d started yelling at him, calling him every name he deserved.

  She ran. Ran from him as if he was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

  Ran so he couldn’t see her tears.

  But he could feel her heart break. Because her heart was his, too.

  She knew he was behind her, so she didn’t bother to look over her shoulder to see it for a fact. She could feel him, sense him. And why? Because he was the love of her life. The man God meant especially for her.

  It wasn’t a surprise that she could feel the man who was meant to be a part of her forever, was it? No. And that made her even more mad. Made her hurt more.

  Brody. He’d lied to her. He’d used her. She’d seen his jacket. His rifle. FBI had been blazed across his chest and his back.

  “Michelle!”

  She did not want to talk to him. After what he’d put her through! First, she’d been scared when she saw the black vans speeding toward her uncle Mick’s house. It wouldn’t be the first time old friends or people who’d loaned money to him showed up a little angry.

  But when a gunman crept out of the brush by the creek and asked her to keep down for her own safety, and to come with him—

  “Michelle! Wait up. I need to talk to you.”

  I don’t care what you need. What she needed was a good hard stick to smack him upside the head with.

  Well, not that she could actually hit anyone, but the thought of it made her feel better. Anger turned her bright red inside, and beneath that was the crumbling sensation of her being wrenched into pieces. It felt as if every part of her, heart and soul, was broken and bleeding.

  “Michelle.” His hand lighted on her shoulder, a silent offer of comfort.

  And that was the problem. She didn’t want his comfort. She wanted to hate him. She just wanted this pain inside her to leave, so she could curl up somewhere all by herself and cry until there were no more tears.

  He’d deceived her. Pretended to love her. How could he do such a thing? And she’d thought he was perfect.

  Too upset to speak, she did manage to shove his hand away. She walked fast, even though her vision was blurry. There were not tears in her eyes. Okay, there were. But they were angry tears. She was angry, not hurt. Furious, not betrayed. Outraged, not shattered.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I bet you are.” She whipped through the grass, faster.

  He stayed on her tail. “I was under oath. I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I understand.” Oh, she understood. She’d been the biggest fool of all, falling for his line. Another man telling her what she wanted to hear for his own purposes.

  How dense was she? “For your information, I’m not some romantic sap of a fool. I see what you wanted. You needed to get on the property to arrest Mick and you tricked me.”

  “No, I never tricked you.” He loped alongside her in his black jacket and gear. The white letters across his chest proclaiming his identity for the entire world to see. The FBI?

  He’d used her. So he could arrest her uncle.

  Keno looked up from grazing, nickered a welcome low in his throat. She yanked his reins from the low cottonwood she’d tied him to and knocked into Brody’s arm as she turned.

  “Out of my way.”

  “No. I want you to listen to me.” He grabbed her with both hands, holding her so tight, with what felt like so much need.

  Oh, he was good. Very good at playing his role. Oh, yeah, she saw it all in a flash. The big white FBI on his chest said more than he ever could.

  Whatever Mick had done, he’d done it big this time, and that’s why Brody was here. That’s why Brody had wormed his way into her family and into her heart. That’s why he seemed so perfect, because he’d planned it all along.

  And she, like the biggest fool ever, invited him right in.

  “I can explain this, Michelle. Give me the chance. Please.”

  “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

  “Everything. Let me explain.”

  “I think your gun says it all.” He looked like some stealthy warrior, all dressed in black, with his semiautomatic weapon slung over his left shoulder on a strap. He was all steel as he held her, his grip an unbreakable band on her upper arms. “Let go.”

  “No, I can’t. I told you the truth, everything but—”

  “Let go of me.”

  It was the cool sound in her voice, the icy pain that shocked him enough to let go. Brody took a step back. His heart broke with her pain.

  She was going to leave him. She wasn’t going to understand. She wasn’t going to give him a chance. And he’d hurt her. He’d gone back on his word and he’d made her cry.

  He had to fix this. He had to stop those tears. Make her stop hurting. “Michelle, what I said last night. That was the truth. I said regardless of what happened today, I love you. Do you remember that?”

  She made a “huh!” sound and straightened the stirrup, fit her foot into it and rose up into the saddle.

  This wasn’t working. What should he say? He could see the sheen of tears on her face. See the pride in the straight set of her back.

  He caught hold of her ankle. He had to get through to her. Had to make her see. “I love you, and that was as true yesterday as it is today. As it will be tomorrow.”

  “You deceived me.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her eyes shimmered but more didn’t fall.

  He could feel her disillusionment. She was like a steel wall set against him.

  He would giv
e anything to take that wall down. To turn back the clock to last night, when he’d had the privilege of holding her close. “I never lied about the way I feel for you. That’s the truth, Michelle.”

  “You’re not a rodeo rider. You weren’t traveling on your bike to sightsee. You never grew up on a farm, did you?”

  “That was the truth. The farms, my dreams, how I feel about you. That’s me. You know what’s real about me. From the moment I first saw you, I was captivated. I never hid who I really am from you.”

  “You’re an FBI agent. You hid that pretty well.”

  “You have every right to be mad, but please, let me fix this. I can’t bear to know I’m making you cry.”

  “Oh, you’re not. I’m crying because I’m mad at myself. I put my faith in you, and I shouldn’t have. Shame on you.”

  She looked at him as if he were a stranger. A detestable stranger.

  She was right. He didn’t feel fit to stand on the ground in front of her. He wasn’t good enough to breathe the same air.

  Brody had never felt such shame. Agony squeezed so tight in his chest, he couldn’t breathe as she turned her horse toward home.

  “Can you forgive me?”

  She turned in the saddle. “I understand. You were simply doing your job.”

  “No. I fell in love with you.”

  “Stop saying that.” He was tearing her apart, and for what? So he could walk away from this with a clear conscience?

  Didn’t he understand that she still loved him? How wrong was that? He’d made her believe she was exciting enough and wonderful enough that a man like him could love her forever.

  When all along he’d—

  No, she couldn’t think it, or she’d fall apart and there was no way she was about to let him know what he’d really meant to her. If nothing else, she was going to keep what she had left of her dignity.

  Lord, help me find wisdom. She had to pull it together. She had to let him know she was just fine.

  Dying inside, she firmed her spine, lifted her chin and looked at the man who’d used her and betrayed her. It was easy to see that he was sorry for it.

  Sorry he’d made her believe something that could never be true. No matter how much it hurt, she held back her last tears. “Good luck to you in the future.”