by Jillian Hart
He believed that was the way she loved him. And always would.
He let out his clutch and spun gravel as he pulled onto the two-lane country road that would take him on the journey home.
Not even buying shoes made her feel better. That was a sorry state to be in.
With her cell wedged carefully between her shoulder and ear, Michelle lifted her foot from the gas pedal because she’d crept up a hair over the speed limit on the two-lane country road. “I found some really great boots for when the weather cools down. Yeah, they’ll look so great with jeans. I hit an end-of-season sale on sandals and got this kickin’ pair of strappy flats.”
“Perfect for the singles’ night at church,” Jenna enthused on the other end of the phone. “I wish I could have gotten off work to go with you. Maybe you’d let me borrow something? I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Neither do I, but come over after work. We’ll get ready together.”
“Cool. Later!”
“Later!” Michelle dropped her phone on the seat and blinked at the image in her rearview mirror. A black motorcycle was behind her, getting ready to pass. A man in a black T-shirt and faded denim jeans, his face hidden by his helmet.
Brody! Her heart stopped. No, it couldn’t be him. This bike was a different color. It was just wishful thinking. Longing for something that could never be.
It was weird how whenever she thought of him, she ached in the place deep in her heart where she used to feel him so strongly. But the connection between them was severed. What choice did she have?
Okay, she got that he was only doing his job. But he’d captured her heart. He’d made her fall in love with him. If he’d meant it, then why did he leave so easily, as if it had all been part of the plan to gain her family’s trust?
Her gaze strayed to the motorcycle lingering behind her. She flicked on her blinker and expected him to pass. But he didn’t. He slowed down along with her as she turned into her driveway. He went on by. The bike had a Montana license plate.
It wasn’t Brody. He was long gone. After his supervisor had called, there had been no other word from him. Sure, it made her horribly sad. The ache remained deep in her soul, where there was a constant emptiness. An emptiness that no man could ever replace.
She’d thought about what Karen said; not forgiving the one you love is a mistake. But that wasn’t the only problem. That wasn’t what left her unhappy even after she had new shoes on her feet.
She couldn’t stop the heavy disappointment wrapped around her as she pulled into the carport. No one was around. Her mom was probably over at Gramma’s. Her dad was out in the fields, cutting alfalfa. The empty house echoed around her as she ran upstairs to put her new shoes away. If she could find room for them in her closet.
What she needed to do was to force him from her mind. How? She had the rest of the afternoon. Maybe she’d take a long hard horse ride. That would do it. She’d saddle up Keno and take him on one of his favorite trails.
As she tied back her hair into a ponytail, she caught her reflection in the small dresser mirror. She was too pale and had dark circles from lack of sleep.
Jenna was right. What she needed to do was to get out. Do something new. And that’s why they were going to the singles’ night barbecue tonight, even though they knew every unmarried man there.
She was only going to be moral support for Jenna because Michelle was done with men. Through. Through being used. Lied to. Hurt.
She was just fine on her own. She was happy. She had friends and family. She had her horse. She had two jobs and a little too much credit card debt, but that was her own fault.
She did not need a man to be happy.
The doorbell rang.
Who could it be? It wasn’t as if they were expecting guests in the middle of the day when everyone was busy on their farms.
Could it be the deliveryman? She was expecting a catalog order. Had it come already? Michelle bounded down the stairs, going as fast as she could. She couldn’t wait to open the box. She’d ordered the cutest little jean jacket and it would look great on Jenna, for the dance tonight—
She flung open the door.
No deliveryman. No delivery truck. No one at all.
But there, perched on the wide rail of the front porch sat a dozen fragile pink rosebuds in a crystal vase. Each bud was perfect, the silken edges struggling to open.
On the rail, beside the vase was a wooden tray from a Scrabble game.
From Brody.
Her legs began to tremble, and she could feel him. He was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t matter. He was here. She remembered that black motorcycle behind her. That had been Brody. He must have taken the service road instead of turning down the driveway.
He was here? She couldn’t wait to see him; she never wanted to see him again. What was she going to do?
As if being pulling by an unseen rope, her feet moved her forward toward the porch rail. Toward the flowers and the nine Scrabble tiles that spelled out Forgive Me.
She wanted to. More than anything. Was it the right thing to do?
She could feel his presence like the hot summer air on her skin. He was coming for her. What did she do? How could she believe in him again? She stared as hard as she could at the little wooden tiles. Terror rocked her. She’d never been this afraid. Never had so much to lose.
His boot rang on the bottom step.
Although she vowed not to, she moved toward him. There he was, looking like a dream come true, one boot on the bottom step, and on his knee held with both hands was a second tray. The tiles spelled Marry Me.
Her bottom lip started to shake. No, it was impossible. He’d left so easily. He’d been playing a part. His wonderful words, his solid promises, his die-for-her love was a fabrication. Right?
“You’re crying.” He set the tray on the rail and moved toward her.
Could she help it? She was in his arms, letting him hold her, breathing in his comfort like air. She felt as if her heart was breaking all over again.
His hands cupped the sides of her face with great tenderness. With everlasting love. She could feel it; the places in his heart matched hers.
But how could she believe? How could she trust that this was real? That he was what he said?
“Because I love you,” he answered her thoughts as if he’d heard them. The pads of his thumbs brushed away the tears on her cheeks. “I left like you wanted, and my love didn’t die. It grew stronger. I told you it would.”
So did my love for you. She was too overwhelmed to speak. This couldn’t be real. He was a dream, her dream, and dreams ended and then a girl woke up to reality.
“My dear Michelle.” He kissed her brow. “I am a man who will love you with everything I am, heart and soul, for the rest of my life.”
Great silver tears filled her big eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
His dear, dear Michelle. He’d traveled a long way to find her. He was in her arms. He was home.
All he had to do was make her believe. “You are the only real thing in my life. You are what matters to me. For the rest of my life, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will keep you safe and happy and cherished. You are my heart. Marry me. Dreams do come true.”
She pressed a kiss against the pad of his thumb, damp with her tears. “Dreams end.”
“Yes, they do. And that’s the good part. This is the real thing.” He kissed her as gently as dawn, as reverently as a man treated the most important woman on earth. “We get to live the rest of our lives together. All you have to do is say yes.”
“Yes.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she could feel it in the harmony that bound her heart to his, her soul to his. He was right. Their life ahead was going to be better than any dream.
“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.
“Not as much as I love you.” His kiss was more than a kiss. It was perfection.
Epilogue
“You’ve got pain
t on your nose.” Brody laid the paintbrush on the rim of the can. His wife was looking more beautiful with every day.
Even in a secondhand T-shirt with a big hole in the shoulder, a pair of his old running shorts and speckled with blue paint, she made him brim over with tenderness.
“Hold still.” He swiped the paint splatter off the bridge of her nose with the clean edge of his T-shirt. “You’re getting more paint on you than on the trim.”
“Oh, says the man who looks like he swam in a vat of paint.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, not worried about all the dabs of blue still wet on his chest.
“Are you happy?” he asked after a long, passionate kiss.
“Hmm. Delirious.”
“We’re never going to get this house finished if we keep this up.”
“I’m not worried about it.” Her favorite place on earth was with her husband. Michelle sighed, contented, and laid her head on his chest. It was impossible to think she could be any happier than this, but she knew this was only the beginning. She knew for a fact their happiness was going to double.
A year had passed since Brody first showed up in her life. They’d had a September wedding in the church where she’d been baptized, with her family surrounding her. They’d lived in the apartment above the garage while Brody helped her dad with the harvest.
Then, after she and Brody had bought the property from her parents, they’d moved into the bungalow where Mick had stayed. Since he was in prison for a few more years, it wasn’t likely he would need it.
Did she tell him now, before everybody came? Or did she wait until they were alone, the day spent, and ready to go to bed?
“What are you smiling about?” He brushed his hand down her hair with endless affection.
“I can’t keep this secret any longer!” It was killing her. She thought she’d cook a nice dinner, have a romantic evening with him and then surprise him with the news.
But did she do that? No!
His eyes widened. His mouth twisted into a big smile and then he lifted her up with both hands. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” She was laughing, wrapping her arms around his neck as he started whooping with joy.
“Hey, you two, keep it down, would you?” Kendra swung down from her gelding. She’d ridden over today.
Behind her Zach and Karen pulled into the driveway in their SUV. Soon Kirby and Sam would follow. Now that they had little Michael, they always ran a few minutes late.
“It’s terrible, all this love in the air.” Kendra winked as she untied her saddle pack. “I brought snacks.”
“We brought hamburger makings,” Karen added as she lifted Allie from her car seat.
Allie was clapping her hands together and singing, “Down! Down!”
Zach grabbed his tool bag. “We’re here to help install those windows. C’mon, let’s get started, if you can pull yourself away from your wife.”
Brody pressed his forehead to hers. Michelle knew the bond between them was a precious gift. And it was only going to get better.
“I’ll deal with you later,” he promised.
“I hope so.”
Sam and Kirby were pulling up, everyone was calling out their greetings, but it was only background noise as Michelle watched her husband amble off with Zach, talking windows and something about miter saws.
Dreams came true. Michelle knew that now. Prayers were answered. The gift of life was an amazing one, she thought, as she held out her hands to her niece as Allie came running.
A shiver skidded across the back of her neck. She turned, knowing Brody was watching her. She felt his happiness because it was hers, too. This was the good stuff in life, she had no doubt, as he whispered, “I love you.”
As she loved him, heart and soul.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for choosing Heart and Soul. I am so excited to finally tell Michelle’s story. I’ve been fond of her ever since she first appeared in my second Love Inspired story, His Hometown Girl (LI #180), where she was Karen’s little sister. Michelle was so kind and good and waiting faithfully for the love of her life to come along. And he does, in the form of Gabe Brody, FBI, a man who is more than he seems and her answered prayer. I hope you enjoyed reading her story as much as I did writing it.
I wish you and your loved ones peace and grace.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8389-7
HEART AND SOUL
Copyright © 2004 by Jill Strickler
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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*The McKaslin Clan
