Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances

by Kimberly Rae Jordan

  Looking away, she chewed on her lower lip.

  There, everyone knew about her and Mum, so they weren’t surprised she avoided dating, even casually. The pastor approved of her choice never to marry, had openly advised her she shouldn’t.

  No one there would dream of trying to pair her off.

  Fraser didn’t need to know that. Or that the lack of understanding and support they’d shown Mum as her condition worsened made them leave.

  She lifted her head. “I grew up in my old church. Everyone knew me. Here, I’m the new girl. It makes me more interesting.”

  She still wasn’t ready to tell him everything. Though inevitably, now he’d guessed her mother was ill, he’d find out.

  He grinned and turned a huge sod of turf over. “You told Mary you chose to come here because of Cat’s sessions. I love my sister dearly, but I never thought I’d be grateful for any of her crazy schemes.”

  Smiling, she shook her head. Working here on the garden couldn’t be allowed to change anything. But Fraser said he wouldn’t ask her for any more dates if she asked him not to, and she knew he’d keep his word.

  Maybe they could get back to their old frenemies footing. Things felt safer when they were butting heads.

  She surveyed the expanse of turf still to skim, and her heart sank.

  Her sleepless night had caught up with her. Impossible to imagine how she’d keep going or how they’d get it finished. She’d have to leave soon to get home before Trish’s shift ended.

  Fraser bent steadily to the work, seeming tireless.

  She’d wished for a knight in shining armour, along with a miracle cure. Neither would happen—she knew that. But a kind, funny, good-looking man who knew how to wield a spade seemed a good second best.

  The problem was, without the miracle cure, she couldn’t have him any more than she could have the mythical knight. So she had to forget him.

  Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back to work. Bend, skim with the spade, lift the heavy turf to the side, turning it over onto what would be the new garden beds. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

  Together, they were doing it. Making the garden real. The shallow trench they carved into the old neglected lawn showed the curves that would one day be a path.

  She could see it, green and lush and serene, a haven of peace for anyone who needed it. A place where people like her mother could come, and maybe remember who they were for a brief moment.

  Gratitude warmed her. This wouldn’t be happening without Fraser.

  He’d held it together when she hadn’t been able to. Stopped Moira and Derek disheartening the others. Helped her when she needed it. Offered of himself.

  She appreciated it. Some men took any sign of friendship as a come-on. Like Bob, one of the other sports teachers. Fraser wasn’t like that. Sure, he asked her out now and then, but he didn’t push. He’d respect her enough to remain friends even if it meant not dating.

  Since Dad left, with Mum being ill, respect had been in short supply at home. And in her last church, too, where they treated special needs people as defective, less-than, not part of God’s plan.

  She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it. It warmed her like the sun blessing a flower, encouraging it to bloom.

  They worked well together, the same way they did at school, despite their arguments there. Today, they’d only argued over him wanting to do more for her.

  Glancing across at him, she smiled. Starting on their own side of the path, they worked across until they met in the middle, lifting their last turfs of the row side by side.

  Almost but not touching.

  The air between them shimmered with their awareness of each other.

  She had to tamp the feeling down. How she felt for him didn’t change the reality she had to live with. Couldn’t change her no to a yes. But how she wished it could.

  Her pace slowed as fatigue overtook her. They met closer and closer to her side of the path, nowhere near the middle.

  Then she stalled, swaying on her feet. “I need to stop,” she muttered, dropping her spade and looking for her water bottle. She hadn’t had anything to drink since tea. And wanting to phone home again, she hadn’t finished that.

  Everything tilted. Her head whirled, and her heart pounded.

  Fraser caught her in his strong arms.

  “Sorry,” she gasped.

  He scooped her up and carried her toward the shade. She wasn’t a lightweight, yet he didn’t seem at all breathless.

  She was.

  No man had ever held her like this before. No man had ever held her in his arms, full stop.

  “I’m okay now. Put me down. I can walk.” She pushed against his chest.

  He smiled at her. “I will put you down. Once you’re in the shade, you’re going to stop and rest. You nearly fainted. I don’t want to risk not catching you if it happens again.”

  As soon as Fraser lowered her to a chair in the blessedly cool shade beside the kirk, Mary hurried out with a glass of water.

  “I saw you nearly fall. Here.” She handed the glass to Fraser and gave Sarah a sharp assessing look. “Just a faint, by the look of you. You told me to rest earlier, and you were right. Now I’ll return the favour.” She bent to lay a gentle hand on Sarah’s forehead. “Rest. There’s a good lassie.”

  Her care almost made Sarah cry, the tears prickling in her eyes. How many years had it been since Mum had been well enough to care for her so tenderly? She couldn’t remember.

  “Thank you,” she choked out.

  “Och, it’s nothing more than you deserve. I’ll be off to finish doing my flowers, get the kirk looking its Sunday best for tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.” She bustled back into the hall.

  Fraser knelt beside Sarah and held the water up to her lips as if she were a child. “Just take sips, don’t gulp,” he warned.

  She sipped obediently, breathing a relieved sigh as the moisture trickled down her parched throat, then sipped again as he tilted the glass. She lifted an oddly heavy hand and tried to take the glass from him. “I can do it.”

  “I know you can.” He smiled, and she felt him surrender some of the weight of the glass. “But just this once, let me help anyway.”

  Showing this weakness wasn’t like her. She needed to explain, defend herself. Fraser mustn’t see her as pathetic or fragile. She liked how at school he expected her to work just as hard as he did, keep up with him.

  “I’m not usually the fainting-flower type. It’s just that I’m tired.” She took another sip, feeling stronger. “Those assignments we talked about earlier. Then when Mum was up in the night, I helped her get back to sleep, but I stayed awake.” Her lips twisted. “And I guess I was nervous about today. I’ve never done a project this big before.”

  “You’re doing a great job. Your design looks professional. I’m thinking there’s been a lot of planning and organisation?”

  She nodded, careful to keep the movement slight. It felt as if her head might fall off if she moved it too fast. “It’s taken a few months, getting permission, arranging the funding, finding donors for the things we needed.”

  “I never realised. It was only when Cat cornered me with the volunteer list I saw you were involved.”

  She attempted a grin. “It’s been in the church newsletters. But I guess you’d need to read them to see that.”

  “You know me too well. I rely on Mum and Dad to tell me anything I need to be aware of.” He laughed. “It’s strange we’ve been working together but never knew we went to the same church.”

  “I told myself I should have worked it out from your name. But I haven’t met your brothers, either.”

  “You’d have trouble doing that. Colin lives in London, but he’s engaged to a girl from LA so he’s in America right now. And Brodie doesn’t come to church.” His dark blue eyes became intent and serious. “Would it have stopped you coming here if you’d known?”

  She stared up at him and swallowed another sip. �
�Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “That covers a lot of bases.” The dryness in his voice didn’t quite disguise a hint of hurt she longed to take away.

  “I’m sorry, Fraser.” Something swelled in her chest, tight and painful. “Uh… would it help if I said, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Because that’s the truth.”

  Pulling away from her, he nestled the water tumbler into a tuft of grass and sat back on his heels. She felt the loss of his nearness like having a warm quilt yanked off her on a winter’s night.

  He tipped his head sideways, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “One of the first things guys learn about dating is that when a girl says that, she really means, ‘It is you’. So if you want me to believe it, you better explain.”

  Her arms felt stronger now. She picked up the glass and took a gulp. She’d probably had enough sips for it to be okay.

  Putting the glass down, she closed her eyes for a moment.

  Lord, will You give me the words to say? I do owe Fraser honesty. He’s a good man. But I don’t know what to say or how.

  Opening her eyes, she peered across into his. Her heart trembled. He hunkered down with his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders square and tense. She couldn’t guess what he was feeling or thinking.

  “I mean, it really is me. It’s not because of you that I refused to go to any of the things you’ve asked me to.” Drawing in a shaky breath, she struggled to voice the truth. “I don’t date. Anyone. Ever. And I never will.”

  She looked at him hopefully, wishing she could take that shuttered expression from his face, knowing pain might hide behind it. At best, a dented ego, but Fraser had never struck her as the egotistical type.

  He arched a brow. “That’s a big thing to say. Never. Why won’t you date?”

  “Not won’t. Can’t.” The words strangled in her tight throat. “My mother…”

  “Where are you, slackers?” Cat called, interrupting her. “We’ve finished our bit.” She strolled around the corner, hand in hand with Ally.

  Fraser stood, but his determined stance told her he’d finish the conversation later. “Over here. Sarah fainted.”

  She tried to struggle to her feet. “I didn’t faint. I wobbled a bit. That’s all.” She’d intended her voice to sound dignified. But didn’t quite make it, sticking somewhere between weak and tearful.

  The effort of standing left her trembling, and she slumped into the seat.

  “Sarah, you look terrible.” Cat hurried over, several paces ahead of Ally.

  “Thanks,” Sarah squeaked out.

  Cat bent and examined her. “Sorry! Of course you look beautiful, not terrible. But a much paler and more interesting shade of beautiful than usual.” She felt Sarah’s wrist. “Your pulse is racing. It’s probably mild heatstroke. You need to rest and drink lots of water.”

  “Which is exactly what she was doing, before you came along, sis.” Fraser faced the garden. “We’re not quite finished.” He turned back. “Can you guys skim the rest of the turf while I take Sarah home?”

  “No. I’m fine. I can manage.”

  Panic rose in her, filling her chest and choking her. She did have to get home, and soon. She’d only paid Trish to stay till six thirty. Mum’s disability allowance gave enough carer hours per week to cover her schooling, no more. She’d had to scrimp to afford today.

  She squinted at her watch. But the numbers blurred, and she had to close her eyes.

  “Sounds like a good plan. Sister Murray’s orders. Go home and rest.” Cat gave her an intent assessing stare. “You clearly are not fine. Let Fraser take you home. I’d offer to drive you, but our car is in for repairs today. We’ll clear that turf for you.”

  As if it was already decided, Cat and Ally walked to where she and Fraser left off working, picked up the spades they’d dropped, and started digging.

  Fraser knelt beside her and handed her the water glass again. “Drink, like Cat says. She’s bossy, but she’s a good nurse. Your car will be safe here overnight. It will only take a minute for me to bring mine around.”

  She loosed a long breath. If she was to get home to take care of Mum, she had no choice. All she wanted to do was cry. The best she could hope for was to get home before the tears started, so at least she didn’t cry on Fraser’s shoulder.

  “Let me do this for you, Sarah. I’ll drop you off and leave.” He smiled, so sweet it could break a girl’s heart, and touched a gentle finger to her cheek. “No more asking you out, I promise. I still don’t know why you won’t, but if you ever change your mind, you’ll need to do the asking.”

  Her heart cracked like a broken twig. His tender kindness made things worse. Far worse. The Fraser she’d thought she was friends with—uncomplicated, the champion trainer, the guy who wanted a simple life—was safe.

  The Fraser she’d seen today was not. Not safe at all.

  Lord, how can you do this to me? I know Your ways are far higher than I can understand, and I can’t understand this. I’ve finally met a man I could get serious about, but I can’t ever allow that to happen.

  Chapter Seven

  When Fraser stopped his car at the first red light, he glanced at Sarah.

  Eyes closed, she slumped unmoving in the passenger seat. She’d been too quiet. Apart from giving him directions to her home, she hadn’t spoken.

  When he thought of her, he thought of life and movement. This still and silent Sarah worried him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, quietly enough she could ignore him if she wanted to.

  She drew in a breath and blew it out slowly, before turning her head to meet his gaze. The sadness in her eyes clutched at his chest.

  The lights changed to green, forcing him to focus on driving.

  “Sorry, Fraser. Nothing I can tell you.”

  “Won’t you trust me? I want to help you. That’s what friends do for each other.” The problem was, something had shifted in their friendship. He wasn’t sure what the new rules were.

  She shook her head. “Turn right at the next street. It’s number thirty-eight.”

  The street, lined with neat bungalows, looked more like a purpose-built retirement village than a place for someone as active and alive as Sarah normally was.

  Thirty-eight matched all the other houses on the street. Grey brick, single story, net curtains at the windows, a ramp up to the front door instead of steps. One difference. Greenery overflowed the planters on this porch, while the others remained bare or offered no more than a few weedy plants.

  Unmistakably Sarah.

  And equally unmistakable, if they lived somewhere like this, her mother was probably far more ill than she’d let on.

  When he stopped the engine, she turned and rested a hand on his arm. He covered it with his own. Warmth radiated from their simple contact. For the first time, she’d chosen to touch him.

  “I’m sorry.” Her low-toned voice held regret. “I keep repeating this, but it isn’t you that’s the problem. It’s me. You’re the first work colleague or person from the new church who knows where I live.” She flickered a smile. “I trust you with that.”

  He wanted so much more from Sarah than a glimpse of her home. But he’d promised not to pressure her. She’d never learn to trust him if he didn’t keep his word. Like a hard climb, he’d need to take it slowly and celebrate every tiny move forward.

  His lips twisted. “I’ll make sure you get indoors safely. Then I’ll go.”

  “Thank you.”

  She didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. By the time he jumped out and reached her, she was wobbling on her feet, leaning against the bonnet. He took her arm.

  “You’ll fall over before you reach your gate.” Her reaction seemed excessive for a sleepless night and too much sun. Anxiety twitched him. “Sarah, is there something else you haven’t told me? Medication you need, anything like that?”

  “No meds. I’m fine. It’s only a few steps.” But she didn’t try to break free, and th
e way she swayed against him suggested she wouldn’t get far if she did.

  “You don’t sound fine. I’ll get you to the front door, okay?”

  She nodded reluctantly. “I’m just overtired. I’ll get my keys.”

  Before she found them in her bag, the door opened. The murmur of a television and the odour of boiled cabbage drifted out from the hall.

  A plump dark-haired woman wearing a nurse’s uniform stood in the doorway. Frowning, she kept typing on her phone and didn’t glance at Sarah. “Your mum’s been fine. She had her meal and tablets at five o’clock, like always, and she’s watching the telly. I don’t mind you being a wee bit late, Sarah, but I told you I’d only do Saturday if I could get away on time. Iain’s dad is waiting to drop him off already.”

  Some welcome home. Far too much hectoring and blame filled the woman’s abrupt tone. “Can’t you see she’s not well?” Fraser asked, bristling on Sarah’s behalf.

  Sarah slumped for a moment, and then straightened, slipping away from his supportive arm. Her hands went out to the doorframe instead.

  The woman looked up from her phone and blinked. “Och, hen. You’re white as a sheet.” Her tone changed. “Come away in.”

  “Sorry to keep you late, Trish. I’ll make it up to you.”

  The woman’s hard expression softened. “I know you will. Sorry I snapped. I’ve been late other days, and you’ve never said a word.” She eyed Fraser. “When I saw you with a man friend, I thought you’d dallied for some other reason.”

  “Fraser drove me home from the kirk after I nearly fainted.” Sarah’s voice regained a little of its usual firmness, and a hint of colour returned to her cheeks.

  “I wish I could stay and help you, but I need to get home to my lad. See you on Wednesday as usual.”

  The woman stepped past, leaving them alone outside the open front door. Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, a mix of resolve and resignation darkened their blue to slate. Her lips bent in a crooked smile.

  “I know you’re wondering. You may as well come in and meet my mother.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Don’t be surprised if she behaves a little oddly or asks you the same thing every few minutes. It’s normal for her. She has Alzheimer’s.”