The Deputy's Unexpected Family

by Patricia Johns

  * * *

  Gabe had checked further into the glass company employees, and they were legitimate. No criminal records, good work histories. It was both a relief and an annoyance. A red flag with one of these guys would have at least given him a lead to work with. As it was, he was just waiting for the worst to happen, and Gabe didn’t like that feeling of being out of control, especially when Harper and Zoey’s safety were at risk. He’d only known about his daughter for a couple of days, but her presence in his world was already changing things...changing him. He’d do whatever it took to protect Harper, but with Zoey, his protective instinct sharpened.

  Zoey was...his. Strange as that felt. And even if he’d never make much of a dad, he made a fine cop, and right now, that’s what both Harper and Zoey needed—police protection.

  The men finished their work, leaving behind a gleaming new window. Harper stood for a minute or two, looking it over in satisfaction while Gabe watched her. Her frame was slim, and her red curls blazed in the afternoon sunlight. Stunning... Some women peaked in their younger years, while others just got more deeply beautiful as the years ticked by, and Harper seemed to be in the latter category.

  “I feel better—it’s back to normal in here,” Harper said, turning toward him. “If they come back and break this, I’m going to scream.”

  “This one is personal for me, Harper.”

  “Because of Zoey,” Harper concluded, and while she was partially right, it wasn’t only Zoey that he’d been thinking of. Harper factored in, too. She’d called them a family before, and as his daughter’s adoptive mother, she belonged to him in a way, too. He’d heard this kind of odd but meaningful connection described as family before, and it fit. There was nothing traditional about them, but that didn’t change the fact that he was going to take care of the two of them. And he wasn’t willing to admit any of it.

  “I’m cooped up in Comfort Creek, and that puts me in a phenomenally bad mood. I’d rather put my time here to good use and catch these idiots,” he said.

  Harper smiled, then shrugged faintly. “I’ve been holding off on asking this because I didn’t want to overstep, but...what did you say to your boss to get sent here?”

  “I told my supervising officer exactly what I thought of him,” he replied blandly.

  “And you didn’t have a glowing opinion of the guy, I take it.”

  “I thought he was petty, small-minded and had raised a spoiled brat of a son.” Gabe raised his eyebrows. “Turns out it sounds even worse when you say it out loud.”

  Harper rolled her eyes, but he could tell she was suppressing laughter. “You’re still the rebel, aren’t you?”

  “Rebel?” Gabe sighed. “I don’t go against authority just for the sake of it anymore, but I’m less inclined to put up with garbage, and I’ve learned what I can change about myself and what I can’t. So not a rebel, exactly. Just less optimistic.”

  Harper’s expression turned sad and she met his gaze for a moment. “You’re a Christian now, though. So optimism...isn’t that just faith that God is still working things out for your good?”

  “I’m a cop. I see the hard stuff, Harper. I know what people are capable of. It isn’t a lack of faith, believe me. Maybe I just think that people are worse off than most people realize.” He shot her a rueful smile. “My problem is that sometimes I say it out loud.”

  Harper glanced at her watch. “Are you ready to go see the reverend?”

  “Sure. Let’s get going. I’ll drive. I’ll bring you back here when we’re done so you can get Zoey.”

  Nothing had changed in Comfort Creek in the years he’d been gone. Except for the death of his grandmother. The streets were the same; the easy rhythms of the community that made time seem to crawl by were the same, too. As was the way it felt to be in close proximity to Harper Kemp. She’d always had this effect on him—an instinct to try to prove something to her, to impress her somehow. But who was he fooling? She knew too much about him to be impressed.

  * * *

  The Hand of Comfort Christian Church was located on Main Street, and Gabe eased into the parking lot, his heart constricting the closer he got to the building. He hated this place—he had for as long as he could remember. It represented his grandmother’s polished appearance, so unlike her true nature at home. To him, this church had been all preening and fakery.

  Gabe parked in a spot next to the side door and turned off the engine.

  “You okay?” Harper asked.

  “Why?” he grunted.

  “You’re glaring at the church wall like you might be able to break it.”

  “Let’s just get this over with.”

  He pushed open the driver’s side door before she could answer and stepped outside into the autumn chill. Before, he’d wanted her company, but now he was regretting that just a little. He kept forgetting how terrible he was at hiding his feelings, and he wasn’t sure he wanted an audience.

  Too late, though. She got out of the car and when she slammed the door behind her, they headed toward the side entrance.

  The door was unlocked, and Gabe held it open for Harper to enter first. When he stepped inside the church, it smelled just the same as it always had—slightly musty, like old paper and disintegrating wood varnish. He knew the way to the reverend’s office, and he glanced into the church foyer on their way past.

  So much the same, and yet so different. He wasn’t a helpless kid anymore, and that definitely changed his perspective. He didn’t feel trapped, but now he felt furious. He could see himself as a kid in that foyer, dressed in his Sunday best, standing next to his grandmother. He’d always done his best to be good, if only to escape punishment, but he’d mess up somehow. A forgotten handshake, an ill-timed joke. He’d never been good enough to escape Grandma’s wrath. He’d only been a kid; someone should have stood up for him.

  The reverend’s office was at the end of the hall, and they could hear the soft murmur of voices as they approached. When they reached the door, which was propped open with a pile of hymnals, the church receptionist looked up with a smile.

  “Hi, there,” she crooned. “How can I help you today?”

  “We’re here to see Reverend Blake,” Harper said. “Is he in?”

  “He is.” But this time, the voice belonged to the jovial reverend, and he came out from his office. He was a tall man with a large belly and a wide smile. He shook Harper’s hand, then Gabe’s.

  “Long time, Gabriel,” the reverend said, his smile slipping. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother’s passing. She was a good woman. We all loved her here at Hand of Comfort. She put her heart and soul into this parish.”

  Gabe didn’t trust himself to answer that. “Harper said you had something for me?”

  “Yes, yes. Come into my office.” Reverend Blake led the way, and Gabe and Harper followed him into his office. The room wasn’t large to begin with, and it was further dwarfed by the sheer size of the reverend. One wall was covered in books, and there were some pieces of ethnic art on the wall, most with inscriptions thanking the Hand of Comfort for mission trips.

  The reverend let out a soft grunt as he lowered himself into his chair.

  “On the other side of Jordan, I’ll be as fit as you, Gabriel,” the reverend said with a soft laugh. He opened a drawer and pulled out a box, sliding it across the desk toward Gabe. Gabe reached for the box, but didn’t open it.

  “Your grandmother wanted me to give you these items. She asked for it specifically.” The reverend’s gaze flickered toward Harper. “Maybe we could talk in private another time—”

  “No, no, Harper’s here for moral support, so you don’t have to worry about her,” Gabe said. He had no desire to do this without the buffer of another person in the room.

  “As you know, Imogen was in the hospital for a couple of weeks before she passed away.” Reverend Blake went on. “A
nd she told me a great deal in that time. She had many regrets.”

  “Did she? I find that hard to believe.”

  The reverend winced. “She told me that she’d been too demanding in her expectations, and she wished that she’d been gentler. Your grandmother loved you deeply, and she only wanted the best for you.”

  Saving face to the end. Even on her deathbed, she clung to her side of that story—the loving grandmother who only wanted what was best for that useless child she’d been left with. But that wasn’t the case at all. She’d wanted what was best for her—and Gabe had never fit that bill. Gabe felt his teeth grind, and his expression must have turned daunting because the reverend cast him a sympathetic look.

  “Gabriel, what drove you away?” Reverend Blake asked quietly.

  “Reverend, you don’t need to worry about that,” Gabe said, taking the box and tucking it under one arm. “Your duty is discharged. Thank you.”

  “She confessed that she was harsh with you,” the older man went on. “And there was a lie she told you that she felt bad about later—”

  “A lie?”

  “She told you that the church paid for your camp trip that summer when you were twelve. It wasn’t the church, son. It was money your grandmother had been saving up to replace that old car of hers. She thought the camp would do you good, and that it would matter more than the car would in the long run—”

  “She paid for camp?” Gabe paused. “Why not tell me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Grandma Banks hadn’t been all bad. She’d baked a cake for him every birthday and let him choose the frosting. She’d buy him one of those candles in the shape of a number. She’d also insisted on him going to the barbershop once a month, and she’d put the money in his hand and tell him to leave the change as a tip. He’d always kept the change to spend later.

  She’d been cold and proper, and angry as a viper when he messed up. But there had been a few tender memories mixed in, too, like the Christmas she’d bought him a leather jacket and he’d been over the moon because it was the one thing he’d really wanted. He’d found a twenty-dollar bill in one of the pockets.

  Don’t forget to tithe it was all she’d said. She’d wanted him to have some pocket money, too, apparently, and she’d stared at him pointedly until he dropped two singles into the offering plate the next Sunday.

  She’d always made sure the fridge was full of food when he was a growing teen, which wouldn’t have been cheap. He’d never gone without when it came to meals, and she’d made sure he wore decent clothes that fit. He’d assumed that was for appearances, though, because it had never come with a hug or a smile.

  “I’m not defending her,” the reverend went on. “The Lord will judge her now, not me. Or you.”

  “Reverend, she didn’t love me,” Gabe replied, his voice quiet. That wasn’t anger; it was concession. Maybe she’d tried to and hadn’t been able to summon it up. It was possible that not every child was lovable.

  “I don’t know if she did,” the reverend replied. “I won’t insult you by giving false assurances. All I know is what she told me in private—that she thought you were smart. She thought you’d make something of yourself. She felt responsible for how your mother turned out, but she saw better things for you. I didn’t know about the abuse until she confessed it before her death, but she did tell me that her own mother had been terribly abusive toward her growing up, and she hadn’t known any other way.”

  “Too little, too late,” Gabe said with a shake of his head.

  Harper’s gaze whipped between them, but she didn’t say anything. Gabe turned for the door, and Harper followed him.

  “Gabriel, she said something before she died...” the reverend said, his voice trembling.

  Gabe froze, a deep sigh seeping out of him. Dying words. Did he want to hear this? But there was no walking away now. He turned back, licking his lips nervously.

  “What did she say?” Gabe asked hollowly.

  “She said, Gabe, forgive me. I thought she meant God—that she was asking God for forgiveness. But now...I think she meant you, son.”

  Forgiveness. After years of cold abuse and limited kindness, she’d wanted absolution on her death bed?

  “Thanks, Reverend,” Gabe said, and he turned for the door once more.

  Harper said a few words of farewell, but Gabe didn’t slow down. She caught up with him at the side door, breathing a little harder than usual.

  “What?” he demanded, looking down into her upturned face.

  “Nothing.” She shrugged faintly. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

  “Oh.” He softened a little at that, and she opened the door for him this time. They went outside together, and Gabe looked down at the box in his hands.

  “Are you going to open it?” Harper asked. “Or wait until you’re alone?”

  Gabe didn’t actually want to wait until he was by himself. Having Harper here seemed to dissipate some of the power of those memories, so he pulled off the lid and looked inside. There were only two items: his grandmother’s worn Bible and a Popsicle stick craft from his elementary school years in the shape of a house. He remembered making it, laboring over it longer than any of the other kids did, until the teacher had to tell him to stop.

  He turned it over, and on the back was his childish print: To Grandma. I love you.

  He’d loved his grandmother, and grief surged up inside of him like a tsunami, tears pricking his eyes and a lump closing off his throat. He’d loved her, and she’d pushed him aside. He’d loved her, and she’d withheld her own love in return unless he earned it...which he’d never done. He’d so stupidly loved that woman, and she’d only ever thrown his affection back into his face.

  Why had she kept this little craft? He had no idea.

  “Gabe?” Harper’s expression was worried.

  He swallowed hard. “It’s nothing.”

  He could hear the ice in his voice, but when he looked over at her, her green gaze tugged at him. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want that—to turn to her. He needed to find some steel inside of himself and carry on. Just like he’d always done.

  Gabe felt her hand on his arm and he looked down at her. To be held... That’s what he’d always wanted as a kid—just to have someone hold him, rock him. But as a teenager, he’d turned to girlfriends for that contact, and it had been all wrong. He wasn’t going to make that mistake with Harper, either.

  “I’m fine,” he said, softening his tone. “It’s—” He opened the box again. “It’s Grandma’s Bible and a craft I made as a kid. I guess she kept it. I have no idea why.”

  “She loved you,” Harper said. “Maybe not very well, but she did.”

  Gabe looked down at the little Popsicle stick house once more. “I worked so hard on this. I started over twice. I wanted it to be perfect.” He sighed. “I was trying to be as good as possible to earn some basic affection, but I was never quite good enough. Neither was this stupid craft.”

  Harper didn’t say anything, and he was grateful for that. He wasn’t looking for any platitudes or religious affirmation. His relationship with God was raw and real—as far removed from the polished church experience he’d grown up with as possible. Gabe opened the back door of the SUV and tossed the box inside.

  “Let’s get going,” he said.

  His grandmother had wanted his forgiveness, but she did not have it. The minute his sensitivity training was done, he needed to get out of this town and put it behind him for good. The memories were too painful. His grandmother’s grave, her memory, her last words—Comfort Creek could keep her.

  Chapter Nine

  The next day, Harper found Gabe distanced and introverted. She couldn’t say that she blamed him, but he kept his distance, and while he was in and out of the store making his presence known, she felt his desire for space. That was prob
ably for the best, anyway. She needed to keep her own emotions carefully sorted out, too.

  That evening, after Zoey was in bed, Harper hung her grandmother’s dress from a hook in the doorjamb between the kitchen and the living room. Harper fingered the aged lace—once white and now closer to ivory. It was perfect, though. There was no need to try to brighten the lace again, because it had the air of something intentionally antiqued. There were memories breathed into the fabric, history. Grandma and Grandpa Kemp had both passed away already, but theirs had been a long and steady love—the kind Harper longed to find for herself.

  At thirty-two, Harper was starting to wonder if marriage would ever happen for her. Harper was the more serious older sister, and Heidi was the one who sparkled. Her smile lit up a room, and her laugh could draw every male ear around. Heidi was cute and loveable. And she was getting married first.

  Jealousy wasn’t an attractive emotion, and while Harper tried to tamp it down, she had to admit to feeling just a little bit jealous of her sister. Everything came easily for Heidi. And she’d wear Grandma’s dress first.

  Lord, I’m happy for my sister. I am! But while You’re blessing her, please don’t forget me. I want this, too. But with the right man. I don’t want to waste my time on someone You haven’t sent my way.

  The dress hung in the doorway, the light from the living room shining through the lace. Harper had marked the new hemline with a chip of soap and some pink-headed pins on both layers—the taffeta and the lace. She held the heavy metal shears in one hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the cut. Slicing through that material—it felt almost violent.

  But this was Heidi’s wedding, and Harper had to remember that. This wasn’t about her at all. It was her sister’s big day. And yet, her mind wasn’t completely fixed on her sister’s wedding, either. Gabe’s face kept popping into her mind. Truth be told, she’d been thinking of him all afternoon, ever since he’d dropped her off so she could pick up Zoey.

  “Cut it out,” she told herself aloud.

  But this wasn’t about his good looks, or the way her stomach had of flip-flopping at the least opportune times when he was looking down at her the way he did... This was about that tormented look on his face when he opened that box. What had his grandmother done to him to cut him that deeply? Imogen Banks had always struck Harper as so...proper.