by Lisa Jordan
The great room greeted her like an old friend with its curved cathedral ceiling, walls paneled with rich oiled planks and gleaming wooden floor. A set of French doors framed in stone opened onto a deck overhanging the water. Long windows faced the lake. Scarlet and lavender faded into amber as the setting sun melted like an orange Popsicle across the expansive black lake.
Clinking of glasses mingled with laughter and talking throughout the room. Tuxedo-clad men and women dressed in gowns in every color of the rainbow moved between the circular tables covered in white linen tablecloths.
Stephen and Lindsey found their table. Lindsey peeked at the other name cards, pleased to see Oliver Kendall and his wife, Amy, would be sitting with them. Amy was a couple of years older, but they had been in marching band together.
“Would you like to sit? Or mingle?”
“We can mingle, if you want. I see a lot of familiar faces.” She pressed a hand to her stomach, hoping the butterflies had more to do with the man at her side and not the evening ahead.
“I’m sure those familiar faces would love to say hi.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
For the next half hour Lindsey chatted with many of her dad’s old buddies from the force. They engulfed her in bear hugs, asked about her job, her mom’s recovery and usually ended with a funny story about her dad. She smiled until her cheeks ached. Not to mention her heart. Maybe someday she’d get to the point where she could laugh and tell her own stories, but not yet. And not today. Not here.
Their wives dragged her away from Stephen—her anchor in the crowd—over to the displayed scrapbooks of photos taken through the years: company picnics, baseball games, interaction with the Shelby Lake youth. They gushed over her dress, telling her over and over how much she looked like her mother. She asked about their children and grandchildren while searching the crowd for Stephen.
Someone cupped her elbows from behind and whispered in her ear, “Ready to sit down? They’re going to start serving dinner.”
Lindsey turned and looped her hand around Stephen’s elbow. “Yes,” she said a little too quickly.
He squeezed her hand and pierced her heart with a gentle smile. “Would you rather get some fresh air?”
She shook her head. “My feet could use a break.”
He guided her back to their table where two chairs remained empty. Theirs. Oliver and Amy sat next to her. At least she could chat with someone who had more to talk about than her dad.
Stephen held her chair and then introduced her to the two other couples at the table—fellow officers and their wives.
Waiters served the first course—mixed greens with cranberries and walnuts. Lindsey spent more time talking to Amy than eating. Her barely touched salad was replaced with a choice-cut filet mignon, herbed red potatoes and asparagus spears drizzled with a cream sauce. She managed to eat half of her food before setting her fork across her plate, her appetite disappearing with the dusk.
She tried to focus on a cute story Amy was telling about her infant daughter, but every time Stephen moved, his arm brushed hers. Goose bumps whispered across her skin. She’d have to be dead not to be affected by his nearness. She enjoyed hearing his rich tenor laugh. And the way he constantly checked on her, making sure she was comfortable, he was the perfect gentleman.
Absolutely perfect.
Amy’s mouth continued to move, but Lindsey tuned out her words. Her senses heightened when Stephen pushed his plate away, leaned back in his chair and casually loped his arm behind her shoulders. Did he realize he was caressing the curve of her shoulder? Or was it one of those things people did without realizing it? For a second she enjoyed his rough, yet tender, fingers on her bare skin. She stifled a shiver.
Okay, she needed to put some distance between them before she humiliated herself by sliding off her chair into a puddle. She snatched her satin clutch off the table and skidded her chair back. “Excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room for a minute.”
She turned and nearly collided with a waiter carrying a tray of desserts. “Sorry. Excuse me.” She wove her way around the tables and practically sprinted to the ladies’ room. She dropped in an upholstered chair in shades of rose and buried her face in her hands.
Soft classical music piped in through hidden speakers. She kicked off her shoes and dug her toes into the plush burgundy carpet.
What was she doing here? Why did she say yes to Stephen, knowing full well that being around the officers would unlock that box of memories she kept tucked away and took out only once in a while? And with Stephen. Of all people. The man who broke her heart by marrying someone else.
But he wasn’t married any longer. Could this be their second chance? Or was it simply a fairy-tale night and the spell would be broken at midnight?
Stephen was no expert, but he didn’t think women took more than a few minutes in the ladies’ room. He glanced at Lindsey’s untouched chocolate mousse and back at his own empty plate. He pulled his napkin off his lap and laid it beside his plate. “Excuse me a minute.”
He headed for the ladies’ room and paced outside the door with his hands shoved in his pockets. He was about to go back to the table and ask Amy to check on Lindsey when the door opened. Lindsey’s wide-eyed expression told him she didn’t expect to see him standing there.
“Stephen, what’s wrong?” She glanced at him and then looked away.
“Nothing. I was concerned when you didn’t come back right away. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
She nodded, but gazed at something over his shoulder. Why wouldn’t she look at him?
He tipped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Want to get some fresh air?”
“My wrap is at the table.”
“Wait here and I’ll get it.”
At their table, he grabbed her wrap. Oliver gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Leaving already, dude?”
“No, Lindsey needs some air. It’s been a little intense for her. Being around all her dad’s friends and all, you know.”
“Yeah, I get it. If she needs someone to talk to, I’m sure Amy won’t mind.”
“Thanks, I’ll mention it. I’d better get back to her.”
He found Lindsey where he had left her and wrapped the black shawl around her shoulders. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
They exited out the side door, onto the deck and down the stairs.
Small ground lights marked the pathway, illuminating a trail around the lake. A chipmunk skittered in front of them. On one of the limbs above them, an owl hooted. A flapping of wings caused Lindsey to edge closer to him, not that he minded.
Stephen took Lindsey’s hand and kept his steps measured so she could walk at a comfortable pace without breaking her neck in those heels. Dried leaves crunched beneath their feet. “Wanna talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Whatever sent you running for the ladies’ room.”
“I didn’t run.”
A flock of snow geese flew overhead, their high-pitched honking breaking the silence. “Okay, so you didn’t run. Being here has been a little rough, hasn’t it?”
“A little. Everyone wants to tell Thomas Porter stories. They think I want to hear them, too.” Lindsey stopped and pulled her wrap tighter across her shoulders. She picked up a stone and tossed it into the lake. Ripples bounced across the satin finish of the surface.
“Don’t you?”
“They hurt. I don’t want the stories. I want my dad.”
“I know. At least you have great memories.”
“It’s not the same.”
Stephen stared at the sky. Stars twinkled, giving pinprick glimpses of Heaven. Light filtering in the darkness. “Not talking about him won’t ease the hurt, Linds. You can’t hide him in a box to keep the pain away. Someday you’ll be able to tell your own stories without your heart feeling like it’s being split with a meat cleaver.”
“Nice image.”
“You g
et my point.”
“We used to sit at one of the small tables next to the windows. Dad liked watching the ducks on the lake. One year we came—oh, I must have been twelve or thirteen—and a couple was sitting at our table. Dad asked them if they’d mind moving so he could have that table for his special girl. They did. I couldn’t believe it. After brunch, we’d sit by the fire. Dad used to tell me funny stories about his job. I’d catch him up on what was happening at school. We walked around the lake. Before we left, he always prayed over me, asking God’s blessings for another year. I miss those brunches.”
He bumped her with his shoulder. “Look at that, you shared a story.”
“Yeah, I guess I did. Thanks.” She shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little. Maybe we should head back.”
Stephen shrugged off his dinner jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here, this will help keep you warm.”
“But you’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.” He held on to the lapels of his jacket and pulled her closer to him. The moonlight danced across her hair. He stroked his knuckles across her cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful. And that dress…”
Lindsey smiled and twined her fingers in his, sending a jolt through his heart. Her eyes glistened. “Do you remember our talk along the river a few weeks ago? You said I needed to forgive you freely, but at the time, I couldn’t do it.” She looked away and stared at the lake. “I nursed a broken heart for five years, wrapping it in self-righteous anger. You’ve lost so much, yet you’re so much stronger. I envy that. My heart aches for Tyler. If you hadn’t married Bethany, he wouldn’t have a dad, either. I loved mine so much, and, well, I probably would have done the same thing in your shoes. I forgive you, Stephen—for everything. And I’m sorry.”
Her words buoyed his heart, freeing the guilt he felt after making a nearly impossible choice. He appreciated her thoughtful words but hoped she’d be willing to trust him with her heart again.
Stephen cupped her face and brushed his lips across hers, then cradled her against his chest. “I accept. And thank you. You don’t know how freeing that is for me. Ty and I take things one day at a time, Linds. Between my family and God, I manage to get out of bed each morning. Ty may not understand why his mom died, but he doesn’t blame God because he has a childlike faith. The same kind of faith adults should have but seem to have forgotten. Sometimes it’s rough, but we’re not alone.”
He stepped away from her and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. His back to the lake, he listened to the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. The one question he wanted to ask again balanced on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to ruin this magical moment. Did she truly forgive him? Enough to trust him again with her heart? What if she laughed in his face? Would she understand he wanted more than a mother for Ty?
Turning to face her, he traced a curl that hugged her jaw and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Lindsey. This isn’t the best place and I probably have rotten timing, but I can’t deny it. You’ve been in my waking thoughts since the day you came back home six weeks ago. I can’t change the past, but I promise to spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me. Will you marry me?”
Chapter Fifteen
Lindsey had two hours to decide if she was going to risk her fragile heart again with its pieces held together with tape. Resting her elbows on the table, she sipped her cooling tea and stared out the window. The cast-iron darkness shrouded the backyard.
How often had she fantasized about Stephen proposing to her again? And now that he did, she didn’t exactly jump into his arms with cries of “Yes” spilling out of her mouth.
What was up with her hesitation? It was what she always wanted, right?
She promised him an answer when he came for breakfast at seven. Her heart knew he was the only man for her. Unfortunately her head kept her awake all night with reasons why she should hop into her convertible and hit the road before dawn stretched across the sky to nudge aside the moon. His proposal had caught her off guard. What if he was caught up in the romance of the moment—the moonlight sighing over the water while music from the swing band waltzed with the evening breeze—and regretted his impulsive question now?
A shuffling near the kitchen doorway pulled her attention away from the window and her thoughts. Hair matted to the side of her head, Mom leaned on her crutches and smothered a yawn. Her eyes shuttered against the light over the table.
“Honey, what are you doing awake? It’s not even daylight yet.”
“Sorry if I woke you. Go back to sleep. No sense in both of us being up.” Why was she whispering?
Mom hobbled to the table and eased onto a chair. “What’s wrong?”
Lindsey traced the rim of her mug, blinking back a rush of tears. “Stephen asked me to marry him.”
“Oh, honey. And what did you tell him?”
“Nothing yet. He’s coming for breakfast at seven. I’ll tell him then.” She tugged on the cuff of her thermal weave pajama shirt.
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know yet. What if he has a change of heart and doesn’t show?”
“Do you love him?”
“Against my better judgment, yes.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
“It’s not that simple, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, one thing I’ve learned these past six weeks is life is too short to put your happiness on hold. You love Stephen. He obviously loves you or he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him. Everything else is gravy. Unless the problem is Tyler. Mothering someone else’s child.”
“Stephen’s child is wonderful. I adore him.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Stephen broke my heart, Mom. What if he does it again?”
“Oh, honey. You can’t live your life in fear of what could happen. You need faith. In Stephen. In yourself. Put your trust in God and let Him do the rest.”
“It’s so easy to say. A lot harder to do.”
“You’re right, but you can’t spend your life worrying about the unknown.” Mom brushed a kiss across Lindsey’s forehead. “I’m going back to bed. Let me know if you need to talk, though.”
Left to her thoughts once again, Lindsey filtered her mother’s advice and then headed upstairs to shower. Forty-five minutes later, she returned to the kitchen to start breakfast.
The scent of fried bacon whetted her appetite. As she beat eggs for omelets, she realized she was humming. She stopped whisking. Making breakfast hadn’t been enjoyable since her dad died. And now she was making breakfast for the man she loved—the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. The realization of her answer brushed a smile across her face.
She poured the beaten eggs into the heated skillet and tilted the pan to coat the bottom. She sprinkled cheese and ham down the middle and waited for the edges to bubble so she could fold the sides together. Glancing at the clock, she dropped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.
Someone knocked on the back door.
“Just in time.” She flicked off the burner, dried her suddenly damp hands on her jeans and took a deep breath before opening the door.
Instead of Stephen, Melissa stood in the doorway.
“Hey, Mel. You’re up early. Come in. Want some tea? Stephen’s stopping by for breakfast any minute, but there’s always enough for one more.”
“Lindsey, Dad received a call from the station—” A shadow passed over Melissa’s eyes. The look on her face curdled Lindsey’s stomach.
Lindsey whirled away from the door, leaving Melissa standing on the welcome mat, and hurried back to the stove. She flicked on the burner. Her white-knuckled grip held the pan steady as she cut through the cooked eggs with the silicone spatula, scrambling them. “I’m making ham-and-cheese omelets. Stephen’s favorite. Or at least they used to be. You know, it’s been a while, so I’m not sure. Maybe I should have asked him.”
�
��Linds—” Melissa touched her arm.
Lindsey shrugged off her arm. “I’m sorry, Melissa, but I don’t have time to talk. Stephen’s going to be here any minute. I have to finish his breakfast. We have a lot to talk about. I need to give him an answer.”
Melissa reached in front of her and turned off the heat. Burned eggs singed the air. “Honey, Stephen’s not coming. He got called into work early—”
“He’s coming. He promised.” She chopped the eggs into minuscule pieces.
“There was a domestic dispute. Stephen’s been hurt. He’s in the E.R.”
Lindsey threw the spatula into the skillet, splattering cooked eggs and strings of melted cheese across the black surface of the electric range. Grabbing the bacon, she dropped it in the trash, plate and all. “He promised.”
Please, God. Not again.
The diamond-patterned border that rimmed the sterile exam room blurred as pain seared Stephen’s thigh like a branding iron. His breath leeched through clenched teeth, deflating his lungs one gasp at a time. “What are you using to clean my leg, Rox? Battery acid?”
“Suck it up, Marine. If you weren’t such a baby about needles, I’d give you a shot of lidocaine to numb the wound.” She squeezed another stream of liquid over the gash in his leg.
Stephen focused on the pale blue wall over his cousin’s shoulder. If he didn’t watch, maybe the pain would be less intense. Right. “Nice bedside manner. Must make you a hit with your patients.”
“Seriously, Stephen? I’m simply irrigating it with a sterile saline solution. You don’t want infection to set in.”
“I don’t? Really? Thanks for that news flash.”
Roxanne slapped the plastic bottle on the metal tray table. She shot him a glare. “What is your problem?”
He dug his fingers into the sheets. “How about a recap? After an incredible evening, I was called out of bed for backup because some idiot still soaked on yesterday’s booze used his family as a punching bag. A little girl watched as her dad beat her mother into unconsciousness. Then he punched her grandmother, breaking the old lady’s jaw. Finally, instead of stabbing me in the chest, the jerk ruined my uniform. And did I mention I hate needles? I really hate needles.”
