A Dream To Share (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  “I have a brother, too. Younger by five years. He’s married and has a five-year-old daughter. They live in Chicago.”

  “How nice. You must get to see them often.”

  “No. Unlike you and your brother, we’ve never been close. My fault, not his. He’s tried to keep in touch, but I never reciprocated.”

  “Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?” Abby sent him a curious look over the rim of her cup as she raised it to her lips.

  Unsure how to respond without getting into a discussion of the whole complicated mess he’d made of his life, Mark hesitated. He could brush off her question and let the matter drop. But if he wanted to change, if he wanted to start allowing people in, he had to learn to open up. Maybe now was the time to start. Or at least take the first tentative steps.

  “I have a hard time letting people get close. When I was thirteen, I lost my best friend and my mother just months apart. My friend to leukemia, and my mother to a cerebral hemorrhage,” he said quietly. To his surprise, he found the words easier to say than he’d expected. Perhaps because he’d already shared his story with Reverend Andrews.

  “After they died, I shut down. I didn’t want to get hurt again by letting myself care for someone, only to lose them, too. I also turned my back on God. But thanks to a number of things that have happened in the past few weeks, I realize that was a mistake. And I’m trying to rectify it. I want a richer, fuller, more meaningful life. Even if that entails risk.”

  Stunned—and touched—by the raw honesty of his revelation, Abby had to fight down the impulse to take his hand in a comforting clasp.

  “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through.” She tightened her fingers around her mug—the only way to ensure that her hands behaved. “But I’m glad you’re finding your way out of that darkness. Shutting people out can make for a very lonely existence.”

  “Speaking of shutting people out, may I ask you something, Abby?”

  Uh-oh. She knew where this was heading. And she didn’t want to go there.

  Sensing her withdrawal, Mark plunged ahead, anyway. “I’ve been wondering why you haven’t married. Unlike me, you don’t seem to have a problem with commitment. You have a warm and caring heart, and I can see that you love children. I don’t understand why you’re still single.”

  Abby fiddled with her coffee cup. “The Gazette has always been my passion. It hasn’t left me much time or energy for romance. Besides, we don’t exactly have an abundance of eligible men in Oak Hill.”

  “There’s one here now.”

  At his candid comeback, Abby shot him a startled look. If ever she’d harbored any doubts about his interest, his tender expression dispelled them. She had to wait for her lungs to reinflate before she could speak. “I’m not in the market for a relationship, Mark.”

  “With me—or with anyone?”

  She swallowed. He’d been honest with her about his interest; she was left with no choice but to be honest in her response. “With you.”

  As he scrutinized her, he tried to make sense of her answer. He knew she was attracted to him, that she felt the chemistry between them. He’d dated enough women to recognize the signs. That wasn’t the problem.

  “Is it because of Campbell Publishing’s interest in the Gazette?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  Instead of responding, she stood and moved toward the sink, turning away from him. Once there, she gripped the porcelain edge, her shoulders rigid, her head bowed. Even from across the room, Mark could sense her distress, knew she was struggling for control.

  Scraping back his chair, he rose and moved behind her. She went still as he approached, stiffening when he rested his hands lightly on her slight shoulders. Beneath his fingers he could feel her trembling, though her muscles were as taut and unyielding as the synthetic leather on the basketball he’d bought at the local hardware store.

  “Abby…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  His soft, concerned voice close to her ear, his warm breath on her cheek, the gentle touch of his hands, threatened her shaky control.

  “You need to go, Mark. Now,” she choked out.

  Ignoring her plea, he exerted pressure on her shoulders, urging her to turn toward him. She resisted, averting her face, but his glimpse of the silent tears coursing down her cheeks jolted him. He was used to Abby being strong and in control. This side of her tore at his gut. Lord, help me deal with this, he pleaded in a prayer born of desperation. I’m way out of my depth here.

  “Why?” he asked softly. Cupping her face with his hands, he angled it toward him and wiped away her tears with his thumbs, searching her troubled eyes for an answer. “I don’t understand.”

  “It wouldn’t work between us.”

  “Because of my past?” He hated to bring it up, hated to even remember it, but he figured Abby suspected that he’d led a less-than-admirable life. For a woman like her, that could be a huge stumbling block. “If I could change it, I would. But all I can control is the future. And I can promise you my wild days are over.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t think it’s fair to hold someone’s past against them when they’re doing their best to create a better future.”

  “Okay.” Relieved, he tried another tack. “Is it the long-distance issue?”

  No response.

  “Come on, Abby. Talk to me.” He pried her cold hands off the edge of the sink and enfolded them in his warm clasp.

  His gentle entreaty was hard to ignore. Yet Abby wasn’t prepared for this discussion tonight. One peek at the resolute set of his lips, however, told her that he wasn’t going to give up until he got an answer.

  Staring at a button on his shirt, she bit her lip and took a deep breath. “We’re too different.”

  Her reply was met with silence. When the silence lengthened, she risked a look at him. He seemed confused.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s enough.”

  “I don’t think we’re that different. At least not anymore.”

  She tried to tug her hands free, but he refused to relinquish his grasp. “Uh-uh. We need to sort this out. What do you mean by different?”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Mark, think about our backgrounds.” She lifted her chin and gave him an earnest look. “Small town, big city. Rich, not rich. Man of the world, girl next door. Cocktail parties with caviar, pancake breakfasts at church. We live in different worlds.”

  “Okay.” He mulled that over. “But different doesn’t mean incompatible. And none of those differences are insurmountable. We can deal with them if things get serious.”

  “That’s what my parents thought, too.”

  There was a world of pain in her response, and Mark knew that he’d at last gotten to the heart of her problem. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy to convince her to share whatever unhappy memories stood in the way of their relationship, but he also knew that he had to succeed. Only when he found out what was holding her back would he know how to fight her fears.

  “Tell me about them, Abby.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t have to be anywhere tonight.”

  Abby looked up into Mark’s warm brown eyes, torn. Her parents’ unhappy marriage wasn’t a topic she’d ever discussed with anyone. It had seemed disloyal to tell anyone else about the problems that they’d kept behind closed doors.

  Now, however, she had a reason to drag those skeletons out of the closet. Like her parents, Mark seemed to think that love would be enough to overcome their differences.

  But she knew better.

  And it was time Mark did, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Let’s sit, okay?” Abby tugged her hands free, and this time Mark let her go. When he sat beside her a moment later, she stared at the worn oak table and traced the uneven grain with her finger.

  “We always ate dinner together at this table. The four of us
—my mom and dad and my brother and I.”

  “Are those good memories?” He wasn’t sure how to interpret the tenor of her voice.

  “Some are. Most aren’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too much tension.”

  Patience had never been one of his strengths, but he waited to see if she’d continue. After a few seconds, she did.

  “Were your parents happy, Mark?”

  Her wistful question took him off guard. “Yes. Very.”

  “Did your mom and dad have similar backgrounds?”

  “Yes. They both came from middle-class families. But Dad had great ambitions, and Mom believed in him. They were a good team.”

  “That makes a big difference.”

  “Are you saying that your mom didn’t support your dad?”

  “I think she did the best she could. She and Dad met when they were seniors in college and married a month after they graduated, and she knew Dad would eventually take over the family business. But she didn’t have a clue what she was getting into when she came to live in Oak Hill. Mom was from a wealthy family in San Francisco. She loved art and theater and music. She was a gifted pianist, and I’m sure she would have been successful in her field of fashion design. But there wasn’t much opportunity for her to pursue any of those things in Oak Hill.”

  “I take it she was unhappy here.”

  “Yes. At least as far back as I can remember.” Abby turned away to check on Caitlin, envying the peaceful countenance of the slumbering infant. “But, to her credit, her disillusionment didn’t keep her from being a good mother. She always took pride in our accomplishments, and she was never too busy to read my brother and me a bedtime story or take us outside to stargaze or spend hours with us looking for cloud pictures on warm summer days.”

  “It sounds like you loved her very much.”

  “I did. And I loved Dad, too. But he was also unhappy. He felt like he’d failed Mom. Yet, short of selling the business, there wasn’t much he could do to change their circumstances. And that’s never been an option for a Warner. The paper has always been a sacred trust passed from one generation to the next.”

  A shadow of distress darkened her features, and Mark took her cold hand in his. He was grateful that she didn’t pull away.

  “Anyway, it wasn’t a happy marriage. They kept up a good front in public, but my brother and I were aware of the tension. They were just too different, Mark. Trying to meld two disparate worlds doesn’t work.”

  “It can if both people are committed to making it work.”

  “I’m sure my parents believed that, too, when they married.”

  “But they were young, Abby. College kids. They fell in love in the rarified atmosphere of a campus. That’s not real life. And they may not have thought through all the ramifications of their marriage. We’re older than they were. I’m sure we both have a better handle now on what’s important than we did in our college days. And a better sense of what commitment means—the benefits and the sacrifices.”

  She leveled a steady gaze at him. “You wouldn’t want to live in Oak Hill full-time any more than I’d want to live in Chicago. How would we get around that?”

  It was a fair question. And he didn’t have a good answer. Yet. “If things got serious between us, there would have to be compromises on both sides. We’d have to figure that out.”

  It was a lame response and he knew it. Abby’s hard-hitting comeback told him she did, too.

  “I like you, Mark. A lot. But my future is in limbo. As far as I can see, yours is secure. When your job here is finished, you’ll go back to your life in Chicago. Someday you’ll take over your father’s business. If we pursued a relationship, I’m the one who would have to uproot myself, leave the only home I’ve ever known and find something else to give my life meaning. That’s not compromise, that’s capitulation. And I could very well end up resenting you, like my mother resented my dad. Take it from one who knows, that’s no way to live.”

  “I can see you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I told you, Mark—I like you. I wish there was a way to guarantee a happy ending. But there isn’t.”

  He gave her a speculative look. “Do you know what I think?”

  “What?” Her expression was wary.

  “I think we’re thinking too much. To use an old cliché, we may be putting the cart before the horse. I’ve never even kissed you.”

  “Maybe that’s just as well. It would only complicate things.”

  That’s what he was counting on. Without responding, he stood and reached down, pulling her to her feet.

  “What are you doing?” Surprise widened her eyes.

  “Let’s stop thinking for a few minutes. And talking.” Before she could protest, he drew her close and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head into his shoulder as he rested his chin on her soft, satiny hair.

  “Mark, I don’t think this…”

  “No thinking for a minute, okay?”

  She fell silent, and he stroked her back, aware of how well she fit into the protective circle of his arms. As if that was where she belonged. Though he’d been attracted to her for weeks, had fantasized about holding her in his arms, even his wildest imagination had never conjured up this sense of completeness.

  Of rightness.

  The feeling blew him away—and reaffirmed his conviction that they needed to explore the magnetism that had drawn them together. He hoped—prayed—that Abby would come to the same conclusion, despite her reservations, now that she was in his arms.

  As Mark held her close, the evening stubble on his chin a bit scratchy—and appealing—as he rubbed it against her temple, Abby considered what he’d said. It was true that her parents had been young when they’d married. And it was possible they hadn’t thought through the ramifications of their decision.

  It was also true that she and Mark were older. They both knew what was important to them. And they were reasonable adults, used to negotiating. Might they be able to work out an arrangement that would allow both sides to avoid the resentment that had sabotaged her parents’ marriage?

  Drawing back a bit, Abby looked up at him. He dropped his hands to her waist but didn’t break contact.

  “It feels good in your arms,” she said softly.

  A slow smile warmed his face. “You feel good in my arms, too. Like I knew you would.”

  As Mark searched her eyes, he saw yearning spring to life in their depths. She wanted him to kiss her as much as he wanted to taste her lips. But she was uncertain. Wondering if it was wise.

  Frankly, he had no idea. And at the moment he didn’t much care.

  Following the advice he’d given Abby, Mark stopped thinking and lowered his head to brush his lips against hers. Her sweet, artless response surprised him—and stirred him more than the practiced attentions of any of the sophisticated women he’d dated. When her arms crept around his neck, it took every ounce of his willpower to refrain from intensifying the embrace. Not tonight, he told himself. Tonight, this was enough.

  When the gentle, exploratory kiss ended, she drew a shaky breath. “That felt good, too.”

  “I agree. Which goes to show that we’re not as different as you seem to think we are.”

  “There’s more to a relationship than kissing.”

  “It’s a good start.” He gave her an unrepentant grin. “And it can smooth out a lot of rough patches.”

  “Not in my parents’ case.”

  His grin faded. It had been too much to hope that one kiss would wipe away her doubts. “But they stayed together, didn’t they?”

  “Yes. I’m not sure they would have long-term, though, if Mom hadn’t died so young.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  A frown creased Mark’s brow. “I didn’t realize that. What happened to her?”

  “She had a low-blood-sugar episode in the middle of the night and slept through the early symptoms. When my f
ather tried to wake her the next morning, she was already in a deep coma. She died later that day.”

  A muscle twitched in Mark’s jaw and his mouth settled into a grim line. In all his research, he’d found nothing to suggest that sudden complications of that magnitude were common in diabetics. But he’d seen Abby in the throes of such an episode. Had witnessed the debilitating—and potentially life-threatening—nature of the attack. She’d assured him that day that they were rare, yet her mother had died from one. In her sleep.

  “You’re saying that diabetes killed your mother.” It was more statement than question as he struggled to absorb Abby’s bombshell.

  “Yes. But she was never the most organized person. Dad had to constantly remind her about monitoring and medication and diet.”

  “Okay.” He processed Abby’s explanation, trying to fit all the pieces together. “But you had a dangerous episode, too. And you’re very conscientious.”

  “I got distracted that day. Trust me, I learned my lesson. It won’t happen again.”

  He wanted to believe her. Desperately. But she was human. And people made mistakes. What if he wasn’t around the next time? The thought terrified him.

  “I’m still adjusting to the disease, Mark.” Abby touched his cheek. “And learning how to deal with it. I don’t expect to have the problems my mom did.”

  “But you can’t eliminate all the risks.”

  “No.” If he was looking for absolute assurances, she couldn’t give him any. Just as there were no guarantees that two people from different worlds could sustain a relationship long-term, neither was there a guarantee that they’d even have a long-term.

  Feeling blindsided and stunned, Mark stared at Abby. For the first time in twenty-one years, he’d let himself care about someone else. But he’d already lost two people he loved to unforgiving medical conditions. Could he risk setting himself up for a third loss?

  If this was God’s way of testing his reawakening faith, he was failing, Mark acknowledged. How could he put his trust in a God who would bring him this far only to throw him such a malicious curve? If he gave his heart to this woman and then lost her, too, he’d never recover.