“Yes. Rosemary cut it for me.”
Chelsea tucked two rolls into the basket. “She did a good job.” But why?
The question must’ve showed on her face. “I’m not a hippie, Chelsea.”
Words stalled, but her thoughts ran free, albeit in circles.
I never said you were.
A lie.
You cut your hair because of me?
Too personal.
I’ve missed you like crazy.
Way too personal.
Help me find a passion for Jesus like you have.
Right. Like she could ever say those words.
“What’s this?” He picked up her keys from the counter in front of him. Unfolded the note.
She had written his name on the outside. “Oh, that.” She forced a laugh. “I didn’t expect to run into you. I know it’s Wednesday, but I can’t make Alpha tonight. Wanda has the meal covered, but you can take my car if you like.” Her eyes caught on his like an industrial-strength magnet.
“I’m sorry for how I handled our conversation on Saturday.”
Chelsea wasn’t sure how much more nonchalance she could feign. “No problem. I always knew we were very different. That’s cool. God’s into variety.” But, seriously… Keanan had cut his hair because of what she’d said?
“I never intended to hurt you. To cause you pain.”
Her heart blipped. Did she imagine the slight inflection on the word you? “Keanan, don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl.” A big girl who wanted to grab this basket of food, bolt past him, and spend the day crying in bed with her curtains drawn. Big girl indeed.
“A woman.” His green eyes were steady on hers.
She looked down, fiddled with the basket, and bit her lip. She was going to draw blood if she didn’t escape soon.
“I am praying you’ll find peace in your relationship with God.”
That did it. “I’m fine. Really. Save your prayers for the people in your group. They’re the ones who need it.” She grabbed into thin air and came out with more. “Pray for Tracy. Now there’s a girl for you. A woman.”
Keanan shook his head slowly. “Chelsea. Don’t you see? It’s not Tracy I’m interested in. It’s you.”
Chelsea snapped her mouth shut. Look anywhere but at him. Anywhere at all. Measure the distance to the door. To freedom. Would he step in her way? A giant like him could block the entire gap without hardly trying.
“So much seems to be troubling you. I can’t stop praying for you. The sunshine — the joy — has gone from your face. I can’t deny I’m attracted to you, nor do I want to.”
She would not even glance his direction.
“But while I pray God will restore our friendship, I ask even more that He’ll woo you into a passionate love affair. With Him.”
Chelsea’s soul resonated with those words. She wanted that kind of passion, too. But it wasn’t Keanan’s place to assume it was missing in her life. He judged her.
Of course, she had judged him for being a hippie, which, technically, he wasn’t.
“That’s great, Keanan. I see why you’re such a great missionary. But save it for where it’s needed, okay? I’m fine. I’ve been a Christian since I was a kid. Never a moment of doubt.”
“I’m not a great missionary.”
“Oh, come on. You care about people, not only me. Just—” she fluttered her hands “—just go do your missionizing. I’ll even send you my tithe, such as it is.”
“Chelsea.” He rounded the end of the peninsula and came closer.
Whichever side of the island he took to get to her, she’d move to the other. She could escape.
She hadn’t counted on him simply reaching across the worktop and clasping both her hands in his. She stared down at his thick, tanned fingers, rough from work. The neatly trimmed nails. He wore no rings. No watch. There was no pretension in his hands, just warmth. Security. Nervousness as he gathered her hands and gripped them. His thumbs rubbed hers.
She should pull away. She should tell him once again all the reasons this was a very bad idea. He’d just recited the litany to her. Had he forgotten it already?
“Chelsea.” He whispered her name like it was a precious gem. Like a caress. Like the sun peeking out between heavy clouds.
She looked up. He’d dropped both elbows to the island so his face was at her height. So close. She swallowed hard at the intensity of those endlessly deep eyes, green like a glacial lake.
He leaned a little closer and his lips swept her forehead. “My prayers are with you every moment of the day.” One large hand lifted and tucked her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek. The ghost of a smile cracked his face. “And many moments of the long night hours.”
Then suddenly, he released her and turned away. Soundless for such a big man, he left the kitchen and crossed to the outside door. Seconds later the door closed behind him.
Chelsea’s fingers went to her forehead where his lips had touched. Over the past weeks, he’d awakened a passion in her for a man’s love. Was there any hope God would awaken a passion for Him? Maybe it was a good thing Keanan prayed. She had little faith in her own prayers.
* * *
Halfway across the yard, Keanan jerked to a stop. What had he gone to the house for? The reason had fled from his mind. He’d been hungry. That was it. Once the reclaimed countertop in his small kitchen had been installed, he’d be set to keep a bit of food over there. For now, there was still a lot of dust.
As if on cue, his stomach growled, but he couldn’t return to the kitchen while Chelsea was still there. He’d already said too much. His hands tingled. Touched too much.
A door closed behind him, the click clearly audible in the still morning air. He turned.
Chelsea walked across the deck, down the few steps, and across the yard toward the duplex, carrying her basket. She caught sight of him not far beyond, and her step faltered. Then she strode the remaining distance and into her home. This time the click of the closing door was considerably louder.
Keanan remembered to breathe, though his feet remained rooted. He needed a time of prayer, of basking in the presence of his Savior. Of pleading with his Lord for Chelsea’s spiritual peace.
His stomach reminded him he also needed food. One day soon perhaps he’d fast and pray for her. Today, however, had too many community tasks for that kind of focus. He turned on his heel and strode back to the house.
Keanan let himself in and turned toward the kitchen. Past the peninsula, by the island, Claire stood in a fuzzy pink bathrobe, a jar of pickles and a block of cheese in front of her. From behind, Noel nuzzled against the curve of her neck, his arms wrapped around her, his hands rubbing circles on her abdomen.
Something about that scenario... Keanan narrowed his eyes. He might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but the intimate scene made him wonder.
Claire caught sight of him. Her hands stilled Noel’s, and Noel glanced up as well.
“Good morning, Keanan.” Noel’s hands dropped as he shifted to stand beside his wife.
“Good morning.” Keanan looked away.
“Hi, Keanan.” Claire picked up a knife and began to slice cheese.
Did he imagine a flush on her cheeks? “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something.”
Noel winked. “No worries. Hungry?”
“I am.” Keanan approached the kitchen archway. “Mind if I scramble some eggs?”
“Be my guest.” Noel chuckled. “Not that you’re a guest.”
Claire finished preparing her plate and turned toward the hallway leading to the bedroom wing. Cheese, pickles, crackers. A cup of tea, its minty aroma lingering in the air.
Leaning against the doorway, Keanan raised his eyebrows at Noel as she disappeared.
“Uh, yeah.” Noel glanced toward the sound of a closing door and scrubbed a hand through his already tousled hair. Then he offered Keanan a sheepish look.
Keanan waited.
“We hadn’t meant to tell an
yone yet.”
Ah, his hunch had been correct. “Then don’t. I don’t need to be the first to know.” He rounded the island toward the large refrigerator.
Noel clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. What do you want in your eggs? I can chop up some onions and peppers.”
“Want to join me?” Keanan peered into the fridge and pulled out a large zucchini and a yellow pepper.
“Sounds good. I’m hungry for more than a handful of crackers and a few slices of cheese.” Noel took the vegetables from Keanan, who turned back for eggs and milk.
“Not to mention the pickles.”
Noel chuckled. “That was probably the giveaway.”
Keanan gave his friend an answering smile. Why did the thought of a new life growing inside Claire affect him so deeply? Watching Zach and Jo with little Madelynn hadn’t ever done so. Not even watching Jo’s belly swell with their second child, due in just a few weeks.
Those things had happened before he’d become aware of Chelsea. With his emotions tuned toward her, thoughts of babies brought to mind images of him holding her the way Noel had held Claire. Of a quiet moment savoring their child to come.
“We’ve been trying for nearly a year now.”
Why did couples speak of trying as though attempting to create a life was some sort of hardship? “Remember I don’t need to know.” It was true in more ways than one. He didn’t need the visual aids that sprang to life in his imagination. Visuals that included Chelsea’s blond curly head, her true blue eyes, her—
“Sorry, man. What are you going to do with that zucchini?”
Keanan blinked the large vegetable in his hand back into focus. “Uh, I’ll take a couple of inches off and put the rest back. Chop it finely. That okay?”
“Sure.” Noel’s knife whacked the onion into bits.
They worked quietly for a few minutes. “Noel, how did you know Claire was the woman for you?”
His friend glanced up with a questioning look. “I knew it from the moment I first saw her. Didn’t stop me from fighting it, of course.”
“Why did you fight?”
“It didn’t seem like we had much in common.” Noel scraped the chopped onion aside with his blade and started on the pepper. “I wasn’t a believer, and she was. I had the travel bug, and she couldn’t be pried off this farm with a crowbar.” Knives made the only sound for a moment. “There was more, but those were the main issues.”
“How did you come to Christ?”
“A lot of it was Claire’s deep faith. She had something I needed. But then I fought it because I knew surrendering to Jesus because of her wasn’t enough. She’d see through it, or it wouldn’t last.”
Keanan had rarely met a man more passionate about God than Noel, at least on this continent. The man prayed for others, fervently and verbally, with the slightest provocation.
“As for the desire to travel, that’s a mixed bag. I love living here. Guiding hunters and fishermen and hikers into the mountains. But I do sometimes miss scuba diving and tropical beaches.” He grinned at Keanan. “I just about had Claire convinced to spend a few weeks in Hawaii this winter. Now I’m not so sure.”
Why didn’t it bug him to think of his friends vacationing? Why had Chelsea’s admission irritated him so much? Because of the angle the conversation had come from. From the sense of entitlement he’d caught.
“I’m no expert, but it seems you have time before travel restrictions would apply to your wife. It’d likely do you both good to get away.” Keanan began cracking eggs into a large bowl.
“Good thought. We should have been doing what you’re doing before this. I don’t know why I never thought of joining missions trips in the winter. That window of opportunity is closed now.”
“Someone was required to keep the home fires burning. There weren’t many of you here at first. I’m thankful to be unneeded for a few months, knowing my presence won’t be missed.” He added milk and seasonings to the bowl.
“You’ll be missed, my friend. Trust me on that. But we’ll be praying for you. You’re our ambassador in the name of Jesus.”
That sounded good.
“Is it my imagination, or is there someone who’ll miss you more than the rest of us will?”
“It’s doubtful.” Keanan whisked the eggs.
“I’m no expert.” Noel chuckled. “To quote you. But we’re not blind or stupid, Keanan. Or deaf.”
Deaf? Keanan stared at Noel.
“Didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with her this morning.” Noel held up a hand. “And I only caught a bit of it before shutting the door again. Seemed like a tender moment.”
If only. Keanan sighed. “It’s extremely unlikely anything will come of it.”
“I remember the feeling.”
“No. In this case, it’s true. We’re miles apart.”
Noel clapped him on the back. “I remember that feeling, too. We will pray.” And he did, right then and there.
Chapter 13
A huge sheet of stainless steel with rolled edges covered the dining room table. Claire dealt out cutting boards like playing cards. Gabe sharpened several long narrow knives. Boning knives, Noel called them when showing Gabe how.
Chelsea was as ready as she was going to get for a day of cutting and grinding up raw meat. She’d tied a floral scarf around her head, taking care to tuck the loose ends in. A T-shirt meant she’d never have to worry about her sleeves getting gross. She wore T-shirts so rarely that she didn’t much care what happened to this one.
Allison and Brent had prepared a large breakfast for the crew. Chelsea had nibbled some toast. Just the thought of what was to come had been enough to turn her gut sour.
Sierra sprang for the door upon Noel’s shout. He entered, carrying a large slab of beef. “Here’s the front shoulder. Trim it out for stewing meat or ground.”
Chelsea reached for the knife in front of her. Clenched it. Thankfully Keanan worked outside, helping Zach and Noel carve the beef quarters into manageable pieces for the inside crew.
She was going to screw up one way or another. She’d either puke, cut herself, or invent a new way to embarrass herself with this experienced crew.
Portland had never looked so good.
“Here you go.” Claire dropped a hunk of raw meat in front of Chelsea.
The metallic stench rose, and Chelsea’s gut flipped over. “What do I do with this?” she got out through gritted teeth.
“I’ll work beside you and show you.” Claire poked at the meat. “See this part has a lot of lines of fat running through it?”
Chelsea nodded. Maybe if she considered this a biology lesson it would help.
“We’ll turn those parts into ground beef. For now, trim off the hard layer of fat and cut the meat small enough to fit in the grinder. Like so.” Claire demonstrated, tossing the fat into one bin on the table and the beef chunks into another. “Don’t worry too much about the softer fat. We’re not trying for particularly lean hamburger. That’s so last millennium.”
“Okay. What about the parts without fat?”
Claire turned the remaining piece. “This is good for stew. Trim off any gristle and cut the meat into bite-sized pieces. Those go here.” She dropped a few cubes into a third bin. “When we have enough to get started, someone will start weighing and wrapping it. That won’t be right away, though.”
Noel came to the door with a large bowl of trimmings. Allison and Brent each lifted pieces of meat to their cutting boards. Noel leaned over to Claire and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “How are you doing, love?”
“I’m fine.”
Why wouldn’t she be? Of all the women here, Claire likely had chopped the most raw meat. She’d been a chef for how many years now?
Chelsea glanced at Claire as the door closed again behind Noel. Her friend did seem a little pale, her skin carrying a slight sheen. Then Claire’s knife clattered to the floor, and she bolted toward the bedroom wing. Everyone froze around the table,
looking at each other. Allison. Brent. Sierra. Gabe.
Sierra set her blade down. “Excuse me.” She followed Claire at a more sedate pace.
“Did she say she wasn’t feeling well?” asked Gabe of no one in particular.
Allison glanced toward the hallway. “She didn’t mention anything to me.”
Chelsea frowned. What had Noel just said? Click. “Is she pregnant?” She met Allison’s gaze as the other woman’s eyes widened slightly.
Brent chuckled. “I guess that would do it.”
Gabe stared at his cutting board.
Yeah, anything to do with pregnancy or babies hit her brother-in-law hard.
Chelsea dug into her meat. Jo, finding it difficult to work around her large belly, had opted to care for Maddie and Finnley up at their log cabin today. If Claire was out of commission, too, that left a dwindling number of workers to complete the day’s tasks.
She chopped the chunk into smaller bits and sorted them before reaching for another piece. A few minutes later Sierra returned just as the outside door opened with Noel and another bowl of meat.
Noel glanced around. “Where’s Claire?”
Sierra, re-entering the dining room, jerked her thumb over her shoulder. He strode past, and Sierra leaned against Gabe, who slid an arm around her. “She’s pregnant.” She closed her eyes.
“Kind of what we figured.” Allison raised her eyebrows at Chelsea.
Chelsea shrugged and turned back to trimming meat. There wasn’t much she could say to Sierra and Gabe. Though only married a few months, they wanted a baby in the worst way, and it was unlikely to happen with Sierra’s endometriosis. To top it off, Gabe’s first wife had been pregnant when she died in a car accident. If Chelsea could snap her fingers and make it happen for her sister, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Even if it meant she’d never have her own.
She jabbed her knife into the slab. Sure, she was only twenty-six and had plenty of time to meet the right guy before her fertility clock wound down, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.
Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5) Page 9
