“Miss Mays?”
“Yes.”
“This is Vicki at the university financial aid office. I was calling to let you know the scholarship fund you requested is available now. We’ll hold the paperwork for Mr. Wilder. Do you want to notify him, or would you prefer we sent him a letter?”
Carrie’s heart began to pound at the mention of Rocky’s name. She hadn’t spoken to Rocky in two weeks—not since that day when he’d accused her of intending to put him out of business.
“Um,” she hedged, rubbing her throbbing toe. “I guess send him a letter.”
“That’s fine,” the woman chirped. “We can give him all the instructions for enrollment at the same time.”
“Yes, that would be good.” Carrie wouldn’t have to do anything—just slink away and let Rocky take care of himself. Her heart ached more than her toe.
“Do you have his mailing address?”
Carrie dug through her purse for the little address book she kept with her calendar and recited Rocky’s address. Then she disconnected the call, her duty done. She plopped the phone back into her purse, leaning her head on her hand for a moment as regret washed over her.
How differently she’d envisioned all this when she planned it. Taking Rocky to the college, seeing his face light up when he realized schooling was paid for, telling him how God had prompted her to use her money to answer his prayers.
But the misunderstanding had changed all that. His accusations still stung, and she didn’t know if she could ever face him again. Surely when he got the letter he’d understand what she had tried to do, but even if he apologized, would she be able to forget the hurtful things he’d said about her?
With a sigh, she limped through the kitchen doorway back to the living room where the movers deposited the country-style hutch for her dining room. She glanced around. That was the last of the furniture she’d purchased—their job was done. Retrieving her purse, she tipped them generously for their help and saw them out.
She stood in the doorway of her new home, watching through the full-length glass storm door as the moving truck pulled away from the curb and growled down the street. The silence of the house pressed around her. Loneliness struck. She whispered, “God, I feel very alone right now. Remind me of Your presence, please?”
Turning from the window, she searched for the box which contained her stereo and CDs. She finally located it, shoved some things aside on the floor to uncover an outlet, and soon the room shook with music from a Christian male band. Carrie sang along, her doldrums lifting as the music reminded her she was never alone.
An hour later she had her kitchen cupboards in order and a pile of empty boxes to carry out. She stacked the boxes together and placed them in the garage out of sight. As she stepped back inside, the words “Jesus only speaks the truth” rang out on the CD. Carrie paused, listening as the song ran its course.
She wished Rocky would listen to the truth instead of believing she had lied to him. It hurt so much, having him turn on her that way. Stepping out of comfort zones was something both she and Rocky would have to do if they were to make their relationship work. They’d have to meet somewhere in the middle. She’d already taken the first step, moving out of the Steinwood mansion to live on her own. But Rocky would have to make the bigger step—accepting her money without allowing it to trample his pride.
She imagined him receiving the letter from the college, reading the invitation to enroll, seeing the financial sheet marked “paid in full.” In her mind’s eye she envisioned two scenarios—the first, him socking the air in joy and shouting a thank-you for the opportunity; the second, wadding up the letter and throwing it away, angry that someone had interfered.
She sighed, defeated. The second scenario seemed much more realistic based on her last encounter with him. Rocky wouldn’t accept it. His pride wouldn’t allow him to accept it. What had she been thinking? She should never have forged forward with this ridiculous scheme. Her heart had been in the right place, but she should have thought it through.
She reached for her purse and removed her phone. A quick call to the college could divert that scholarship to some other needy student. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about Rocky Wilder and his oversized sense of pride.
But she stood, finger poised over the keypad, while something held her back. Even as much as he had hurt her with his misplaced accusation, she wanted him to have this advantage. He’d had few advantages growing up. Surely he deserved this one. She closed the phone and pushed it slowly back into her purse, her thoughts tumbling.
She would leave the decision in his hands. If he rejected it, then she would ask the college to give it to someone else. But before he could reject it he’d have to know the motivation behind the gift. She needed to talk to him just once more. The thought of him believing she would deliberately sabotage him was a thought with which she could no longer live. He’d face the truth no matter what it took.
Should she invite him here? She considered that. She wanted him to see her house, to show him she had moved out of the Steinwood mansion and was no longer a part of that world. Yet she sensed she needed to meet him on his court. No, she wouldn’t invite him here. He might not come. But she could go to him, and she would. One more surprise for Rocky—a surprise visit—and she’d at least have the opportunity to defend herself. If he still chose to believe the worst, then she would accept it. But she had to try just once more. She cared too much to let it go.
❧
Rocky closed his Bible and leaned back. Guilt pressed at him. The last verse of the fourth chapter of James weighed heavily on his heart. If a person knew to do good and didn’t do it, it was sin. And sin, Rocky knew, grieved his Father.
He’d been wrong to accuse Carrie, to hold himself aloof. She was his Christian sister, and even if she had behaved inappropriately he’d been wrong, too, to harbor anger against her. One sin was as bad as another in God’s eyes—Rocky knew that.
“What do I do, God? How do I make it right?” He spoke the words aloud. The first time he’d wronged Carrie, it had been a simple matter to fix it—flowers and a book. But this wrong was far different from accidentally spraying her with water. This wrong had been deliberate. He’d purposely avoided her, purposely accused her, purposely hurt her. This couldn’t be fixed with a handful of impatiens and a used romance novel.
Drawing in a deep breath, he considered his options. He could ignore the situation and hope it would stop bothering him. He shook his head—the guilty feelings wouldn’t go away. Philip had even said he might regret it for the rest of his life, always wondering what might have been. Ignoring it wasn’t an option.
He tapped his lower lip with one finger. Well, then, he could write her a letter, apologize in writing and hope she accepted it. But that didn’t seem right, either. Besides, his writing wasn’t all that great. It would be embarrassing to have someone as smart as Carrie trying to figure out his chicken scratchings and misspelled words.
He ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a huff of breath. The only other thing he could think of was to talk to her. By telephone? He snorted and berated himself. “Quit trying to take the coward’s way out.” No, he’d have to talk to her in person. He broke out in a cold sweat as he thought about pushing that intercom button at the Steinwood mansion’s gates and asking to speak to Carrie. But there was no other way. And the sooner he got it done, the better it would be.
He slammed the footrest down on the recliner and stomped, barefooted, to his bedroom. He changed into a clean pair of jeans and a shirt that had sleeves, making sure he tucked in the tails neatly. He dug under his bed for a pair of socks that weren’t too dirty and his tennis shoes. He tied the laces extra tight, frustrated by the quiver in his hands. After running a comb through his hair and splashing on some aftershave, he felt ready to face Carrie.
The drive to the Steinwood mansion took a little over fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of battling his nerves. By the time he reached the gates, his
hand trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. But he managed to get his finger to connect with the intercom button.
“Yes?” A female voice. He surmised by the warm tone it did not belong to Mrs. Steinwood. It must be Myrna.
“Yes. . .um, I’d like to speak to Carrie?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the voice came, “but Miss Carrie no longer resides here.”
Rocky drew back, stunned. “She doesn’t?”
“No, sir. She’s—”
“Who is this?” A new voice intruded, masculine and demanding. Mac Steinwood.
Rocky swallowed hard. “This is Rocky Wilder, Mr. Steinwood. I’m looking for Carrie.”
“She moved out. And I assured her I would allow her the privilege of sharing her new address with others. Have a good day, Mr. Wilder.” A click indicated the intercom had been disconnected.
Rocky leaned back and ran his hand through his hair. Now what? How would he find her? If she’d requested her new address be kept private, then she didn’t want to see or hear from him. Regret struck. Philip was right—he should have taken care of this days ago.
With his shoulders slumped in defeat, Rocky shifted his car into reverse, backed out of the driveway and turned toward home. The drive seemed to stretch forever as the weight of guilt pressed on him. “Help me, Lord. I don’t know what to do. Please—somehow bring Carrie to me.”
A quarter mile from his house, the sight of a car waiting in his yard set his heart to pounding so hard he feared it might break free of his chest. A little red sports car. “Heavenly Father, is it—?” It was. It was Carrie’s car. And Carrie waited in the driver’s seat.
Seventeen
Even as she stepped out of her car and watched him pull into the drive, Rocky still had a hard time believing she was really there. He’d just prayed for her to come to him, and—boom!—there she was. He didn’t know prayers could be answered so quickly.
He shut off his ignition and shot out of his vehicle, closing the distance between them in less than a half-dozen long strides. “Carrie?” He heard the disbelief in his own voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” She sounded subdued, hesitant. Not that he could blame her. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah. Sure. Let’s—let’s go inside, huh?” He gestured toward the door, and she followed him up the metal steps and through his front door. Inside, she hovered on the square of linoleum that served as his foyer area, her hands clasped in front of her. How uncomfortable she appeared.
“Go ahead and sit down,” he encouraged. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got a cola in the fridge, or some ice water.”
“No, nothing, thanks.” She seated herself on the edge of the couch, resting her hands in her lap.
Her blue-eyed gaze followed him as he moved to his recliner and sat. He wrapped his fingers around the armrest of the chair and met her gaze. Neither spoke for several long, tense seconds. Then he heard a chuckle rumble from his own chest. “This is so. . .weird.”
She tipped her head, her blond hair spilling across her shoulder. “What is?”
“I just came from the Steinwood mansion. I went to talk to you, but your stepfather said you’d moved out.”
“Yes. Once I got my trust fund, Mac said I should be on my own.”
Trust fund. Rocky’s gut clenched with those words. A reminder of their vast differences. “He wouldn’t tell me where you lived now.” There was a hint of accusation in his tone. He hadn’t intended it, but it was there—leftover resentment.
Her chin shot up, a stubborn thrust to the line of her jaw. “I planned to tell you about my new house that night at church, but you didn’t come.” Her tone matched his in accusation.
He cleared his throat and made the apology he had planned. “That was wrong of me, Carrie. Will you forgive me?”
Her gaze lowered for a moment. “Actually, Rocky, your not showing up hurt a lot less than the reason you didn’t come.”
Hurt welled up in Rocky’s chest. Hurt for her duplicity. Hurt for the discomfort he had caused her. One hurt was for himself, the other for her, and he couldn’t decide which one took precedence. “I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t face you. Not knowing. . .what I knew.”
She met his gaze squarely. “But that’s just it. You didn’t know. You made an assumption, but it was incorrect. That’s why I came here tonight. You need to know the truth.”
Rocky pushed himself firmly against the backrest of the recliner. The chair squeaked. “What is the truth, Carrie?”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and fixing him with a fervent look. “The truth is I picked up that paperwork for you. I wanted to help you. I knew how to get things rolling, and I thought if I could start it all, it would simplify things for you.”
He shook his head, unsure he understood. “You were trying to get my business started?”
She grimaced. “You sound as if I were trying to take it over.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.” But, he wondered, what did he mean? If Carrie had done all that for him, was it because she didn’t think he was capable of handling it on his own, or was she really trying to be supportive? Old insecurities made him want to believe the former. “I’m curious why you’d do that.”
She sat up, raising her shoulders in a graceful shrug. “I care about you, Rocky. You wanted it so badly. You’d asked me to pray about your landscaping business. When I prayed, it occurred to me that I could be a real help. So I pressed forward, thinking I would surprise you by getting some of the paperwork out of the way. But”—her gaze dropped to her hands where she fit her fingertips together, forming a steeple—“you found out and jumped to a conclusion, and. . .”
When she didn’t finish her thought, Rocky completed it for her. “And you couldn’t tell me because you were afraid I wouldn’t listen.” Philip had been right. Regret was hard to carry.
A slight nod confirmed his guess. “You were so cold that day. I didn’t know how to fix things. So I left.” Cupping her hands over her knees, she said, “But I couldn’t leave that disagreement between us. I wanted you at least to know the truth. So I had to come.”
He leaned forward and captured one of her hands. “I’m glad you came, Carrie. And I’m so sorry I hurt you that way.” He shook his head. “I should have known.” Swallowing the lump of regret, he confided, “Growing up, I didn’t find many people I could trust. I guess, as much as I’m trying not to be that Wilder boy who carries a chip on his shoulder, sometimes he still makes an appearance. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“I can see why you thought what you did,” she said, surprising him with her understanding. She pursed her lips for a moment, a hesitance coming across her expression. “And actually I haven’t told you everything yet.”
He held his breath, waiting.
“In addition to picking up paperwork at the business bureau, I also set up a fund for you at the college. All you have to do is go in and enroll. Your expenses are covered.”
He leaned back, releasing her hand. A pressure built in his chest, and words burst out. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“It—it’s too much. College is expensive.”
“I can afford it.”
“That’s not the point!” He shot out of his seat and paced across the room. Desire and defiance mingled in his chest. How he wanted this degree. He’d prayed for it, asked for God to provide the funds, but how could he take Carrie’s money? There would be no way he could repay her. “I can’t—I can’t take something I didn’t earn.”
A soft laugh escaped her lips. “Really? Then why did you accept salvation? Or are you telling me you earned that?”
He spun around. “That’s not the same thing.”
She rose and crossed to him. “I know. Salvation is a much bigger gift than anything I could offer.” She took his hand. “Rocky, what I’m offering comes with no strings attached. You asked me to pray for you, and God laid it
on my heart to help you. If you truly don’t want to use the fund I set up for you, then I’ll give it to someone else. But I’d prefer you used it.”
He stood in silence, her slender fingers cool against his palm, while he battled mixed emotions. A part of him wanted this opportunity. A part of him balked at the idea of taking money from her. Despite himself he released a throaty chuckle. Rocky Wilder was trying to avoid taking something from someone? Who would have guessed it?
“Look, Rocky—all you have to do is swallow your pride and the money is yours. You have a gift—you can bring beauty to the world. Accept the fund, get your degree, start your business, and use that gift for others. It’s only as difficult as you choose to make it.”
He drew in a deep breath then released it slowly. He reached out, pulling her into his arms. The scent of apples filled his nostrils as he rested his chin on her hair. “This is tough, you know? I’m not used to people being so nice to me.”
She laughed and pulled free. “Well, get used to it. Because I can see me being even nicer.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? How so?”
“Well. . .” She moved a few feet away, her hair swaying across her back. “I’ve got my business degree, too, you know. And I’ve always liked the idea of starting my own business rather than working for someone else. What’s to say we couldn’t combine forces? With your talent and my business acumen it would surely be a raving success.”
He couldn’t stop the grin that grew on his cheek. Combining forces with Carrie sounded better than anything he could have imagined. “That sounds pretty good.” He crossed his arms and smirked at her. “I like the idea of Wilder and Mays Landscaping.”
“Wilder and Mays?” She quirked her brow, her expression teasing. “Haven’t you ever heard of alphabetical order?”
He laughed.
“Or that a lady precedes a gentleman?”
That Wilder Boy Page 14
