by Rachel Hauck
Fortunately, the focus on his new career eclipsed the contrived story of his impending marriage to Grace Peterson. That story faded into the background a few days after the tabloids hit the stands. The next week one them ran an apologetic retraction. Elaine credited the power of prayer to the recant. Burke agreed.
The offensive coach blew his whistle, drawing Burke's attention to the fifty-yard line. He watched as Jack executed a flawless play, completing his pass to the down field receiver who ran the ball into the end zone.
In the fading afternoon light, Burke checked his watch and called for the team to gather up. Quickly he reviewed the day's practice, offered some correction and praise, and prepped them for the upcoming game.
Driving home that evening, his thoughts wandered from football to Belle. He sighed heavily, wondering if she would ever let him in her heart again.
He'd called her the day after his return from out west, but never managed to talk to a live person. Now, he reminisced about his visit to the Bar J last week when he stopped by after practice.
Belle greeted him politely when she answered the door, exchanging superficial pleasantries for a few seconds. Her aloof demeanor and brisk tone confirmed his suspicion.
"You saw the picture of me with Grace," he asked after she tried to end their reunion with a subtle good evening.
She paused before answering, then stepped out onto the porch, pushing her broad brim work hat back on her head. "I did."
"I thought you didn't read those trashy tabloids." He popped himself against the banister, folding his brawny arms over his muscular chest.
"I didn't. Spencer did. The seventy-two point headline was hard to miss."
"I'm not engaged to Grace."
"The picture looked pretty cozy," she said, stepping across the porch to face him, hands on her hips.
"It's situational. It can't accurately represent our conversation, our feelings."
She laughed snidely. "A picture paints a thousand words, Burke."
He exhaled slowly, frustrated, feeling as if any explanation he offered would sound like trite justification. Yet, he had to tell her the truth. How could he tell her how he felt if she believed he and Grace were in love?
"We were saying good-bye. I kissed her on the forehead."
"You don't have to answer to me, Burke. If you are in love with Grace and plan on marrying her, that's your business."
He tossed up his hands. The edge in his voice sharpened his words. "I'm not in love with her, Belle. We're not engaged. We're not getting married."
She fell against the front of the house and stared at the floor. The hem of her jeans and the soles of her boots were caked in mud from the days work. "So, what are you then? Why the romantic picture on the beach?" She fired the questions in rapid succession.
With calculated, metered words Burke recounted the evening for Belle. He explained the surprise reunion on the Dubois show, their long talk on the beach by her home and their good-bye conversation. He ended with, "We both agree we're not meant to be together. We are friends, nothing more, nothing less."
"She seemed mighty sweet on you at the reunion."
Burke nodded. "We dated, Belle. I won't lie about that, but we never talked marriage."
"So, just like that, it's over between you?" She challenged him with her tone and a single glance of her eyes.
"It's been a long time coming. But yes, we're over. We spent the summer praying, seeking the Lord about our relationship. My career change and move to Haskell forced us to look at where we were going."
"So, that's it. The couple of all Hollywood couples is over?"
He took a step toward her. "Just like that."
"I hope you find someone," she said, unemotional, looking at him with a cool gaze.
"I have found someone."
"Really?" The last syllable faded away and she swallowed hard.
"You."
She blew a long breath. He could see her trembling. "No, Burke. Not me. I've been down that road once. I'm not going there again."
"You think I'm going to give up that easy?" He took another step toward her.
"This isn't a contest."
He hesitated, wondering how far he should push her. He went for the bottom line truth. "I never stopped loving you. Through all the years, all the miles, all my experience, you were always at the core of my heart."
Her eyes reddened as the truth of his words hit her. "You sure have a funny way of showing it, Benning."
"I know. I'm a knucklehead. Give me a chance to make it right."
She shook her head, chewing on her bottom lip. "No, I can't. I won't risk my heart with you again."
"I won't leave you this time."
She gaped at him and snapped, "Did you plan on leaving me the first time?"
"You know I didn't," he answered, emphatic.
"But you did. How can I trust you not to do it again?" She walked to the edge of the porch and looked out over the field where wild flowers still bloomed.
The aroma of rain came on the slight breeze and, for a split second, Burke caught the subtle fragrance of Belle. It made his pulse quicken.
But a stern determination lit her eyes when she faced him again. "There won't be a 'this time'. Watching you on the Dubois show made me realize we are a world apart. Then the picture of you with Grace confirmed in me that we could not go back to being naïve twenty-one year olds who believed that if we loved each other nothing else in life mattered. You left me because our rose-colored world required more than blind love."
"I left because I got scared, because I listened to my head instead of my heart."
"Okay, so you got scared. But since then, you've become a world-class athlete. A celebrity. And a famous, beautiful actress captured a piece of your heart, if only for a moment. You can't just throw all that away and return to a simple, small town kind of existence we have in Haskell."
"I don't want to forget where I've been. But I don't want to forget where I came from either. Both worlds are a part of who I am, now."
"But I'm part of the past, part of who you were, not who you are."
Burke reached for her hand and walked her to the porch swing. When they sat down, he started. "I remember a balmy spring day in third grade when I raced onto the playground with my buddies, my Christmas football tucked under my arm. We were choosing teams when I noticed a pretty, brown-haired girl with skinny legs and pigtails struggling to get going on the swings."
She turned away from him. "I was there, remember?"
He continued as if she hadn't interrupted him. "Suddenly, I became torn between my friends, the game, and my desire to help you. You captured my nine-year-old heart that day. Just as Bobby Jacobs kicked off, I made the most unusual decision."
She laughed softly. "You left the game."
"Yes, to be with you."
"That swing set had me so frustrated. All the seats were either too low or too high."
Burke chuckled, thinking back to the old playground. "I never made it back to the game. I got teased mercilessly for helping you, but I never regretted my decision." He gently touched her chin with his fingers and turned her face toward him. "You know, I believe I've left the game for you again."
"Not for me. For you, for the Lord."
"And for you, Belle. You're part of why He brought me home."
She got up and walked to the porch rail. Rain clouds gathered in the distance, and a cool breeze danced through the trees and whistled under the eves. "Why me?"
He started slowly, careful of his words, not willing to overwhelm her with the deep intent of his heart. "To give us a second chance," he said casually.
"During the summer I thought maybe I still loved you. I wondered if you could love me again." She stopped and shook her head. "But now, I know we can never go back to what we once had. Let's just call it healed and done with, Burke. We'll greet each other at church and around town and get on with our lives."
He stood beside her, gazing down into her fab
ulous face. "I won't get very far in life without you."
The porch light suddenly flicked on, and Duke stuck his head out the door. "Well, there ya are Belle. I was a wonderin'. Burke, how're you?"
"I'm good, Duke, thanks. How's that leg healing?"
"Got my cast off day before yesterday, but I'm still a bit sore and hobblin' around."
"You be sure to take it easy and let that leg heal."
Duke tipped his head in appreciation. "Will do," he looked at Belle, "I got dinner ready. You kids' hungry?" He glanced between them.
"I'll be right there, Daddy."
"Burke, come on in and join us."
He looked at Belle who stood stiffly with her arms crossed and her eyes fixed forward. "No thanks, Duke. Another time."
"Anytime, son." He left quickly, leaving the door slightly ajar.
"I'd better get inside," she said.
"Can I call you later?"
"It's a free country."
He reached for her. "Can I call you later?" he asked again, searching her eyes for an answer her lips might not express.
She leaned away from him, pulling against his hold. In one brisk sentence she said, "Do what you want."
Chapter Nineteen
"All right, Belle, is that it?" Russell Martin asked as he dumped the last bag of feed into her truck.
She stood on the boardwalk in front of the Martin Feed Store and scanned her list in the October day's fading light. Long angles of light streamed across the faded boards and the pointed toes of her boots. The breeze blew across her face with a sharp chill. "That'll do it, Russ," she said, sliding the white slip of paper into her hip pocket.
"Put in on your account?"
"Please," she said.
"Will do. You see the game last night?" Russ said, leaning on the side of the truck, a toothy smile on his face. "My boy's starting defensive tackle."
Belle nodded, pleased. "I heard."
"I ain't seen you at any of the games."
"Been busy." She searched her jacket pockets for her truck keys.
"Burke's doin' a fine job with those boys. Gonna be state champions, or my name ain't Russell Martin."
"Takes a lot to be state champions." Belle answered by rote, still concentrating on the search for her keys. She checked inside the truck.
"Yer keys are inside on the counter," Russell said between sentences about the football team.
She looked over at him. His round face sported a wide, toothy grin. "Thanks, Russell."
He followed her inside, rambling on about the Haymakers and their fine new coach.
She spotted her keys on the counter, just like Russell said. He walked behind the register and leaned on the counter, still talking. Belle paused by the door and tried to listen.
She appreciated Russell's enthusiasm for the hometown team, but she found his high-pitched voice and fast-talking manner distracting. Her mind wandered as he prattled.
Everywhere she went, people wanted to talk about Burke and the winning Haymakers. She rejoiced over his success, yet she fought to keep herself from being drawn into the town's excitement over him. Since their front porch conversation, she'd seen little of him. He called every other night, gently affirming his affection for her and his desire to pursue a relationship. She did her best to keep the conversation airy and brief, avoiding connotations of intimacy. She kept the longing of her heart locked away and secret. Only the Lord saw and understood what she could not express to her friends, not even her dad.
She strummed her guitar, letting her feelings and thoughts intertwine, declaring her desires to the Lord in prayerful songs. In those times, the gentle and peaceful presence of the Lord filled her soul and reassured her of His love. She sensed no direction from the Him concerning Burke, yet a curiosity flitted through her soul, wondering about His plans for her. Did they include Burke?
An image of him popped into her mind as Russell talked. Last Sunday she caught a glimpse of him as he left the sanctuary, handsome and smart looking in his dark, tailored suit. The tranquil, confident, tenderhearted look on his face and the depth behind his eyes captivated her. During the week, she found it hard not to think of him. She anticipated his evening calls and let their conversation linger longer than normal.
Belle forced the picture from her mind and checked into Russell's story. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her legs and arms, idly jingling her keys.
"Russ Jr. found the hole and went right for the quarterback. Sacked 'im before he could draw back for the pass."
"Good for R.J."
"I tell ya--"
The screen door snapped open, and Dean Benning walked in with Burke. "Evening, Russ," Dean said.
Belle straightened with a jolt. Burke stopped walking when he saw her. Their eyes locked in a private moment, unspoken feelings passing between them.
"Ev'nin', Dean. Ev'nin', Coach," Russell said, coming around from behind the counter, his voice spiked with excitement. He shook Burke's hand aggressively.
Belle glanced away, breaking the intimate connection with him.
Russell asked, "What can I do for you boys?"
"Need a few supplies," Dean said, slapping a hand on Russell's shoulder and steering him away from his brother.
Burke strolled over to Belle, his boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He wore faded blue jeans with a dark sweater and his blue Haymakers coach's jacket. He looked relaxed, yet confident and commanding. He stopped when he got to her, and put his hand on the wall, leaning in close. "How are you?" he asked.
She squirmed. "I'm fine. You?"
"Busy, but good."
She shifted her gaze to his face, her heart pounding. "Russell's been bending my ear about your team."
His intense focus remained on her. "Why don't you come to the games?"
"How do you know I don't?"
Burke smiled. "My little informants tell me."
"Let me guess, Gates and Meg. Maybe Mary Beth."
He shook his blond head no and confessed. "Your dad."
Belle gaped at him. "What? My father? Traitor."
They shared a light laugh.
"Will you come next Friday night?"
She looked out the feed store window that faced Main Street where the yellow glow of the street lamps dotted the night. She thought she should get home and see if Duke needed help fixing dinner. But she couldn't seem to command her legs to move. After a noticeable silence, she said, "No."
"Why?"
Belle fumbled with her keys and shrugged, finding it hard to formulate her feelings into words. "I can't. I just can't," she said.
"Have dinner with me."
"No."
"Belle, please. It will give us time to talk. Let's not leave our face to face interaction to chance, like now."
She felt herself yielding to his pleasant plea. His tone of voice, the look in his eyes, even his posture told her how much he cared. Surely she could spend one meal with him. Her heart and mind debated. Finally she said, "Burke, what's the point? We aren't going back to what we were. Let's just move on with our lives, forget what we once were."
"That's my point. Let's move on, together. But forget you? Now it's my turn to say I can't."
"Looks like we're at a stalemate."
Dean came over and said quietly to his brother, "I'm ready anytime you are. Hey, Belle."
"Hey, Dean."
Burke asked Dean to give him a few minutes. He agreed and sauntered off to occupy Russell. Belle could see Russell desperately wanted to talk football with Burke, but Dean kept him engaged, talking about Jack, R.J. and the team.
Burke turned his attention back to Belle. "I thought we were getting somewhere. I really enjoy our nightly talks. We've covered some good ground."
"Okay, we're friends. But that's where it ends, Burke. I've made my decision," she said squarely, sensing her courage return. She would stick with her original resolve.
"What decision?"
Belle sighed. "That I am not for you. Yo
u are not for me."
"I disagree," Burke countered.
"You can disagree all you want."
"So, that's it? You're not going to even try to give us a second chance." Burke dropped his hand and stood next to Belle, back to the wall.
Belle faced him, trembling, her hands balled into fists as she tried to control her emotion. "Try? Take a chance. You just don't get it do you? I can't risk it, Burke. I still love--" Belle stopped mid-sentence as she heard her own words. The blood drained from her face as she realized what she almost confessed.
Burke's eyes probed hers for one long, revealing moment.
"I gotta go," she said, hurrying out the door.
He chased after her. "Don't go. Finish what you were saying. You were about to say you love me, weren't you? Belle--"
She climbed into the truck and started the engine. "I'll see you, Burke," she said, grinding the gears as she shifted into first.
He clung to the driver side door, keeping her from pulling away. "Have dinner with me. Tonight. Eight o'clock."
Belle focused on the steering wheel for a few minutes, praying for wisdom and guidance, the hum of the engine in her ears. Reason told her not to go, she would only risk her heart. But love urged her on. Truth be told, she ached to be with him, tired of being cold and cautious. Her heart desperately wanted to say yes, but her head still refused.
She surrendered to the Lord in prayer. Lord, what should I do?
In the next instant, a thought flashed across her mind. Let go. Trust him. Trust Me in him.
I can't.
You can't or you won't?
The Lord's prompting struck a deep cord in Belle's soul. For the first time, she realized she could let go, but pride and fear kept her from doing so. In a small way, she wanted to hang on to the pain Burke inflicted upon her. She wanted to punish him, and resisting his overtures seemed to be her subtle way of reminding him of what he did to her.
Suddenly, she felt ashamed of her attitude and stubborn behavior. What did she have to gain by carrying on the charade? Truth be told, she wanted to explore the bounds of their relationship again. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to let go.
