by Lori Wilde
“I get it,” she said. “It’s overwhelming.”
“But in a good way.”
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
Wow, okay. Here was his opening, a way in. She’d tell him what she needed to tell him. A secret, from the hooded way she was looking at him from underneath lowered lashes. Then he could open up about Clayton.
“What is it?” he asked, feeling his muscles tense.
“This is going to sound crazy . . .”
“I’ve got two good ears and an open mind.”
She smiled at that, a shaky smile, but still a smile. How bad could her secret be if she was still smiling? He didn’t care. No matter what she told him, he wouldn’t judge her. Who was he to judge anyone?
“I’m listening.” He drew her closer. “Tell me.”
“Long before I ever knew you . . .” She blew out a long breath through pursed lips. “I dreamed of you.”
Dazed, dazzled, he matched her smile. He reached for her hands. They were cold, but she latched on to him tight. Could she feel the power of his emotions for her? “Guess what?”
“What?” she whispered.
“This is going to sound crazy . . .”
She touched her ears. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
He dipped his head, going in for a kiss, and whispered, “I dreamed of you too.”
His arms went around her waist and her arms slipped around his neck. He kissed her, or she kissed him. Naomi wasn’t quite sure which. Didn’t matter. It was some kind of cosmic, simultaneous kiss.
As if the heavens were yanking them together like old-fashioned magnetic kissing dolls. A sign from above that they belonged.
Gratitude filled her heart.
His lips were warm and soft and moist. He tasted of apple pie and cinnamon, and smelled of pine, sandalwood, and soap.
Her heart fluttered like a shaken snow globe. Her pulse surged in a way it had never quite surged before. Excitement. Hope. Joy.
Yes, joy.
His kisses were joyous things. Alive and beautiful. He was so good at kissing. As good at kissing as he was at whittling toys. He must have kissed a lot of girls to get this good. But she didn’t care how many girls he’d kissed before her. All she cared about was his mouth on hers. Right here. Right now.
Her entire body tingled just as it had in the parking lot outside the gym. From the top of her head to the soles of her feet. Tingled. Strummed. Vibrated.
She cupped his face between her palms, brazenly wanting more.
He laughed, a throaty sound from deep inside his chest, but he did not stop kissing her. Good. She did not want him to stop until their lips were chapped and they were gasping for breath like landed fish.
She closed her eyes, letting him sweep her away.
Mark deepened the kiss, taking her with him.
Her mind spun lazily, crazily. Was this really happening? Could she be dreaming again?
His hands were in her hair. Stroking her with a tender caress. She felt so special. She wished they could stay on the porch swing. Kissing. Forever.
She might have plotted a way to make that happen if the front door hadn’t cracked open and a bright little voice said, “N’omi, I thwisty.”
“Motherhood calls,” Shepherd whispered against her lips.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Hunter comes first. There will be time for me later.” He looked into her eyes, and she read the unspoken word, Right?
She smiled, nodded to his unasked question.
“N’omi?” Hunter stuck his head farther out the door. “Bwww.”
“Back inside, little man. I’ll be right there.”
“Go.” Mark patted her on the shoulder. “I’m headed for the rectory.”
She stood, lapped up his lingering smile. “I’ll see you in church tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Oh the yearning!
Sleep did not come. Naomi could not stop thinking about Mark and his kisses. It wasn’t just that she was falling under his spell, but rather he seemed as enchanted as she.
And he’d dreamed of her as she’d dreamed of him. Unbelievable. A stunning turn of events.
She wished they’d had more time to discuss it. How and when he’d dreamed of her. What his dream had been about. She had so many questions. How could she sleep when she had no answers?
Around midnight, she got up to go to the bathroom, and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shiny, her hair a mad tangle. She looked as feverish as she felt. She pressed a palm to her brow, was almost surprised to find her skin cool and dry.
Inside, she was hot and damp and thirsting for the forbidden.
Mark.
Two doors down.
Sleeping in the rectory.
She had no conscious plan. No purposeful intention.
But she washed her hands and left the bathroom. Tiptoed downstairs to the coat closet. Shrugged into her winter coat, and jammed her feet into her boots sitting at the mudroom door.
Quietly, she slipped outside.
On the street, a soft silence lay over the neighborhood. Not even Christmas music from the town square.
Her breath chuffed frosty in the chilly air. She bundled her coat more tightly around her and started off down the sidewalk.
When she reached the church, she hesitated outside the rectory. Did she just go in? Knock? Why was she here? What was she doing? This was a mistake. She should go.
Turning, Naomi started down the steps.
Heard a guttural scream come from inside the rectory, a great primal sound of pain.
She jumped, startled. Terrified. Flung herself back around, grabbed the door handle. It was locked. Instinctively, she yanked on the knob, as if by doing so the lock would simply fall off.
Another electrifying yell.
Heart slamming into her chest, she flipped over the welcome mat, snatched up the spare key, and with trembling hands struggled to jam it into the lock.
A raw howl so chilling that the sound seized Naomi by the spine and shook her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She finally got the key into the lock, turned it, shoved open the door, and tumbled over the threshold.
The hallway was completely dark, but she didn’t linger to search for the light switch. She’d grown up in this church. She knew the way.
Running her hand along the wall, she bulleted to Mark’s room.
Found him curled in the narrow twin bed in a fetal position, clinging to his pillow and crying out. “No! No! Don’t go, don’t go!”
Unnerved, she paused at the door, a glint of moonlight falling through the curtains. He was having a PTSD nightmare. Should she wake him?
He batted the air with his fist, gritted his teeth, sucked in air with a hiss. His eyes were squeezed tightly closed.
She knew better than to touch him. Could feel despair rolling off him.
“Watch out for Talid! Run, run!”
Talid? Her blood ran cold. Talid was the terrorist who’d killed Clayton. She’d had a few nightmares about the terrorist herself. But why was Mark dreaming of Talid?
It’s a common name over there, she told herself.
Mark let out another blood-curdling scream. “I’m sorry, so sorry!”
Naomi rushed across the room to him. Hovered near the bed. “Mark, Mark,” she called, and then to make sure she got through to him, “Shepherd. Wake up. You’re home. You’re safe. You’re with me.”
He grunted. Blinked. Stared up at her as if peering through a fog.
“Mark, it’s me, Naomi.”
“Naomi?” he whispered.
“You’re here, in Twilight with me.”
“Twilight?”
“At the rectory of my father’s church.”
His eyes sharpened. She noticed tears on his lashes, and that his hands were trembling. Her heart jerked. He was suffering.
“Mark,” she whisper
ed, drawing closer. “Would it be okay if I got into bed with you?”
He nodded, and in that moment, she saw exactly what he’d looked like at Hunter’s age. This man had not been nurtured the way he should have been nurtured.
She slipped behind him, scooped him into her embrace, and stroked his hair while he shivered in her arms. Felt the warmth of his body seep into hers. “Shh, shh.”
He curled against her, his head on her chest. The weight of him was exquisite in a forlornly beautiful way.
“Go back to sleep.” She hummed a lullaby. Brokenhearted for the sorrows he’d been through.
He clung to her arms as she rocked and swayed him. Her chest clenched so tightly it hurt.
Naomi bent her head and pressed her lips to his temple. “Shh, shh, I’m here, I’m here. You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”
Slowly, he drifted back to sleep.
She stayed with him until she was sure the nightmares were gone. Wishing she could stay the entire night, but knowing she could not, she eased from the bed inch by inch, careful not to awaken him. She tucked the covers over his shoulders. Placed one more soft kiss on his forehead, and then slipped out the door and walked home.
In the darkness of that solitary night, she felt profoundly changed.
Holding him while he was broken and vulnerable peeled back the layers of her feelings, drilling down to her core. Exposing everything.
She loved him.
It was as simple and as complicated as that.
And Naomi knew in her heart of hearts that she was bonded to this man on a level so deep that nothing could ever break it.
Chapter 21
Following church services later that morning, Shepherd pulled her aside. “We need to talk.”
“Now?”
He shook his head. “This is going to take a while.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering if he remembered his nightmare. Anxiety set her stomach fluttering. “Is it that thing you wanted to tell me about last night?”
“Yes. That.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” she asked. Not wanting to put him off, but her to-do list was longer than her arm. “We have out-of-town guests coming over for a late lunch and I have online orders to prep and get ready to ship out tomorrow, and then bedtime routine for Hunter.”
“I can help with some of that.”
“No, I’ve got—” She stopped. Remembered what he’d told her about thinking she had to do everything herself. Recalling how vulnerable he’d been last night in her arms. “Okay. That sounds good. Do you want to help me prepare lunch?”
He started rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve got your six, butterfly.”
Together they cooked the meal and had so much fun doing it, Naomi could see them doing this every day. And my, but it was so much easier with two.
Getting ahead of yourself. What had happened in the rectory had been beyond special, but they had a long way to go. Issues to work through.
Yes, she knew that, but she couldn’t stop herself from dreaming about making room for this good man in her life.
They didn’t get a chance to talk privately that day. Her mother invited the out-of-town guests to stay the night, and Naomi had to sort all that out. Shepherd offered to help, but her father sent him on a mission to borrow a rollaway cot from a neighbor and by the time everything was squared away, Naomi was yawning so big she had to cover her mouth with a palm.
“Rain check on the convo?” She yawned again.
Shepherd nodded. “Get some sleep. It’ll keep.”
She walked him out to the front porch. Shrugged repeatedly, and kneaded her shoulder blade. Winced.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Sore muscles from wrapping packages. Job hazard.” She waved away his concern. Didn’t tell him that her shoulders were mostly sore from holding him for hours after his nightmare. He didn’t seem to remember it and she didn’t want to embarrass him by bringing it up.
“You should use that spa gift certificate Mrs. Longoria mentioned,” he said. “Get a massage tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “No time.”
“What are your excuses?” He grinned, shook his head.
She rattled off her to-do list, and ended with, “I told Hunter we’d put up the tree tomorrow when he got home from preschool. It’s the only time I have a moment to spare and we’ve got to get the tree up. It’s already the fourteenth.”
“That’s when you’ll get your massage,” Shepherd said firmly. “You go to the spa, I’ll put the tree up with Hunter.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“I want to enjoy putting up the tree with Hunter,” she protested.
“You do plenty of other things with him. This will be guy bonding time.”
She considered that a moment. Rubbed her shoulder again. He made a good point. “It would be nice to get a massage.”
“Self-care,” he said.
“You really did go to a lot of therapy, huh?”
“Yes, so consider me the expert. Tomorrow. Three o’clock. You’ve got a date with a masseuse.” He leaned down to give her a peck on the cheek.
Her heart swelled with joy and she playfully snuggled closer. “Hey, hey, is that all I get?”
“One of your out-of-town guests is peeking through the curtains at us.”
“Rats,” she muttered.
“Good night, butterfly,” he called, and headed back to the rectory.
Leaving her sighing longingly for more.
When Shepherd arrived at the Luthers’ house the next afternoon at two-fifteen, Naomi was still trying to get out of going to the spa. She’d come up with half a dozen excuses why it was selfish for her to take ninety minutes out of her day to take care of herself.
“Look at this.” She took a mass of tangled Christmas lights from a big cardboard box. A Gordian’s knot of lights. Dropped the twisted mess in the middle of the living room floor.
“I’m good at puzzles.” Shepherd eased down on the carpet, sitting with his bum knee straight, the other bent in front of the snarled wires. “I’m going to straighten this out before you get back from picking Hunter up from school.”
“Oh goody, a competition. If you don’t have them untangled by the time I get back in six minutes, I stay here.” She leaned over, patted his shoulder, and headed toward the door.
“Oh, butterfly,” he hollered after her. “It’s on like Donkey Kong.”
Exactly seven minutes later, she was back from the preschool with Hunter. Shepherd had ten strands of a hundred and fifty lights all separated and lined up in a row, ready to dress the tree.
“Seriously?” she said. “How did you manage that?”
“Told you I was good.”
She stuck out her tongue at him.
“I’m even better at that.” He wriggled his eyebrows at the sight of that lovely pink tongue.
She rolled her eyes.
“Get a move on,” he said, tapping the face of his watch. “Your appointment is at three.”
“I need to make Hunter an after-school snack.”
“On it. Go.”
“You don’t know what he likes.”
Shepherd looked at the boy. “What do you like?”
“Peanut buttew and jelly sammies!” Hunter sang out.
“There you go.” Shepherd picked up Naomi’s jacket off the back of the couch where she’d draped it when she’d come in.
“I—”
“You’re going,” he insisted, pressing the jacket into her hand. “No argument.”
“I’m too bus—”
“We’ve been over that.”
“You—”
“Shh.” He hushed her.
“It’s—”
“No excuses.” He scooped up her purse from the coffee table, slung it over her shoulder. Got a thrill from his fingers brushing against her skin.
“But—”
He opened the front door. “Out.”
Naomi balk
ed, digging in her heels and wrenching her arm from his bum’s-rush grip. “Hunter can be a handful. He—”
“I’m an ex-Marine. How hard can it be?”
“Harder than you think. You don’t know anything about kids.”
“Go. Relax. Enjoy being pampered. We’ll be fine.” He shoved her out the door, closed and locked it behind her.
“Okay.” Shepherd stared down at the boy once Naomi was gone. “It’s just you and me, kid.”
“Daddy.” Hunter grinned at him and raised his arms to be picked up.
“We gotta get something straight here,” Shepherd said, hauling the kid up onto his hip. “I’m not your dad.”
The boy stared at him with serious dark eyes.
“Not that I wouldn’t want to be your daddy. Don’t get me wrong. Any guy would be lucky to have you for a son. It’s just that’s not who I am.”
“Daddy.” Hunter bobbed his head.
“Shepherd.”
“Daddy.”
“Shepherd.”
Hunter giggled. “Daddy.”
“Mark,” he said. “If that’s easier. You can call me Mark.”
“Daddy.”
“Mark.”
“Mawk?”
“Mark,” he confirmed.
“Daddy Mawk?”
“Just Mark.”
“Just Mawk,” Hunter mimicked. “Daddy Mawk.”
Shepherd decided to let it go. He couldn’t control what the kid called him.
“Here’s the deal. Naomi’s got a list—”
“Mama.” Hunter threw back his little head and laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“Yes, I suppose she is your mother now. Anyway, Mama’s got way too much on her plate, so I thought while she’s relaxing at the spa, we could set up the Christmas tree.”
“Mama.”
“Uh-huh.”
He touched an index finger to Shepherd’s cheek. “Mawk.”
“You’ve got it now. Smart boy.”
“Mama and Mawk.”
“No, Mama and Mawk are not a couple . . .” But he sure wished they could be. Not just wished it. Longed for it. But there were a lot of landmines between here and there. He was afraid to hope.
He thought about the night she’d climbed in his bed and held him as he trembled from the PTSD nightmare. It had been a touching moment. But he hadn’t mentioned it to her. In fact, told himself he’d dreamed that too. He was embarrassed that she’d seen him in such a state. And humbled to his bones.
