by Lori Wilde
“You don’t have to snarl at me. I was only trying to help.”
“That’s just the thing,” he said, feeling the rope of anger still whipping around inside him like a downed power line. Writhing and sparking. Electric. “You’re always sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Even when people clearly don’t want your help.”
Her gasp was a high sound, thin and short. Her eyes darkened. Her mouth pulled down.
“I . . . I didn’t . . .” I’m sorry. The thought sprang into his mind, but he couldn’t form the words. Why not? Why couldn’t he apologize? Was she right? Was it true? Did he actually not want forgiveness?
Of course he did. That was why he’d come here. Delivering Clayton’s Christmas key might have been his outer mission, but inside, where it counted, all he’d really wanted was to be absolved of his guilt.
It was a lightning-bolt moment.
She was right. If he didn’t have his guilt to drag around like an albatross, he would be free, and if he were free, where would he go? What would he do?
Who would he be?
“You’ve followed the rules for so long in an effort to protect yourself that you have no idea who you are. You’ve got a lot of inner work to do, Mark Shepherd. I could forgive you until the cows came home. My parents could forgive you. Hunter—when he’s old enough—could forgive you, but here . . .” She pointed an index finger into his chest, into his heart. “If forgiveness doesn’t come from inside, from where it counts most, you’ll never be happy. And I can never be with you.”
With those parting words, Naomi turned and walked out the door.
Leaving Shepherd with a gaping wound inside him so big and wide, the military could have driven a tank through it.
Chapter 25
Shaking with anger, hurt, grief, and a surprising hit of relief that she didn’t understand, Naomi raced home. It was three miles away. It was almost ten o’clock at night. She didn’t care. Her legs pumped hard beneath her as she ran, eating up the sidewalk.
If she lived to be ninety, she’d never forget the look of wounded shock on his face. The last thing she’d wanted was to cause him pain. But he needed something to jolt him out of the web of self-blame he’d gotten ensnarled in.
She knew that web all too well. She’d gotten caught up in it herself. When someone close to you died tragically and unexpectedly, it was so easy to get hauled into the cruel loop of self-recrimination. If only she’d done this or that differently, Clayton and Samantha would still be alive.
The thing was, she didn’t possess that much power. God was in control, not her. The sooner she let go of the need to be in charge, the better.
She’d lost herself in helping people. In taking responsibility for things that were not her burdens to carry. Mark had done the same thing. She could see her mistakes now. He could not.
It had taken every ounce of strength she had in her not to absolve him. She wanted to absolve him. In her heart, she did absolve him.
But she’d realized with a clear and true certainty that the best help she could give him was not to help him.
This was a radical notion, a startling conclusion.
She had to let Mark heal himself. And he had to start the healing before she could be in a relationship with him. It didn’t matter that he was her soul mate. She could not be with him until he could forgive himself. Trust himself.
And she had no idea how long that would take.
Or if he would even take the steps necessary.
That thought killed her, the idea that he might not be able to reconcile his pain. Might not be able to move past his horrible childhood.
She was almost home.
Naomi stopped running. Breathing heavily, she walked the rest of the way back to her house. Mark had not come after her. She’d expected him to come after her. Had been prepared with a speech for why she would not get into the Jeep with him.
A stitch caught her side. Hand to her abdomen, she went up the porch steps. She was going to have to have a conversation with her parents about Mark Shepherd. A conversation destined to ruin the merry Christmas she was struggling so hard to create.
Defeated, Naomi wrapped her hand around the Christmas key in her pocket, took a deep breath, and stepped over the threshold.
Shepherd followed Naomi at a distance. He did not try to pick her up. Knew she would refuse. He had to let her deal with her emotions the way she needed to deal with them. Her community was safe. People would help her if she got into trouble.
Still, he could not let her run home alone in the dark.
Once he saw her go inside the Victorian, he pulled into the church parking lot. Went into the rectory, to his lonely bedroom.
Stared at the bed where she’d held him and rocked him while he was in the throes of a PTSD-induced nightmare. A nightmare about her brother.
Jesus stared down at him from the picture on the wall, golden halo above his head, and a beatific smile on his face.
“Sorry to let you down,” Shepherd apologized. “I did the best that I could.”
Jesus kept on smiling.
“I suppose I could ask you to forgive me. I’m not very good at this praying stuff.”
But maybe he could be. He wanted to be.
Naomi’s words sprang up in his mind. If forgiveness doesn’t come from inside, from where it counts most, you’ll never be happy. And I can never be with you.
How did he forgive himself? How did he get to the bottom of his issues? How did he start on the road to self-discovery and recovery? How did he learn to start trusting his gut?
Shepherd knew only one thing for sure. If Naomi couldn’t be with him, there was no reason to stay in Twilight.
Mom was already in bed when Naomi walked in. Hunter too, was asleep.
For that, Naomi was grateful. She wanted to spare her mother as much pain as possible. And she didn’t know if she had enough emotional strength to put her nephew to bed if he’d still been awake.
It was after ten. Her father was puttering around the kitchen. Starting the dishwasher. Wiping down the cabinets.
“Hey, sweetheart,” her father called. “How was your evening?”
“Daddy,” she said.
He raised his head, and met her eyes. Could see at once something was wrong. He was across the kitchen in a heartbeat. Pulling her into his arms. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”
She hadn’t meant to cry. Didn’t know she was so close to tears. But the minute she was in her father’s comforting embrace, tears sprang from her eyes.
“What is it?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Mark,” she sobbed.
“Is he hurt? Are you hurt?”
Yes, yes! He was broken. She was broken. They were broken.
Her father directed her to a kitchen chair. Produced a tissue. Pressed it into her hands. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Naomi sat down, shook her head. “Dad, Mark Shepherd lied to us. He’s not a handyman. Joe did not recommend him.”
She expected her father to be horrified. Or at the very least upset. “Sunshine, Joe did recommend him.”
“Then he lied to Joe too. Mark Shepherd was Clayton’s commanding officer. He came to town to give us this.” She pulled the white key adorned with the Christmas ribbon from her pocket. Settled it on the table. “Mark claims Clayton left the key for him and the message to bring it to us. That we’d know what it meant. That’s why he’s here.”
“Ah,” her father said, and picked up the key.
“Do you know what it means?”
His smile was round and happy. His eyes filled with love and forgiveness. “Indeed I do.”
She waited.
He said nothing.
“Are you going to clue me in? I don’t remember this key at all.”
“That’s because the key didn’t come from Clayton.”
Confused, she frowned. “Where did it come from?”
“Joe.”
“Pastor Joe Trammel? He’s the on
e who recommended Mark for the handyman job, right? How did Mark get hold of a key from Joe Trammel?”
“No.”
Naomi shredded the tissue into tiny pieces. Strewing paper fluff onto the table. “I don’t get it. Mark swore to me that Clayton had left this key for him. It’s the reason he came to Twilight. Why would he make that up?”
“Not Joe Trammel,” her father said. “Joe Fox.”
She kneaded her brow, flummoxed by her father’s cryptic smile. “Who is Joe Fox?”
“Mark’s psychiatrist.”
“Back up.” Naomi raised her palms, watched tissue dust drift from her hands. “I’m completely lost. How do you know this key came from Mark’s psychiatrist?”
“Because I asked Dr. Fox to find a skeleton key, spray paint it white, and tie a Christmas ribbon around it. And give it to Mark Shepherd upon his discharge from the Marines.”
Weary and ragged from her exhausting evening, Naomi frowned. “But why?”
“I wanted Mark to come here.”
“So why the subterfuge? Why not just call and invite him?”
“Because Joe didn’t think he would have come. Mark’s the kind of man who needs a mission.”
“Okay, Dad. I’m not tracking.” Naomi hitched in her breath. “You’ve got to start from the beginning. None of this makes sense to me.”
Her father took her hand. “Dr. Fox contacted me a few months ago. He was concerned about Mark’s recovery.”
Naomi moistened her lips. “How so?”
“Shepherd kept blaming himself for Clayton’s death, and Joe couldn’t find a way to break through to him. He thought if Mark came to Twilight and met us, learned that it was possible for him to be forgiven, that he could start to heal.”
“What about us?” she said, her voice coming out shriller than she intended. She was still stunned and hurting by Mark’s revelations. She couldn’t deny that. “Did Dr. Fox consider that having Mark here would stir up a lot of our pain?”
Her father cupped her cheek with his palm, held her eyes with a steady gaze. “He believed that having Mark here would be healing for us too. Forgiveness is a powerful tool, sunshine. You know that.”
“Does Mom know who he really is?”
“Of course. Your mother and I have no secrets from each other.”
“But you kept it a secret from me?”
“We felt Mark needed the opportunity to open up in his own time. You might have . . .” Her father paused. “How can I put this delicately . . .”
“I would have rushed in to rescue him and spoiled what you were trying to do.”
“Ahh.” Her father’s smile deepened. “Being self-aware is the first step toward change.”
“So you didn’t mistake Mark for the handyman that Pastor Trammel had recommended.” She knew Joe Trammel had recommended a handyman to her father. She’d been doing her father’s books when he’d taken the call and she’d overheard their conversation.
“That was a stroke of luck,” her father said. “I was already worried about how we were going to get Mark to hang around and see what a loving community we had after he brought us the key. Then two days before Mark was discharged and Dr. Fox was to give him the key, Sheriff Hondo called to tell me that the handyman Joe Trammel had recommended had been arrested in Sulphur Springs on assault and battery charges.”
“Oh my! Thank heavens we didn’t end up with that handyman.”
“If we had, we would have forgiven him too,” her father reminded her. “None of us are without sin.”
“Weren’t you worried that Mark would refuse to be mistaken for the handyman?”
“It was a gamble. But Dr. Fox told me how important a sense of community is to Mark and that he has a need to be needed. Then every time he tried to set me straight about who he was, I cut him off at the pass.”
“Did you ever think that letting him live the lie and not telling him you knew the truth might be equally jarring to a soldier with PTSD?”
“I talked to Dr. Fox about it once Mark kept quiet. And he felt this might just be the kind of jolt Mark needed to fully snap him back to reality. We actually brought Nate Deavers and his group of vets in on it too. He had support all around him, even if he didn’t know it. We weren’t taking any chances.”
“So you’re really the reason he lied.”
“He didn’t lie. He just didn’t share his identity with you. His motives were pure. He didn’t want to ruin our holiday. You’re trying so hard to make it perfect.”
“So he doesn’t know the key is bogus? He truly believes Clayton left him the key.”
“Dr. Fox found an envelope that Clayton had left for Mark with a leave request in it. He took the envelope, typed up a letter from Clayton, and put the key in the envelope.”
“This feels very underhanded.”
“I thought the same thing, but Joe . . . Dr. Fox felt the step was necessary in order to lift Mark out of the despair he’d fallen into.”
“I wish you’d let me in on this,” she murmured.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” her father apologized. “I deeply regret it.”
A bit of anger went through her. “You left me wide open. Vulnerable.”
“I am so sorry, sunshine.”
She couldn’t stay mad at her father. He was her rock and he was looking so guilty. Instantly, she forgave him. “It’s all right, but I need some time to process all this.”
“You have deep feelings for Mark?”
“I love him, Daddy.”
Her father nodded, didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “He’s a good man. Flawed like us all. But he has a huge heart.”
“It’s more than that.” She met her father’s gaze. “I dreamed about him before I ever met him. And he dreamed of me.” She told their story about the Christmas cookie dreams. “He’s my soul mate.”
“God works in mysterious ways,” her father said. “What dreams may come.”
“But it happened so fast. I’m worried it happened too fast.”
“When it’s right, sunshine, it’s right. Have you prayed on it?”
“I have. I’m still confused.”
“God operates on his own timetable.”
Naomi chuffed. She felt exhausted. Wrung out. Tonight had been an emotional assault on every front. Draining. “Mark’s not ready for a relationship. He’s still beating himself up. Still hasn’t learned how to trust his own instincts.”
“Give him time.”
“I was harsh with him,” she said. Guilt sat heavily on her shoulders. “I said some cruel things.”
“Was it something that he needed to hear?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Then it wasn’t cruel. He knows that you’re not cruel.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Ultimately, I can’t know. But Mark’s a reasonable person. Grounded. Down to earth. He’s a man who strives to do the right thing.”
“Even when the ‘right’ thing isn’t necessarily the correct one,” she said, remembering what Mark had told her about following protocol when his gut instinct had begged him to accompany Clayton to the orphanage. “He’s tormented by what happened. I don’t know if he can ever let it go.”
“He’s strong.”
“I don’t know if he’s strong enough to overcome this. I love him, but I have Hunter to think about. Hunter must come before everything.”
Her father pushed back his chair. “It’s late. You need to get some sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning.”
“I won’t sleep with this weighing on my mind. I have to go talk to Mark. Apologize for being so harsh.”
“All right.” Her father leaned down. Kissed her cheek. “Whatever you decide, know that your mother and I are always behind you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m so lucky and grateful to have you both.” She stood up, hugged her father tight.
He went off to bed.
She put her coat back on. Walked over to the rectory, and th
e closer she got, the faster her pulse raced. By the time she knocked on Mark’s door, her heart was lodged firmly in her throat. She almost convinced herself to turn and go back home. Wait until morning like her father had said.
From behind her, she heard footsteps. Out of the darkness, a rough masculine voice said, “What do you want?”
Chapter 26
“We need to talk.” Her voice was a string, tight and thin.
“Then talk.” Shepherd folded his arms over his chest.
“It’s cold. Can we go inside?” She inclined her head toward the rectory.
“We already talked. It didn’t go so well.”
“That’s why we need to talk again.”
He shook his head. What was there left to say? She was right. Until he got to the bottom of his issues, they had no future together.
“Please.”
He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t refuse those big blue eyes. He moved past her to open the door. Held it for her to enter.
She stepped from the hallway into his bedroom, flicking on the light switch as she went past. He followed, every muscle in his body tensing.
Naomi turned to him. “I’m sorry. I was too harsh.”
“You were honest. The truth hurts.” He gave a loose, rebellious shrug, trying to look cool and tough.
She didn’t fall for it. She came across the room. Parked her cute little self right in front of him. “I want to pick up where we left off.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“I want you.”
She looked at him, her upturned face incandescent and vulnerable. And close. So very close. Close enough for him to see where her tears had dried salty tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes were on his. Enthralled. Her head tilted back slightly. Ears cocked to the sound of his voice.
His fingertips tingled, anxious to touch her. His blood chugged sluggish and hot.
Just like that, it felt as if the world had become quicksand and there was no solid ground left in the universe.
He reached for her hand, threaded his fingers through hers. Drew her tightly against him. Lowered his head.
Her lips met his. Eager.
