Threads of Love

by Frances Devine

  “I know.” He raised a hand. “You can’t give me that information.”

  “Perhaps she’s in one of our restaurants, or walking the grounds?” The woman cocked her head.

  “I’ll be back.” Dewayne speed-walked to the nearest lounge and scanned the patrons. Nothing. One by one, he checked each eating establishment, lounge, and bar. No Zoe. He should’ve come back early that morning and waited in the lobby for her to appear. She could be anywhere in the huge hotel. They could be going in circles, passing each other, he on a desperate hunt, she enjoying her cousins.

  He slumped against a pillar. Who was he kidding? If she’d wanted to see him again she would’ve called him back yesterday. She wouldn’t have let him drive away.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Dead. He’d been too upset the night before to think of charging it. He pushed open the door and stepped outside.

  God, let me find her. Please don’t let her walk out of my life again.

  An hour later, he plopped on a bench beside the fountain.

  What could he do until dinner time? Surely, she and her cousins would hit one of the restaurants then. He bowed his head, letting his hands dangle between his knees. Maybe they really weren’t meant to be together. Maybe there wasn’t anything good to come out of the last few days. Nothing but new heartache on top of the old.

  Pushing to his feet, he followed the pathway back to the hotel, being careful to avoid the bars and lounges. In his frame of mind, he didn’t trust himself not to give in to temptation.

  A nearby elevator dinged. He swiveled toward the sound. Zoe stepped out.

  “Dewayne?” Zoe’s steps faltered. Her toe caught as she stepped from the elevator, pitching her to her knees. She stared up at him. “What are you doing here?”

  Her heart rate increased. He’d come back. He hadn’t left town after all. Thank You, God. Now she’d have the opportunity to tell him how she felt. “I need to talk to—”

  “I, uh, need to ask you a question.” He helped her to her feet and glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can speak more privately?”

  “One of the lounges?” What could possibly bring such a worried look to his face? She clenched her fists to keep from reaching up and smoothing away his frown. Did he have something so horrible to say that she’d never put back together the pieces of her shattered heart?

  “No.” He sighed, his breath ruffling her hair. “This is hard. I had a problem after you left. A drinking problem. I try not to frequent those places.”

  Dewayne was an alcoholic? Her heart pained. Like her mother.

  “I’ve been sober over ten years. My stint didn’t last long. I never had to go to meetings.” He gripped her hands. “It was just a bad time. A bad choice. I know this is probably not the right time to say this, but with what else I want to say, it needs to be in the open.”

  She nodded. Because of her, Dewayne had slipped into a bad place in his life. How could he possibly want her after all she’d done to him? “We can go outside. I need to meet with my cousins soon, but fortunately, they’re used to me being late.” She allowed him to lead her outside, back to the fountain where she’d met her angel. She sat, Dewayne taking a seat beside her.

  “Before I go any further, I need to know something.” His beautiful eyes searched hers, full of all the love she’d prayed to see again. Her hopes rose. “Your life verse. Romans 8:28. What good did God bring out of the last few days? Besides knocking me upside the head.”

  “What do you think it is?” She couldn’t have pulled away from his intense gaze if her life depended on it. Instead, she was pulled deeper, cemented in the emotions whirling there.

  Dewayne smiled. “I want to hear your answer.”

  She swallowed against the mountain lodged in her throat. “He brought you back in my life.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “I hope so.” Most definitely for her. “Yes. You weren’t dreaming. I really said all those things when you were sleeping. Do you think it was a good thing?” She took a deep breath, afraid to hear his answer, yet aching to.

  He pulled a black velvet box from his pocket. “Last night I went for a walk, trying to run from my emotions. Afraid you wouldn’t want me. I saw this.” He opened the box to reveal a larger replica of the princess diamond ring she carried in her pocket. “I want to start over. With you beside me for the rest of my life. A new ring. A new life.” He sat beside her.

  Tears welled in Zoe’s eyes, blurring her vision.

  “Would you consider opening your floral shop somewhere besides Oklahoma? I mean … I’ll move there and open one of my shops if you want, but maybe we could move here, set up our businesses in Colorado Springs.”

  She choked back a sob and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Say yes.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “I don’t want to live another day without you, Zoe. Please. Finish your business with your cousins and marry me.”

  Even after all she’d done to him—the pain, the rejection, the abandonment—he still wanted her. “Yes, Dewayne, I’ll marry you.” She threw her arms around his neck and let the tears fall.

  He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. Not the timid, exploring kiss of high school teenagers, but the heated, soul-claiming kiss of a man who loved a woman. With everything in her, Zoe returned his affection. She’d do her best not to cause him pain again.

  “Do you want to get married now?” Dewayne grinned. “Will you let me take care of you for the rest of my life?”

  She was definitely blessed. What had she done to deserve such a wonderful man? He was a gift from God. Truly He worked all things together for the good, even heartbreak caused by a silly teenage girl too afraid to follow her heart and live her own life. She answered Dewayne with another kiss that stitched their hearts and lives together with threads that could never be broken.

  Cynthia Hickey grew up in a family of storytellers and moved around the country a lot as an Army brat. Her desire is to write real, but flawed characters in a wholesome way that her seven children and five grandchildren can all be proud of. She and her husband live in Arizona where Cynthia works as a monitor in an elementary school.

  STITCHED IN LOVE

  by Winter A. Peck

  Dedication

  To my soldier, Shawn, who served his country and has stood by me through every step of this dream. And to those who served and fought for our freedoms and now suffer daily from the effects of combat related PTSD. Thank you and never forget you’re not alone.

  God had planned something better for us so that only together with us would they be made perfect.

  HEBREWS 11:40 NIV

  Chapter 1

  Danni Lindsay glared at the empty luggage carousel. Everyone else on her flight had fled with their bags fifteen minutes ago. The airline company better not have put her duffel bag on another plane. She wasn’t sure she could handle one more pain to her already throbbing head.

  Closing her eyes, she massaged her temples.

  Lord, I just want to get my stuff, head to Mom’s, and go to bed. Please, please, please, send my bag around.

  She snapped her eyes open. The carousel was still empty. Danni groaned. Now what? She glanced at the quiet terminal. Hers had been one of the last flights to get into the Colorado Springs airport. That’s what she got for booking a flight last minute. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known about the stipulation in the will that she and her three cousins meet on the one-year anniversary of Grams’s death.

  But who knew that a wrong move during a semifinal volleyball match would tear her ACL? And that Danni would spend the last four months in and out of the hospital and rehab? Her recovery had so preoccupied her mind, she would’ve forgotten about returning to her hometown if her mom hadn’t called to check on her.

  She sighed and adjusted the shoulder strap of her carry-on. With thousands of frequent-flier miles under her belt, she wasn’t caught unprepared. She knew how to pack for the inevitability of the occ
asional lost bag. But the quilt blocks, those all-important pieces, were tucked away in her missing duffelbag.

  Maybe someone, somewhere in the airport could tell her what happened to it.

  “Danica Lindsay, is that you?”

  Frowning, she turned. A tall man dressed in the uniform of the United States Army stood next to a nearby carousel. His face, clean-cut and deeply tanned, looked familiar. When he shouldered a dark-green duffel bag she saw the medic patch. A memory of a handsome twenty-year-old in the old green-brown-black uniforms hit her.

  “Trace Bryant?”

  He gave her a broad grin. “Good to see you didn’t forget me.”

  Guilt twinged in her gut. But she had forgotten him. That brief summer twelve years ago, right before she left for college, he was home between basic training and his medic training. A few short, fun months together. They’d parted with promises to keep in touch.

  The promises didn’t last.

  Trace closed the distance between their baggage claim areas. “Your mom said you’ve changed.”

  “You talked to my mom?”

  He grimaced. “Actually our moms talked. Unlike us, they kept in touch.”

  Danni held back the flinch. Mom had never breathed one word about knowing Trace’s mom, much less talking to her. What else had she hidden from Danni?

  She let her gaze rove Trace’s tall frame. She wasn’t the only one who’d changed. The young, pie-in-the-sky solider she’d hung out with had matured into a wary-eyed man. Normally,

  Danni had to look down at people. Trace was the exception. At six-foot-four, he edged her by two inches. Military-short brown hair enhanced his square jaw and sharp cheekbones, revealing his Arapaho ancestry.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he realized what she was doing.

  Danni cleared her throat. “So, where has the Army taken you?” She glanced at the luggage rumbling by.

  “All over. Mostly Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  More people ambled over to the carousel Trace had left. Apparently his plane had arrived recently. As a courtesy the airlines always let the soldiers off first, which explained why he got here so fast.

  “How many tours has it been?”

  Was that pain flickering in his hazel eyes?

  “Too many,” he said softly.

  The swoosh and thump of luggage hitting the belt drew Danni’s attention. More bags slid down the chute on the carousel.

  “Um, do you have a ride?”

  Jolting, Danni gaped at Trace. “Uh, yeah. My mom was picking me up.”

  He made a rumbling noise in his throat. “Figures.” His long fingers slid along the top of his head. “She’s not coming, Danica.”

  She resisted the urge to correct him on her name. “What do you mean? She said I’d have a ride.”

  “I’m your ride.”

  Somebody slap her upside the head. Danni swallowed, took a deep breath. “What?”

  “Our moms decided it was easier, since I was coming in at the same time as you.” He chuckled. “Appears they’re trying to play matchmaker.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She spotted a navy-blue bag with black trim sliding down the chute. Finally! “There’s my bag.”

  Trace moved before she could and grabbed it off the belt. Facing her, he nodded his head in the direction of the parking garage.

  She had no other choice. Oh, Mom was going to get an earful. Taking a fortifying breath, she followed him out of the airport.

  Her bad knee started to throb. She’d spent too much time on it today and the cramped conditions on the plane didn’t help any. Should have gone with the special accommodations so she could stretch it out.

  I’m too stubborn for my own good.

  She wasn’t about to show Trace her pain. Hopefully his vehicle was nearby. They paused to wait for a car to pass.

  “Still playing volleyball?”

  “Beach. Pro level.” At least she was before the injury. With this setback, she and her teammate would have to start at the bottom. Their chances for the Olympics teetering.

  Trace removed a slip of paper from one of his many pockets and glanced at it. “My folks parked my truck outside.”

  Stairs or hills? Anticipated agony screamed through Danni’s knee. She scanned the lot for the elevator, spotting one. But Trace headed away from it.

  “Uh, Trace.”

  He paused and looked back at her. “Yeah?”

  Clamping her lip between her teeth, Danni glanced at the elevators then him. She should take it, but he carried both bags, so that reduced the amount of weight she had to carry. It wouldn’t be too far, right? Maybe the walk would do some good in stretching the tight muscles. She’d missed her last physical therapy session to make the flight to Colorado.

  “Never mind.” She took off after him.

  Danni kept pace with him through the first and second levels. By the time they rounded the corner for the third the throbbing turned into fire. Gritting her teeth, she pushed through it. Way too stubborn.

  Where was that odd panting sound coming from? Danni stopped breathing, realizing it was her.

  God, please tell me I didn’t just ruin months of work.

  “Danica, are you okay?”

  She looked at Trace. Big mistake. She stepped down wrong, her knee protested, and she stumbled to a stop. Wincing, she dropped her carry-on bag and grabbed her knee. The pain intensified.

  Danni stuffed back the cry and gingerly sat down on the concrete. Trace dropped to a knee next to her. Why did he have to see her this way? Another stab of pain made her cringe.

  Warm hands clasped hers and gently pulled them away, and then cupped her knee. Danni took a shuddering breath as Trace straightened her leg out.

  “Stay still.” He unzipped the side of her athletic pants and rolled the pant leg up past her knee. His eyebrows furrowed when the faded surgery scars appeared. “When did you injure your ACL?”

  “Four months ago,” she said between her clenched teeth.

  Trace ran his fingers along the scar, the pressure making her tense. While he meant to check for damage, his touch released a bolt of electricity through her leg. His roughened fingertips chaffed against her soft skin, and she bit her lip.

  “Pushed it too far today?” His gaze clashed with hers.

  “Why didn’t you wear the brace?”

  “Haven’t needed it for the past month. Physical therapist said I was fine.”

  A hint of a smile played with his mouth. “That was it,” he muttered.

  “What was it?”

  “That’s what you wanted to tell me before we came up here. If you needed to take the elevator you should have said so.”

  Clenching her fists, Danni tried to scowl, but the zap of pain stopped her. “I’m not a weakling.”

  Pulling a small bag closer, Trace opened it. “Didn’t say you were. But a recovering ACL isn’t something to mess with, Danica.” He dug around inside the bag and withdrew rolls of prewrap and athletic tape. He propped her calf on his duffel and proceeded to wind the prewrap around her knee.

  Danni groaned. “I really messed it up.”

  “Nope. You’re just being reminded it’s not ready.” He tore the sheer synthetic and smoothed down the edge. “I think a night’s rest will be enough.”

  She watched him rip off long strips of white tape. “Did my mom happen to tell your mom why I’m here?”

  His hands stilled, and he glanced up at her. “I don’t recall an exact reason, no.”

  Her shoulders sagged. Well, Mom’s li’l secret mission was the gift that kept on giving. “Family reunion of sorts.”

  “This the same family you were trying to avoid that summer we met?”

  “I wasn’t avoiding them. They sorta ran off.”

  Trace finished with the tape and rolled her pant leg down. He settled his hand on her ankle, the warmth from his hands seeping into her chilled skin. “How do you sorta run off?”

  Danni sighed. “Long story. Can we
go? This concrete is cold.”

  Giving her a curt nod, he gathered up his gear and hers, then stood. “Sit tight and I’ll put this in the truck.”

  “Trace, I’m sitting in the middle of the parking lot—”

  He held up his hand then pointed at a gleaming black truck two spaces away. “You almost made it.”

  Chapter 2

  She was still as stubborn as he remembered.

  Trace resisted the urge to chuckle. It shouldn’t surprise him that Danica held fast to her independence. It was that persistence that drew him to her the moment he watched her beat some of his old high school buddies in a pick-up game of volleyball. Twelve summers ago. The best summer of his life.

  The diesel engine roared to life and settled into the familiar and comforting rumble. He gripped the worn steering wheel. His civilian truck smelled like leather and horses. Compared to the metallic odor of the Humvees coated in the sandy dirt of Iraq or Afghanistan, his truck was heavenly. Trace glanced at Danica in the passenger seat and then backed out of the parking spot and shifted into gear. Once out of the parking garage, he directed the truck toward Danica’s childhood home.

  Dusk had settled in, night’s fingers reaching across the skyline. By the time he reached his family ranch it would be dark.

  Oh, the comfort of a fat mattress to sleep on tonight, and warm, clean blankets. Even the ground felt better than those rotten excuses for a mattress the Army provided.

  Six more weeks. His enlistment would end and he could finish his sports therapy degree. The discharge couldn’t come fast enough.

  He looked at Danica. She slumped in the seat, her eyes closed as her head lulled toward the passenger-side window. The knee he’d wrapped was stretched the length of the floorboard. Sun-bleached strands draped across her cheek. How many times that summer long ago had he resisted the urge to finger her hair? She’d shortened it, probably to help manage it while she played on the beach.