“How many are signed up for the climb tomorrow?” she asked.
“Just a few. Should be an easy group.”
She picked a blade of grass and tore it in half. “Have you ever got caught in a snowstorm up in the mountains?”
“Nah. I watch the weather reports before I leave. It snows sometimes, but nothing dangerous.”
“I’ll have to take another trip with you soon.”
A smile sneaked upon his lips. “I’d like that. I’ve been missing your marshmallows.”
She smiled, and he stared out at the creek, remembering their first climb together. He’d hardly known her, but even then there had been something compelling about her. Suddenly he remembered the last night of that climb when she’d awakened him from his sleep with cries and whimpers. What had caused her nightmare? He remembered the flashlight left on all night in her tent. Was she—
“What?” Hanna laughed lightly. “You look so serious.”
He studied her face. “I was just thinking about the night we were camping when you had that nightmare.”
Her expression sobered, and she looked out into the gathering darkness.
“Do you have them often?”
“Not so often anymore.” She gave a wan smile. “It’s been such a nice day, I don’t want to spoil it. Can we talk about something else?” “Sure.”
Beside him, Hanna picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the creek.
Ah, now there was something he could talk about.
She picked up another one and threw. “One, two, three,” she counted the skips. “There, beat that.” Her adorable chin nudged up defiantly.
Should he tell her he had an unfair advantage? Nah. He picked up a stone and hurled it. It skipped rapidly across the water like a bionic frog, disappearing in the distant darkness.
Hanna’s back straightened. “Hey, how’d you do that?”
He tossed her an “aw shucks” grin. “Don’t be too impressed. I’ve had lots of practice.” No need to tell her he’d gotten it in the prison yard, skipping stones down a drainage ditch.
“So have I, but I’ve never seen a rock skip so many times. Show me.”
He moved behind her, and picked up a flat stone. That he could’ve shown her from a distance occurred to him, but that wouldn’t be as much fun.
Hanna leaned back against his chest while he showed her precisely how to hold the rock. When she had her fingers properly placed, he curled her arm and held her wrist, slowly repeating the flicking motion until she got the hang of it.
“Okay,” she said. “Let me try.”
He leaned back on his hands to give her room to maneuver and, after several practice throws, she flung the rock horizontally. It skipped four times before plunking into the water.
“That’s better,” he encouraged.
She turned, wearing a proud smile. “I did it.”
Suddenly rocks were the last thing on his mind. Her hair had air-dried to a tousled mane of honey, and he reached out and smoothed it behind her ear. She settled back against his chest, and he wondered if she felt the beating of his heart through his shirt.
As if reading his mind, she laid her hand against his heart as if asking for permission to enter. Then her hand moved to the roughness of his jaw, and he thought he’d expire from the yearning. Her eyes asked a question. He answered.
His lips covered hers, tasting the sweet surrender of her heart. He nipped gently at her lips, wanting to treat her with the care she deserved. Her eager response sent pleasant sensations surging through his veins. Euphoric sensations that made him wonder what he’d ever done to deserve this moment.
She twisted in his arms, facing him, nestling in the curve of his chest. The kiss deepened, and the assault on his senses intensified. Passion swelled in him until he feared it would overtake him.
He broke the kiss and jumped to his feet in one motion. Hanna nearly fell at his departure but caught herself with her hands.
Heat still coursed through him, now flooding his face. He felt silly, jumping and running like there was a fire. He laughed derisively. There was a fire, and it was in him.
One look at Hanna’s confused face drained all humor from his thoughts.
“It’s not—,” he began. “Don’t think—” He heaved a frustrated sigh.
“What’s wrong?” Her voice was raspy, her hair tousled, her lips swollen. The sweet confusion on her face begged for an answer.
He dropped to his knees, keeping a safe distance. When he looked at her, she turned away, but not before he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes and read the hurt on her face.
Suddenly he remembered their last kiss, when he’d abruptly left her sitting by the fire, and knew with certainty Hanna was thinking about it too. Thinking about the way he’d fought the attraction and avoided her for days. But this wasn’t like last time.
“No, Hanna, that’s not it.”
She continued to look the other way, but he could see her eyelashes fluttering quickly and knew she was trying not to cry. He could alleviate her suffering easily if only he could figure out how to say it. How could something that came so easily to him on paper come so hard with the spoken word?
“It’s just that I—look, I’ve never had to—” He flipped a twig with his finger. How could he explain without humiliating himself? “Kissing you—it makes me want more, okay?”
Her head swung to meet his gaze. Her wide-eyed innocence forced him on.
“Always before, before I was a Christian, I never had to stop with just a kiss. See what I’m saying?”
She did, he could see it by the quick downward flutter of her lashes. She clutched her knees to her chest in a gesture that screamed vulnerability.
Great, now he’d made her feel inexperienced, like she couldn’t compete with his past. As if you could even compare those shallow physical acts with the depth of feeling one kiss from Hanna provoked. How could he explain that it was hard to stop when he’d never had to before?
He tried again. “It’s like—I was in the habit of going from zero to sixty, and it’s hard to stop at twenty and go back to idling.” His pitiful analogy stumbled and fell.
She had pity on him. “I know what you’re saying.”
Relief filled him. He gulped a breath and released it with a whoosh. Thank God he wouldn’t have to explain that again.
“It’s a sex thing, right?” she stated, clearly bothered that he’d had so many partners.
Not that he could blame her. “I guess you could say that.” He tipped up her chin until she met his gaze. “Hanna, I regret that I was so promiscuous before I was saved.”
She offered him a weak smile.
“If it makes you feel better, I haven’t kissed a woman since then.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Not in six years.” He wanted to drown in the innocent pools of her eyes. “I haven’t wanted to kiss a woman until you.”
He watched a shy smile spread across her lips. Her lids lowered to half-mast, and the green of her eyes seemed to deepen in color. He practically felt the caress of her gaze. Her lips parted sweetly.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that,” he said, “we’re going to be right back where we started.” The words lightened the moment, and with darkness closing in, they agreed to head back to the lodge. At her door he dropped a quick kiss on her lips and said good night.
Later that night as Micah lay in bed, his journal perched on his lap, he relived the day on paper, putting words to his feelings. After staring off into space, lost in the lingering afterglow of their day, he finished the entry.
It was only our first date, yet I’m already half in love with her. My soul hungers for her nurturing love, and I can’t help but wonder if this is God’s healing answer to my past.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Natalie stuffed a pile of darks in the washer, pausing when her hands discovered a pair of Keith’s pants in the bottom of the hamper. A myriad of emotions assaulted her as
his own unique scent filled the cubicle.
Although he’d stopped to see the boys twice since he’d left, he’d dodged her questions about their future. She didn’t know if he’d come back to them when he tired of Lindsey, but she clung to the thought day by day.
Taylor toddled by the laundry room, and a familiar, pungent odor wafted upward. She closed the lid on the washer and snapped up Taylor in her arms. “Come on, punkin’, let’s go change your diaper.”
“Mommy, I don’t want cereal; I want waffles,” Alex called from the table.
“You asked for cereal, Alex.”
She ignored his whining and carried Taylor to the nursery changing table. Her mind, seldom on what she was doing these days, wandered to the last time Keith had come to see the boys. She’d noticed the slimmer contours of his face. Was he losing weight because he was depressed or because he wanted to be more attractive for her? Natalie hoped he was as depressed as she was. Hoped he suffered the same mental anguish he was putting her through. Not simply for retaliation, but because if he was lost without them, maybe he would come home soon.
The doorbell rang, and she heard the patter of Alex’s feet across the kitchen floor. “Don’t answer the door, Alex. Wait for Mommy.”
She rushed to stick the diaper tape, then began snapping the sleeper, abandoning her plan to dress him for the day. The doorbell pealed again. “Hold on,” she said, as if the visitor could hear.
Taylor squirmed, kicking his feet in a game he liked to play while she struggled to snap his clothing. “Stay still.”
Alex peeked in. “Mommy, get the door.”
“I will, honey, as soon as I’m done. Lie still, Taylor!” He continued to kick his legs, so she held them down. Finally, she fastened the last snap and lifted the toddler down from the table.
The doorbell rang a third time just before she unlocked and opened it.
A sheriff—the new one she’d seen around town a time or two—stood on her porch. Her heart accelerated as a dozen scary possibilities entered her mind, none of which she wanted to entertain.
The man tipped his head. “Ma’am. I need to speak with Natalie Coombs.”
“That’s me.” She struggled to keep a pleasant smile on her face. What was it with having a sheriff on your doorstep that reminded you of the dreaded visit to the principal’s office?
Alex peeked around her legs. “Are you a real policeman?”
The sheriff nodded, and she sent Alex back to the table, barely aware of him as he scampered back to the kitchen.
“I have some papers for you.”
Natalie had been served papers before when a man had sued Keith. Maybe it was something to do with the bank. “What kind of papers?”
The man’s eyes softened under the shaded brim of his hat. “Divorce papers, ma’am.” He held them out.
Cold fingers of dread twisted around her heart, freezing her, numbing her. She stared at the papers but refused to reach out and take them. To do so would be accepting this thing. And she didn’t. Didn’t want it. Didn’t accept it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He nudged the papers her way. “You have to take these.”
With one hand she accepted the papers. With the other she gripped the doorknob at her back. Her eyes scanned the page. It was a notice of a hearing or some such. She saw the words “Keith A. Coombs vs. Natalie A. Coombs.” Had it truly come to this? They were enemies, she and her husband? He was suing her for divorce? Why hadn’t she contacted an attorney?
Her legs buckled, but she caught herself.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” He steadied her with a hand.
In the whirlwind of her thoughts, she noticed a slight Tennessee twang and found it comforting. She met his gaze. “What do I do? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
She saw sympathy in his eyes. “That’s a court summons. What you want to do is hire a lawyer so you can appear in court by the date right here.” He pointed to the date on the paper.
She couldn’t believe it had reached this point. To courts, plaintiffs, and attorneys. He hadn’t even had the decency to tell her himself. She’d had to find out from a stranger, who showed her more sympathy than her own husband.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The sheriff backed off the porch. “You get yourself a lawyer, and you’ll be fine. Best of luck to you.”
She watched him go, forgetting for a moment the two children inside. It was just her and the papers.
Some time later, she shut the door and walked through the living room. Her hands trembled as she set the papers on the desk. Her gaze clung in shock to the words on the top paper: Keith A. Coombs vs. Natalie A. Coombs. The black ink blurred. He’d done it. He’d filed for divorce. Without even telling her.
Her stomach clenched with nausea.
“Uh-oh.” Taylor’s voice penetrated the fog of shock. “Uh-oh.” He appeared from the hallway, and she swiped the tears from her eyes. “Uh-oh.” Taylor held a bottle of baby powder she’d received at a shower and had never used. White dust spattered his pajamas, and powdery footprints marked his journey from the nursery.
“Taylor!” A sob rose within in, but she choked it back. Tears fought for release and won. She grabbed the bottle from him, and a puff of white escaped as she inadvertently squeezed the container. “That’s a no-no!”
She followed the trail, berating herself for forgetting to shut the nursery door. She stopped on the threshold. Frustration welled up, choking off the despair and bitterness for just a moment. The scene before her might have reminded her of a winter wonderland in a happier moment, but at the present time, all she saw was an impossible mess. He’d left no surface uncovered. Even the sheets of his crib and his beloved blankie were victims.
A sob worked its way up her throat and escaped. She covered her face and allowed it. Allowed the torrent of feelings to escape, hoping they would go away if she let them out. The ache in her midsection grew to a massive blob and coated everything within her with the dark stench of misery.
“Uh-oh.” She barely heard him. “Uh-oh, Mama.”
She drew a deep breath, then coughed when the talc-coated air permeated her lungs. “Mommy,” Alex called from the kitchen.
She couldn’t summon the energy to answer. Could only stand and look at the mess in the room and realize it could represent the mess of her life. Would she be one of those divorcées that people at church talked about? Would everyone judge her? Hadn’t she judged others?
“I don’t like this cereal, Mommy!”
Numbly, she took Taylor’s hand and left the room, shutting the door behind her this time. She would worry about it later.
She heard Alex’s fist hitting the table in rebellious rhythm. “Waffles, wa-ffles, wa-ffles.”
“Stop it, Alex,” she said, entering the kitchen and wiping away the evidence of tears. Her brain was glazed with confusion, and she fought to remember why she’d come to the kitchen. The papers sitting on the desk drew her attention.
“I want waffles!” He shoved his cereal bowl forcefully across the table, and it sloshed over the rim, making a puddle of milk. The sugary loops floated in the milky pool like colorful life preservers.
Her body moved automatically toward the paper towels. A shriek pierced the air. She moved to the living room where Taylor had gotten stuck between the end table and couch. Mechanically, she lifted him out.
Alex tugged on her shirt. “Mommy …waffles…” The nasal whine grated across her nerves.
She pushed his hands from her shirt. “No! You said you wanted cereal; now go eat it!”
He pulled again at her shirt, jumping up and down, his face scrunching into a temper tantrum.
Suddenly all the irritating stimuli swelled to unbearable heights. A black pit of anger welled up within her. She pushed him away and grabbed his upper arms. “Stop it! Do you hear me? Stop it!” She shook him once. “Just listen for once, would you?”
Her hands stilled, and so did his body. His eyes bulged with tears. Fear flickered b
ack at her. His face scrunched up again, this time in genuine despair. His shoulders heaved in sobs.
What have I done? Look at me! What is happening to me?
She watched her son cry as if from a distance. As if he wouldn’t go through enough pain in the coming months, she had taken out her grief on him. His life would be irrevocably changed.
Natalie sank to her knees and gathered him in her arms. He came willingly, clinging to her as if she had not just been inexcusably rough with him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy shouldn’t have—” Her voice broke as emotions strangled her words. She held her son and choked back her own tears. Keith had done this to her. To them. But she would not let them feel an ounce of her pain. They would have enough of their own. She must be there for them, hold them up, convince them of their value. She may not have a husband, but she had her boys, and she would fight the devil himself before letting them suffer needlessly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Hanna punched the buttons on her desktop calculator and watched the green numbers light the display. Eighteen dollars and seventy-six cents. And that was without her taking a salary. A breath whooshed from her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved they were still in the black or anxious about the piddling sum.
She began stamping the stack of bills with postage. They should be accustomed to operating without profit, they had done it for the past two years, but then they’d had Grandpop’s insurance money to fall back on. Now that it was gone, there was no safety net.
And strangely enough, reservations had slowed down. July had always been one of their busiest months, and with the magazine ads she’d placed, they should still be getting calls. The worst time of year for the business was approaching, that time between the start of school and the first big snowfall when all the eager skiers headed to the slopes. But that wouldn’t be until November. What would they do until then? She couldn’t afford any more ads, and the ones she’d placed didn’t seem to be doing any good.
Despite the office door being locked during the day, the cancellations continued. Just the thought that someone was breaking into her office gave her the creeps. She looked around the room. Had this person sat in her chair, rifled through the drawers? She shivered.
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