by Irene Hannon
“He’ll see that in time.”
She hoped that was true. But it didn’t solve her own problem. “I still have to address my issues with fear. I learned the hard way that behind closed doors, people aren’t always what they seem in public.”
“True. In the end we have to use our best judgment and trust our hearts.”
“Those have failed me in the past.”
“Then put it in God’s hands.”
“I’ve tried. I’ve asked Him what I should do, but I’m not hearing a response.”
“That brings me back to the concept of asking the right questions.” Reverend Andrews propped an elbow on the back of the pew and angled toward her. “Maybe instead of asking the Lord to tell you what you should do, you could ask him to help you ask the questions of yourself that will allow you to make a sound decision.”
“I’m open to ideas about what those might be.”
“Try these. Do you want to let fear win and live the rest of your life alone? Or are you willing to believe that Dale is who he appears to be, put your trust in the Lord and open your heart to love?”
With a start, Christine realized that in two brief questions the minister had homed in on her key issues.
All along, she supposed she had been waiting for God to make her decision for her. But as Reverend Andrews had suggested, perhaps the best thing He could do for her was help her ask the important questions and give her discernment as she worked through the answers.
She knew one thing already: she’d had enough regrets in her life. Years down the road, she didn’t want to look back and lament a lost opportunity to share her life with a special man and a little girl who had already claimed a place in her heart. Not if that was the path God wanted her to tread.
Reaching out, she clasped the minister’s hand. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Reverend.”
“I’m just the messenger, Christine.” Once more, a smile tipped up his lips as he engulfed her fingers in a comforting clasp. “My boss is the one who deserves your thanks. He helps me find the words I need.”
Rising, he inclined his head toward the Bible in her lap. “You might try Jeremiah 29, verses eleven to thirteen. I’ve always found that passage to be a comfort in times of uncertainty. And Marge wanted me to tell you she’s saving you a cup of coffee and a chocolate donut, whenever you’re finished here.” With a wink and a wave, he stepped out of the pew.
As he headed toward the back of the church, Christine paged through the book to the verses he’d referenced.
For I know well the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare not for woe, plans to give you a future full of hope. When you call me, when you go to pray to me, I will listen to you. When you look for me, you will find me.
Closing the Bible, Christine drew a slow, deep breath. She’d come to church that morning unsettled and tense. While she still had a lot of thinking to do, at least she no longer felt so alone or lost. During her contemplative respite after the service, she’d found comfort in the stillness of the church, had felt a hovering, protective presence that soothed her soul. And her discussion with the minister had given her clearer direction by helping her focus on the essentials and clarify her thinking.
Not bad for a Sunday morning.
As she rose with a lighter heart to join Marge in the basement, she sent one final message heavenward.
Thank you, Lord, for bringing me to Oak Hill. And in the days to come, as I make some critical decisions, please help me always to ask the right questions.
Chapter Fifteen
Dale hadn’t seen Christine in six days—but not for lack of trying.
He’d hoped to catch her at church Sunday, but later discovered from Marge that she’d attended the later service. Sunday afternoon he’d been tied up with a birthday party Jenna had attended. He’d stopped by the farm on Monday after he’d left the office, but Christine hadn’t been home. Tuesday afternoon, he’d been committed to chaperoning a field trip for Jenna’s preschool class.
At least he’d see Christine at story hour. And this week he didn’t plan to sleep through the whole thing.
Since their kiss Thursday after the impromptu picnic, Dale’s resolution to keep his distance had been dissolving faster than snowflakes on a hot car hood. He’d never denied his attraction to her, but he’d thought he could control it, certain the bad memories of his problems with Linda would be more than enough to keep his libido in check.
Wrong.
The last hope of that had vanished with their kiss.
Looking at Christine with as much objectivity as possible—and that wasn’t much anymore, he admitted—he didn’t think she bore the same debilitating scars as Linda. She was spunky and had a good sense of humor, and she wasn’t afraid to share the secrets of her heart. Despite the abuse of her husband and the Dunlap sheriff, she’d held on to her self-esteem.
Yes, she still questioned her judgment. And she exercised understandable caution. There was no way she’d ever let herself be rushed into romance. But she did show a willingness to explore the attraction between them.
Now the ball was in his court.
Over the past few days, he’d thought of little but their relationship. He hadn’t planned to get involved with her. Hadn’t wanted to get involved with her. But it seemed God had other ideas. After much prayer, Dale had come to the conclusion that the Lord had sent Christine to Oak Hill for a reason that included him and Jenna.
As he and Jenna stepped through the door of the library, his gaze sought and connected with Christine’s. A soft flush rose in her cheeks, and his pulse took a leap.
“Hi, Ms. Christine.” Jenna pulled free of his hand and skipped over to the front desk.
“Hello, Jenna. All ready for story hour?”
“Uh-huh.”
Picking up two books, she handed them to the little girl. “Why don’t you take these to the story circle? They’re the ones I’m going to read today. I’ll be over in a minute.”
“Okay.”
Christine watched Jenna walk away before turning back to Dale. “You’re looking much better.”
“Good as new.” He moved closer to the counter. “I stopped by to see you Monday afternoon, but you weren’t home.”
“Eleanor took a couple of days off and asked me to fill in for her.”
“Including today?”
“Yes. I’ll be here till four.”
Disappointment rippled through Dale. He’d hoped to invite her to lunch. “How about tomorrow?”
“I’m not working again until Monday.”
“Then how about joining Jenna and me for lunch?”
“Another picnic?” A smile teased her lips.
“Not this time. There’s a great little restaurant in St. James I thought you might like.”
She tilted her head. “Are you asking me out on a date, Sheriff?”
“Would you accept if I said yes? Because if not, I’ll just say that Jenna enjoys your company, and it would be a treat for her if you came along.”
“I’d like to go, but…” Yearning and uncertainty were reflected in her eyes. “I’m not sure it’s wise.”
“Me, neither.” His reply was prompt and honest. “Ours has never been a typical relationship. But I’ve prayed a lot about it, and I think our meeting must be part of God’s plan for us. I’m not sure we can ignore that. Or the obvious sparks between us. But that doesn’t mean we have to be hasty. We both have issues to work through, and that process shouldn’t be rushed.”
“Slow is good,” she agreed.
“Does that mean it’s a date?”
“Yes.”
His smile filled her with a glow as warm as the balmy late-Indian summer weather that Oak Hill was enjoying. And as she read to the children of magical castles and enchanted godmothers and happy endings, she found herself wondering if a happily-ever-after might still be in her future after all.
“There’s a change of plans, Christine. I’d like to come out
now, if you’re available.”
The smile that had lifted Christine’s lips when she answered the phone and heard Dale’s voice faded. There was a disquieting undercurrent in his tone she couldn’t identify. He was already scheduled to take her to lunch in less than two hours. What was so pressing that he had to come early? “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
The line went dead.
She waited at the door for him, too keyed up to continue working on the talk about organic farming that Marge had convinced her to give. When his patrol car turned into her driveway, she stepped onto the porch without a jacket. The unseasonable weather was continuing, with temperatures near eighty.
Folding her arms across her chest, she watched as he pulled to a stop and slid from behind the wheel. She searched his face as he alighted from the car, looking for some clue about his abrupt call, but came up blank.
Seeing her waiting, he took the steps two at a time. Although he didn’t look upset, she sensed that something was up.
He didn’t keep her in suspense long.
“I heard from Andrew Briggs.” As he spoke, he handed her a single sheet of paper. “This came over the fax about half an hour ago. I wanted to deliver the news in person, not by phone. Go ahead, read it.”
Her heart banging against her rib cage, Christine noted the official letterhead from the prosecuting attorney’s office before she scanned the document. Some of the language was legalese, but the gist was clear. Based on Gary Stratton’s admission that he’d been bribed by Jack Barlow to harass Christine and fabricate charges against her, the prosecuting attorney was starting proceedings to have her record expunged. He was confident there would be no opposition to the request, and he promised to do everything in his power to expedite the process.
Closing her eyes, Christine released a slow, cleansing breath. The long nightmare was finally over. Thanks to the persistence of one man with a passion for justice. And, she suspected, a passion for her.
When she looked up at him, she had to blink to clear her vision. “You did it, Dale.”
“We did it. This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me your story.”
She shook her head. “I’d still be hiding out, hoping my past never caught up with me, if you hadn’t pushed me. And believed in me. You’ve made the Fresh Start Farm name mean something.” She held up the letter. “Do you know any more details?”
“Briggs called to alert me it was coming. The scenario played out as he hoped it would. Once he confronted Stratton with the new evidence linking him to Barlow and suggested he might have to rethink the plea bargain unless the good sheriff came clean, Stratton spilled everything.” Dale touched her cheek, letting his fingers tangle in her hair. “I’d say this calls for a celebration.”
“I thought you were taking me to lunch.” She found herself drowning in the depths of his blue eyes.
“I am. But we have a few minutes before I have to pick up Jenna.” He started to lean toward her, but paused at the sudden beep of his pager. A wry smile twisted his lips as he reached for it, his focus never wavering from her. “We’ll pick this up again in a minute.”
With obvious reluctance, he transferred his attention to the pager. As he read the message, his features grew taut and his lips settled into a grim line.
“What is it?”
“A possible explosive device in the basement of a high school in Rolla.”
“You mean a bomb?” Her face registered shock.
“Could be.”
“Why are they paging you?”
He clipped the pager back on his belt. “I spent several years on the bomb and arson squad in L.A. They like to have as many experts on hand as possible in a case like this.”
“Does this happen often?” Somehow, Christine had never thought of Dale’s small-town sheriff job as dangerous. Now, despite the warm day, a chill ran up her spine.
“No. And in general these calls end up being false alarms. But you can’t take any chances.” Twin furrows appeared on his brow. “I need to make some arrangements for Jenna.”
“I can pick her up and bring her here until you get back.”
“It could be late.”
“I don’t have anything pressing to do.”
Relief flooded his face. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it. On days like this, I realize what a blessing it is to have Mom close by.”
“I’m happy to do it. We’ll bake cookies to celebrate this.” She held up the letter as she followed him down the steps. “We might even save you a few.”
“If you do, I’ll give you a rain check on lunch. And on this.” Leaning close, he brushed his lips over hers as a muted boom of thunder rumbled in the distance. He chuckled close to her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. “Interesting timing. Dramatic, but appropriate.”
A gust of wind rustled the leaves at their feet, sending them skittering. Dale surveyed the horizon, where dark clouds were gathering. “Looks like we could be in for a storm.”
“I wouldn’t mind some rain. It would be good for the gardens.” She touched his arm. “Be careful, Dale.”
“Don’t worry. I never take chances.” With a wave, he strode toward the car.
As he drove away, Christine considered his parting remark. She had a feeling his comment was true for both his personal and professional life, especially in light of his experience with his wife. Yet he continued to see her. To let her know he cared and that he wanted to explore the attraction between them.
Watching his car disappear down the road, she said a silent prayer for his safety. And added a prayer of thanks for his willingness to take a chance on her.
“Ms. Christine, the clouds are really black now. And the wind is blowing harder.”
At Jenna’s tremulous comment, Christine took the last batch of cookies out of the oven, slid them onto a rack and joined the youngster at the bay window in the living room.
She’d checked the sky herself twenty minutes ago after the wind picked up, but it had grown much more ominous in the interim. The clouds hung heavy and low, some bearing a menacing green hue. As they scuttled across the sky, shifting and swirling, they looked almost alive—and very threatening. She’d witnessed enough storms in Nebraska to know that the unusually balmy weather, coupled with a sky like this, was the perfect recipe for a tornado.
Doing her best to stifle her apprehension, Christine tried for a smile. “Why don’t we listen to the radio and see what the weather people have to say while we sample our cookies?”
Back in the kitchen, Christine flipped on the light to dispel the sudden gloom. Although it was only three-thirty, the heavy clouds had masked the sun, creating twilight conditions. After she settled Jenna at the table with cookies and milk, she turned on the radio.
“…sighted in Pulaski County near Fort Leonard Wood. There have been no reports of a touchdown yet.
“Repeating, the National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning for Pulaski, Phelps, Crawford, Washington, Franklin and Jefferson Counties. A funnel cloud has been sighted in Pulaski County, and the storm is moving northeast at approximately forty miles per hour. If you live in any of the affected areas, take shelter as soon as possible. A basement offers the best protection, but an inside room…”
All at once the lights went out and the radio fell silent.
“Ms. Christine?” Jenna’s wavery voice was laced with fear.
“It’s okay, honey.” Christine moved beside the little girl, panic gripping her. They needed to find a safe place to wait out the storm. Oak Hill was in Phelps County, between Pulaski and Crawford. They were in the direct path of the violent weather.
When Christine had purchased the house, she hadn’t asked about a basement. Dark, underground places held no appeal for her. But there was a trapdoor on the outside of the house, similar to the one in The Wizard of Oz, that she’d never opened.
If she’d been home alone, Chr
istine would have taken her chances and waited out the storm in an interior room. But she couldn’t put the little girl at risk. She had to keep Jenna safe, no matter the cost to herself. And she needed to do it now.
Dropping down to Jenna’s level, she grasped her hands. “I’m going to go outside and see if I can open the door to my storm cellar. I want you to wait here until I come back, okay?”
“C-can I go with you?”
“No, honey. It’s too windy outside, and I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Why don’t you sing the song about the itsy-bitsy spider, and by the time you’re finished I’ll be back. I’ll help you get started.”
Doing her best to keep smiling, Christine began the simple melody. Jenna joined in, but her tone was soft and anxious. Two lines into the song, Christine rose. “You keep going. When you’re done, I’ll be back.”
With Jenna’s frightened soprano echoing in her ears, Christine grabbed a flashlight from the cabinet under the sink and headed toward the back door. As she flipped the lock and pulled it open, the force of the wind threw it back. Staggering as it slammed against her shoulder, she heard Jenna’s voice falter.
Christine forced a smile to her lips as she faced the little girl, gripping the door with all her strength to hold it steady. “Keep singing, honey. I’ll be right back.”
She waited until Jenna picked up the melody again, then stepped onto the back porch and secured the door behind her. The wind buffeted her as she worked her way around the house toward the trapdoor, head lowered. Something blew past her face, stinging her cheek, but she ignored it. Given the way the trees were bending, she couldn’t afford to waste one minute.
The rusty, long-unused hinges protested with a loud creak as she pulled up the sturdy door for the storm cellar, a task that required every bit of her strength. Flashing her light into the dark opening, Christine shuddered. The floor of the small, low-ceilinged room was dirt, and moisture clung to the stone walls. The beam of light picked up a network of cobwebs, and she heard a rustle as some small critter scampered across the floor. Surveying the small, murky space, Christine broke out in a cold sweat, her resolve to seek shelter wavering.
