Chris crossed the threshold, held the package out to Ainsley, then turned back to her mother. “So where are you from?”
Ainsley set the box on the coffee table. “We’re both longtime Kansas Citians.”
“Although I spent my childhood in Texas.” Mrs. Meadows cupped her hand under Chris’s elbow and led him to the sofa. “Please, have a seat and tell me where you’re from and what brought you to the Midwest.”
He sat on the edge of the cushions, looking from Ainsley to her mother, not sure whether to politely excuse himself or accept Mrs. Meadows’s hospitality. “I moved here from Rancho Cucamonga, California, to be closer to my mom. She’s got early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
“I take it she’s divorced?”
“Mother!” Ainsley’s cheeks colored. “Please excuse her. She meant no offense.”
He shook his head. “That’s OK. None taken. My father died a year ago.”
Mrs. Meadows sat across from him. “Oh, my. I’m so sorry! But you look so young. How old was your father when he passed?”
Chris swallowed as years’ worth of rushed phone calls and quickly scribbled Christmas cards flashed through his mind. If only he’d taken time to be there for his dad when he’d had a chance.
He cleared his throat. “He died young, and I was a twilight baby. My mom was forty-one when she had me.”
Mrs. Meadows laughed. “Ainsley, I guess your biological clock isn’t ticking as fast as you think, huh?”
“Mother!”
“Just saying, if Richard’s not the one, you need to throw that reel back in the water. Don’t you agree, Chris.”
His face warmed, and swallowing, he stared at his folded hands. Apparently he’d stumbled into an ant hill. Best thing he could do was politely excuse himself before things turned ugly.
He stood. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Meadows.” He turned to Ainsley. “Have a nice weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
Mrs. Meadow’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”
Ainsley rolled her eyes. “He serves at the women and children’s shelter with me.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Meadows tilted her head, studying Chris.
He shifted. “Yeah, I’ve enjoyed it. Really puts your life in perspective.”
She rubbed her pinkie nail with her thumb. “I imagine it does.”
“Did Ainsley tell you about the benefit concert she and I are hosting in a few weeks?”
“No, I haven’t heard anything about it. What’s it for?”
Frown lines creased around Ainsley’s mouth. “I assumed you wouldn’t be interested.”
Chris felt like a gnat caught between a flame and an ember. “An informal concert of sorts. Your daughter will sing while I play the guitar. Fifteen percent of sales will benefit the shelter, and we’ll accept a love offering at the end. Your daughter has the voice of an angel. You should come.”
“Yes, well, I have heard Ainsley sing on many occasions.” She flicked a hand. “As a teen, she felt certain God wanted her to devote her life to music.” She patted her daughter’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what I have going on that day. Send me an evite? And please, do take pictures.” With that, she rose and glided across the room. “Anyway, I must be going.” With a wave, she disappeared out the door.
Ainsley visibly tensed. She turned back to Chris. “Thanks again for bringing the package by.”
“My pleasure.” He showed himself out.
That was awkward, to say the least. Why did he have the feeling those ladies had an arsenal of firecrackers hidden beneath their forced pleasantries? He shook his head, remembering all the times he and his father argued when they could have connected instead. Only now it was too late.
Chapter 32
ichard yanked on his winter jacket, dashed outside, and slammed the door behind him. He clicked the deadbolt in place. Next door, Laurie Manning supervised as a crew of men hung lights on her house. In an effort to avoid needless conversation, he stared straight ahead and strode down the cement walkway.
“Richard, good morning.” Footsteps rustled on the grass as his neighbor approached.
“Good morning, Mrs. Manning. They’re doing a lovely job on your lights.”
“Would you like their phone number?” She pulled a business card from her back pocket.
“Thank you.” He scanned the rest of the neighborhood, lights draped across every house save one or two.
Manger scenes, wooden reindeer, and snowmen dotted the adjacent lawns. In less than a week, slow-moving cars and horse-drawn carriages would clog their streets while carolers filled the sidewalks. Oh, the joys of living near the Plaza. Although he held his neighbors, not the city, primarily responsible for the surge of gawkers. Must they really turn their homes into heavily lit spectacles?
“Are you bringing your fiancée to Jeff and Janet’s Christmas party?”
He frowned, an image of Ainsley’s angry face coming to mind. How long would she continue to spurn his attention?
“Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought.”
“I haven’t seen her in a while. Is she doing OK?” She edged closer and Richard bristled, taking a sideways step to preserve the distance between them.
“She’s fine. In fact, I’m heading to her house now.”
“Oh, I see.”
Lengthening his stride, he hurried to his car and slid behind the steering wheel. As he pulled away, he glanced in the rear-view mirror to find Mrs. Manning watching him, which struck him as odd.
He pulled out his cell phone, snapped his earpiece in place, and called Ainsley.
“Hello.”
“I . . . Ainsley . . .” Expecting her voice mail, he faltered over his words. “What’s your schedule like today?”
“You must quit calling.”
Specks of ice dotted Richard’s windshield and thick fog spread across the inside of the glass. Tapping his breaks, he turned on his defroster and cranked up the heat. “I really feel we need to discuss this—us—further. Can we meet for coffee?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You need more time. I understand.”
“Actually, I don’t. For the hundredth time, it’s over.”
His grip tightened around the steering wheel. “How can you say that after all the time we’ve been together?” He exhaled, regaining his calm. “You’re nervous. Unsettled. Considering your upbringing, I understand that completely. But I’m concerned—”
“I don’t love you, Richard.”
He refused to accept that. She was confused, overwhelmed. “Certainly you aren’t expecting prom-night butterflies to last forever.” He tensed as an image of Chris Langley flashed through his mind. “It’s your neighbor, isn’t it?”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“If you think your doubts will lessen with another man, you’re bound to be disappointed.”
“Our breakup has absolutely nothing to do with Chris Langley. You and I are too different. It wouldn’t work.”
“You’re being absurd and assigning a false cause to your anxiety.”
“I’m sorry it had to end this way, but please quit calling. Otherwise I’ll have to change my number.”
The call went dead in Richard’s ear. Traffic merged around him as he continued on in a daze, staring at the gray road in front of him. Ainsley’s words replayed in his mind. “Quit calling . . . I’ll have to change my number.”
This was all Chris Langley’s fault. Everything had been fine until he had moved in. The conniving, low-class loser. Perhaps he had sparked Ainsley’s curiosity, but Richard refused to let the man steal her heart.
Chris paused outside Matilda’s door to take in a deep breath then pressed the doorbell. Footsteps approached and the blinds covering the adjacent window parted, revealing Matilda’s gray and blue-swirled eye. A moment later, the lock clicked and the door swung open.
She blocked the entrance with her square frame. “Chris.”
He shifted, memories of Thanksgiving and Christ
mases past forming a lump in his throat. They were once so close. How could decades worth of friendship shatter in less than a year? “Can I come in?”
She hesitated for a full two seconds before moving aside. “Want tea?”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table while she set the filled kettle to boil. She occupied the chair across from him. The skin beneath her eyes sagged, although whether from sorrow or fatigue, he couldn’t tell.
He rested folded hands on the table. “The court date’s scheduled for next week.”
She nodded.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Tildie.”
Her gaze flicked upward, holding his, and tears welled behind her lashes. But then she inhaled and straightened, her features hardening. “Neither do I, but I cannot allow you to uproot Mother, no matter how wonderful you believe Lily of the Valley to be.”
“I know you love Mom and only want the best for her. For her to feel safe. At home.”
Silence stretched between them.
“There’s gotta be a way we can work this out. Outside of court.”
Her lips pressed flat, accentuating the tiny lines feathering from her mouth.
“Can we at least delay the proceedings?”
“Let me guess, your café isn’t doing as well as you’d hoped, and you’re afraid the judge will rule against you.”
Well, yes and no, but that wasn’t why he came. “Do you remember the slumber parties Mom used to throw us when Dad went out of town? How we’d fill the living room with sleeping bags, books, and massive amounts of junk food?”
She nodded. “I do. Her fresh-baked monster cookies were to die for! In fact, that’s the only reason I participated.” She laughed. “Mom said I couldn’t eat the cookies otherwise.” She shrugged. “I might have acted like a stink, but in truth, I loved it. Of course, you always demanded the best spot—the one closest to the fireplace.”
Chris chuckled. “Yeah, but Mom never let me. You remember why?”
“She said her kids would never get their way by fighting.”
“Because we were a family and families drew together, in love.”
Matilda studied her hands.
“Can we at least pray about it before forming legal battle lines?”
Her eyes moistened.
“For Mom?”
“OK.”
Chapter 33
he blare of the alarm pulled Ainsley out of bed. Early morning sun filtered through her blinds, striping the carpet in bands of light. She slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers, crossed the room, and peeked out. Tiny ice crystals glistened on blades of grass, and icicles hung like ornaments from tree limbs.
She glanced toward Chris’s, the far corner of his house barely visible from her angle. How would the California boy fare come blizzard season? She might need to give him a few pointers, like why one needed to keep snow shovels and ice scrapers in their trunk. Never knew when your car would get buried or stuck.
Thirty minutes later, she sat at her kitchen table nursing a vanilla-cream cup of coffee and searching career databases. She’d sent her resume to half a dozen businesses and had yet to get invited to a single interview. Luckily, she had a chunk of savings—funds she’d hoped to put toward tuition. Although this wasn’t her plan, at least it’d help her stay out of debt, so long as her joblessness didn’t drag on too long. She figured she had maybe five months. Six, if she lived off PB and J.
The doorbell rang, and she glanced at her watch. Who would stop by so early on a Sunday morning.
She shuffled to the front door to find Chris on the stoop dressed in jeans and a sweater. Oddly enough, Rusty wasn’t with him.
“Hey.” He gave a sheepish, almost boyish smile.
“Good morning.” Her heart fluttered when her gaze met his.
He shifted, ran his fingers through his hair, then shoved them in his front pockets. “I . . . Do you go to church?”
“Yes.” What an odd question.
“Mind if I join you? Well, not join you exactly, but like . . . go to the same place?” He shifted again, looking like an elementary student about to give his first book report. “I’ve been looking online, in the phone book, trying to find a good to church to join, but there’s gotta be more than a hundred. And the last one I visited kind of freaked me out.”
“There are quite a number of churches in the Kansas City Metro. Mine’s rather small, and not fancy by any means. Although it’s kind of far. Up north, near Smithville.”
“Sounds perfect. What time is service?”
“Nine forty-five. Hold on.” She dashed inside and returned with a pen and pad. “I normally take 435 to SkyView then follow the roads to . . . She wrinkled her brow. “On second thought, it might be easier if you follow me . . . or we might ride together. It’s somewhat complicated, but in case you wanted to Mapquest it.” She wrote down the address and handed him the slip of paper. “It takes about twenty-five . . . She glanced past him to the street to gauge the roads. A thin sheet of ice speckled with salt crystals glimmered in the morning sun. “Maybe thirty minutes to get there.”
Chris checked his watch. “So I’ll be back just after nine?”
Warmth crept up Ainsley’s neck and filled her chest. “Great. See you then.” She closed the door before the shy smile tugging at her mouth took hold.
Her mind instantly turned to Richard and her stomach soured. She could already hear the rumor mill:
“Look who Ainsley brought to church. I bet that’s why she broke it off with Richard. Five years, and she threw it all away for a California hottie. She’s just like her mother.”
She stared at her reflection in the hallway mirror. Am I?
The words from a long-forgotten verse filled her mind, “Every good and perfect gift is from the Lord, and He adds no trouble to it.”
What in the world did that mean? Pondering the words, she plodded to her bedroom, unable to shake the feeling that God was trying to tell her something. Maybe an hour-long worship service would cut through all the clutter in her head and heart.
But first she needed to call Gina. For backup, or more accurately, a safety net.
Unfortunately, she got her voice mail.
Ainsley ended the call then redialed. So long as Gina’s phone wasn’t on silent, the shrill ring would wake her eventually.
“Hello?” Gina spoke through a yawn.
“How quickly can you get ready?”
“Why? I don’t have to be at church for another hour and a half.”
“No, you need to be come to church with me this morning, and since you live so far south, I’d suggest you leave as soon as possible. Like now.”
Gina sighed. “What are you up to? Did I miss the ‘take your best friend to church day’ memo?”
“No. Chris’s coming.”
“Oh. OK.”
“So, you gonna join me, or what?”
“Why? To make sure he tithes?”
“Drop the sarcasm, please. I don’t want to start any rumors, especially after my recent breakup.”
“But those poor prayer-chain ladies. Whatever will they talk about now?”
“Ha, ha. Very funny, and Christlike, might I add.” Phone wedged between her shoulder, Ainsley grabbed her Bible and tucked it into a canvas tote. Her spiral notebooks, extra pens, and a pocket calendar were already packed.
“Sorry. I forgot, your church isn’t like mine. On second thought, yeah, I’d love to come.” She laughed. “I’ll be there in a few.”
She hung up then turned to the mirror, chiding herself for her rather drab appearance, then chiding herself further for caring.
Chris tidied his kitchen, a grin forming. The way Ainsley’s eyes had widened, those thin little lips opening in a near perfect O, you would have thought he’d asked her to go to the Bahamas. What he wouldn’t give to catch a glimpse of the many thoughts swirling through that dainty little head of hers.
How had he never
noticed how beautiful her eyes were before? Chestnut and green swirled together, surrounded by thick, dark lashes that extended to her arched brows.
He blinked and shook his head, as if doing so would clear her image from his mind and the longing building in his heart. Not like a Hollywood movie trash scene, but more like a . . . like a . . .
An image of his father standing in the kitchen, his arms wrapped around his frail, recently diagnosed mother, came to mind. His determined, unwavering look of love that had radiated from his eyes mirrored the desire taking hold of Chris.
He wanted to be Ainsley’s protector, her steady rock that would quiet her fears and sooth those deep wounds away. But she was taken by a man with as much heart and gentleness as a starved pit bull.
Lord, are You calling me to pray for her? Is that why I feel such love for a near stranger? Please draw Ainsley to You. Heal the pain in her heart—the pain reflected in her eyes no matter how hard she tries to hide it. He paused, swallowed.
And please, don’t let me fall in love with her.
Inside, Rusty waited near the kitchen. The bald patches scattered throughout his gray-splotched fur showed more dominant than before. Squatting down, Chris scratched the dog’s muzzle.
“You hungry?”
Rusty gave a low whine.
Chris laughed and scruffed the dogs ears before wrapping an arm around his neck in a tight hug. His gaze lingered on a patch of silver fur, and Chris’s heart cinched. It’d hurt something awful when this dog died on him.
His eyes burned, and he blinked furiously to keep tears from forming. “No dry dog food today, buddy.” He moved to the fridge and pulled out crisp pieces of bacon left over from his morning breakfast.
Rusty was at his feet in an instant, ears perked, drool forming.
Chuckling, Chris dropped the treat on the ground, giving the dog’s musky mane another scratch.
Beyond I Do Page 20
