His fingers tightened as he drew in a ragged breath. He clung to her hand, then turned it over in his grasp. “I should have been here. I should have stayed home. Should have let Wade take care of the cows himself. Harry was my responsibility, and I should have been here to…to save him.”
His voice broke, and it was that mournful sound that eased away the flimsy barriers she tried to erect against him.
She cupped his chin in her hand and turned his face to her. “It was an accident.”
“But he was my son. He counted on me to take care of him. I promised Sylvia I would take care of him.”
“How were you supposed to stop what happened?”
He said nothing, but in the light of the cabin she caught the sheen of tears in his eyes.
“You took care of him. You got someone to come and watch him. What happened was a tragedy. An accident you couldn’t have prevented.”
Carter’s eyes drifted shut and his tears slid down his cheeks, flowing over Emma’s hand. “He was my son. My son.” The words were ripped from the deepest part of him.
Emma slid her arms around his shoulders, wishing she was stronger, bigger. How could she help him in his grief when her arms barely went around him? How could she support him when he towered over her?
Then Carter laid his head on her shoulder, his arms clinging to her. And as his silent tears flowed, she knew all she had to do was be here. His shoulders shook and she held him, realizing his tears were cleansing, as well.
Seeing this strong, self-assured man crying brought tears to her own eyes. Yet, his utter vulnerability dove into her soul. His tears, shed in front of her, were as intimate as the kiss they had shared. Nothing would be the same between them after today.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, holding him as tightly as she could, thankful she could be here for him. “It’s okay.”
He drew a deep breath, then slowly straightened, leaving her feeling incomplete. He palmed away his tears, removing the evidence of his weakness.
He couldn’t look at her, but she kept her hand on his shoulder and caught his other hand in hers.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse with grief. “I don’t know what happened there. I haven’t cried since the funeral.”
She stroked his unruly hair back from his forehead. “That’s probably why,” she said, her voice quiet, her hand lingering a moment on his head.
“But it’s been two years.” His voice held an edge of disappointed anger, as if frustrated with his lack of self-control. “Why now?”
She cupped his face and turned it toward her. His eyes, red now, looked haunted, but in contrast the lines bracketing his mouth had softened. “Could it be because you didn’t allow your family to enter in your grief?”
Carter’s shoulders lifted as he breathed in. Then he exhaled slowly, as if expelling the grief he had just experienced.
“I couldn’t face it. I couldn’t think about it, let alone talk about it. I lost Sylvia and then I lost Harry. It seemed easier to shut the memories off. To push them down and bury them. To pull back from my family.”
“When you do that, grief will have its way,” Emma said quietly, reluctantly pulling her hand away, his whiskers rasping on her skin. “After my father died, I was so angry with him but I still missed him so badly. At first I didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyhow. It’s as if grief requires a certain amount of tears. If they are not shed, grief follows and shadows us until it is paid its due.”
Carter gave a short laugh. “It certainly followed and shadowed me.” His fingers pressed tightly against hers, as if drawing strength from her.
“Now that you’re back I’m sure the pain is back.”
His only response was a nod and a tightening of his jaw.
“Maybe seeing Sylvia’s parents—Harry’s grandparents—triggered the sorrow?”
Carter drew in another breath then his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Maybe. We talked and I realized it was like you said. They wanted to share stories. To talk.”
“Was that difficult?”
“At first, yeah. I thought I didn’t want to talk about him ever again. And yet…” His words drifted off and then, to her surprise, his mouth curved in a wry smile. “It hurt and it was hard to watch their grief, but at the same time, it was like I was allowed to still say he was my son. I was allowed to bring back the good memories. The things that made me smile and gave me joy.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Carter lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”
“I know you were a good father, Carter.” Emma spoke quietly, a note of conviction in her voice. “You loved your son. Your tears showed me that. Even the fact that you stayed away because it hurt to be here shows how much you love and miss him.” She had to stop, her own thoughts casting back to Adam’s father. How quickly he neglected his responsibility. Or Karl. How easily he abandoned her. Or her father.
Panic trembled through her even as his hands held hers. Carter wasn’t like that, she reminded herself. Carter was a good man.
Why do you think you need to defend him? I thought you were trying to stay away from him?
“You took care of your son even while you were still running the ranch,” she said, trying to stop the negative voice in her head. “You manned up. You took your responsibility seriously and you took care of him. And even though you knew it would hurt to be here again, you came back when Nana needed you.”
He looked down at her, his gray eyes clear, intent. “You sound like you’re defending me.”
“Maybe I am,” she said quietly. “Maybe I need to remind myself that there are good men in the world.”
“I don’t know if I’m a good man…” Carter’s words eased away and his grip tightened on her hand. “But I know that you’re a good woman.”
His words flew into her heart and settled there.
And confused her. She struggled to keep a bit of distance. She couldn’t get pulled into this.
“I know that God knows your heart in spite of how you see yourself,” she said quietly.
“I used to think God didn’t care about me,” Carter said. “I used to think I was on my own.”
“And now?”
Carter released a light laugh. “I don’t know. I know that when I was in church I fought with anger with God over what happened and yet…” He shook his head, as if confused.
“Yet?” she prompted.
“It was good to realize that God is still there no matter what I may think. That He is still trying to be a part of my life. I feel like I have to try to find my way back to Him.”
“It’s not hard,” Emma said quietly.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“I could pray with you. That would be a start.”
Carter’s mouth shifted into a wry smile. “You could,” he agreed.
Emma twined her fingers through his then lowered her head. “Dear Lord, thank You for Carter. For his doubts and for his anger with You. Because it means that he cares about You. Lord, You know the pain he’s carrying. Please let him know that You understand what it is like to lose a son.” She faltered there, wondering if she had gone too far, then she felt Carter’s hands tighten on hers and she carried on. “Thank You, Lord, for his searching. Let him know that he will be restless until he finds his rest in You. Help all of us to know where our hope and peace lie. With You. Not with this world.” She paused, letting the moment settle. Then she lifted her head.
Carter was looking at her, a bemused expression on his face. “You talk so easily to God,” he said.
“I didn’t always. I’ve had my own struggles with God and with my life and the direction it was going.” She looked down at their intertwined hands, feeling as if things had shifted again. Shifted and deepened. “But I learned that no matter where I go, God has been there before and He promises me that He will never leave me. I’ve clung to that promise in spite of some of the things that hap
pened to me.” She stopped there, hoping he didn’t think she was preaching at him, yet wanting him to know that her faith in God was not dependent on her actions, but on God’s faithfulness. And His love.
“You’re quite a woman, Emma Minton,” Carter said quietly, lifting his hand to cup her face. “Thank you for praying with me.”
She wasn’t sure what to say so she kept quiet, but the touch of his hand on her face distracted her.
Then his thumb made gentle circles on her cheek, each movement shifting her awareness of him.
“I’m glad I kissed you this afternoon.” His hand stopped its enticing movement then slipped to the back of her neck and anchored itself there.
“I’m glad you kissed me too.” She raised her face, their gazes locking. She felt as if she sank into his eyes.
“I want to kiss you again,” he whispered.
The practical part of Emma called out warnings. Reminded her that this was tenuous. That nothing about either of their lives was settled or sure.
But the lonely part of her, the part that yearned for what Carter gave, made her move closer. She set her hand on his shoulder then angled her head so that when their lips met, it was a perfect fit.
He pulled away and she murmured her protest, but he brushed light, gentle kisses on her cheeks. Her forehead. Her eyelids.
She couldn’t breathe. His kisses had literally stolen her breath.
Then he drew her head down to his shoulder, cradling it there and pulling her close to him.
Emma let her head rest on his shoulder. Let his arms hold her close. Let herself be held up. She had been in charge of her and Adam so long, having someone support her filled a deep need she didn’t dare acknowledge.
“I don’t know what’s happening, Emma,” Carter whispered against her hair, his breath warm and enticing. “But I know it feels right. Like my life has turned around and the things I once wanted aren’t so important.”
His questions ignited an ember of hope.
But her own questions and concerns kept it tamped down. Tomorrow would bring more questions. More searching. More maybes.
For now the chill of the evening made itself known. Emma shivered and eased away from the sanctuary of Carter’s arms. “I should go in,” she whispered, her cheeks warm in spite of the cold. She looked up at him, then, because she could, stroked his face and ran her hand through his thick hair.
He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The promise in his voice sent a thrill of anticipation racing through her.
“It’s Sunday tomorrow,” she said quietly, though she wasn’t sure why she felt she had to bring that up.
“Do you need a ride to church? I’m bringing Nana in her car.”
His suggestion created such a perfect domestic scene in her mind. Man. Woman. Child. Grandmother. All coming to church together in one vehicle.
In spite of his kisses, in spite of what they had shared, a part of her wanted to hold back and protect her independence. Just in case.
“I’ll take my truck,” was all she said.
To her surprise he simply nodded as he got up, drawing her to her feet. “Then we’ll see you tomorrow.”
He walked with her the few steps to the door of the cabin. “Good night Emma. Thank you for being you,” he whispered as he brushed a kiss across her forehead.
Then before his kiss cooled on her face, he was down the stairs, jogging across the yard to his own cabin.
Emma waited a moment, unwilling to return to the cabin. This time was like a place apart from her ordinary life. As soon as she opened the door, she would be faced with her responsibilities.
Just a few minutes more, she thought, her finger tracing her lips, resurrecting the memory of Carter’s kiss.
Tomorrow she could figure out where to put this. Tomorrow she could be a responsible mom again. Tomorrow her other worries would crowd in and threaten this peace.
For this moment she wanted to be a woman kissed by a wonderful man. A woman growing more attracted to a man with nebulous plans.
She stopped herself there.
A tendril of worry began working itself up from her subconscious. Was she being irresponsible? She had no idea what lay ahead, and Carter’s comments were nothing to make plans around.
Do not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will worry about itself.
The passage from Matthew settled her thoughts, and as she looked up a falling star streaked across the evening sky, like a tiny benediction. Emma smiled at the sight, and with that memory resting in her mind, she opened the door and stepped into the cabin.
“Miss Minton. Miss Minton.”
Emma pulled her attention away from the woman she was talking to in the foyer of the church and turned just as a slight man limped toward her. The overhead lights shone on his balding head, which was offset by the bushiness of his beard and mustache.
“Mr. Devieber, how are you doing?” Emma flashed him a bright smile as he came to a halt in front of her. Scott Devieber owned a bed-and-breakfast on the edge of Hartley Creek, and on a whim she had gone there and applied for a position the last time she was in town. The biggest plus was the fact that the B and B was situated on six acres of fenced pasture. “How is business?”
Scott stroked his beard as he nodded his head. “Well. Now. That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He eased out a sigh, shifted his weight, neither of which boded well for what she supposed he had to say. “I had hoped to call you earlier, but because you don’t have a cell phone, I gotta tell you now.” His pause only underlined what Emma knew was coming next. “Sorry, Emma. I’m sure you’re a great worker, but I can’t hire you.”
And you had to tell me this on Sunday right after a service where I was encouraged to trust in the Lord?
With intense purpose, Emma kept her smile in place. “That’s too bad, Mr. Devieber. Did you fill the position?” When she had applied it was vacant, and in a follow-up phone call Mr. Devieber assured her that she had a good chance at the job.
“Actually, I have a niece coming to visit me from New Zealand. She’s looking for work. Says she wants to spend the winter skiing here.” He lifted his hands in a “what can I do” gesture.
“Of course. I understand,” Emma said brightly, though inside another hope died. Another worry twisted its way through the peace the church service had granted her.
What was she supposed to do? How was she going to take care of Adam? Where were they going to live, and what was she going to do with her beloved horses?
“But I trust in you O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hands…”
The words of the Bible verse the minister had read this morning wound their way around her panicky soul.
“I hope she enjoys her time here,” Emma said, struggling to be upbeat and positive. “I know that the ski hill is amazing.” Not that she knew from personal experience. She hadn’t had the time or money to go skiing.
“I’m sorry. I know this position would have worked well for you and your horses. But I’m sure you’ll find something.” He stroked his beard, gave her another apologetic look then left.
Scratch that faint hope, Emma thought. She turned in time to see Adam slouching toward her, his head down, his hands shoved in the pocket of his red hoodie.
“What’s the matter, son?” she asked, crouching down to his height, no mean feat in her narrow skirt. “You look sad.”
“Allister can’t come over,” he said, heaving a deep sigh. “I wanted him to help with the tree fort. I’m so disappointed.”
In spite of her own disappointments, Emma grinned at his word choice. He was getting older, she thought with a gentle pang. This September he would be starting school.
Where? How?
Emma quashed the frantic questions.
“I’m disappointed too,” Emma said, stroking his head lightly. “But you know, maybe you and I can work on the tree fort ourselves.”
Adam shru
gged at her suggestion.
“What? I’m a good builder,” she said with mock injury.
Adam pushed his toe against the carpet of the church foyer. “Not as good as Allister. He has a hammer.”
“Who has a hammer?”
Carter’s deep voice behind her created a trickle of anticipation.
She got up slowly, unconsciously fiddling with the white silk flower she had, on a whim, pinned on her red blouse. Now it seemed ostentatious and a little foolish.
She caught his gaze flicking from the flower to her. Did his eyes brighten, or was that just her imagination?
“Allister. My friend,” Adam grumped. “He was going to help me with the tree fort. But now he can’t come.” This was followed with another theatrical sigh.
Carter turned his attention to Adam, and he smiled, as well. “Maybe I’ll have to help you.”
Emma hoped her surprise didn’t show on her face. She knew Carter and Harry had started the tree fort, and now he was willing to help her son work on it?
“That would be so, so cool.” Adam’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas.
“Don’t you need to cut the hay this week?” Emma asked.
“Yeah, but I’m sure I can take some time to help Adam.” Carter’s eyes crinkled at the corners as their gazes met, and a smile crawled across his lips.
Emma felt her own answering smile, and it was as if the people milling around them in the foyer slipped away and the world had shrunk down to only the two of them.
“That would be great,” she said quietly.
Emma wanted to ask him if he was okay working on a project he had started with Harry, but now was not the time. Maybe later.
Later. The possibilities of that word created a tiny thrill of expectation.
“So, my dears, what are you all doing for lunch?” Nana Beck joined them, her bright eyes flicking around the group.
Emma caught a gleam in the elderly woman’s eye as she zeroed in on Emma and Carter. Don’t blush. Don’t blush.
But the more aware she became of her reaction, the harder it became to suppress.
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