The block guard checked each envelope out, gave Mrs. Mohr a nod of the head, and as the guard handed them to Sara, Sara watched the woman walk away—head held high.
“Is she for real?” she asked the man.
He wouldn’t answer.
Two days later, Sara started upon the letters. By her third letter, she was crying so hard the woman next to her cell had shared her box of tissues. Such a thing was unheard of when stuck in prison for six years. The tissues hadn’t come without payment. It wasn’t her time of the month, and she surely could stink for the few remaining hours she had inside this hell hole just to blow her nose properly.
Sara gave the woman her deodorant and full box of feminine products for a lousy box of tissues.
The date on the first letter was one week after her arrival at the gates of Hell.
My Dearest Sara,
How do I begin to tell you what I should have while I still had you in my arms? While I could still kiss your lips, and know life was good and kind? How can I keep living this lie, without you here to share my life?
I quit the Church. Perhaps I have quit God as well. I thought you should know this, before someone else tells you.
With love in my heart,
Christian
They were all in order. In fact, there was a letter for every month she’d been incarcerated. Not a single one of them had been mailed, though put into envelope and a stamp attached. Still, he kept writing them. He just never mailed any of them.
By the fifth letter, Sara understood why they were never mailed. He could not forgive himself for what he did to her. Christian had been the one to turn her in, well before that man entered her motel room.
Letter twelve explained how a year without her was too much to bear. Letter twenty-four was read three times over, just to make sense of all she’d lost.
Letter thirty-six, he asked her to marry her. Of course, never having received any such letter, how was she to know he’d felt this way.
Everything in his heart and head had been penned onto paper. Every secret and lie a man could ever hold was openly confessed. The letters seemed as if Christian had kept a journal he’d wanted no one to actually see. He may well have wrote them all, signed them With Love, even placed the stamped to the upper corner, but if not sending them, how the devil could she have known the truth?
Letter forty-eight he asked her to marry him—again.
Once a year, every twelve letters, Christian wrote this request onto paper.
She’d made it through all his letters before the day of her release. There were six shy of a full seven years.
By the morn, Sara would be a free woman. She lay on her cot contemplating this fact. Freedom was going to be hard on her. She left the outside world without possessions. She had nowhere to go. She had no money saved. The only clothes she would now have would be those she’d placed into a paper bag and then handed over to prison guards six years prior.
Freedom was quite terrifying to Sara. She rolled over and started rereading the last letter he wrote her as the tears struggled for continual release.
My dearest Sara,
By now, you’ll have received all of my initial requests for your hand in marriage. I wonder, and wait for your answer. I wonder, and I wait for you.
God left me for a brief while. I have found him again, and hope only that you can say the same, gaining peace in the heart.
Dearest Sara, can you please find it in your heart to forgive my terrible sin against you?I have asked this of you for quite some time, and yet hear nothing in return. If you have, or even can, you know where to find me.
Love in my heart,
Christian.
She set the letter upon her chest once it was fully read. Then, she fell asleep, waiting for the sun to rise.
Four hours later, Sara Ruby’s cell door opened. The released weight from her lungs stung as she walked out of prison a free woman.
He was waiting for her by the gates. At first, she didn’t recognize him. He’d changed, as much as she had. There were shadows under his eyes where none had been before. He looked thin, almost as if not eating properly or still chowing down on microwave dinners. His clothing was not as tailored or as neat as before. He’d aged.
Then again, she hadn’t brushed her teeth in nearly a week, had on only a brown sweatshirt and blue jeans too big for her slender frame, and sold her hairbrush for a bag of potato chips five days ago. Surely she looked no better than he.
He stepped forward as the gates closed. He’d been leaning against his car.
Sara didn’t want to go to him just yet. She didn’t know what to say to this man. She didn’t know how to react to the memory of what they did in that motel room . . . and the hours after it. Thankfully, she hadn’t gotten pregnant by the selfish acts.
Christian made the decision for her by moving toward her. Once a mere foot from her, and smelling so damn good it melted her heart, he put his hand to her arm, guided her into his embrace, and kissed her as though nothing had ever come between them.
Sara backed away and slapped him as hard as she could across his face. Seconds later, her tears fell as he pulled her into his arms yet again.
“I know I deserved that. But do not fight me any longer, Sara.”
She could not help but fight a man who had made the last six years of her life truly miserable. She put her hand between them and tried to push him away.
Christian wouldn’t let her gain the freedom her body physically demanded.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you here?” The tears fell steadily from her eyes.
“I’m here because I love you. I am here . . . because you need me. I am here because . . .”
She never let him finish. She placed her lips against his and kissed his mouth with six full years of passion bottled up inside her. She wanted to leave him breathless and begging for more. She wanted this man to feel exactly how she’d felt, knowing his touch would be lost for so bloody damn long. She wanted Christian to tell her life was going to be good again. She did not want him to lie to her and say he hadn’t married that Tina woman.
Sara pulled back. “Your wife finally gave me your letters.”
“My what?” He seemed confused.
“Your wife. She came to me three days ago and gave me these.” Sara pulled from her paper bag the manila envelopes. She tried to hand them back to him, yet Christian only smiled, shaking his head in refusal toward taking the envelopes from her fingers.
“Sara, my darling, I’m not married.”
“Well then, your ex-wife.” Her tone caustic, as her heart broke into pieces thinking of him with another woman these last six years, after spending one incredible moment with her.
Of course, this was selfish and foolish on her part. No man would wait six years.
“I haven’t married anyone since . . .” he stalled on. “Well, I am not married to anyone. Nor have I been with a woman for quite some time.”
“The woman who gave me these said her name was Tina Mohr,” she waspishly construed.
“And you thought her to be my wife?” He laughed.
Sara nodded. “She looked your type. And she didn’t say otherwise.”
He smiled again. “Did she tell you she was my wife?”
“Well, um, no, not exactly in those actual words.”
“And you hadn’t put any thought to her being my sister-in-law?” Christian’s cocked brow suddenly mocked her terrible mistake.
“Your sister-in-law?”
“Yes, Sara. Tina is my sister-in-law. She is married to my youngest brother.”
“You never said you had any brother.”
“I never said much to you about anything, had I?”
“No. You did not.” In fact, they’d not been together long enough to start explaining details of family history.
“And I never told you what should have been said when I had you in my grasp,” he admitted.
“Such as?”
His answer was qu
ick. “I love you.”
Sara shook her head, denying this. “You can’t love me.”
“Why the bloody Hell not?”
“I . . .”
He stood tall before her eyes. “By God’s commanding hand, Sara, if you dare say it is because you shouldn’t be loved, I will smack you so hard you’ll see the edge of Heaven first hand!”
She gave him a slight shrug of her shoulders to state it mattered not a hill of beans to her. “No one ever has. I just figure it best no one ever does.”
He looked her in the eyes. Quietly, he offered, “I have . . . and do.”
Her tone was anything but quiet when she openly demanded, “Have you?”
“Yes, Sara. I do love you.” Again, he looked her in the eyes. “I always will love you.”
“You don’t even know me!”
“I know enough about you to be aware that how I feel can’t be changed.”
“No one can know enough about another to place heartfelt emotion into it. We were together less than a week. Physically, we were together only once. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I do believe I have not seen your face in nearly seven years.”
Since he’d not been at her trial, that time apart added up quickly.
“And yet you just kissed me as though we made love only yesterday,” he ruled.
Okay. The man had a real point there. She did kiss him as if they’d been lovers.
“Can you take me away from here?” she suddenly asked.
“So you can make love to me again?”
“No! So we can have this conversation without witnesses dressed in police uniform. So I can take my first real shower that isn’t being watched by others. And so I can get as far from this place as possible.”
She watched Christian check for anyone within earshot. There was no one. They were quite alone on the sidewalk in front of the prison.
“Who’s going to hear our conversation, Sara?”
“Please, Christian?”
He smiled, giving in. “Get in the car.”
She nearly dove into the front seat. Once inside, she touched the smooth leather. She played with the fancy buttons. She cranked the air-conditioning without permission.
“Are you done playing with my car?” he chuckled.
“That depends,” she informed him. “Are you done with the twenty questions?”
Christian turned on his seat and stared at her face. “I have only one more question to ask you, Sara Ruby. But it will have to wait until I have taken you as far from this place as can be possible in one day.”
He started the engine, pulled from the curb, and wouldn’t tell her where this was.
Sara didn’t care where. As long as it was many miles from the last six years of her life, she wouldn’t argue against it.
She never put thought to his intended destination as being a Church.
Chapter Twenty-two
Sara refused to get out of the car.
At first, she thought it a badly made joke by a man she hadn’t seen in seven years; although after having read his letters she felt as if she’d known Christian a near lifetime.
Why would he do this to her? Why would he pick her up on her day of release, only to punish her by bringing her straight to the steps of his church?
His name was on the sign outside. It wasn’t the same church as before. Sara knew it wouldn’t be. He’d quit his first. He even quit God for a while, since he stated this as so in one of his letters.
This was his new beginning—perhaps as much as it was Sara’s new beginning. Still, she wouldn’t get out of his car.
He held out his hand. Sara refused to take it.
“I can stand here all day,” he told her.
“I can sit here all day, far longer than you can stand. I’ve nowhere else to go.” She folded her arms across her chest. Stubborn pride and refusal to cooperate held her firmly to her convictions. No way, no how, was she stepping foot inside a church. Not today; perhaps no other day within the next five hundred years—suspected apocalypse coming or not.
Christian kept a firm hand held out. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask of you.”
Five minutes inside a church would physically kill her. Very slowly, she turned her head and glared. “Why are you doing this to me? Haven’t I been through enough?”
“Why are you so afraid to go inside a church?”
“Ah, yes. There you are. The man who only asks another question and never truly answers one asked to him. I’d been wondering when he would come out to play.”
Christian smarted, “And I’ve been wondering when the real Sara would show up.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me? The real Sara?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “The real Sara. The woman who I know gives life a punch in the face, a middle finger if it suits her fancy, and a hard swift kick in the groin just for spite.”
“I don’t . . . ,” she started to say, then paused.
“You do, Sara. You might want to do everything in your power to deny this, but you’re one hell of a fighter when you feel it’s warranted.”
“If I am so terrible a person then why did you pick me up today?” she ground out.
“I never said you were terrible.”
“Your kind words about my character have explicitly stated that character as questionable.” She made it sound as nasty and tart as she could muster.
Christian’s left hand was set on the top of her open door. His right hand again held out to her. “Five minutes. I promise.”
“And then you’ll take me away from this place?”
“And then I will take you to Heaven and back if that is what you wish.”
His grin didn’t help his cause, however.
She felt as if she was making a deal with the devil instead of sharing five short minutes with one of God’s own, yet she cautiously placed her hand into his.
Hand in hand, they walked toward the door. Christian opened the glassed panel for her, set his palm to the small of her back, and guided her into the darkened interior. Although it was sunny outside, the inside of the church was dim and smelling old.
“Nice place you have,” she smarted. The sound of her voice echoed throughout the empty building. “Bring all your dates here?”
He was still holding her hand. Christian gave it a quick squeeze. “You don’t have to try so hard Sara.”
“Try what?” She was trying her best to get his goat, but every attitude and unkind word brushed right off the saintly man.
“Being nasty,” he ruled. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re angry. I know that what we had will have to be found again.” He moved them toward the pulpit.
Sara dragged her feet. She sure as hell did not want to go up front. It seemed too eerie to be inside an empty church. But since it was a Thursday, not many folks would be gathering here at this time of day. They were out sinning so they could be forgiven for those sins come Sunday morning—as always.
“I’m not trying to be nasty, and you are down to three minutes, Reverend.”
He gave her an easy smile. “Then I guess I had better get on with it.”
“Get on with what?”
He smiled again. With slight pressure, he turned her to face him. They stood facing each other in front of the huge cross of the crucified Jesus.
“Sara Ruby, from the moment you bumped your ass into mine, you have been stuck in my heart. What I did to you seven years ago to shove you out of it has kept my heart damaged and unhealed. I know I should have said this to you back then. Perhaps it is too late to say it to you now. But I must. And it must be said here.”
Sara’s eyes widened. She had no clue to where this was all going. Christian’s hands had her trapped. She could not escape or hide, as she wished to do.
“I love you, Sara. I asked you to marry me three times. This will be my fourth, and last. If you say no I’ll have to leave it at that and let you walk away. I’ll let you be alone . . . and very lonely, as I have been for most of my l
ife.”
“Way to really sweep a girl off her feet, Reverend. Sure you don’t want to add if I say ‘no’ the gates of Hell will swallow me up.”
Her eyes widened even more when he started to chuckle.
He’d never actually asked her to marry him. He’d written the question onto paper as love letters. Letters of which were never sent. Technically, this would be the first time she ever heard it.
“Okay. So never in actual heard words . . . but my broken heart asked.” Christian then gave her a gentle smile.
Sara’s knee-jerk reaction was to try to pull from his grasp.
Christian held firm to her hands, not allowing the escape.
“There is only one soul in our lives that we should share our love with; one soul, who God had made for each of us. As young fools we will take whoever turns our fancy, call that person The One, then spend the rest of our lives unhappy and unfulfilled. I know. I did.”
Sara was about to comment on this, but Christian stopped her words with the shake of his head. “Please, Sara? Let me finish.”
She bit down on her lower lip. When said that way, what choice did she have?
“I brought you here to ask you to marry me. I brought you here to tell you that you are The One. I know you’re going to do everything in your power to tell me otherwise, argue against it, try proving me wrong somehow.” He smiled, then continued. “And I know you will try your damnedest to tell me we don’t know each other—at all.”
This surprised her, because these were the exact thoughts running inside her head.
“And though we spent less time together than any . . .”
Sara yanked her hand from his and held it up in front of his face. “No. Don’t you dare finish that, or tell me anymore of whatever you have running in your head.”
Christian was about too, but Sara stepped forward and kissed him. She molded her mouth to his. Her hand went to his chest and her fingers splayed across the muscle beneath his shirt.
Christian’s hands fell to his sides, likely too startled to do anything with them.
Satiated, she pulled back and watched him lick his lips. He gave her a genuine smile as thank you for the kiss. The smile then turned sinful.
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