by Jillian Hart
It was the scent of roses. She could only think of one person who would bring her roses—Heath. There, on the pink Formica table lay a dozen pink roses, perfect petals cupped tight, as if they were getting ready to open. Her favorite kind, too, and there was no way he could know it. She caressed the silken buds and turned toward the sound of her son’s voice outside, blowing in with the wind.
“Wow, I hit it! I really did!”
Was he out there with Westin? Then she heard Heath’s rumbling baritone, warm with a chuckle. “You sure did. That was some hit. Do you think the neighbor lady will let us go into her yard to get your ball?”
Heath. Her heart wrenched seeing him for real standing in her yard, illuminated by the bold bright sunlight. He was unaware she was at the window, and his back was to her as he approached the chain-link fence. He looked fine in his usual jeans and T-shirt and with a baseball cap shading his eyes.
“Westin, is this your baseball?” Mrs. Nash’s jagged voice, made shaky by the first stages of Parkinson’s, was more beautiful for her kindness.
Amy could see her sidling up to the fence, holding a small white ball in the palm of her hand. The wind shifted, carrying away the strands of the conversation, but she was spellbound watching as Heath took the ball, smiled at Mrs. Nash, and then turned with the ball in hand, held the way a pitcher did, ready to throw.
“I’m ready! I’m ready!” Westin ran backward and held up something bulky in his hand—a new baseball mitt.
Heath sent the baseball sailing in a slow arc across the front of the lawn. Westin, instinctively keeping his eye on the ball, wove back and forth and then stepped back, holding the stiff glove up and the ball plopped right in.
“All right!” Westin turned toward the window, and then grinned when he spotted her behind the screen. “Did you see, Mom? Did you see?”
“I saw. That was excellent, baby.”
“I know!” Pleased with himself, he reminded her so much of her brother, a natural athlete and naturally confident.
What was Heath doing here? He probably had no idea what he was doing to her. What she’d been trying to deny ever since he’d walked into her life that stormy night. The gentle scent of tea roses filled her kitchen and brought tears to her eyes, because she didn’t know how she was going to hold onto her heart now that he’d come back.
“Mom! Mom!” Westin pounded up to the door and used both hands to shade his eyes so he could see her through the mesh screen. He was out of breath, wheezing a little, but his face was rosy from playing and, she hoped, happiness. “Me and Mr. Murdock are so thirsty, we’re gonna dry up like this. Whoosh!” He flickered his fingers, as if what he was saying was perfectly clear.
“Well, I certainly don’t want you and Mr. Murdock to go whoosh.”
“Like dried-up dirt!” As if he were choking, Westin made a fake gagging sound, because he was in such a good mood and he knew it would make her laugh.
Careful to keep her eyes averted, she retreated to the fridge and pulled out two cans of black cherry soda and a pitcher of sun tea. “Can you take a glass of ice tea out for Mr. Murdock?”
“It’s Heath.” There he was, on the step behind Westin, shading his eyes, too, with both hands. Oh, he looked good. With the sun burnishing him, he looked younger, bolder. Brighter. “I’m a great fan of black cherry cola.”
“Mom! Me and Mr. Murdock, we’re alike! We both like baseball and we both drink cherry pop! And look! Look what he got me. It’s a real baseball glove, for T-ball! And I can catch real good with it! You saw, right?”
“I saw.”
Heath stood in the background, hands fisted at his hips, so invincible and stoic it was hard to read his emotions. She needed to be realistic. He’d probably come back just to say hello, like so many of the customers in the diner had asked him to. That was all. It would be smart to hold back her heart.
But she feared it was too late. “Westin, did you say thank-you for the glove?”
“Yeah! Ooh, thanks for the pop!” He loped away, feet pounding, confident that she’d come to watch.
She pushed the screen door open. Heath hadn’t moved; he was standing on the cement walkway that cut through the middle of her lawn. Petunias brushed his shoes in bright, splashing colors and it was strange to have him here, in the middle of her yard, when she’d tried so hard to banish him from her thoughts. From her dreams.
She gripped the iron railing and she didn’t remember the stairs or her feet padding on the concrete. Only that she came to a stop in front of him. He towered over her, blocking the sun and, standing in his shadow, she could no longer deny the truth in her heart. He was the one. The one who would be her one true love. Forever.
And he wasn’t hers to keep.
“Thank you for the lovely flowers.”
“And you look even lovelier.” He laid his hand against her face, cradling her tenderly.
She pressed into his touch as the shine of his soul moved through hers. There was no more darkness or grief. Only hope.
He’d faced his past. She could feel it. He could go back to his old life, or maybe a new one somewhere else, a dedicated surgeon and such a very good man. He deserved all the happiness he could find.
It took all her dignity to keep her voice steady and her hopes from crashing to the ground. “It’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t you stay for the meal, as our treasured friend of the family?”
“You’re fooling yourself, if you think the reason I’m standing here is friendship. I don’t want to be your friend.”
Her bottom lip trembled.
Yeah, he knew what she was feeling. He felt the same. As if he was taking a step off the northern rim of the Grand Canyon and looking at the distant rocky floor beneath him. And stepping into thin air, anyway, knowing he was going to fall. But he had faith.
“I’ve come for you and your son.” Tender love rose through him until he was so full he could hardly speak. But he’d gone through a lot to get to this point in his life, and he was going to do this right. “I know you’ve been hurt before, and you don’t want to trust any man like that again. But, Amy, you are the blessing I thought I’d never find. If you agree to be my wife, I vow to cherish you above all others. If you marry me, I will never hurt you, never betray you, never leave you.”
This couldn’t be happening. Surely this was a dream. She had to be hallucinating or something, but Heath’s hand against her cheek trembled, and she could feel his genuine love for her, soul-deep and everlasting.
It was the same love she had for him in her soul. “You came back here to propose to me?”
“Not empty-handed.” He pulled a ring from his pocket. A rich gold band with a big center-cut stone. Brilliant and perfect and probably expensive. “Amy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? To honor and cherish for the rest of my life?”
“Oh, yes!” Tears burned in her eyes as she leaped up to hug him, holding him tight. So very tight. Joy lifted her up as Heath wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the step and kissed her long and sweet.
Her soul sighed, complete.
As he slipped the ring on her finger, she could see a glimpse of their future. Of happy days just like this with the breeze whispering through the trees and the sun smiling down on them together. As a happy family.
As she followed her son up the front steps, she remembered to give thanks for this unexpected blessing. The sweetest of them all. Heath took her hand, kissed her cheek and they went into the house together.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for choosing Sweet Blessings. It was such a joy to return to THE MCKASLIN CLAN. Cousin Amy, the youngest of her family, is a single mom who works hard to provide for her small son. She’s given up on believing that there are men who are noble, strong and faithful in this world. Until Heath Murdock wanders into her family’s café for a late-night meal. She recognizes in him a great wound. With God’s help, both Amy and Heath discover that true love can heal even the greatest sorrow.
Wishing you the sweetest of blessings,
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8392-7
SWEET BLESSINGS
Copyright © 2005 by Jill Strickler
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*The McKaslin Clan
