by Dana Mentink
She jerked, mouth open.
Had he blown it? Scared her right into flight? Misunderstood a woman as he had countless times before? Do it. Say it, something deep inside him urged. “Mia, I’m not traditional father material, and you are an amazing mother who doesn’t need any help parenting, but all my life I’ve been waiting for a partner to put down roots with.”
She blinked, staring at him.
“You want roots?”
He sighed. If you’re going to bury yourself, might as well go all the way. “No. I want you. And Gracie. And the life I know we could have together.”
Silence.
“I’ve done bad things, Mia, things I can’t sponge away or keep hidden, not from you. You know the good and bad of me and if you feel at all like you could love me, I would like to build a life with you and Gracie.” He said it louder than he’d meant to. “I love you.”
She gripped his hands. “But I’ve been to jail.”
“Me, too.”
“My ex-husband was a drug dealer.”
“I know.”
“I have control issues and a stubborn daughter and I eat too many sweets and I have terrible handwriting.”
“I love you.”
Her expression remained frozen somewhere between amusement and something unidentifiable. Fear? Love?
“Dallas, I’m not sure what to say.”
“Say we can build a family together as slowly as you need it to happen. I’m not good at following rules, I don’t know how to make mac and cheese and I spend most of my time with a dog. But I’m patient. I’ve got that going for me.”
She smiled, lighting a fire in his belly. “Say you love me, too,” he choked out.
She leaned closed and stopped, her mouth a tantalizing half inch from his. “I love you, too, Dallas.”
Then there was warmth where he was cold, relief for his pain, and the sun triumphing over the floodwaters of his soul as he gathered her close.
Over the crush of joy, he became aware of a high-pitched noise, the squeals and laughter of Antonia and Gracie as they watched the proceedings from the car window. Juno added a robust bark.
He smiled and kissed her again.
* * *
Mia turned her face to the sun, relishing the warmth that drove away the last remnants of the storm some two weeks after Gracie’s rescue. Spanish Canyon and the entire county was an official disaster area according to the federal government. Efforts were underway for a massive cleanup. Mia was ready to begin her own restoration project.
Dallas looped his good arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head as they stared at the burned wreckage of Cora’s house. Gracie poked a stick into the various mudholes she was able to locate with Juno sniffing right along behind. “You sure you want to tackle this?” he said, gesturing to the ruined structure.
She snuggled into his side, careful not to put too much pressure on his shoulder. “I think Cora would have been pleased to see another house built here on the property she loved so much.”
“And the matchmaker in her would have appreciated the fact that we’re doing this together.”
“For our future.” Ours. The thought thrilled through her like the spring breeze. If all went well, the house would be built and the beautiful flower beds restored in time for their fall wedding. Closing her eyes, Mia could imagine the details. Gracie with her little basket of flowers, probably followed closely by a four-legged, hairy attendant. Antonia and Reuben would be there to add their heartfelt blessings along with Dallas’s friends from the Search and Rescue school where he had signed on to work indefinitely.
“Still,” Mia said, an ache in her throat. “I wish Cora was here to see it.”
“She’ll see it,” Dallas said. “And she’ll have the best view of all.”
“Dallas,” she said, turning to face him and marveling once again at the strength and gentleness she saw there. “This place was where I lost my dear friend. I thought I’d never come back.”
“And?”
“And now it’s the place where I am going to start my life over again. Pain and joy, all in one place.”
“Blessings are like that, I think.”
She kissed him, pressing him close, her future husband and irreplaceable blessing.
“Hiya,” Gracie said, coming over with her muddy stick. “I’m hungry.”
Mia laughed. “You’re always hungry.”
Dallas retrieved a package from the stash in his truck. He handed the pizza-flavored Goldfish crackers to Gracie. “Don’t feed too many to Juno,” he said, voice stern but eyes twinkling.
“Okay,” Gracie agreed.
“And don’t fill up before lunch,” Dallas said, taking one more item from the truck. He shook the blue box. “We’ll go back to the trailer you and your mom rented and I’m going to cook up some mac and cheese. This time, I’m following the directions.”
“Hooray,” Gracie squealed and Juno barked along with her. “But just in case, can Mommy help?”
Mia and Dallas laughed as Gracie raced off to chase a pair of butterflies.
“I dunno, Mr. Black,” Mia teased. “Rebuilding a house is one thing, but tackling mac and cheese?”
“Don’t worry,” Dallas said, sliding his arms around her again. “Even an old dog can learn new tricks.”
“That’s what they say.” She kissed him. “But I think I’ll stick around to help.”
His eyes reflected the light as the sun broke through the clouds. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from CRITICAL DIAGNOSIS by Alison Stone.
Dear Reader,
Floods, fires, famines, earthquakes! We live in a violent world prone to catastrophes. In this last book in the Stormswept series, Mia and Dallas must navigate floodwaters and the torrent of violence that follows in the wake of a decades-old crime. In real life, no matter what type of environment we live in, we’re all prone to dangers both external and spiritual. The only life preserver we can hang on to is our loving God who is our safety in the storm and our guarantee of salvation.
Friends, I hope you are swept along in the story and, as always, I am blessed that you spent some of your precious time reading my book. Feel free to contact me via my website at www.danamentink.com if you’d like to chat. There is also a physical address there if you prefer to correspond by letter.
God bless,
Questions for Discussion
Mia and Dallas both struggle with their previous choices. Is it possible to escape a difficult past? What advice can you offer someone who is crippled by past situations?
Dallas and Juno have a unique bond that surpasses dog/owner. Have you experienced such a bond with an animal? Explain.
Dallas and Mia are both hampered by fear in different ways. How does it impact their life choices?
Dallas has disrespect for rules. Do you know anyone like that? Describe them.
What kind of mother is Mia Sandoval?
Do you think Hector Sandoval has really repented? How is it possible to tell if a person’s repentance is sincere or a form of manipulation?
What was Dallas’s motivation for getting into gang life? Why do you think he stayed in it, in spite of his brother’s efforts to extricate him?
What is behind Dallas’s “restless urge to move on”?
Why do we so desperately cling to our own plans, even when they appear to crumble around us? Is there a better way?
Do you think Antonia did the right thing by hiring Dallas to keep watch over Mia without her knowledge? Why or why not?
Gracie believes her daddy is a bad man. How would you describe Hector Sandoval’s actions to his young daughter?
Wh
at spiritual battles do believers fight on a daily basis?
Why is it so hard to do things on our own? What does God have to say about this?
Mia is afraid to trust her choices and her judgments. Have you ever felt this way? What is the antidote for that fear?
What do you imagine the future holds for Mia, Dallas and Gracie?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.
You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.
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ONE
“Three Saturdays in a row.” James rested his hip against the desk in the cramped nurses’ station and met Lily’s gaze. His close-cropped hair made him look every bit the army captain he was. “I appreciate it. The patients appreciate it. It seems more and more people are counting on this clinic.” He tossed the medical chart on top of the pile, a satisfied smile on his handsome face. A day well spent. The chart teetered. Lily lunged to grab it. James did the same, his solid hand brushing against hers, but he was faster.
“Oh, boy—” Lily McAllister dipped her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to be around if those charts hit the floor and all the files scatter.” She stood and divided the pile in two, stacking them neatly next to one another. Stepping back, she planted her fists squarely on her hips. “There.”
James laughed, his white smile bright against his tanned skin. “Nancy would have my head on Monday. She already gives me a tongue-lashing when I file the charts. Apparently, I’m messing with her system. I guess it takes more than a month for the new guy to figure out the system. Even though I was the one who set up the system before I enlisted in the army. Go figure.”
Lily lifted her palms in an I-totally-had-nothing-to-do-with-it-if-the-files-get-messed-up gesture. “I’m just the weekend help.” She scooted out from the confined space and leaned her elbows on the counter. “It feels fantastic to escape the research lab and actually practice medicine. It’s been a long time.”
“I appreciate the help.” He lifted his eyebrows and bestowed his best persuasive smile on her. She had seen it before. “You on for next Saturday, too?” The free health-care clinic was obviously short on staff. While the man running it was obviously short on tact.
Mirroring his raised eyebrows, Lily slid off her stethoscope and slipped it into her bag. “I’m beginning to think you’re taking advantage of my good nature.”
A mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Never. Think of the fine people of Orchard Gardens who count on this clinic.” He leaned in closer. “Who count on you.”
“Captain James O’Reilly, is this how it works in the army? You say ‘jump’ and people ask how high?” She rested her chin on the heel of her hand.
“I’m not in the army now, am I?” He winked. “How about it? Next Saturday? Call it a date?”
Collapsing her arms on the counter, she dropped her forehead onto her arm. Lifting her gaze, she found him watching her. “Well,” she said with an air of being put upon, “since you asked so nicely.” A flicker of a smile teased the corners of her lips. She’d fail miserably as an actress. Good thing she had succeeded beyond her wildest hopes as a researcher. Regen, her research, was currently in clinical trials. She could finally breathe. She was this close to getting a treatment on the market for the disease that had killed her mother and afflicted her niece. It had been the culmination of years of hard work and the answer to a zillion prayers muttered into her wet, tearstained pillow. So it only felt right to give back to the small community where she had been afforded so much.
Lily tapped the counter with the palm of her hand. “I’ll make sure all the medicine cabinets in back are locked. You got the front doors?” They both had to be at James’s grandfather’s eightieth birthday party in a couple hours.
“Sure.” The single word came out clipped, as if he were biting back further comment.
Lily strode down the long corridor of Orchard Gardens Clinic. Once a stately Victorian, it had been converted into a medical practice by James’s parents, both physicians, when James was still learning how to color between the lines on the pages of his Bible-themed coloring book.
James had returned home to carry on the tradition after serving as a physician in the U.S. Army for the past several years. She wondered how long he’d have time for the clinic, considering the rampant rumors floating around town. Apparently, James was slotted to head Medlink, the pharmaceutical company his grandfather had founded. Many speculated the elder O’Reilly’s health was deteriorating.
The small town was short on physicians, but not on rumors.
She pushed open the last door on the right. The high-pitched creak and the chill from the air pumping out of the AC unit perched in the window made her skin prickle. Hurrying her pace, she secured the drug cabinets, turned off the printer and the AC. Her ears buzzed with deafening silence.
A banana peel in the garbage caught her eye. Unsure the janitor was scheduled over the weekend, she decided to tug out the liner and toss it into the Dumpster. If she didn’t, come Monday morning, a ripe banana would be a nasty surprise.
Voices reached her from the front of the clinic. A last-minute patient must have come in. She angled her head and noticed Mrs. Benson, who had been in earlier with her two-year-old granddaughter, Chloe, due to an ear infection. Perhaps the sweet child hadn’t settled down quickly enough for the elderly woman. Not wanting to disturb them, Lily headed toward the solid-steel door retrofitted for the building’s second life.
The clock marked the hour with a soft chime. Six o’clock. Butterflies flitted in her stomach. Dr. Declan O’Reilly was due to arrive at the party at eight. That meant she had to arrive before then or risk ruining the surprise—and Mrs. O’Reilly’s wrath. She hustled down the short flight of stairs. She twisted the thumb turn, releasing the dead bolt. The back door opened onto a small parking lot. For the briefest of moments, she tilted her face and basked in the warm summer sun.
She’d be locked out if she let the door slam. A broom rested against the back wall, a perfect wedge. She set it in place and then headed toward the Dumpster in the far corner of the lot.
A tall row of evergreens separated the clinic’s property from a squat row of brick apartment buildings. A car sped past on the country road out front, the boom-boom-boom from its car speakers vibrating through her.
Clamping her mouth shut, she grabbed the small, black door on the Dumpster with the tips of her fingers and pulled. The door slid in fits and starts, getting hung up in its tracks. Ugh. Flies and an acrid smell hovered over the steaming pile of trash. Her lungs screamed for fresh air. She tossed the bag inside. It landed with a squishy thud.
The deep hum of an engine idling near the apartments seeped into her consciousness. Backing away from the rancid Dumpster, she drew in a breath and peered through the branches. A beat-up, lime-green car with one of those do-it-yourself paint jobs was parked on the other side. Her pulse whoosh-whooshed in her ears, as if God whispered a warning.
Get back inside, where it’s safe.
Yet she dismissed her paranoia. The small town of Orchard Gardens was one of the safest towns in America to live. It said so on the quaint sign on the main road into town.
Yet instinct urged her on. She spun on her heel and hustled toward the back door of the clinic. The trees rustled and solid steps sounded on the hard earth behind her. Her gaze darted toward the tree line. Heat swept up her neck, her cheeks. A m
an, his baseball cap slung low on his forehead, strode toward her. The menacing expression on his hardened features annihilated any doubts. He was coming toward her.
Her vision narrowed.
Move faster.
Get inside.
Slam the door.
The words echoed over and over in her mind. The gravel at the edge of the parking lot crunched under his determined footsteps. Lily sprinted the remaining fifteen feet to the door. She didn’t care if she mistook his intentions. Better safe than sorry. She wouldn’t let him get inside the clinic. The news was saturated with pharmacies and clinics targeted by drug-crazed thugs.
Dear Lord, help me.
Without enough time to get inside and secure the door, she grabbed the broom and pushed her hip against it. The steel door slammed shut—locked—with an air of finality. A flush of tingles blanketed her scalp. Sweaty palms compromised her death grip on the broom handle. Determined not to be a victim, she braced her feet, squaring off with the thug. Her gaze shot to the side of the green clapboard house. She’d never make it around front. The wall of evergreens mocked her. The man bore down on her, his mouth curved into a sardonic grin.
Privacy was a double-edged sword.
Bracing herself against the door, she hiked her chin. “Hey,” she said, her commanding tone at odds with the knots twisting her insides. “What do you want? The clinic’s closed.” She adjusted her hands on the broom, trying to get a better grip. White dots danced in her vision, her system flooding with adrenaline.
The stocky man had dark, beady eyes under the visor of a Buffalo Bills cap. Scruffy whiskers grew in uneven patches on his jaw. Reaching around her, he yanked on the door handle. It didn’t budge. He pounded his fist on the door right over her head. She startled. His hat slanted back, revealing an unfamiliar symbol drawn with thick marker on the bill’s underside. He quickly pulled the hat down, shading his eyes.
