From This Day Forward (Heartland Homecoming)

by Irene Hannon

  “And then Liz’s call came out of the blue. I’m more sorry than I can say that our reunion came at your expense. I wish I could erase the night of the shooting from your memory. But I’m grateful that it brought us together, because it gave me a chance to demonstrate to you how much I’ve changed. And I’m still changing, Cara. For the better, I hope.”

  A muscle clenched his jaw, and the pressure of his hand tightened on hers. “I’m not sure, were the situation reversed, that I could do what I’m asking of you. But I’m hoping that you’ll give me another chance. If you do, I promise you that our worse days are behind us, and that from this day forward I’ll do everything I can to make every tomorrow we share better than the one before. I love you, Cara. And I always will.”

  As Sam finished, Cara had to blink to keep her tears at bay. She dropped her chin, focusing on the grain pattern in Marge’s oak table, the irregular lines representing the tree’s growth through the years. Sam’s honesty and candor, his willingness to put his heart on the line, touched her in a profound way. His contrition seemed real and sincere.

  Nor did she doubt the truth of anything he’d said. His actions over the past few weeks, from his invitation to visit, to the suite he’d prepared for her, to the porch swing, to his presence at the police interview, spoke of his sorrow and his desire to atone for his mistakes. And tonight, he’d found the courage to put into words the feelings he held deep inside.

  The choice was hers. Return, alone, to her old life in Philly, or leave the past behind and take a second chance with the man who’d stolen her heart.

  For weeks, Cara had known that this exchange was coming. And she’d hoped that when it did, her decision would be clear. But all at once, fear gripped her, the bad memories a powerful deterrent to taking the kind of risk Sam had asked of her.

  “If you need to think about this, I understand.” Sam’s tone was careful and measured, yet when she looked at him she saw the turmoil, the uncertainty, the fear in his eyes. “But I wanted you to know how I felt.”

  Giving a jerky nod, Cara moistened her dry lips. “If you’d asked me this three or four months ago, I would have turned my back and walked away. But the shooting and the panic attacks gave me some sense of the trauma you suffered.

  “Since I’ve been here, I’ve also seen evidence of the changes you talk about. You seem to lead a much more balanced life now, with a better sense of priorities. You remind me a lot of the man I fell in love with years ago. Only better.”

  A brief flicker of hope flared to life in Sam’s eyes as she spoke, but he remained silent.

  “I believed in the vows we took when we got married, Sam. I still do. But when I walked away, I didn’t know you anymore. And I was afraid. I’d seen you short-tempered and annoyed through the years, but not out of control or violent. That night you threw the goblet at the wall still scares me.”

  Never had Sam regretted that fleeting loss of control more than he did at this moment. It had been the sole occasion when he’d expressed his frustration and rage in a physical way. But he hadn’t realized the extent of her fear until her revelation earlier in the week.

  “Those days are long past, Cara. It was an aberration, and it hasn’t happened again. I’m sorry that I frightened you. I would never, ever have done anything to hurt you.”

  As doubt and indecision pinched her features, disappointment welled up in Sam. He’d hoped she’d throw herself into his arms and tell him that all was forgiven, that she loved him, too, and wanted to start over. But that kind of thing only happened in romance novels, he supposed. In real life, longstanding hurts and betrayal weren’t mitigated by a simple apology and profession of love. She needed to process all he’d said, work through her feelings. And he couldn’t blame her. He was asking her to radically alter her life, to trust a man who had betrayed her. It was a huge step, and he needed to give her space.

  Hiding his sense of letdown, Sam checked his watch. “It’s late. Why don’t we talk again after you’ve had a chance to think this over?”

  She gave a slow nod. “I think that’s a good idea. I wish I could give you an answer right now, but…” Her words trailed off.

  “I’m asking a lot, Cara. I know that. You need to be sure about whatever you decide. But can I ask you to think about one more thing?” Her hand remained nestled between his, and he hoped that was a good sign. “Reverend Andrews said in his sermon a few weeks ago that good marriages don’t happen without a lot of work. I promise you that I’m committed to doing the work this time. I’ll never be the world’s best communicator, but I promise that I’ll never shut you out again. I want to share everything with you, the good and the bad. And I want to grow old with you, sitting on that porch swing at the house as we watch our children…and grandchildren.”

  Startled, Cara stared at him. “I didn’t think you wanted children anymore.”

  “I told you, my priorities have shifted. When I saw you with Jenna, I realized how much you love children. And what a wonderful mother you’d be. And as I’ve treated children over the past few months and watched them interact with their parents, I’ve begun to realize how special the gift of parenthood is. I’d like to share that with you. I was too selfish in the past to understand that the so-called sacrifices of parenthood aren’t sacrifices at all, but opportunities to express love.”

  Cara gave him a searching look. “You can’t decide to have children to please someone else, Sam.”

  He’d been afraid she’d come to that conclusion. But that wasn’t his motivation at all. He’d been thinking more and more about the importance of family these past weeks. Yes, he hoped his decision would make her happy. But he was doing it as much for himself as for her. Having children would enrich both their lives…and the lives of their children, he hoped.

  “I’m not doing it to please you, Cara. It’s what I want, too.”

  A glimmer of joy sparked to life on her face, but it quickly gave way to a poignant sadness. “We weren’t successful years ago, Sam. There’s no guarantee we would be now.”

  “Our lives have changed a great deal. In the past, we were both stressed and overworked. That’s not conducive to achieving a pregnancy. It might be different now. And if it doesn’t happen, I’m open to adoption.”

  Tonight had been one surprise after another. The old Sam wouldn’t even have considered that option.

  “I’ll sleep on it,” Cara promised.

  With a nod, he released her hand and stood. “I think we should call it a night.”

  He was right. She rose, flipped off the lights and led the way to the kitchen door, locking it behind her. And as Sam followed her to her car, she had a feeling that this was another one of those nights when sleep would be a long time coming.

  Wiping a weary hand down his face, Sam turned into his driveway. He’d been in Rolla since early morning, dealing with two crises at the hospital, and now it was twilight. If things were going to go haywire, he wished they’d picked a different week. After his emotional discussion with Cara last night, he’d slept less than three hours. She hadn’t seemed to fare much better, given the restless noises he’d heard from her room throughout the night.

  He’d just drifted off when the phone rang at six-thirty, summoning him to the hospital. Cara’s room had been quiet as he dressed, and he hoped she’d managed to fall asleep at last. He’d left a note for her on the counter, and tried calling when he’d had a couple of quick breaks. But she hadn’t answered. Perhaps she’d been out in the garden, he speculated.

  As he parked and headed for the house, a sudden, strong gust of warm wind whipped past, and he felt a spattering of rain. The weather service’s prediction of a storm seemed to have been accurate, for once. He picked up his pace, noting with surprise that the windows in the house were all dark. Odd. Cara tended to turn on a lot of lights at night.

  When he stepped inside and flipped on the kitchen light, apprehension rippled through him. The absolute quiet in the house suggested that no one was home. Afte
r calling Cara’s name twice without a response, that suspicion was confirmed.

  Frowning, he planted his fists on his hips and scanned the counter, thinking she might have left a message for him. But the only note in sight was the one he’d scrawled this morning, shifted into a different position. Yet her car was in the driveway.

  With an effort, he held his growing concern in check. There was probably a very good explanation for her absence. She could be with Marge, he reasoned. The two had become good friends. Reaching for the phone, he punched in the number of the inn, needing the reassurance that she was okay. But after three rings, he got the answering machine.

  Beyond Marge, he had no idea who else to call. Cara had become acquainted with a number of people in town, but she’d been too busy with the restaurant opening to cement any real friendships. Her social life was pretty nil at this point.

  Frustrated, Sam raked his fingers through his hair. In light of the fact that her car was here, she had to be with someone. Maybe Marge. There was no need to panic. It was only eight o’clock. She could walk through the door any minute.

  But by eight-thirty, twilight had given way to darkness and the alarm he was trying to keep in check escalated. It wasn’t like Cara to be inconsiderate. During all the years he’d known her, she’d always called if she was going to be delayed, or left a note if she had to run an unexpected errand. She’d done neither tonight. Since she knew he’d be worried by her absence, he couldn’t believe that she’d neglect to leave some information about her plans. Unless something was wrong. A wave of panic washed over him, and without further debate he picked up the phone and dialed Dale Lewis’s number.

  “Sheriff? Sam Martin.” A tremor ran through his voice, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday night, but I’ve been in Rolla most of the day and when I got home half an hour ago Cara was gone. Her car’s in the driveway, however. The thing is, it’s not like her to wander around at night. Darkness has a tendency to trigger panic attacks.”

  “Have you checked with any of her friends?”

  “I called the inn. Marge is the only person she knows well in town. There’s no answer there.” A flash of light ricocheted through the house, followed by a crash of thunder. The few drops of rain Sam had felt earlier suddenly turned into a downpour, and his grip on the phone tightened. “I don’t want to overreact, but I’m worried about her.”

  “I understand. Let me put in a few calls and see if there’s any news that might have some bearing on this. It could be that…”

  As Dale continued to speak, another flash illuminated the room. At first, Sam thought it was lightning again. But this one had followed more of a pattern, he realized. He walked to the front window and lifted the curtain, watching as Cara emerged from Marge’s car and dashed toward the house, dodging the rain.

  “Sheriff? Looks like it was a false alarm,” he interrupted the other man. “Marge just dropped off Cara in front of the house.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “Sorry I bothered you.”

  “No problem. That’s why I’m here. Don’t ever hesitate to call if you have a concern. Good night.”

  As Sam continued to grip the phone, Cara entered in a gust of wind and rain, pushing the door shut behind her. Droplets of water clung to her fiery hair, and dark splotches of moisture peppered her clothing. When she spotted him in the living room, she shook her head and smiled. “What a night!”

  Her lighthearted, carefree tone riled him, and his relief morphed into anger in a heartbeat. Didn’t she know that her unexplained absence would wreak havoc with his peace of mind? He didn’t even want to think about some of the dire scenarios he’d concocted as he’d paced the house before calling the sheriff.

  “Where have you been?”

  At his grim face, her smile faltered. “At church. Working on decorations for the seventy-fifth anniversary celebration.”

  “You might have let me know.”

  “I left a note.”

  “Where?”

  “On the kitchen table.”

  “It wasn’t there when I got home.”

  “That’s where I left it.”

  “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I even called the sheriff.” He pinned her with an incensed gaze and lifted the phone to illustrate.

  His anger snuffed out the last spark of happiness on her face. “I told you, I left a note.”

  As he took a step toward her, he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. Watched as she took an involuntary step back. Checked his advance as her words began to register. “You left a note?”

  “Yes. On the table.” Her tone was subdued now. Sad, almost.

  Without another word, Sam backtracked to the kitchen. The table was empty. But when he widened his search, he caught sight of the corner of a white sheet of paper peeking out from behind the trash can. Striding across the room, he retrieved it and scanned the scrawled message.

  “Sam: Went with Marge to work on decorations for the church’s anniversary celebration. Should be home by nine.”

  Slowly Sam exhaled. The wind must have blown the note off the table when he entered, wedging it between the trash can and the wall. His worry had been for naught. Nor had Cara disregarded his feelings.

  Now he had a bigger problem to deal with. A few moments ago, as he’d confronted her in the living room, he’d seen her sudden fear. His outburst must have reminded her of the way he’d behaved after the attack, he realized. She’d told him again, just last night, that he had sometimes frightened her. And that she couldn’t live with that fear. For her, uncontrolled anger was a deal breaker.

  Closing his eyes, Sam prayed that Cara would realize that his behavior tonight had been driven by concern for her. By love. By fear that she was in trouble. That it was an entirely different kind of anger than the frustrated fury he’d experienced after the attack. Tonight, his anger had been reaction, not rage.

  Prepared to plead his case, Sam returned to the living room. But it was empty.

  Moving down the hall, he raised his hand and gave a tentative knock on her door. “Cara? I found the note. It must have blown off the table. I’m sorry for getting angry. Can we talk about this?”

  The silence stretched so long that Sam wondered if she was going to ignore him. But at last she spoke.

  “Not tonight, Sam.”

  The weariness and resignation in her voice twisted his gut, and he leaned his forehead against her closed door. He’d be willing to beg for her forgiveness, if he thought that would do any good. But actions spoke louder than words, and he’d blown it tonight, as evidenced by Cara’s withdrawal.

  He could only pray that her retreat wasn’t permanent.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Now that’s a smart move, weeding before the heat becomes too oppressive.”

  From her kneeling position beside Sam’s perennial garden, Cara looked up and shaded her eyes. “Reverend Andrews! This is a surprise.” She rose, taking the helping hand he extended, and as she brushed off the knees of her jeans she checked her watch. Eight-thirty. “You’re out and about early.”

  “It’s never too early to do the Lord’s work.”

  Curious, she tilted her head and studied him. “Are you here for professional reasons?”

  “Partly. But also doing a favor for a friend. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. I know it’s more the hour for orange juice, but how about some lemonade on the back porch?”

  “I could be tempted.”

  “At least lemonade is an innocent vice, if you have to have one.”

  “True.” A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I’ll meet you in back.”

  A few minutes later, when Cara stepped out onto the porch, she found that the minister had claimed one of the wicker chairs Sam had added a couple of weeks ago. Handing him his drink, she scooted onto the swing.

  “I always did like porch swings.” He took a sip of his lemonade, the wicker creaking as he leaned back. “
We had one when I was a child.”

  “So did we. Sam put this up not long after I arrived.”

  “Speaking of Sam…he’s why I’m here.”

  Caution warred with speculation on her face. She hadn’t had any contact with Sam since his attempt to talk with her through her closed door last night, and she’d heard him leave far earlier than usual this morning. In a way, she was glad she’d had some time alone. His behavior last night had thrown her, and she’d needed to sort through her reaction.

  Her hour in the garden had been enlightening. As she’d weeded, enjoying the warm caress of the sun on her back, she’d come to two conclusions. First, her retreat last night had been a Pavlovian response to Sam’s anger. It was what she’d been conditioned to do by experience. She’d reacted, the way a knee jerks by reflex when tapped with a hammer, rather than using critical thinking to analyze what had happened.

  Second, when she had done some analysis, she’d recognized that Sam’s anger had been driven by fear for her safety. He hadn’t simply lashed out at her because she was a convenient target, as had been the case in the past.

  Nevertheless, the glint of fury in his eyes had unnerved her. No amount of logic or critical thinking seemed able to mitigate that. It had reminded her too much of the man she’d had to tiptoe around for months, never sure when the next explosion would occur, or what would trigger it.

  “What about Sam?” Cara asked, taking a slow sip of her lemonade.

  “He stopped by this morning to chat.” At her curious expression, the minister smiled. “He’s been doing that quite a lot, in fact, since you came to town and he began attending services with you. We’ve had a number of discussions about faith and the Bible. He asks good questions.”

  More surprises, Cara reflected. Until yesterday, Sam had accompanied her to every Sunday service, and she’d been praying that his attendance would lead him to a closer relationship with the Lord. In that regard at least, it seemed her prayers had been answered.