Borrowed Time

by Edie Claire

  Sarah felt as though the world had turned on its head.

  Your perspective—it’s distorted.

  "But I lied to you," she insisted. "I lied to you both."

  "That was annoying, yes," he agreed. "But we forgive you. Provided you cut it out."

  The tears were back again, hovering. Sarah had lost control of them. "I can’t believe that you and Rose…that you can know everything and still… I don’t deserve that from you. It’s too easy."

  Adam sat back from her a bit, studying her face with a melancholy expression. "Forgiveness is a wonderful thing, Sarah," he said quietly. "It’s a shame you’re not more familiar with it."

  Forgiveness.

  Sarah considered. Adam’s ability to forgive her had saved her life. Her inability to forgive herself had nearly cost it.

  Maybe there was something to all this theological mumbo jumbo, after all.

  Suddenly, inexplicably, Sarah felt herself smiling. The chill of her nightmare seemed finally vanquished. Her body felt oddly warm. "There seems to be a lot I'm not familiar with," she said slyly, catching Adam's eyes. "But I could learn, don't you think?"

  She had expected the implication of her words to please him. She did not expect that after his gorgeous brown eyes lit up like beacons, he would pull her to him with such momentum that they both fell back against her pillows.

  "Do you mean that?" he whispered, his face an inch from hers.

  She relaxed against him; her smile widening. Bliss. "If I say yes, will you kiss me?"

  She didn't have to say yes. He didn't seem able to wait. He kissed her with the same unbridled, heady passion he had succumbed to once before, and for several dizzying, heat-filled moments, she thought that—hospital bed or no—this time he might not stop, a prospect which didn't disturb her in the slightest.

  But he did stop. Suddenly, abruptly, and with no warning whatsoever, he wrenched himself apart from her, sat up, and turned away.

  She sat up with him; pressed herself to his side. The absence of him was agony. "Will you please," she said between halting breaths, "stop teasing me like that? A girl can only take so much!"

  He looked back at her, but didn't smile. His faced was flushed with heat, his eyes—much to Sarah's distress—radiated a queer sadness.

  "Adam," she said pointedly, with fear as much as frustration, "what is it? What's wrong with you? Or should I say, what else is wrong with me?"

  He shook his head; put a hand to her cheek. "Nothing's wrong with you," he answered roughly, winded. "It's just that… I've had a chance to think this through already. But you haven't. You've only been thinking in the short term. Looking at the long term… well… you might feel differently."

  Sarah's brow furrowed. The man was talking in riddles. He looked nervous as a school boy.

  "I haven’t been fair to you, Sarah," he said suddenly, standing up. "There are some things I should have explained to you before, but I… There is no excuse."

  Her stomach turned to lead. It was happening, exactly as she feared. She had known all along that Adam was the marrying kind; hadn't she also known that no man in his position could possibly consider someone like—

  "I know you think I’m a great catch," he continued, making a weak attempt at humor. "But you aren’t familiar enough with what I do to understand."

  He tried to catch her eyes. Sarah looked away.

  "I’m afraid I come with a very high price tag. It might not be fair, but it’s the way things are, and I can’t change it. I don’t have an ordinary job, Sarah. Being a minister's— Well, being with me means taking on an unofficial job you’d never get paid for. Making friends and setting up house, only to be moved to a new church every few years. Having well-meaning people pry into your personal affairs 24/7; sometimes publicly judging you. Living with just enough money to get by—never much more. Not to mention competing with a passion that consumes a great deal of my time and attention, including evenings and weekends."

  He paused. He returned to the bed and sat back down beside her. "I’m some salesman, aren’t I?" he said miserably. "I know. It’s a deal no sane woman would take. Even another Methodist. But for you, feeling like you do… I’m sorry, Sarah. I should have explained before."

  Sarah sat still, bewildered. He couldn't possibly be serious. Could he?

  He wasn’t telling her she wasn’t good enough. He was worried she didn’t want him enough. As if accepting him for who and what he was, tolerating a little minor aggravation and inconvenience along the way, was too much to ask of her.

  Her heart leapt in her chest—this time, in a good way.

  She pulled him back against her; kissed him gently on the cheek.

  "Adam," she chastised playfully, "Stop being ridiculous. Just tell me the truth. Do you really think I could make you happy? Me, as messed up as I am, with all my baggage and my inexperience with churches and my hundred and one other problems that would make any man with a neuron in his brain run as far away from me as he could possibly get?"

  His answer was immediate. "Yes. Absolutely."

  A warm joy surged within her, sending a fiery heat to the very tips of her fingers. She was about to thoroughly pounce on him when his qualification stopped her in her tracks.

  "That is," he said tentatively, "if…"

  "If what?" she cried, frustrated.

  "If you love me, too," he finished.

  A lump rose in Sarah’s throat. How could he possibly doubt that? How many times had she—

  Never.

  Oh, my!

  She wrapped her arms around his middle, hugging him so tightly she was pretty sure two monitor leads popped off her chest. "I do love you, Adam Carmassi," she declared loudly. "I love everything about you, and I intend to keep on loving you as long as I live, no matter what your damned job is, and no matter how long it takes me to break down your defenses and seduce you."

  His face turned slowly toward hers. "Are you saying you're willing to—"

  "You heard me, Rev," she interrupted, nuzzling her nose against the curve of his solid, black-stubbled jawbone. "If by some miracle I do become a free woman…"

  She kissed him softly on the earlobe, her voice lowering to a whisper.

  "I'm buying the cow."

  Epilogue

  Six Weeks Later

  It was hot. The September sun was blazing, but Sarah’s hands felt cold. She could see her right wrist tremble as she held it out of the woman’s way. Her knees were trembling too.

  She wasn’t supposed to be so afraid. She had told Adam she wouldn’t be. But now that the moment had come, her old bravado seemed a distant joke.

  The woman tightened the straps at her side with a sharp tug and clicked the remaining restraints into place. "All right," she announced gruffly, her tone slightly bored. "That’s it. Stand by for your instructions."

  Sarah looked up tentatively. She wasn’t supposed to be reacting like this. She had fancied herself as strong now—far stronger than she had ever been. Her healthy heart could race with the best of them, and at the moment seemed trying to prove it. There was no excuse for her cowardice, not when she had brought such a predicament on herself. No one had made her do it. It was her own decision. She had insisted she could handle it. She had been determined—no matter what.

  A man whose name badge said Sean stepped up before her. "All right," he said forcefully, clapping his hands together. "Are you ready?"

  Sarah swallowed. The man looked twenty-one, tops. She would feel better if he were older. But she had no choice about that now. She had no choice, period. She had opened up her mouth and let her overconfidence do the talking, and now she had to pay. There was no turning back.

  Not if she wanted to save face.

  And saving face was everything.

  "Sure, we’re ready," Adam answered, his deep voice booming beside her. He squeezed her left hand. "Aren’t we?"

  She nodded. "Oh, sure. Ready."

  "You’re not chickening out on me, are you?" he teased, s
miling at her. "Because as I’m sure you recall, this was your idea."

  She groaned. "I remember, I remember!"

  "But, if you can’t practice what you preach—"

  "Will you shut up?" she snapped, kicking him sideways in the shin. It was the best she could do. Their body harnesses prevented her from moving much more than that. "Just listen to Sean."

  The man grinned at them. "Yes, listen to Sean. Here’s how the Sky Coaster works. First, you’ll be pulled up to the tower…"

  Sarah’s mind wandered. Adam was the one with the frequent flier account. He could pay attention to the directions. She had to concentrate on her nerves.

  She had nothing to be afraid of. Not really. The Sky Coaster hadn’t lost anyone yet. It was perfectly safe. She had said so herself.

  She had said a lot of things, hadn’t she? The last few weeks, she’d become a regular chatterbox. The relief of Rock Rockney’s case being closed—once and for all—had manifested itself in any number of odd ways. Like her actually wanting to spend some extra time in Auburn afterward, looking up old friends. Like her voluntarily calling her father’s crazy parents, just to check in. Like her actually enjoying getting to know Adam’s friends—even giving out her phone number.

  She had been determined to tie up every loose end, and she had. She had told the whole truth, all the truth, and nothing but the truth, and though it was hardly an enjoyable experience, with the help of her excellent attorney she had come through it just fine. The county was quick to exact a financial penalty for her failure to disclose human remains before a sale, but the state of Alabama had showed no interest in prosecuting a nine-year-old accidental-death case against a juvenile who was now a law-abiding adult. The criminal justice system—it appeared—had bigger fish to fry.

  No charges were filed.

  Rock Rockney, Sarah discovered, did have a criminal record of his own. He had been the only child of a single mother from whom he had become estranged, and who, perhaps unbeknownst to him, had died of a drug overdose shortly before his visit to Auburn. No one had ever reported him as missing. Sarah had located where his mother and grandparents were buried, and she had paid for his remains to be laid to rest there. She liked to think she had laid him to rest, period.

  Sean had finished talking. Sarah’s heartbeat quickened again.

  "Did you get that?" she asked Adam as the operator walked away.

  Adam laughed. "Weren’t you listening?"

  "No."

  "Well, I’m not going to help you. You knew the risks."

  Machinery whirred. Sarah’s harness tightened. Her feet left the ground.

  "I’ve got news for you, preacher man," she said through gritted teeth. "We’re in this together. If I go down, you go down with me."

  He squeezed her hand again. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

  Sarah breathed deeply as the wires pulled them higher. They were clear of the platform now, moving over the lake. She looked wistfully at the wooden roller coasters that—mere hours ago—hadn’t seemed quite exciting enough.

  Had she lost her mind?

  Certainly, some euphoria could be expected. For the first time since the tragedies, she was finally free to be happy. She loved her job, she loved her house, and she loved Adam. His work situation hadn’t been completely smooth sailing, but they were managing it—together. As he had anticipated, a few church members seemed to disapprove of their relationship, but most had gone out of their way to welcome her. Her favorite piece of encouragement had come in the mailbox: a simple card, hand-written and unsigned. Thank you, it had said, for making Reverend Carmassi so happy. We like him this way. Keep up the good work!

  She couldn’t think of that card without smiling.

  She couldn’t look down on Kennywood without smiling, either. They were almost to the tower, and the view was breathtaking. People scurried about beneath them like ants, many pausing to look up, voyeurs to their imminent doom.

  "Why did I let you talk me into this?" Adam lamented, his voice suddenly weaker.

  "Because you can’t resist me," she answered, knowing the reverse was also true. He had talked her into flying—all by herself—to visit her aunt in North Carolina. He had talked her into attending a theology discussion group at his church. He had talked her into attending any number of Pirates’ games, and he had talked her out of dragging him to Phipps Conservatory for the summer flower show.

  Most importantly, he had talked her into accepting some professional counseling. Good as life was, she did understand now what she was facing. Rome had not been built in a day, and nine years of emotional upheaval could not be erased overnight.

  But she was convinced she had made a pretty good start.

  They stopped. The harnesses suspended them, limbs dangling, 180 feet above the park below. In a matter of seconds, the contraption would release them into a harrowing drop straight down, then swing them out in a giant arc over the water and up into the air again.

  It would be fabulous.

  Really.

  She held Adam’s hand in a death grip. "Thank you for doing this with me."

  He squeezed back. "My pleasure. First, Kennywood. Next, the Sydney Harbour Bridge."

  "Thrill seeker."

  "Takes one to know one."

  "Okay," she acknowledged. "But even thrill seekers are allowed to get a little nervous."

  "Just as long as you don’t scream in my ear."

  She frowned. "I told you, I don’t scream. I’m the silent, internalizing type."

  "Well, in that case—"

  The anchor line released them. They tilted, heads down, and dropped into freefall.

  Sarah screamed at the top of her lungs.

  ***

  Enjoy all three of Edie Claire's classic romantic suspense novels: Long Time Coming, Meant To Be, and Borrowed Time, available now as e-books! If you're a mystery lover, please also check out the Leigh Koslow Mystery Series: Never Buried, Never Sorry, Never Preach Past Noon, Never Kissed Goodnight, and Never Tease a Siamese. To find out more about these and other works by Edie Claire, including her comedic stage plays, visit www.edieclaire.com , or email the author at edieclaire@juno.com. Thanks for reading!

  Acknowledgments

  With many thanks to Dru Quarles, MD, for her medical expertise; to Key Tronzo, tap dancer extraordinaire, for inspiring the character of Rose; and to Ellen Bowermaster Welch, MLS, for daring me to write a book about a sexy librarian.

  Table of Contents

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