Heaven's Touch (7 page)

The restaurant door opened, and a soft lilt of laughter had him turning, his soul recognizing Cadence before his mind could. She was leaving with four other women of varying ages. The instant his gaze found her, she looked up. Their eyes met. Awareness shot through his chest.

“I'll see you Monday morning bright and early,” Cadence said to her friends, and then she headed toward him, sleek and athletically graceful, as always. She was still wearing her baseball cleats, white socks and uniform, and in a flash he remembered Cadence on the high school's softball team, pitching them all the way to state, where they came in second.

She was no longer fresh faced and so unbearably young, yet he saw something of the past in the wise, centered woman. It lingered in both of them, and he could still feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat as if it were his own. He could feel her wonder and her worry at seeing him.

She hesitated, pausing and then stepping toward him. “Did your sisters head home?”

He nodded. “Paige and Rachel have the evening shift at the diner, and Amy has plans with the dude she's gonna marry.”

“You don't like her choice?”

“Heath seems like an all-right guy and he treats her real nice, but she's my sister. Who could ever be good enough?”

“Point taken. I suppose you and I are going to be seeing more of each other if your nephew joins my beginners class, which I hope he does.”

“Looks like it.” He pivoted on his crutches, because this was going to be easier if he didn't have to look at her. He watched the men's game instead, bases loaded and a batter up. “We have unfinished business, you and me. You can feel it. I can feel it.”

“True.”

“The thing is, I don't want this to be hard when it doesn't have to be. So let me just say this and get it over with. I'm sorry for what I did to you. For walking out on you and making it seem like it was your fault.”

“It's over, Ben. I don't need to resurrect it.”

“It wasn't your fault, you know. It was me. I'm not a stand-in-the-wings kind of man. We never could have made it, you know. We both would have had to give up our dreams.”

She swallowed hard. There was the past, looming up like a movie on an enormous drive-in screen hov
ering overhead in Technicolor glory. Ben telling her he wasn't made to be tied down. Ben telling her, “I don't want you like that. I don't want this,” as he gestured to her parents' house, neat and tidy on the quarter acre, almost identical to the others in the subdivision. “I don't want to marry you. I just don't want…you.”

The past still hurt.

“It's all right, Ben,” she said tightly. “That happened a long time ago.”

“It always ate at me. What I said. It was wrong.” He stared down at the toe of his running shoe. “I hurt you.”

“You did.” She took a shuddery breath and held it, breathing out, wishing the pain within her would go as easily as the pent-up air. “But you did nothing more than be honest with me. You told me the truth. You were honest.”

“No, I wasn't. I was scared that I'd fail you, and so I made sure I ended it before I
could
fail you. Before you stopped looking at me with awe and perfect love for me in your eyes.”

He paused, grimacing as if he were in pain. “If I'd stayed and we'd tried to make a relationship, maybe even marriage work, I thought I'd ruin it just like I did everything else. It's stupid, I know that now, but I was eighteen and I was dumb and selfish. I didn't want you ever to look at me with regret in your eyes. The way you're looking at me now.”

Oh.
That wasn't what she'd expected him to say. He'd wanted her? He'd been afraid of failing her? That didn't make any sense. She couldn't reconcile that with the image of the fiery young man he'd been, so confident and free-spirited. “I'm sorry, too. I've already regretted what I said to you.”

“That you didn't want anything to hold you back?”

“It was a knee-jerk reflex. If I had to have chosen, Ben, I would have chosen to be with you.”

“That never would have worked. We both knew it then. There's no reason that either of us should hurt over what couldn't be changed. It's over. Done with. Can we bury the past?”

It was a perfectly reasonable request. It was the right one. Cadence was surprised at the relief that rushed through her. “I'd be grateful if we did.”

“Then it's done. You and I start fresh from here. When I show up with Westin, it's a clean slate.”

A clean slate. It was smart, it was reasonable and it was the right solution. She could feel it down to her bones. There was no fix for the past and the regret that went hand in hand with it. Yes, it was pointless to hold on to something that had no bearing on the present. “You've matured into quite a man, Ben McKaslin.”

“I'm surprised you didn't notice that before.” He winked, playing as if he was still the same arrogant and charming teen, but it didn't go over well at all.
She saw right through him to the man he was. One of strength and integrity. One who had made something of himself. He'd found the best in himself, after all.

“I'll see you on Monday, Ben.” It was easier now to walk away. “Take care of your leg. I hope your head feels better. I really am sorry about the softball.”

He didn't say anything. He just waved in acknowledgment. She lost sight of him as she found her car and backed out of a space while several other cars were waiting to vie for it.

On the way out she spotted him again, a lone man standing at the edge of the ballpark with sunset streaking the sky above him. A lone man watching the world around him—families and friends and everyday life.

The image of him alone, a man apart, remained long after she could no longer see him in her rearview mirror. Long into the evening in her cozy little town house. Deep in her dreams through the night.

When she woke with the dawn's light, he was there in her mind. The two of them, his life and her life, each and separately alone.

S
he was
not
watching for Ben to arrive. Really. At least, that's what Cadence told herself at the end of her eleven-o'clock advanced beginners class.

As her students shivered at poolside, waiting their turn to dive in and practice their backstroke, she paced alongside the swimmers and offered helpful comments—with one eye on the bleachers.

Okay, she was watching for him. There was no sense in not being honest with herself. He wanted the past buried. It helped knowing he had the same regrets she did. And the same sense of loss that though she'd loved with all her heart and soul, theirs was a love that could never have worked. If they'd married, how would they have made it? Would they have been a divorce statistic? Or would they have managed to hold tight to their holy vows in a tough world, with
nothing but failed hopes and unrequited dreams between them?

Would she have resented him if she'd never had the chance to compete for gold? Would he have resented her and been restless and unhappy being a short order cook in his family's diner for the rest of his life? Probably. They would be like some sad families she saw, moms overworked and overburdened, who'd lost joy in their lives. They came with their children, were fine mothers, had nice kids, but during the lesson and when the lessons were over they were the moms who did not smile and wave at their little ones. Who seemed weighed down by sadness and the stress of their lives. Instead of the ones who found better ways to cope with the tough work of being a wife and mother.

She didn't know. Maybe those sadder women were not sad over lost dreams the way she imagined them to be. She only knew that she could never have been whole unless she'd found out what she could do in life. She'd hoped it would make her a better mom when the time came. Not that it looked as if she would ever get the chance now.
Or will I, Lord?

As the pair of students reached the far end and climbed out, dripping and breathing hard, she nodded to the next pair standing in line. They dived into the water. One splashed as feet smacked against the surface and the other made a whopping belly flop.

Not the best diving technique. They'd have to work on that later, she decided as she watched the kids roll over. Their faces were scrunched up against the water trying to cover them as they kicked feverishly.

“Arms over your heads,” she called, demonstrating. “Reach way back.”

One—Andrea—managed to fling her arms back, thereby straightening out her body and popping her right to the surface. The girl began her unpracticed backstroke. “Great, Andrea! Travis? Travis, put your head back in the water.”

He looked at her, helplessly folded in two, his feet at the surface, his arms flailing to keep his face above water.

“You're doing good. Just reach back.” She lifted her arms again so he could imitate her, and it seemed to help. He stayed rigid, bent in the middle, but at least he was lying back on the water.

Except he was also submerging. He came up sputtering, treading water.

“That's good. Try it again from the wall. You're getting it. It just takes practice, okay?” She said it kindly, because she knew the other kids were trying not to snicker and failing. She shot them a firm glance, arching one brow to look more imposing. “You may have the same trouble, you know. That's great, Travis. Reach behind you. Don't look at your toes!”

He struggled, but he moved sluggishly across the
pool. Andrea had already climbed out and was dripping on the deck.

Ben's here.

She could feel his presence like a touch. Her heart skipped a beat. It was as if the world froze in time for one fraction of a moment as she gazed upward exactly to where he stood in a middle aisle of the half-filled bleachers. She wanted to scold herself for having such a strident reaction to Ben's arrival. Was it old feelings long buried? Or was it because she could look at him and no longer feel the pain of regret?

He caught her gaze and gave her a small, tight salute, the dimples cutting into his cheeks as he slouched down onto an empty bench. He looked away, breaking their connection.

The moment faded, leaving only the present—the call of other instructors' voices on the other side of the pool echoing overhead, the slosh and splish of the water, the rush of kids swimming, the glare of sunlight through the skylights. Travis reached the far end and she congratulated him, then called in the last pair for the last swim of the day.

By the time she made promises for practicing their dives next time and said goodbye, her next class was lined up on the wooden benches along the wall, shivering from their shower. Ben's nephew was among them, lean and spare, looking wide-eyed at the water
as if he thought swimming lessons were the worst idea ever.

Remembering how his family had said he'd nearly drowned in the river last month, she didn't blame him one bit. She hopped in to help switch the ropes, dividing the pool widthwise rather than lengthwise. Peggy rolled her eyes in silent misery. She liked teaching the deep end of the pool the least, but Cadence loved it all. Every class, every stage, every student.

Because of the work they did here, the chances of these children drowning in a preventable incident were drastically reduced. She'd never know how many lives she saved by teaching kids to swim and swim well, and it heartened her as she clamped the final rope, ducked beneath it and approached the shallow end of the pool.

Eight little kids stared back at her in various stages of eagerness. From confident Kaylie in her pink ruffle suit and hair in neat little braids, to Jacob with a glint of trouble in his eyes ready for the class to be over, to Westin who'd gone pale when he realized other classes were being called to the water's edge. His class was bound to be next.

Yep, she had her work cut out for her. And she liked it that way. Placing her hands on the deck, she studied her cute little students. “Hey, I'm so jazzed to see you guys again. Did any of you remember to practice like I asked you to?”

Kaylie's hand shot up. “I did! I did! I blowed the biggest bubbles ever!”

“Right.” Jacob rocked back to stare at the ceiling, as if he were contemplating shimmying up to the rafters and seeing if the skylights opened—his only chance of escape.

Westin swallowed hard. His hand waved. “Do I hafta put my face in?”

“We're only doing it halfway,” she answered. “Don't worry. I promise to help you. Kaylie, do you remember how to use the ladder?”

“Do I!” Eager to be the first one in, the little girl walked importantly the few feet to the access ladder, gripped the big metal rails and backed down into the water. Cadence caught her by the elbow and steadied her while Kaylie gripped the edge of the wall.

“Excellent.” Figuring she'd best get Jacob into the pool before he implemented an escape plan, she called him next.

Highly uninterested, he climbed into the water and took his place beside Kaylie. No big deal.

“Don't splash, hotshot,” she reminded him as she called her next student, a quiet little girl.

Madison was tentative, but she did a good job. As did the next four students.

She'd left Westin for last, so he could watch the others and see nothing scary had happened to them.

He looked at her with big eyes, so dark and famil
iar it was like looking at Ben when he was that age. “Do I hafta?” he whispered so only she could hear, while darting glances at the kids already in the water beside her.

“I'll be right here. I won't let you slip, okay?” she reassured him, holding out both hands to help Westin down. “Jacob, no splashing,” she called over her shoulder.

“You know my mom and my uncle Ben.” Westin nodded as if he were coming to a decision, and gripped the ladder rail with all his might. His entire hand turned white. He shifted weight uncertainly and stretched to find the next step with his right leg.

“You're going great. Just keep coming.” She cupped his elbow, gripping him firmly so he wouldn't fall.

Tension quaked in his tensed muscles, and his little arm felt so frail. But like Ben at that age, he was tough. He shifted his weight again, reaching downward to the next step before his toes hit the water.

“See? Almost there.”

“This don't grab like the river.” A smile brightened his face and the tension eased somewhat.

Victory. Cadence helped him to the edge and made sure he was holding on tight. As soon as he discovered his feet touched the ground and his chin was just out of the water, he relaxed and joined in with the other kids hopping and splashing a little in place.

“Let's see your bubble faces!” she called out. “Everyone show me.”

She puffed up her cheeks with air and made sure Westin knew to join in. With only a look he was puffing up, too, like a cute little blowfish, and they practiced blowing bubbles in the air first.

As involved as she became teaching her beginner class, she could never quite forget the tall, lean man in the upper row watching her.

 

Ben couldn't take it anymore. The big clock on the far wall read 11:50. He'd lasted twenty minutes. He'd given it his best, but he was done.

Another minute of watching Cadence and he was going to break the promise he'd made to himself. No more regrets. No glimpses back at old failures. Which was easy enough to do as long as he wasn't anywhere near Cadence Chapman.

She seemed to be the only person he could see. Every time he deliberately tried to watch Westin nervously lowering his face to blow bubbles on the water's surface or holding tight to the side of the pool and learning to lie out on his stomach and kick until he splashed, Ben's gaze strayed to Cadence. Every time. What was wrong with him? He commanded himself to look away. But his eyes kept finding her no matter what he did, and there seemed to be no willpower strong enough to stop him.

Her dark hair gathered high into a single braided ponytail, she waded between the kids, giving them pointers and encouragement. The blue one-piece she wore was modest, but the color matched her sapphire-blue eyes and the sight of her took his breath away. Her heart-shaped face was softened by the water droplets flung her way as the kids kicked harder and harder. They were all laughing, because whatever Cadence was saying to them, she obviously was making it fun.

She was clearly a great teacher. The kids were engaged, watching her with eagerness. She swiped at the splashes hitting her square in the face and clapped her hands for the good job they'd done.

That's when he straightened from the bench and marched down the aisle, moving around the bleacher benches on his crutches to avoid moms and smaller kids sitting together in various stages of contentment. He didn't look over his shoulder as he hit the doorway to the stairs leading down to the main floor. He knew if he did look back, then everything he had said to Cadence in the shadow-filled parking lot would have blown up in smoke.

Put the past behind him. Sure, how was he going to do that when he couldn't stop noticing the woman she'd become? Because she'd followed her destiny, he reminded himself as he navigated the concrete stairs. She'd followed the path God had put before
her, and that path was a world apart from the one he'd been called to follow.

The good Lord had known what Ben had needed, and the moment he'd signed up for the physical stamina test to qualify for the pararescue jumper program—similar to the brutal week of training for SEALs—he'd been hooked. It was a perfect fit, as if all his life he'd been training for this job in the military. He was a natural outdoorsman; he could track, hunt, shoot, evade, swim, run and dive.

After finishing the Pipeline—the series of schools in his year and a half of training—he'd been happy. He loved training. He loved his first real combat mission so much, he'd been certain he'd found his destiny.

And had left Cadence to find hers.

Questions troubled him, but what had happened to her life since they parted was not his business. He was here because he couldn't say no to his sisters. Because he knew Amy's budget was tight with making ends meet. She had to manage Westin's medical bills, largely from the hospital stay after he'd been swept away in the river, and plan a wedding.

He was glad to watch the kid and save her the cost of a babysitter. He'd been equally happy to pay for the lessons—not that he'd told her yet that he'd laid down his own cash.

Ten more minutes. He'd meet Westin in the boys' locker room, get him dressed and they'd hit a burger
place. He'd seen a drive-in just down the street. He didn't get a lot of bacon cheeseburgers where he'd been deployed. But the thought of food didn't prove a good substitute for his earlier thoughts.

The main entryway was loud with the sounds of kids hauling rolled towels, coming and going with little supervision—or so it seemed. Moms with infants and toddlers struggled to dole out enough change for the pop machine or search through their bag for some necessary item for swim class.

The front desk was busy. A line had formed, but he didn't pay the folks there much attention as he passed. Until he heard a snippet of conversation that seemed to rise above the background din. “I had heard Cadence Chapman would consider taking another student, and we've driven all the way up from Wyoming.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the woman and her daughter. She couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen, with braces on her slight overbite and her dark hair pulled back into a ballerina kind of bun. She was coltish and lean, and reality punched him in the gut.

Cadence's years of competition diving were not behind her. She was a coach now. A teacher. She'd never left the sport, even here in this rural spot on the map. Why? She'd probably retired from the fast-track life and had opted for a simpler life.

But that still didn't explain why she was working at the county pool, at the county's pay scale, which he would guess was far from impressive.