Love in the WINGS (7 page)

He immediately wrapped his fingers around it, and she released the breath she hadn't known she was holding.

At her gate, she tiptoed to kiss his cheek.

“You're amazing,” she whispered, determined to rid herself of the unwelcome timidity that had overtaken her. “So many people would have let that kind of horrible abuse during childhood destroy them, even as adults. You didn't, Corbin. Look at you. I'm so proud of you.”

He shook his head and traced a finger down her cheek. “I'm not anything special, Aria. Just a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who God rescued and saved from a whole lot of misery. You're the one who's amazing.”

His gaze traveled her face, and she felt its weight as surely as she'd felt his touch only seconds before, and it left behind a pleasant tingle she didn't quite understand.

“Thank you for being a friend, for praying for me. I've never talked about…all that stuff with anyone. Ever.”

She wanted to suggest that he do that. Pastor David perhaps. But she couldn't. Not yet. She'd find a way, though, and soon.

“You can talk to me. Anytime. And Corbin…” She laid her hand on his arm, terrified by the thrill that raced through her being as his muscles rippled and bunched beneath her fingers. “My lips are sealed. I would never betray your confidence.”

“I know. That means a lot to me.” He hauled in a breath and blew it out, clearly bringing an end to the conversation—at least, to that portion of it. Then he tossed her one of his patented killer smiles, and tapped the tip of her nose. “I should let you get inside.”

She didn't want him to leave, but refused to ask herself why.

“Um…I could make some tea. Or coffee?”

He tilted his head and studied her face while she held her breath. “Sure you can take more of my company? I kind of turned your nice, relaxing walk into a mile-long torture route, don't you think?”

“No. You made it memorable.” She lowered her gaze, and her next words came out in a whisper. “And sweet.”

His finger under her chin coaxed her to look up. “I'm a tea drinker,” he said, and winked. “Texas style, please.”

Her laughter broke the spell, and they were just two people enjoying a friendship they hadn't expected.

Relieved, but also strangely regretful, Aria unlatched her gate. “Coming right up. Follow me.”

 

****

 

To the moon and back, if I thought it would do any good.

But she wasn't headed for the moon, so Corbin trailed her across the yard and through her front door. She went straight to the kitchen and started puttering around like she was right at home in a kitchen.

She pulled a couple of glasses out of a cabinet, and then gave him a hesitant look, pinching her lip between perfect white teeth. “I guess it's too hot to use the fireplace, isn't it? This weird—” She hesitated, and for a moment, Corbin thought he saw a shadow of fear in her eyes, but what a ridiculous idea. “Humidity. Oh, well, just a thought. I'm in the mood for sweet tea with popcorn, a good movie, and the relaxing flicker of firelight.”

Corbin glanced into the living room. “I see several candles. Where's a lighter? We'll improvise.”

“Now why didn't I think of that?” She fished around in a drawer, and then triumphantly presented him with a fireplace lighter. He winked, and she gave him a saucy grin that did nothing to hide a shyness he'd never seen in her before. Her gaze slid away and a warm blush pinked her cheeks.

Corbin took mercy on her and headed for the living room. He set about lighting every candle he could find, and it turned out she had enough of the things to open her own shop. He made a mental note to remember she liked them.

After a moment, he felt her watching him and stole a glance her way.

She was nibbling at her lip again, and a troubled crease marred the smoothness of her forehead. He smothered a sigh. How did he know exactly what was going on in that pretty head of hers?

She wasn't finished with the conversation they'd started on their walk.

“What is it, Aria?” He turned and met her gaze straight on, then smiled to take the edge off his words. “Say it, so we can get on with our evening.”

She grimaced, and regret darkened her eyes. “I'm sorry, Corbin. I know the subject isn't easy for you, but I do want to say something else about—well, you know. About your…past.”

He nodded, but couldn't quite dredge up a real smile. “Say it. I'm listening.”

“OK. Let's sit down.” She took a bag of popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a large bowl, handed him a glass of tea, and then picked up her own glass. He followed her into the living room and they settled onto the sofa with the popcorn between them.

“It's about angels. I can see now why you don't want to believe in them, and why they don't elicit positive feelings for you. But I'd like you to think about something.”

He nodded, but kept quiet. The less he said, the faster this would be over and he could try to forget she knew everything. At some point, he'd have to deal with the reality that he and Aria had shared the same dream. He probably should tell her that. Not now though. And probably not tomorrow, either. The next day…well, that was too far off to worry about.

She touched his arm, and he realized he'd been off on another mental tangent.

“You sure you're up for this?”

“I'm fine. Talk.”

Her soft, warm laughter touched his heart, soothing the ever-present ache within its deepest corners. “Look, I know I told you this earlier, but I was kind of distraught, and I'm not sure you picked up on it. In my dreams, there is a huge, hideous creature with massive, leathery black wings standing behind your dad, goading him, pushing him to—” She shuddered and drew air quotes with her fingers. “‘…beat the devil out' of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Dad's imaginary angel.”

“Well…hold on a minute, Corbin. What if it wasn't imaginary? What if something really was saying those things to your dad? Like…a dark angel?”

His jaw dropped, and he stared at her wide-eyed. “You're not serious.”

“Yes, I am. If you believe in good, you have to believe in evil, too. Don't you think?”

“I—” He frowned. Arguing seemed like a good idea, but she had a point. “Well, I suppose that could make sense.”

“Of course it does. If God has special messengers of light—which, according to the Bible, He does, then doesn't it make sense that Satan might also have his own such creatures of darkness? After all, the Bible also says that other angels were cast out with Lucifer.”

She sipped at her tea, opening the door for a response, but he had no idea how to counter that. This was all new territory for him.

He shrugged, then leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.

“We tend to think of Satan's minions as demons, something completely unique; but those demons are angels by nature—fallen and evil, yes—but still organically the same. Isn't it possible that an inebriated man might see only an angel of light? For that matter, Corinthians says that Satan and his ministers can take on the form of an angel of light for the very purpose of misleading human beings. So many people aren't truly tuned in to the Father's voice, and therefore aren't able to try the spirits, as God's Word instructs us to do. A man like your father, whose mind is muddled already by alcohol…can you see how easily he could be led to believe such a well-orchestrated ruse?”

Corbin didn't offer a protest, but couldn't quite bring himself to voice an agreement, either. He opened his eyes just enough to see her from beneath his eyelashes. Her gaze moved over his face, searching for who knew what. He made a point of relaxing his tight jaw, not wanting her to think he was angry. He wasn't, but that didn't make him like the subject.

“I
saw
the creature, Corbin. You had mentioned nothing whatsoever to me about—well, you know. About your life, your childhood. I did not pull that…
thing
out of my subconscious. These dreams, they were from God. I started having them when I started praying for you. You
know
that's true.”

He opened his eyes fully, turned his head toward her and dredged up a smile he hoped did not reflect the torment in his soul.

“You've made some good points, Aria. Thank you for caring enough to try. It's always been a little tough to get things through my thick skull. And I know it wasn't easy for you to go there.” He sat up straight and reached out to tug gently on a strand of her hair, then cupped her cheek in his hand. “I promise to think about it. I do. But can we leave it alone now—just for tonight? Watch that movie? Enjoy the candlelight?”

She smiled, and reached up to cover his hand with her own, holding it against her cheek for a brief, blissful second or two. “That's a great idea.”

Then she pulled back, and Corbin forced himself to do the same. But the zing in his fingertips promised they would never forget the smooth softness of her skin.

Aria grabbed a stack of DVDs off the coffee table and laid them on his leg. “Your choice tonight. Next time I'll do the honors.”

He accepted the movies, but narrowed his gaze and raised a brow. “You're gonna make me watch a chick flick, aren't you?”

She grinned, and a little imp danced in her brown eyes. “Would I do a thing like that?”

“Uh, yeah, I think you would. Oh, well…” He handed her one, not even glancing at the title. “I guess I can take it, but be warned. Next time we're watching real men do the things real men do.”

She laughed outright. “Got it.”

 

****

 

Aria lay in bed, going back, step by careful step, over the day.

She still felt completely blown away by the unbelievable discovery that, not only was the boy in her dreams real, but he was the man who'd been the proverbial fly in her ointment ever since she met him.

Someday, maybe she'd find a way to suggest Pastor David use his little “pray-for-each-other” tactic with great caution.

What had started out as simple obedience to that unwelcome request had turned into something much bigger. She wasn't quite ready to put a name on it yet. How could she label something she didn't understand?

But one thing was becoming clearer than she wanted it to be.

Something was brewing between her and the youth minister. Because, when she replayed the whole scenario in her head, it always rewound and replayed at exactly the same spot, like a damaged cassette tape.

That trouble spot was the moment when Corbin had pulled her into his arms.

She wasn't totally ditzy—she completely understood that his embrace had been the desperate reaching out of a hurting heart. The need for human contact. Nothing more. So why did her heart rate increase to a delirious, dangerous, quick-step pace with every guilty recollection?

She might be able to convince Corbin if she needed to, but lying to herself never worked. The truth leered at her through the crystal-clear lens of recent memory.

She had liked being in his arms. She'd liked it a lot.

 

 

 

 

8

 

On the walk from Aria's cottage to his own, Corbin's unexpected immersion into a past he wanted to forget pooled with the prickly weight of humidity to create an overpowering sense of hopelessness that nearly knocked him to his knees.

Not seeing Andrew Hart puttering around the place didn't help. He missed the old guy more than he'd expected to, considering the man's crusty demeanor and habitual reticence. Now that he was gone, Hart's strong influence became notable in its absence—even more so because his touch could be seen on every inch of the property.

Every possible square of ground boasted glorious banks of flowers and plants the landlord had tended with quiet dedication. Ivy and blooming trailers crawled up tree trunks and over stumps, while huge clusters of honeysuckle created gorgeous mountains of sweet-smelling beauty in colors Corbin had never seen until he came to Angel Falls. Periwinkle and passion flower vines meandered in and out of fence slats. Daisies, petunias, and impatiens—along with any number of other blooms he didn't recognize—exploded from pots, barrels, tires…even an old claw foot bathtub and an ancient ringer washing machine.

Drowning beneath a crushing wave of melancholy, Corbin hated the overwhelming evidence of Hart's green thumb. Stabs of fierce, unreasonable anger pierced his soul and coursed like molten liquid through his veins. He clenched his fists and clamped his teeth together so hard it hurt his ears. Breathing hard, he rushed through his gate, fleeing an unexpected and shocking need to rip the offending flowers out of the ground. All that brightness and glory seemed a mockery in the face of the sorrow that blanketed the complex.

Inside, too wound up to even think about sleep, Corbin plopped onto his favorite chair and picked up his Bible. He laid it on his lap, even allowed it to drop open, then leaned back and closed his eyes.

Memories he'd buried deep within himself clawed to the surface with razor-sharp talons, tore through his every defense, and churned like choppy ocean waves in his head. One after another, they surged to the forefront, slamming his mind with shattering force.

“God, why?” He whispered into the silence of his cottage, too drained to speak out loud. “Why rehash all of that ugliness now? It's over and done. Please, can't I just let it go? Can't You just let me forget?”

He cringed, recalling the way he'd spilled his guts to Aria, right out there in the open, under the Texas sky. After guarding his emotions with iron will for what seemed like his entire life, he'd laid them completely bare today—to none other than Pastor David's prim-but-pretty secretary, whom he'd thought would never be more to him than a thorn in his side.