Love Inspired March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Wife for Jacob\The Forest Ranger's Rescue\Alaskan Homecoming (30 page)

Jill indicated the roses, a gentle smile curving her lips. “You don't need to do my work for me.”

“I don't mind. I used to prune the roses for my wife, to protect her from the nasty thorns.”

She laughed. “In that case, you can prune them all you want. There's a price to pay for this beauty, isn't there?”

He stared at her lovely face. “Yes, there sure is. Who is David?”

Her smile dropped like a stone. He shouldn't have asked. It wasn't his business, but he really wanted to know.

“My ex-husband. He's looking for an old picture of his mother. It must have gotten mixed up in my things so I told him I'd mail it to him.” She looked away, the happy moment evaporating like morning dew on rose petals.

“I think I heard from Mrs. Crawford that you were married once.” And why did he feel glad that she was now single? He wasn't happy for her sadness, but he liked that she wasn't attached to another man. Although, since he had no plans for asking her out, it didn't make sense. Or did it?

“Yes, but it seemed my husband liked dating other women more than he liked being married to me,” she said.

“You mean he cheated on you?”

“Yes. Many times.” Her voice cracked and so did his heart.

“I'm sorry, Jill.” And he meant it. He understood loss, but so did she. A divorce and the death of her father couldn't have been easy on her.

“It's okay. It's time I moved on.” She looked down at her arm where the angry red scratches marred her alabaster skin.

“You know, I think love is a lot like rosebushes,” he said.

She lifted her brows. “How so?”

“Love is beautiful. It's absolutely wonderful. But when you lose someone you care about, it hurts like a thorn ripping through your heart.”

She nodded in agreement. “Very true. That's a great analogy.”

Now, what had made him say that? He was being overly sentimental today. He bit down on his tongue, feeling like a heel. Her heart had been broken, just like his. Her pain tore him up inside. He couldn't imagine being this woman's husband and stepping out on her. Obviously her ex hadn't appreciated the beautiful prize he'd been married to. If Jill were Brent's wife, he'd love and cherish her. He'd never forget he was the luckiest man on earth.

He reached out and brushed the dirt off her chin. A spontaneous gesture he didn't think to stop until it was too late. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such personal questions. I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories.”

She drew away and he took one step back. A warning signal chimed inside his head, but he wanted to ignore it.

She tilted her head, looking up at him. The sadness in her eyes tore at him. He wanted to comfort her somehow. To make her happy. To see her smile and laugh.

“It doesn't matter anymore. I'm free of him now. And he can date whomever he likes, as long as it isn't me.” She gave a breezy laugh, but he could tell she was hurt.

“We have a lot in common,” he murmured.

She arched one brow.

“We've both lost someone we cared about. We've both been hurt before.” Except that he and Lina had been in love when she'd died. And Lina hadn't betrayed him the way Jill's husband had done to her.

She nodded, her voice soft. “I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to lose your wife.”

“Yeah, but it's been hardest on Evie, I think.”

“But how have
you
coped?”

He licked his lips, wondering if it was a good idea to confide so much to this woman. She was way too easy to talk to. Every time he was around her, he found himself liking her even more. “Honestly?”

She nodded, her expression eager and sympathetic.

“The Lord. I couldn't do it without Him. Every day is so difficult, but I feel God in my life. He's never deserted me, even in my darkest moments.”

She looked away, and something about her demeanor told him she didn't feel the same way.

“You don't believe in God?” he asked.

She reached down and picked up her discarded gloves, tucking them inside the bucket. “I used to. But lately, I haven't really wanted to talk to Him about anything. Especially the divorce. I feel guilty, angry and sad all at the same time. I don't know how He can help me get over that.”

“I know what you mean.” He smiled down at her, stepping closer.

“You do?” A tear slipped down her cheek.

He gave her forearm a gentle squeeze. “Yes, I do. When you're hurt, you don't want to talk to anyone. You want to hide out and be left alone. But I've learned that's when we need to talk to God the most.”

“Yes, I...I suppose you're right. But it's still hard.”

“I know. And I can't tell you how much I wish...” He couldn't finish his sentence and his voice faded.

He felt mesmerized. Drawn near to her like a gravitational pull. Her sorrow reached out and slowly reeled him in like a fish on a line.

He kissed her. Gently. A soft caress as he breathed deeply of her floral scent. All coherent thought abandoned his dazed brain. All that mattered right now was Jill. Her needs and desires. Her hopes and dreams. He longed to make them all come true.

She lifted a hand and placed her palm against his chest, just over his heart. It was beating so hard at that moment, he wondered if she could feel its rhythm beneath her fingertips.

She shifted her body closer, returning his kiss. Breathing him in. But then, she pushed him away.

“Brent, I can't. Someone might see us.” A shuddering breath trembled over her as she cast a quick glance toward the house.

His thoughts whirled, like a typhoon circling in his mind. What was he thinking? He'd kissed her right in her front yard, for all the world to see.

Feeling guilty, he glanced over his shoulder, his gaze scanning the street. If any of the neighbors saw, they'd report it to Arline. And Brent didn't want to cause Jill any more trouble.

Relieved not to see someone peering at them, he turned back to Jill. “I'm sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. It won't happen again.”

At least, he hoped not. He must have experienced a moment of insanity. Definitely a serious lapse in judgment. But in spite of all they both had to lose, he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms and hold her close against his heart.

She turned away, hurrying toward the house. “We won't speak about it again. We'll forget it ever happened.”

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen.

He stood frozen in place. Watching her go. Longing to call her back, but knowing he couldn't do that. Not if he truly wanted to keep her safe.

Instead, he returned to his truck where he sat with the window down to catch the cooling breeze, trying to sort his muddled thoughts. He waited for an hour, every moment a torture.

What a fool he'd been. He shouldn't have kissed her, because now he only wanted more. And he couldn't have it. He couldn't have Jill. Of all the women in this town, she was off-limits. Taboo. Because of who she was, and who he was, and all the complications in-between.

So why did it have to be her that made his heart sing?

Precisely an hour later, Jill walked Evie out to the street curb. The moment he saw them, Brent sat up straight, his senses on high alert.

Jill waited on the sidewalk while he got out to greet his daughter. He opened Evie's door and helped her climb into her seat before buckling her in. When he turned around, Jill was gone. He felt deflated and empty, not being able to say goodbye. But maybe that was for the best.

Brent walked around to the driver's seat and got into the truck.

“Did you have fun with Jill?” he asked his daughter.

Evie quickly wrote the word
yes
on her erase board, smiling wide for added emphasis.

“Good. I'm glad.” As he started up the engine, he couldn't help feeling as though he'd really messed up this time. He'd be lucky if Jill even spoke to him again.

What had he done? What was he thinking by kissing Jill Russell? He didn't want to do anything that might jeopardize Evie getting better. He wouldn't blame Jill if she told him not to bring his daughter over anymore. They could never be anything more than friends. He knew that better than anyone.

So why couldn't he stop wishing for more?

Chapter Nine

T
he following Monday, Brent returned Evie to Jill's apartment above the garage. Standing at the top of the stairs, he knocked on the door and wondered what Jill's reception might be. He waited beside his daughter. The door opened and Jill gave them her normal welcoming smile.

“What do you have there?” she asked Evie.

The girl lifted her hands, a shy smile creasing her porcelain face.

“Since you love roses, Evie wanted to give you one, to say thank you for everything you've done to help her,” Brent supplied.

Jill pressed a hand against her chest and went down on one knee, looking Evie in the eyes. “Really? You brought a rosebush for me? How thoughtful of you.”

Evie nodded and handed the plant over to Jill. Then the girl quickly scrawled some words on her dry-erase board:
Dad said
.

Jill read the brief communication. “Your dad told you to bring the rose?”

Evie nodded and wrote some more:
My choice
.

“Ah,” Jill said. “You picked the rosebush out.”

Another brisk nod.

Jill studied the plant. It didn't look like a rosebush, but rather several sticks of cane that had been lopped off at the top. But once it was planted, the bush would start to grow.

“It's a hybrid tea rose,” Brent said. “By summer's end, its petals should be pink and fragrant. And the thorns are small and soft. Not the thick, heavy thorns that'll slice through your arm.”

Jill chuckled and glanced up at him. “That's reassuring. Some of my mom's rosebushes could cut through you like a machete.”

She stood, holding the rosebush in one hand and taking hold of Evie's hand with the other.

“Instead of sitting outside in your truck, why don't you come inside to wait?” she asked him.

He blinked, stunned by the invitation. After he'd overstepped the bounds of propriety, he thought he'd be an even worse pariah than before.

He glanced over his shoulder, almost feeling Arline's steel-eyed glare against the back of his neck. “You sure that's a good idea?”

She shrugged. “It'll be more comfortable than waiting out in your truck for an hour, especially in this hot weather we've been having.” With her head bent, she peered askance at him. “I've got the newspaper and some magazines you can read while you wait. It'll be fine, as long as you agree not to interfere with my teaching while you're here.”

That sounded easy enough. And he silently admitted he was curious about her techniques. Besides, sitting for an hour in the stuffy truck wasn't as appealing as reclining in a comfortable chair.

Without waiting for his response, Jill led Evie inside. Brent stared at the open door, wondering if he dared place his feet across the threshold. If Arline walked in and found him here, the ramifications might be harsh. But maybe not. The woman had already accepted him bringing Evie here several times per week and would undoubtedly avoid Jill's apartment until lessons were over with.

Jill pointed toward a quiet corner of the room where a soft recliner and pile of magazines awaited him. Without acknowledging him further, she sat at the table with Evie and went to work.

Stepping across the room, Brent made himself comfortable. A glass of iced lemonade sat on a coaster on the coffee table. He looked up, wondering if Jill had put it there for him. She glanced his way and nodded. Averting her eyes, he reached for the glass and almost drained it in three swallows. Once again, Jill's consideration surprised him.

As he flipped through a
Field & Stream
magazine, he made a pretense of reading. He couldn't help being curious and he listened to Jill's mild voice as she began Evie's program.

“Let's read a story first, okay?” Jill handed Evie a small children's book.

Evie opened it and Jill began to read about a little lost dog that was lonely for home. Brent watched Jill's soft lips move as she spoke, his thoughts straying to the day he'd kissed her outside in the afternoon sunshine. She'd tasted like peaches and cinnamon and he craved more of the same.

“Evie, can you point to the word
home
?” Jill asked.

Evie lifted her hand and pointed. Brent inwardly shook his head and looked away, telling himself it wasn't right for him to covet his daughter's teacher. They were both single, but he felt mildly disloyal to Lina. Because he wanted to love and marry again. But that desire would do him no good now. Not when there was no hope of a lasting relationship with Jill.

“That's right. Now point to the word
lost
.” Her voice reached him across the room, wrapping around him like a warm downy blanket.

Again, Evie did as asked.

“Yes! Very good.” Jill hugged the girl, leaving one arm wrapped comfortingly around the child. And Brent noticed that Evie didn't push her away, like she did most people. Rather, she cuddled close against Jill's side.

“Now can you tell me what happened when the dog finally found his home?” Jill asked.

Evie studied the book, her brow crinkled in concentration as she scanned the words on the page.

“As soon as you know the answer, write it on your erase board,” Jill instructed.

After a few moments, Evie picked up the marker and jotted something on the board. Brent couldn't help noticing her lack of hesitancy. As though she knew what was expected and was comfortable in complying.

“That's right,” Jill exclaimed. “The doggie was so tired that he fell fast asleep. You're doing so well today. I believe you're already reading and writing at a third-grade level. You're very advanced for your age. I'm so proud of you.”

Stunned by this news, Brent lifted his head and stared across the room. A blaze of gratitude swept over him like wildfire across the mountain. At least there wasn't anything wrong with Evie's brain. Intellectually, the girl had already surpassed her classmates. But socially, they had more work to do. Evie needed to be able to play and interact with her friends. For that, Brent liked the display of physical affection Jill showered upon his daughter. In the past, Evie's doctors and specialists weren't affectionate with her. They acted more like automatons. Given the doctor and patient relationship, he figured that was appropriate. But bringing Evie to this home environment provided a more cozy setting. As her daddy, Brent realized Evie needed love as much as she needed anything else. And he owed all of this progress to Jill and the powers of Heaven.

Next, the girls started their writing lessons. He couldn't see what Evie wrote on her blue-lined paper, but it must have been good, because Jill praised Evie again and again.

After ten minutes, they moved on to artwork. With the patience of Job, Jill helped Evie slip on an apron and tied it in the back. Then Jill laid out a variety of watercolors and brushes for the child.

Evie leaned over the table and rested her chin on her folded arms.

Jill lifted her brows. “You don't want to color today?”

Evie shook her head, gazing at a distant spot near the door.

“You know we have to color today, but I'll make it easy on you. Why don't you draw something that tells me how you're feeling inside?” Jill suggested.

Evie blinked several times. Finally, she sat back and studied the squares of paint. She looked up at Jill, her eyes squinting in a frown. When Jill didn't seem to notice, the girl reached for her dry-erase board and scribbled something there before showing it to Jill.

Jill shook her head, but sounded optimistic. “No, I'm sorry. You've used up all my black paint. But you can use the other colors today.”

Evie released a shuddering breath. For a moment, Brent thought she might refuse. But then she picked up the brush, dabbed it tentatively in the color yellow and went to work. In studious concentration, she chewed her bottom lip. While she painted, Jill tidied the piles of books. After a few minutes, she peered over Evie's shoulder at the girl's progress.

“That's beautiful work, Evie. Would you like to show your dad?”

Evie nodded, picked up the heavy, absorbent paper, and displayed it for Brent's view. A big, yellow sun with round eyes and a nose. And the significance of the artwork brought a hard lump of emotion to Brent's throat. He gave a laughing croak of pleasure. She'd graduated from black, angry scribbles to happy, yellow sunshine. If he wasn't seeing it with his own eyes, he wouldn't believe it.

“That's beautiful, honey. We can hang it on the fridge at home,” he suggested.

She nodded and whirled around to lay the painting back on the table. Her elbow clipped the paint set and the palette clattered to the floor. A splatter of wet colors smeared across the table, chair and green linoleum.

“Evie!” Startled, Brent shot up out of his seat.

The girl flushed red as a new fire engine. Before he could tell her it was all right, she ducked her head in shame and released a groan of despair. She dropped the painting and skittered across the room and darted behind the sofa. The painting sank to the floor.

Oh, no. Brent leaned over the back of the couch and saw his child squeezed back into the farthest corner, her knees pulled tight against her chest, her face buried in her hands. She rocked back and forth, little pathetic movements that told him she'd retreated into her own world. From past experience, he knew this was Evie's way of avoiding confrontation. Of hiding. Just like she'd done the night her mother was killed.

At least this time, she wasn't screaming.

“She hid behind the cashier's counter,” he whispered to Jill.

She nodded her understanding but didn't speak. She gave Brent a stern look and pointed at his chair, silently insisting he sit back down. Brent remembered her warning that he could wait inside, as long as he didn't interfere with her teaching. He hadn't verbally agreed, but by coming inside and sitting down, he'd given his silent acquiescence.

He sat down, his heart plummeting. The fear of failure twisted inside his gut. He figured he'd just learned a huge lesson in how not to respond toward his daughter. But he'd been surprised. Taken off guard. When the paint had spilled, he'd overreacted. He just hoped he hadn't reversed all the progress Evie had made over the past few weeks.

Undeterred, Jill picked up Evie's painting and set it on the table where it wouldn't be ruined. She then left the scattered paints where they lay and got down on her hands and knees. While she shimmied back behind the couch, Brent considered going over to clean up the mess.

No, he better not. Without Jill's permission, he didn't dare breathe too loud or even move a muscle. And that's when he realized he trusted Jill completely. Somehow, he knew she'd make this right again. And that made him feel even worse. Because he couldn't tell her how hard he was trying to make her brother's situation better at the sawmill. He wanted to help her and Alan. To get the theft issue resolved and ease some of the tension Arline felt toward him.

Unable to keep from spying, he angled his chin so he could peer around the corner at the girls. Without asking consent, Jill scooped Evie into her arms. But Evie refused to move her hands away from her face. Cocooned behind the couch, Jill held the girl in the dark shadows.

“There, Evie. I'm not angry. Everything's okay. It's just a little spilled paint. No harm done. It can easily be fixed,” Jill murmured against the girl's hair.

Brent expected Jill to pull the child out from behind the couch or leave her there to fume. That's what her other teachers had done. Which he knew would set Evie to screaming. But Jill didn't move. She just held Evie quietly, resting her chin against the girl's forehead. Waiting. Comforting. Offering reassurance. And then Jill started to sing. A soft lullaby Brent had never heard before. Her lilting voice sounded gentle and sweet. Kind and soothing.

For a good fifteen minutes, they all sat like that. Mannequins, unable to move. Just like the day when they'd met at the gas station.

Brent felt lulled by Jill's voice, his body relaxing as he almost drifted off to sleep. She brushed her hand against Evie's hair, until the girl lowered her hands enough that she could peep out at the woman before quickly clenching her eyes shut again. A few more minutes, and Evie's hands lowered so they only covered her mouth. Gradually, Jill wooed the child into looking up and meeting her eyes.

“You know what? I'm hungry,” Jill said softly. “How would you like to help me clean up the spilled paint? Then we can go visit Arline. I know she's made a fresh batch of snickerdoodles, just for you. Would you like that?”

Evie's lips quivered. She blinked her big baby blues and finally nodded, but she still didn't move.

Jill took the girl's hands as she slid out from behind the couch. Evie followed. With a bit of coaxing, the woman got the child to help pick up the paintbrushes while she sopped up the drying paint with a damp cloth. Brent watched in stunned amazement. It was like witnessing a miracle. He compared this moment to the day Evie was born. Something unique and wonderful. Something he'd never forget.

And when they finally left him there so Evie could go to Arline's house for her cookies, Brent still sat frozen in his seat. He rested his hands on his knees and stared at the closed door. Jill wasn't Annie Sullivan, and Evie wasn't Helen Keller, but Brent knew he'd witnessed something amazing. A tremendous breakthrough. A marvelous gift from God.

Evie had just survived what she undoubtedly perceived as a catastrophe. And she'd done it without tears. Without shrieks of anguish, and without pain.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Jill returned to her apartment to tell Brent that Evie was ready to leave. She handed him a napkin with two snickerdoodles folded inside.

“These are for you. Evie's in the house with Mom, but she should be ready to go in a few minutes,” Jill told Brent.

He stood and accepted the cookies with a wry smile. “There's no arsenic in these, is there?”