Love Inspired March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Wife for Jacob\The Forest Ranger's Rescue\Alaskan Homecoming (46 page)

The
tree.

She slowed to a stop, as if she could somehow prevent the onslaught of memories from rushing forward. The darkness, the rain, the way everything had looked so surreal and blurry around the edges. The squeal of the tires. The sickening jolt of the impact when she'd slammed into the centuries-old tree trunk. How even then she still hadn't been coherent enough to process what was happening. None of it had seemed real until she'd seen the wreckage reflected in the sorrow of Liam's eyes.

In the here and now, a terrible ache blossomed in her chest. She had trouble catching her breath. Every gulp of air seemed inadequate.

She pulled over to the side of the road and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

Breathe, Posy. Just breathe. It was a long time ago.

Then why did the memory feel so fresh? Raw. As if it had just happened yesterday.

Probably because she hadn't been back here since that awful night. Even before she'd left Aurora, in those final weeks after everything had come to humiliating light, she'd steadfastly avoided this route. When her mother had driven her to and from her doctor's appointments, she'd gone the long way around the center of town. They'd never discussed the fact that Posy could no longer bear to look at the tree. It had simply been an unspoken understanding between them.

Then Posy had left and carried her final memory of the tree—rain-soaked and silvery and beautiful, even in the wreckage—away with her.

She couldn't believe she'd made the mistake of driving past it now. She'd been preoccupied with the discomfort in her foot as well as the excitement she'd felt at starting over with the girls at the church. Her mind had been spinning in dizzying pirouettes.

It's a tree, not a memory. That's all. Just a tree.

She forced herself to look at it. Really look at it, in all of its cerulean glory, sunlight shooting in sparks from its slender blue needles. Posy wasn't sure what she'd expected. A gaping hole, maybe? A telltale dent in its bark? Some sort of sign of what had happened there so long ago. But there was nothing. The only scars from that night belonged to her.

And Liam.

Tears filled her eyes, and the tree grew blurry, like a watercolor painting.

Stop. It's just a tree.

But it had never been just a tree, had it?

Long before the accident, this had been their special place. Hers and Liam's. Beneath these branches, he'd asked her out for the first time. It had been the scene of their first picnic and the first time Liam had held her hand. It had witnessed their first kiss.

Posy brushed her fingertips along her lips and let herself remember the smell of pine and the way the snow had danced so lightly on her skin as he'd angled his face toward hers. She'd closed her eyes, unsure what to expect. She'd never been kissed before, by Liam or any other boy. She'd been so nervous, but not in a fearful way. Sweet anticipation had coiled in her belly, much in the way it did in the moments immediately before she launched herself into a grand jeté at ballet class.

The kiss had taken her by surprise in the quietest of ways, like an unexpected summer snowfall. It had been a reverent kiss, a whisper of a touch. Liam's gentle grace had left her breathless, and when she'd opened her eyes, every strange, new emotion she'd been experiencing had somehow been painted on the sky.

She'd heard of the expression “seeing stars” before. But when Liam Blake kissed Posy the very first time, she'd seen three suns. Three suns surrounded by a blinding circle of colorful light. Arching lavender and tangerine streaks exploding against the glacier-blue horizon, connected by a ring of sunshine and those three glowing golden stars.

“Liam, look,” she'd whispered, fearful of talking too loudly and interrupting nature's spectacular dance.

The look on his face as he'd turned his gaze to the sky had been lovelier, more luminous than a thousand suns. “What's happening?”

“It's the sun setting, combined with the cold. It happens here sometimes, when there are ice crystals in the air. Sort of like an Alaskan rainbow. You mean you've never seen one before?”

Liam had still been new to Aurora, but he'd told her all about moving from place to place and how his father preached in the most remote villages in the Arctic Circle. Surely he'd seen more and done more than she could have ever imagined.

But he'd never seen anything like the sky that day. “No, never. What is its name?”

He'd pulled her closer, and beneath the moody blue shelter of their tree, she'd burrowed into Liam's embrace. Neither of them had been quite ready to look away from the sun. Even seven years later, Posy could remember hoping that if she'd just kept her eyes on the blinding light, she would always feel as she did at that precise moment. Treasured.

That had been the moment she'd known she'd fallen in love.

With a lump in her throat and a heart aching with tenderness, she'd answered Liam's question. “They call it a sun dog.”

Chapter Eleven

“L
iam, a word, please?” Pastor McNeil stuck his head out the church door and motioned for Liam to come inside.

“Certainly. I'll be right there.” He finished packing the snowball cradled in his hands and added it to the pile he'd been working on all morning.

Eight hundred fifty-six down.

One hundred forty-four to go.

He glanced at his watch. He still had several hours until school got out. No problem, assuming that whatever his boss wanted to discuss wouldn't take the better part of the afternoon. He couldn't imagine it would. Then again, he wasn't typically summoned to the head pastor's office. He actually didn't spend much time in meetings with Lou at all. The fact that this was the second time in as many weeks that he'd be sitting across that great expanse of desk wasn't without significance.

He brushed the snow from his gloves and headed inside. The blast of warm air was such a sea change from the temperature outdoors that for a moment, he was disoriented. He blinked against the assault of central heating. With pinpricks of pain, his face dethawed. By the time he reached Pastor McNeil's office, he could once again feel his mouth. His ears, fingers and toes were still a different story.

He pulled off his gloves and knocked on the open door. “You need something, Pastor?”

Lou looked up and waved him inside. “Come in. Have a seat.”

“Yes, sir.” Liam shed his parka and sat.

“That's quite a stack of snowballs you've got out there.”

“Yes, it is. I'm almost finished. In a regulation snowball fight, the team is allowed one thousand snowballs. The past few days, we've been using half of our practice time making our ammunition, so I thought I'd get a head start today. I want the boys to get a feel for just how quickly they can go through that many snowballs.” Liam was guessing it would be far quicker than they expected.

“And your first official game is coming up soon, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir. This weekend. I know the boys would be thrilled if you could come cheer them on.”

“I wouldn't miss it. I suppose Josephine will be there with the girls, as well?”

The use of Posy's stage name caught Liam off guard again. Why did it seem to grate on his nerves more and more every time he heard it? She'd been back for nearly three weeks now. He'd heard the name tossed about practically every day.
Josephine Sutton.
Some of the girls had even taken to calling her Miss Josephine. She'd asked them to call her Posy, but the discovery of her YouTube videos had kindled their interest in her stage name. They were suddenly fascinated with all sorts of new things, each and every one of which was in some way related to ballet.

“I don't know, sir. We haven't discussed it.” Pastor McNeil frowned to such an extent that Liam added a hasty “
Yet
. We haven't discussed it
yet
.”

“I certainly hope that's on your agenda for this afternoon. The game is in two days, is it not? I know you want every member of the youth group there.” Liam's boss peered over the top of his glasses.

He had a valid point. The boys would get a huge kick out of the girls watching their game. Besides, Liam had never split the group before. The entire idea of the boys and girls doing different things was somewhat of a novelty, and never would have happened without that fateful snowball Ronnie had aimed at Melody's head. “Of course. Yes. I'll make sure Miss Sutton gets it on her schedule.” He still couldn't call her Josephine. No way.

“How are things working out with Josephine's ballet lessons? It's been a few weeks, so I wanted to touch base with you.” Pastor McNeil's brow furrowed in the way it always did when he was serious about something, and Liam knew that this was the moment he could raise an objection about the girls and ballet.

Posy wasn't around. It was just him and Lou. And Sundog, of course. But this was the one instance that Liam knew the dog wouldn't be a problem unless, unbeknownst to him, the Newfoundland had learned to talk. Which he really doubted, since he'd yet to learn to stop chewing on the furniture.

Liam released a tense breath. He couldn't do it. It didn't feel right. “Actually, the girls seem really happy.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

Ballet fever had struck the youth group. Since the vigil the night that Posy had sprained her ankle, the girls had become more and more enamored with her. Every afternoon, they held on to the backs of their metal chairs and rose up on their sock feet, faces aglow as if they were dancing in one of the fancy productions on Posy's YouTube videos.

He still had the nagging fear that one of them would get hurt, but that seemed unlikely since they appeared to be doing the most basic of ballet moves. Posy would be long gone before they were ready to leap or be lifted in the air. She would leave as surely as the snow would fall.

And this time when she was gone, he wouldn't be the one left nursing a hole in his heart. This time it would be worse. Seven teenage girls would be left floundering in her wake. It was a helpless inevitability. He couldn't stop it from happening if he tried.

“I'm glad to hear that.” Lou nodded. Then, just when Liam thought the discussion was over, he dropped the bomb. “Because I'd like you to talk to Josephine about putting together a dance recital.”

“What?”
It came out far louder than he'd planned. Sundog even jerked his head up and let out a woof of protest.

“Is that a problem?”

“Well, sir. They've only taken a dozen lessons or so, and Miss Sutton will be gone in a matter of weeks.”

“Perfect timing, then.” Pastor McNeil reached inside his desk drawer, removed a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk toward Liam.

Liam glanced at the words at the top of the bright yellow page.
State Grant to be Awarded for Youth Program. Deadline to Apply: April 1.

Liam slid the paper back toward his boss. He didn't need to read it in its entirety. He already had a copy of it on the desk in his office.

“I don't understand.” Liam shook his head. “What does this have to do with a ballet recital?”

“The state of Alaska is awarding a grant to a youth program that brings something unique to the state and its community. There's government money to be had. The kind of money that could really make a difference in the lives of the kids here.”

He wasn't saying anything Liam didn't know already. “Yes, I'm aware. I'm already planning to apply for the grant. I've been waiting until the boys' first snowballing match. I'm going to take photos and a video to attach to the form.”

“Forgive me, Liam. But I fail to see how Alaskan kids throwing snowballs is going to seem unique in any way. We need something that sets our program apart. Something the other youth programs in the state don't have.” He leaned back in his chair and waited for Liam to agree with him.

He'd given voice to Liam's overriding concern. Snow and Alaska weren't exactly an unexpected combination. “And you think Posy's ballet classes are deserving of this grant? Classes that she's been teaching for such a short time?”

Lou shook his head. “No, I don't.”

Good. They were in agreement.

“But if she can put together a dance recital, I think we have a real chance. Think about it, Liam. A dance recital. Organized by a professional ballerina. Name one youth program that can make that claim.”

He had a point. “I can't. Ours included.”

Pastor McNeil shrugged. “But surely it could be done.”

What in the world had Posy said to this man to make him think she could turn anyone into a ballerina overnight?

“Pastor, these girls are only learning the basics. The deadline to apply for this grant is in three weeks. I just don't think having them ready for a dance recital by then is in the realm of possibility.” Liam had dropped in on Posy's classes. The girls were wobbly even when holding on to the backs of their chairs.

And even if Posy somehow managed to pull it off, wouldn't a recital just intensify things? The girls were already growing attached to Posy. Too attached. They needed distance and space, before it was forced upon them by her absence. What Lou was suggesting would be the very opposite of distance.

Pastor McNeil drummed his fingertips on his desk. “I believe that is a decision for Josephine. Don't you agree?”

What was Liam supposed to say to that?

“Shall you talk to her, or shall I?” Lou stood, ready to sprint down the hall in search of Posy.

Sundog rose to his feet, ready to sprint after him. The dog had taken to hanging around Posy whenever Liam turned his back. Was there anyone in Alaska who'd yet to become enamored with her?

“I'll do it.” Liam suppressed a sigh. “I'll talk to her.”

A recital.

If she could put a show together, their chances of winning the grant would improve exponentially. Ballet wasn't exactly commonplace in Alaska. And Liam wanted that grant. The church needed it. The kids needed it.

But in three weeks' time? Impossible.

* * *

“A recital?” Posy stared at Liam, searching his expression for a sign,
any
sign, that he was joking. “You're serious?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms. “Not me, technically. Lou.”

Well, that made more sense. But it didn't change the fact that, for all their newfound enthusiasm, the girls were still very much beginners.

They'd barely moved beyond the basic plié. But had any dancer in the history of ballet ever moved beyond the plié? As Balanchine's legendary muse Suzanne Farrell once said,
Plié is the first thing you learn and the last thing you master.

She adjusted the bag of ice on her foot. Her toes had gone numb, and she had no idea if the coolness was even penetrating her cast, but she wasn't taking chances. She had an appointment with Dr. Cooper first thing in the morning, and she wanted to be able to look him in the eye and tell him that she'd been a model patient.

“Assuming I could choreograph something basic—and we're talking
very
basic...” But basic could still be graceful. There was something innately pure and beautiful in the simplicity of a pointed toe, a delicately arched arm. Breathtaking innocence. “A recital would mean costumes. Dance clothes instead of sweatpants and T-shirts. Real ballet shoes instead of sock feet.”

“The church doesn't have the money for those things, Posy. Especially for a program with an expiration date.” He gave her a meaningful glance. She looked back down at the bag of ice on her leg. “Lou asked me to talk to you about it, and I said that I would. For the record, I told him it was impossible.”

“I said there were difficulties involved. I never said it was impossible.” Just
near
impossible. Still too far out of the realm of possibility to even contemplate.

Yet the image of the girls in pink shoes and soft, romantic tutus had already begun tiptoeing in her head.

They would love it. She was sure they would. Getting all dressed up and showing off the new ballet skills they'd learned would put the biggest smiles on their faces. It would be exactly the kind of confidence that kids that age needed most. Most of all, it would be fun. And what better parting gift for her to leave them when she went back to her real life?

Real life.

The phrase settled in the pit of her stomach. The longer she stayed in Alaska, the blurrier the line between
real
and
not real
seemed to get.

“Posy.” Liam sighed. “I can't get you a dime for costumes and shoes. Or anything else. I wish I could. For the girls' sake, of course.”

For the girls. Naturally. That was why they were both here, having this discussion. That was why she spent the majority of her waking hours with Liam. For the kids.

Somewhere up above, she sensed God rolling His eyes.

She cleared her throat. Then just as she was about to ask her next question, her cell phone blared to life. The familiar, dramatic notes of Tchaikovsky filled the air, albeit slightly tinnier than they'd sounded coming from the orchestra pit in the theater where she danced.

Liam promptly rolled his eyes. “Nice ringtone.”

“I think so.” She gave him a saccharine smile and reached for her phone. But her smile faded when she saw the name on the display.

Gabriel.

Again.

She'd been dodging his calls for two weeks now. She just couldn't seem to make herself pick up the phone and talk to him. Not until her cast was off, when she could tell him with complete honesty that she was almost healed.

One more day. Just one more day.

God, please.

She silenced the ringtone and buried her phone back in her dance bag.

“Avoiding someone?” Liam's eyebrows rose.

Yes.
“It's nothing. That was the director of my company.”

“Sounds important,” he said tersely.

“It can wait.” She cleared her throat. “Back to this recital idea. Lou really thinks that it would give us a leg up as far as getting that grant from the state?” The word
us
had flown right off her tongue without warning. She hoped Liam hadn't noticed.

Judging from the way the set of his jaw tensed, yes, he had. “He's pretty convinced, yes.”

“And what do you think?” She peered up at him, waiting for an answer.

A storm of emotions passed through his gaze. Frustration. Anger. And a sadness so deep that it made Posy want to bury her face in the softness of his pine-needle scent again. “It doesn't matter what I think.”

“Yes, it does. You're the youth pastor. This is your program.” A recital would be difficult enough to pull off, even with Liam's support. If he were opposed to the idea, she wouldn't have a chance.

He sighed. “It's possible that a dance recital might give us an edge.”