Mending Places (27 page)

Sympathy surged through Hanna’s heart. How blessed she’d been to have godly parents when he didn’t even have a taste of love until he was a young man. Her soul longed to touch his, to heal him. But then, God had already done that.

He drew a deep breath and grinned sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to go on for so long, but anyway, that’s how I became a Christian. Jim led me to the Lord.”

Hanna reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thanks for telling me.”

Micah shifted and gathered his trash. The quiet moment teemed with awkwardness, and Hanna gathered up her things too. She realized Micah must be feeling vulnerable, having spilled the details of his past. Embarrassed about the things he’d done, about the man he’d been. But as far as she was concerned, all that was in the past. She could easily fill the silence with reassurances but decided to let her actions speak for her. He would come to see that she respected him for the man he was today.

CHAPTER TWENTY
 

Micah stuffed their trash in the cooler and lugged it through the underbrush to the canoe. His nerves were worn from the confessions he’d just made, but judging by Hanna’s reaction, he’d done the right thing in coming clean. She seemed to accept him as he was. And that was comforting, knowing that he’d told her every shameful thing about his past.

Not everything.

She didn’t have to know about that. He wasn’t over it himself. How could he bare that raw issue?

Tell her.

He shoved the thought to the back of his mind. There would be time to tell her later. When he’d come to terms with it himself. When he felt some twinge of forgiveness. He’d been relieved when he’d told Pastor Witte on Sunday that he couldn’t serve as a deacon. Micah hadn’t given a reason, and Pastor Witte hadn’t asked.

They silently stowed their belongings in the canoe and put on their life vests. As the boat began moving once again, so did conversation, and Micah was relieved that Hanna was easy to talk to. They worked as a team, growing quiet when they reached rapids. They maneuvered through them with ease, with Hanna paddling on the appropriate side while he used his oar as a rudder.

As they exited this last set of rapids, the most turbulent so far, Hanna tossed him a smile. “That was fun.”

The canoe glided slowly into the still center of the river, and they rested, their oars lying across their laps as they caught their breath. The hottest part of the afternoon had descended upon them, and Micah wished he could take off his shirt.

Memories surfaced of the one time a woman had seen his scarred back. He’d picked her up in a bar, an exquisitely beautiful Asian woman, who’d known what he was after from the first. Even the haze of alcohol had never kept him from remembering to dim the lights when he was with a woman, but this one had surprised him. As they’d left the bed, she’d flipped on the overhead light. He hadn’t turned soon enough to prevent her from seeing his scarred back. The revulsion on her face was a bitter reminder of the grotesque deformity of his skin.

The memory brought a shadow of anxiety, sucking the moisture from his mouth.

“Want a soda?” Hanna asked.

“You read my mind.”

She turned in her seat and attempted to unzip the nylon cooler. The awkwardness of her position forced her to stand and turn.

“Here I’ll get it,” Micah said.

“I’ve got it.” She stepped over her seat but lost her balance when her foot slipped against the wet, rounded side of the canoe. Her hand found the only hold, the side of the boat. The motion dipped the canoe precariously to the side.

Micah reached out to help steady her, but it was too late. The canoe flipped, and they plunged into the water.

Water rushed over his head, but the life vest carried him to the surface. He wiped the water from his eyes and looked for Hanna. Beyond the floating cooler, she bobbed, a dazed expression coating her features, but obviously unhurt.

He couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. “Do you know how many times I’ve gone down this river without tipping?”

He watched her collect herself. Finally, she blinked innocently. “Two or three?”

“Ha! Try dozens.
Dozens.”
He glanced at the canoe floating topsyturvy beside them. “And I have
never
tipped.”

She tilted her chin and lowered her lashes in a way that made him want to grab her and kiss her. “It’s your fault,” she said.

Kiss? He meant throttle. “My
fault?”

“If you hadn’t wanted a soda …”

He lunged through the water at her, hearing a squeal just before the water surged over his head. A game of chase ensued. Hanna turned and caught him with a wave of water to the face. He growled menacingly and pursued her again.

They splashed and chased in the refreshingly cool water, dunking one another when the moment provided itself—no easy feat in the buoyant orange vests. Hanna’s laughter floated across the surface of the water as she caught him from behind.

He let her dunk him, then twisted under the water and came up facing her. He blinked the water away from his eyes and reveled in the impish expression on her face. Her wet hair was slicked back exposing the natural beauty of her face. Water-spiked lashes framed her sparkling eyes.

He watched a rivulet of water run down her sun-kissed cheek and past the corner of her lips. His gaze caught there, watching the smile fall from her mouth.

Far beneath the surface of the water, her feet found his and mingled with his calves. He read the desire in her eyes. Lord help him, but he’d never wanted a woman so badly. Not just physically. He wanted all of her, body, mind, and soul. He wanted their lives to mingle the way their feet did now.

Micah tugged her as close as their vests would allow. Water lapped gently against them as her hands found the front of his vest and clutched there. He lowered his mouth to hers, wanting her, needing her.

Catcalls echoed across the water surface. Micah looked up to see two teenager-guided canoes shooting out of the rapids. As he and Hanna parted, regret simmered within him like the glowing ashes of a campfire. They made small talk with the boys as they glided past,
and one of them fished their errant oars from the water and tossed them back.

By the time the boys were gone, the intimate moment had been shattered. Hanna pushed the cooler to shore while he pushed the canoe and oars. They emerged from the water sopping wet.

Hanna removed her T-shirt, exposing a modest black tank suit, and wrung the water from it. She met his gaze and shook her head in good humor. “You may as well take off your shirt. We can lay them out to dry in the boat.”

Muscles clenched in his abdomen, and his mind fought for an excuse. Instead, he began wringing the hem of his shirt. “Nah, it’s fine. Feels cooler this way.”

Soon they were gliding downriver again, but this time Micah had the tantalizing view of Hanna’s square, tanned shoulders tapering down to a tiny waist.

They sailed through the remaining rapids, stopping two more times to rest and enjoy the scenery. By the time they reached the end, their clothes were barely damp, but their energy was depleted. After returning the canoe, they agreed to stop and eat on the way back to the lodge. Doing so guaranteed Micah missing his support-group meeting, but watching Hanna return his smile, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

After dinner at the Shady Nook Café, they stopped at a quiet spot along the shores of Flat Creek. Micah didn’t want the day to end and, apparently, neither did Hanna because she seemed content to sit at the water’s edge and talk until dusk settled around them like a down quilt.

“How many are signed up for the climb tomorrow?” she asked.

“Just a few. Should be an easy group.”

She picked a blade of grass and tore it in half. “Have you ever got caught in a snowstorm up in the mountains?”

“Nah. I watch the weather reports before I leave. It snows sometimes, but nothing dangerous.”

“I’ll have to take another trip with you soon.”

A smile sneaked upon his lips. “I’d like that. I’ve been missing your marshmallows.”

She smiled, and he stared out at the creek, remembering their first climb together. He’d hardly known her, but even then there had been something compelling about her. Suddenly he remembered the last night of that climb when she’d awakened him from his sleep with cries and whimpers. What had caused her nightmare? He remembered the flashlight left on all night in her tent. Was she—

“What?” Hanna laughed lightly. “You look so serious.”

He studied her face. “I was just thinking about the night we were camping when you had that nightmare.”

Her expression sobered, and she looked out into the gathering darkness.

“Do you have them often?”

“Not so often anymore.” She gave a wan smile. “It’s been such a nice day, I don’t want to spoil it. Can we talk about something else?” “Sure.”

Beside him, Hanna picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the creek.

Ah, now there was something he could talk about.

She picked up another one and threw. “One, two, three,” she counted the skips. “There, beat that.” Her adorable chin nudged up defiantly.

Should he tell her he had an unfair advantage? Nah. He picked up a stone and hurled it. It skipped rapidly across the water like a bionic frog, disappearing in the distant darkness.

Hanna’s back straightened. “Hey, how’d you do that?”

He tossed her an “aw shucks” grin. “Don’t be too impressed. I’ve had lots of practice.” No need to tell her he’d gotten it in the prison yard, skipping stones down a drainage ditch.

“So have I, but I’ve never seen a rock skip so many times. Show me.”

He moved behind her, and picked up a flat stone. That he could’ve
shown her from a distance occurred to him, but that wouldn’t be as much fun.

Hanna leaned back against his chest while he showed her precisely how to hold the rock. When she had her fingers properly placed, he curled her arm and held her wrist, slowly repeating the flicking motion until she got the hang of it.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me try.”

He leaned back on his hands to give her room to maneuver and, after several practice throws, she flung the rock horizontally. It skipped four times before plunking into the water.

“That’s better,” he encouraged.

She turned, wearing a proud smile. “I did it.”

Suddenly rocks were the last thing on his mind. Her hair had air-dried to a tousled mane of honey, and he reached out and smoothed it behind her ear. She settled back against his chest, and he wondered if she felt the beating of his heart through his shirt.

As if reading his mind, she laid her hand against his heart as if asking for permission to enter. Then her hand moved to the roughness of his jaw, and he thought he’d expire from the yearning. Her eyes asked a question. He answered.

His lips covered hers, tasting the sweet surrender of her heart. He nipped gently at her lips, wanting to treat her with the care she deserved. Her eager response sent pleasant sensations surging through his veins. Euphoric sensations that made him wonder what he’d ever done to deserve this moment.

She twisted in his arms, facing him, nestling in the curve of his chest. The kiss deepened, and the assault on his senses intensified. Passion swelled in him until he feared it would overtake him.

He broke the kiss and jumped to his feet in one motion. Hanna nearly fell at his departure but caught herself with her hands.

Heat still coursed through him, now flooding his face. He felt silly, jumping and running like there was a fire. He laughed derisively.
There was a fire, and it was in him.

One look at Hanna’s confused face drained all humor from his thoughts.

“It’s not—,” he began. “Don’t think—” He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice was raspy, her hair tousled, her lips swollen. The sweet confusion on her face begged for an answer.

He dropped to his knees, keeping a safe distance. When he looked at her, she turned away, but not before he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes and read the hurt on her face.

Suddenly he remembered their last kiss, when he’d abruptly left her sitting by the fire, and knew with certainty Hanna was thinking about it too. Thinking about the way he’d fought the attraction and avoided her for days. But this wasn’t like last time.

“No, Hanna, that’s not it.”

She continued to look the other way, but he could see her eyelashes fluttering quickly and knew she was trying not to cry. He could alleviate her suffering easily if only he could figure out how to say it. How could something that came so easily to him on paper come so hard with the spoken word?

“It’s just that I—look, I’ve never had to—” He flipped a twig with his finger. How could he explain without humiliating himself? “Kissing you—it makes me want more, okay?”

Her head swung to meet his gaze. Her wide-eyed innocence forced him on.

“Always before, before I was a Christian, I never had to stop with just a kiss. See what I’m saying?”

She did, he could see it by the quick downward flutter of her lashes. She clutched her knees to her chest in a gesture that screamed vulnerability.