Peace (13 page)

“Mamm? Uh, no. I'm his mother,” she said hesitantly. “What, ah, what do you know about Chris?”

Beth decided the best way to begin was with the basic information. “I live in Marion, Kentucky. Your son, he is a friend of mine.”

“Have you seen him lately? Is he okay?”

“He is okay, I suppose,” Beth said slowly. “He is resting here. I am looking after a bed-and-breakfast.” Realizing how choppy everything was sounding, she bit her lip. This wasn't going too well.

“Tim?” the woman said again. “Tim, this woman says Chris is with her.”

There was another click, then a deep voice spoke. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Beth said. One more time, she introduced herself. “My name is Beth. I am a friend of your son Chris.”

“Yes?” The man's voice sounded even more wary.

“Um, well . . . because it's Christmas, I wanted to call and let you know that your son is all right.”

After the briefest of hesitations, he said, “He hasn't been all right for a long time.”

Beth was stunned until she remembered that his family didn't know what he truly did for a living. Oh, but she wished that she had thought things through before she had called them. It was a difficult thing, trying to figure out what to say to clear Chris's name without giving away his secrets. “Chris is a mighty
gut
man,” she finally said. “The best.”

“Miss, where are you from?” his mother asked. “Did you say Kentucky?”

“Jah.”

“You sound strange.”

“I'm Amish.”

“You're Amish?” the man repeated.

Right on his heels, the woman asked, “Our Chris is staying with an Amish woman in a bed-and-breakfast in Marion?”

“Yes. He was injured, you see. But he is better now.”

“Injured? What happened?”

“He was in a fight with some bad men.”

Chris's father chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. Instead it sounded bitter. Harsh and disappointed. “I don't know how to tell you this, but Chris has been lying to you. He's the bad one.”

“
Nee
. That is not true!”

“What isn't?” Chris said from behind her.

She turned so quickly, she almost dropped the phone. “Chris!”

“Chris is there with you right now? Can you put him on?” his mother said urgently.

Chris stared at her. “Beth, who are you on the phone with?” As he saw the answer in her eyes, the color drained from his face. “What have you done?”

“I'm giving you a Christmas present.” Abruptly making up her mind, she thrust the phone at him. “I've been talking to your parents, Chris. But I fear I've been doing a poor job of it. You . . . you should talk now.”

He shook his head even while his left hand grabbed the cell phone.

With a look of pain, he held it up to his ear. “Mom?” he asked. “Dad? Yeah, it's me.”

Beth felt like crying. Even though it was hurting him, she knew she had made the right decision. Turning, she grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, dragged it to where Chris was standing, and gently guided him into it.

“Dad, Mom, there's a reason I couldn't contact you. A very good one. Uh, no, Dad. That is actually not what I was doing,” he said quickly.

Standing off to the side, Beth watched him bite his lip, then shrug. Just as if he'd made a decision. “The truth is that I've been working for the DEA for years undercover.” He paused, then spoke again. “Yes, the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

Just as she was edging away, Chris reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Don't leave,” he mouthed, just before he spoke out loud again. “I know I looked scary, Mom, but that's kind of the point.”

To her bemused surprise, his lips curved up. “I'm not hurt too badly, Mom. Just a little banged up.” He sighed. “It's nothing, I promise. Stitches.”

Little by little, Beth felt her anxiety settle as she felt Chris's whole mood lift. As he continued to talk, asking about his brothers, she watched him run a hand through his hair.

Then, wonder of wonders, he chuckled.

“I know, Mom.”

Danke
,
Got
, she silently prayed. She truly hadn't been certain that this had been the right thing to do. All she had felt was a real need to make things a little brighter for him while he was still with her.

Now, all she had to do was pretend that she wasn't going to miss him terribly when he left the day after Christmas. . . .

“Beth?”

Realizing her mind had drifted, she stared at him. “Yes?”

He handed her the phone again. “My mother wants to talk to you.”

Feeling awkward, she took the phone from him and put it up to her ear. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” his mother said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for calling us. I don't know if you'll ever know how much it meant to me to hear Chris's voice.”

Gazing at Chris, noticing the change that had come over his features just from the five-minute phone call, Beth realized that she might have some idea about that. Tears filled her eyes.

“I'm just glad you answered the phone,” she said.

“I hope one day we'll get to meet.”

“Yes. Um, me, too,” she murmured. “I would like that.” Of course, it wasn't likely. From what Ryan had said, in two days Chris would leave Marion, would most likely leave Kentucky. He was going to get a new name. Get a new identity. And then he'd be gone from her life all over again.

When she handed the phone back to Chris, he said a few words, then hung up.

Then he turned to her, his face a mixture of bewilderment and admiration. “I can't believe you did that. You took me completely by surprise.”

“I know.” She was secretly pleased with herself. He was a man used to being constantly on alert. She considered it almost a badge of honor that she was able to catch him off guard like that.

“You shouldn't have called them without asking me.” His voice was raspy. But was it from anger or something else?

“I know you are upset with me, but I cannot regret this.” She was just thankful he wasn't asking her why she'd done it, because she really didn't know. It had just seemed like the right thing.

She stared at him. Gazed into that curious shade of blue and green and gray. Then, to her surprise, he yanked her close into a fierce embrace.

All of a sudden, she was surrounded by Chris. By his tall, muscular build. By his clean scent. By his warmth and his strong personality.

His hands were firm on her back and head. He was pressing her close, not in a scary, hurtful way, but as if he couldn't get her close enough.

As if he was trying to commit that hug to memory.

In response, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close.

Because she knew exactly what he was trying to do. After all, she was trying to do the same thing.

Chapter 13

Some moments, some memories, are so special, it's hard to give them up.

C
HRISTOPHER
H
ART

The next morning, Chris found himself reliving those brief moments when he'd held Beth tightly in his arms.

She'd felt so right.

Chris hadn't wanted to ever let her go. He'd yearned to imprint to memory the way she felt in his arms. So much so that years from now he'd still be able to recall everything about that moment.

To remember how it felt to be held by the woman he loved.

Just as his chin had begun to lower, as his body stirred, wanting more from her, wanting to kiss her lips, he had thankfully stepped away. A fierce hug was one thing. But kissing her? That would have been a huge mistake.

After checking his stitches and getting cleaned up, he found Beth in the kitchen.

“Gut matin! Kaffi?”

“Coffee sounds good. Thanks.” Chris wondered if she even realized she was speaking Pennsylvania Dutch. As he eyed her, he noticed she was in a pretty raspberry-colored dress, and that her cheeks were rosy and her eyes glowed. “You sure are happy this morning,” he teased.

“It snowed last night,” she said happily. “So we will have a white Christmas after all.”

Glancing out the window at the shimmering blanket of freshly fallen snow, he had to admit it looked beautiful.

Almost as pretty as Beth did at that very moment.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she set a filled cup in front of him and chattered away. “I'm
verra
pleased about the snow. But I also can't stop thinking about your phone call, Chris. All morning, I've been thinking about how happy your
mamm
sounded on the phone. I'm so glad you talked to them.”

“You gave me quite a Christmas present. I'll always be grateful.”

“All I did was make the call,” she reminded him as he sipped his coffee. “Your parents wanted to talk to you. Your mother was overjoyed to know that you were okay.”

Beth had done something that he'd been afraid to do for years. Though it was tempting to chastise himself for causing them so much pain, he pushed it aside. He'd have plenty of time for recriminations after he left the Yellow Bird Inn and was living by himself in some rundown apartment once again. “I can't wait to see them. I hadn't realized until I heard their voices how much I've missed them.”

“I hope you'll get to see them one day soon.”

Her smile faltered, right in sync with his plummeting feelings. Here was yet another thing that he wasn't going to get to do.

“Maybe. I hope so.”

Shaking away that burst of melancholy, he summoned a smile. “So, it's Christmas Eve. Is there something you want to do? I bet it would be safe if you wanted to spend some time with your friends now.”

“I'm not going to leave you.”

He made himself laugh. “My stitches are fine and my fever has broken.”

“It's not that. Chris, I don't want to leave you today.”

The honesty shining in her eyes made him want to be completely honest, too. “Good, because I really don't want you to leave.”

“Would you like to help me make dinner? I know cooking isn't man's work, but I'm not a very good cook.”

“You're not a good cook at all, Beth,” he said with a grin. “But I do okay.”

“If you know how to cook at all, I'm sure you can help me.”

“I'd like that very much.” He followed her into the room beyond the kitchen that was Frannie's oversized storage area. Against one wall was a large freezer.

“I'm not sure what we can make,” she said as she pulled open the door.

He stood by her side, reading labels of frozen casseroles, looking at the packages of chicken and hamburger. In the back he saw one pork tenderloin. Reaching for it, he pulled it out. “How about this? Do you like pork?”

“I do, but I don't know how to make that.”

“I do. My mother used to roast it with a cranberry glaze.”

“Chris, it's frozen like a rock.”

“We've got all day to figure out how to thaw it.” He gestured to the neatly lined and labeled casserole dishes. “What else do you see?”

“Here's a potato dish.” She brightened. “And some frozen corn. I do know how to make a corn pudding. You know what? We might actually have a
wonderful-gut
supper.”

“I hope so.”

Carefully, she pulled out the two containers and led the way back to the kitchen while he followed, holding the end of the roast like it was the end of a baseball bat.

Hands on her hips, she proclaimed, “We should make a cake, too.”

“A cake? That's a bit beyond my skills, Beth.”

“Frannie has a recipe for a chocolate cake. I think that sounds
gut
. We need something to help us celebrate. Christmas is Jesus's birthday, you know.”

It had been a long time since he'd even heard a Christmas carol, let alone taken the time to really reflect on what Christmas is all about. “I suppose you're going to get flour everywhere. And I'm going to have to clean it up.” He chuckled, thinking of the first time he'd met her. She'd been in this very kitchen, trying to clean up a very big mess.

“Probably.” She sighed, but she couldn't hide her amusement.

“So what do you want to do first?”

“You figure out how to thaw a roast. While you do that, I'll find the cake recipe.” Holding up an apron, she said, “Would you care for an apron?”

“I'll help you in the kitchen, Beth. I'll even clean up your mess. But real men don't wear aprons.”

Looking very amused, she murmured, “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Danke.”
Of course, he probably butchered the pronunciation. But it didn't seem to matter to Beth.

Because when he glanced at her again, she was blushing and smiling softly at him.

And the picture she made was so dear, it took just about everything he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her.