Tying the Knot (19 page)

To her fears. Something about the city ignited in her eyes a terror so real it made him ache. He longed to draw it out of her and slay her dragons. But to do that she’d have to trust him.

Perhaps . . . there he went, dreaming about a future with a woman whose laughter sounded like a song, who smelled like a field of fresh wildflowers—a sober dilemma if he wanted to stay sane around her.

Thankfully, if her current expression told the truth, she might be renaming his “local terrorist” label to something a little more . . . safe. At least he hoped the way she’d trembled at his touch had nothing to do with fear.

If God could change her opinion of him, then perhaps—just maybe—she could learn to trust him. And then, maybe . . .

As he sat under the stars looking at the potential of his living God, he wanted to burst.
Lord, I know I don’t deserve any of this. But if You are willing, please use me to bless Anne. To heal her heart, to calm her fears. Please help me be the man she needs me to be.

13

Bertha hung her head out the window, her tongue flapping in the breeze, as Anne drove into Deep Haven. Anne had to laugh at her roommate . . . the dog seemed as delirious as her human and had spent the morning trampling on clothes and knocking over furniture with her hairy bullwhip tail.

Anne tried to convince herself that Bertha’s excitement had to do with the fresh air and abundant squirrel supply at Wilderness Challenge, but she suspected that her dog, like her, had a serious crush on the camp’s director.

Well, Bertha had great taste.

Anne swallowed back a wave of delight that seemed to consume her entire body. Noah had kissed her. The man had touched her with gentleness, as if she might break, and it had sent tingles to her toes. When he’d whispered her name, as soft as a dream, she’d turned right into jelly.

This summer was turning out to be so much more than she’d ever hoped. A carefree job at a camp tucked away inside a fortress of Norway pine—not even the demons of the inner city could find her there. She could be sure she wouldn’t walk into a drug-high murderer’s gun sights, and nothing more dangerous than a sunburn or a bad case of poison ivy loomed ahead.

Anne began to hum, and with a start, she recognized the song as the hymn her mysterious stranger had sung over a year ago: “It Is Well with My Soul.” She certainly felt well as the wind tousled her hair and she motored along the jeweled shoreline. Lately, God had reached right out of heaven to bless her, and hope never felt so palpable. She smiled at the sky, an awning of puff and azure.
Thank You, God.

She supposed, if she paid attention, she might be able to count a trail of blessings all the way to Minneapolis. Anne made a wry face. Somehow it wasn’t until arriving at Deep Haven, however, that the fog of darkness had cleared enough for her to see them. Regret pinched her throat. Perhaps, if she had turned around long enough to thank God for bringing her this far, she would have seen His footprints beside her path. Perhaps.

She continued along Main Street, past World’s Best Donuts, which had a line of people jagging outside the door, past Mom and Pop’s and the memory of Noah’s laughter, and finally stopped at the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop. She could use a cup of tea to rein in her runaway dreams. It didn’t help that she’d spent half the night reliving Noah’s kiss and the smell of him mingling with the night campfire air.

It hadn’t escaped her that when she looked at him, she no longer saw the trappings of the hood she’d escaped. In fact, she wondered how she’d even equated him with the bullies that ran the street. From the first moment she’d met him, he’d been nothing but a complete gentleman. Even when she’d accused him of slave trade and prowling her home, he hadn’t raised his voice or made a move to protect himself—even when she slugged him on the road. That didn’t sound like any of the bad boys from her childhood.

She’d been horribly prejudiced to believe that he had even one gangbanger bone in his body. Frankly, now that she knew him, she had a hard time picturing Noah surviving the Phillips neighborhood. He’d get rolled in about three seconds and smile while they did it. He was simply too . . . nice.

Anne had a sneaking suspicion that he’d shopped at a local Salvation Army store and dug up a costume that would appeal to the campers—something visual to add to his size that would make them respect him. It certainly didn’t seem his style to bully them into obedience, so maybe the clothes were both the tool and part of the secret she saw in his eyes. But she’d seen right through him. The guy couldn’t produce enough menace to intimidate even his helpful squirrels, and she shouldn’t have let her fears take possession of her brain.

“Stay,” she said to Bertha, who licked her soundly and whined. Anne took the steps two at a time and beamed at a local who sat on the porch enjoying a cup of brew and the local
Superior Times
. He nodded to her, a bright smile adding to his chubby jolliness. Yes, Deep Haven certainly had its share of exotic flora and fauna.

The door jingled as Anne entered. The bookstore had few patrons—an elderly vacationer with a “Welcome to Deep Haven” bag over her arm and a tall, dark-haired man. He rang a chord of familiarity in Anne when she noticed a black bag slung over his shoulder.

Mona greeted her from the coffee bar, where she was filling muffin orders and chatting with her husband, that author fellow—what was his name? Anne stopped short, staring at a poster of an upcoming hardcover. The incredibly handsome author on the poster couldn’t be—the echo of Edith’s words clicked into place. “Reese Clark?”

Mona’s husband looked up at her, grinned, then nodded. His blue eyes danced. He shrugged. “That’s me. Sorta. Around here, I’m just Joe, Mona’s lucky husband.”

Anne stared at the picture. Reese Clark appeared significantly more slicked-up than the local now perched on the tall barstool. Joe wore a pair of rumpled jeans and a thermal shirt. Reese was sharp and handsome in a pair of cowboy boots, black jeans, and a black Stetson.

“You clean up pretty well.” Anne picked up one of the books on the display.
“Disaster in Deep Haven
. Is this about our town?”

Mona laughed. “Sit down, Anne. What’s your pleasure this morning?”

“How about a cup of tea?” She flipped through the pages of the book. “Wow. A bookstore owner married to an author. Guess that’s convenient.” Anne slid onto the bench. “Will you sign it if I buy it?”

Joe reached over and took the book. “It’s a gift.” He grabbed a pen from over the countertop and opened the front cover. “And yes, it is convenient.” She didn’t miss the wink he gave his wife. Mona blushed a beautiful pink. “Unfortunately, the poor woman didn’t know I was an author when we fell in love.”

“Really?” Anne took the tea and sipped it. The spicy blend went right to her marrow. “Why is that?”

Joe grimaced as he wrote. Only the scratch of his pen filled the silence. “Let’s just say I was less than completely honest.”

Mona ran her fingers along his cheek. “He turned out to be one of the many wonderful surprises awaiting me in Deep Haven.”

Joe returned his wife’s gesture with a look of such devotion, Anne felt a curl of pleasure in her chest.

What surprises were waiting for her here? What had Noah said the day he’d met her, when he repaired her car?
I hope you find what you’re looking for here. Deep Haven isn’t just a pretty place. It’s more than it seems.

Noah had certainly turned out to be more than he seemed. His carefree passion for life made her feel decidedly alive and giddy, and all that raw protectiveness had loosened her death grip on fear. Without a doubt, his warm friendship had soothed the raw edges of her ragged heart. But had she found what she’d been looking for?

And what was that again, exactly?

Anne sipped her tea, listening to Mona bustle about the coffee nook. The dark-haired shopper stepped up to the bar and ordered a mocha cappuccino. Anne glimpsed his choice of reading material and suddenly everything clicked. “You’re a photographer!”

She realized she’d voiced her brilliant deduction when he turned, surprise etched on his angular face. He had a goatee of mink dark hair, and the curly mass on his head showed some scalp. When he gave her a friendly grin, the lines around his dark eyes crinkled. “Garth Peterson. Freelance photographer.” When he shook her hand, she noted how soft his grip felt against the memory of Noah’s.

“Have you been in town long?” Anne asked.

He shrugged, but his smile dimmed. “I’ve been traveling up the shore for about a month, shooting anything that looks promising. Just looking for the perfect opportunity.” He winked, as if including her in some secret club. She forced a smile, all of her inner-city instincts jumping to attention. “Right now, I’m taking some new pictures of your lighthouse for the hospital.” More clicking went through Anne’s head, and she turned her suspicion monitor to low voltage.

The jangle of the bell over the door made her turn. A grinning Sandra sauntered in, a twinkle in her eye. “How’s our local EMT?”

Sandra looked like she’d just stepped out of an L.L. Bean catalog, complete with a turquoise crewneck T-shirt, khaki shorts, and blue leather moccasins. Her blonde hair hung in a long rope down her back, and despite the wrinkles around her eyes, she didn’t look a day over twenty-five. She slid onto the bench beside Anne and gave her a one-armed hug.

“Dr. Jefferies can’t stop talking about you. Seems you made an indelible impression on him last week.” Sandra waggled her brows at Anne. “I don’t think you’d have to do more than smile in his general direction and you’d have an eligible bachelor knocking at your door.”

Anne blushed. She hadn’t had this much male attention since high school and never for reasons she wanted to embrace. “He’s very nice.”

“Nice! Girlfriend, you’re not going to find a more eligible man than Dr. Jefferies. Handsome, clean-cut, churchgoer, and rich to boot.”

Anne fingered her cup. Yes, Dr. Jefferies certainly had the veneer of a saint, and a girl using all her brain cells would jump at the chance to attract his eye.

If she hadn’t already given away a scary hunk of her heart to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous hiding in the backwoods. She shrugged away Sandra’s comment as the woman ordered a cup of cappuccino from Mona.

“Hey, by the way, Dr. Simpson is trying to track you down. He’s issuing new ID tags and keys to all the nurses, and I guess you’re on the list since you load up supplies for the Granite River Clinic.”

“New keys . . . why?”

Sandra looked at Mona and Joe, then around the room. She spotted Mr. Pickle settled on the plaid sofa, engrossed in the pages of a Boundary Waters coffee-table book. Sandra lowered her voice when she continued. “There are some drugs missing. Vicodin and Soma . . . painkillers and muscle relaxants. Also, there is some Percocet missing and a supply of Ritalin.”

“Ritalin has street value.” Anne traveled back to the days when she’d seen two grown adults balancing along the edge of the Hyatt Hotel roof, high on the ADD drug. She always thought it curious that the very thing that depressed a child’s system, helping them concentrate, pumped an adult’s brain into high gear and beyond. “Ritalin is a controlled substance. The prescriptions can’t be refilled without a checkup.”

“Which means that someone either miscounted or someone pocketed it,” said Sandra.

Anne ran her finger down the side of her mug. “Tell Dr. Simpson I’ll stop by as soon as I can.” The thought of someone stealing drugs for personal abuse or to sell on the Deep Haven streets tightened her jaw. Hopefully they’d track down the thief before Anne started her regular shift at the hospital.

“Hey, I noticed gear in your car, along with your very loud dog. Are you taking off?” Sandra asked as she sipped her cappuccino.

“Sort of. I’ve decided to work at Wilderness Challenge for the summer, and I thought it would be easier if I lived there.” She offered an innocent shrug to accompany her explanation. This little congregation didn’t need to know that it would also be easier to enjoy time with Noah without having to run back and forth to Deep Haven when the moon was casting a warm glow on their evening.

Sandra smiled and lifted one blonde eyebrow. “So Dr. Jefferies isn’t the only attraction in town.”

Anne gaped at her, then clamped her mouth shut lest she reveal an embarrassed smile.

Mona laughed. “I like Noah. He’s a charmer, and he certainly has zeal to fuel his dreams.” She set a chocolate-chip muffin in front of Sandra. “Where is he from, anyway?”

“He’s not from here?” Anne frowned. For some reason she’d settled on the thought that he hailed from the Granite River Reservation. Maybe it was his finesse as a Boy Scout. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about his background. . . .

“I don’t think so,” Joe offered. “He’s been pretty tight-lipped about it, but he seems to be a little bit more big-city savvy than the lumberjacks from this area. I do know he’s bringing in kids from his hometown for the summer.” He handed Anne her book. “I hope I spelled your name right.”

“Yes, Anne with an
e,”
she said, touched that he’d guessed correctly.

“You just seemed like the
e
type,” he said, shrugging, but his warm smile told her she’d made a friend.

“Well, wherever Noah is from, he’s certainly made a mark on our fair town,” Sandra said. She looked pointedly at Anne, then at Joe and Mona, and winked.

Deep Haven wasn’t the only thing on which Noah had made an impression. So much for tea to harness her daydreams. Anne gave in to the impulse and let herself enjoy the mark he’d already made on her heart.