A Glimmer of Hope: A Novella Prequel to Isle of Hope (7 page)

“I’m rea-dy,” she said in a musical tone, laying her wet clothes aside as she picked up the blanket, giddy at the thought of him holding her in his arms.

He turned, and the minute their eyes met, Lacey swore she felt a jolt of electricity. “Wrap up in the blanket first,” he whispered, his voice husky and hoarse.

“Yes, sir.” Her face deadpan, she took her sweet time while his gaze heated her skin like a laser. Once she had the blanket securely wrapped, she crooked her index finger, lower lip caught in her teeth. “Now it’s your turn, Brye,” she said softly, “to keep your future fiancée warm.”

A lump ducked in his throat several times before he slowly moved forward, his expression so deadly serious, Lacey had to stifle a giggle. Swooping her up in his arms, he lowered into his chair with her on his lap, not even sparing time for a kiss. “So what happened with your dad?” he said quietly, instantly popping Lacey’s bubble of “steam.”

She flopped against his chest with a heavy sigh. “Oh, just the basic demoralization. Temper detonation followed by crushing of one’s confidence, ruination of one’s day, and grinding anything good into the ground that he possibly can. You know, standard Ben Carmichael issue.”

“And instilling bitterness?” Jack whispered against Lacey’s wet hair.

She froze before she shot straight up in his lap, any steam she’d hoped for coming from her ears. “Oh, no, Jack, we’re not doing this ‘pray for those who persecute you’ garbage again, are we?” Temper flaring, she flung the blanket off her shoulders just to tick him off. “Why do you always take my dad’s side?”

“I
don’t
take your dad’s side,” he said, jerking the blanket back up. He bundled her up like a mummy before cupping her face in his hands. “When it comes to you, he’s wrong, and I make no bones about it, but you’re the one I care about, Lace, the one I love with every fiber of my being. Which means, yes, I think your dad is a royal jerk, and yes, I’d like to lay him out, but that’s not what’s best for
you
.” He paused to catch his breath, chest expanding and contracting while his thumbs slowly skimmed her jaw. “And make no mistake, Alycia Anne Carmichael,” he whispered, the intensity in his eyes as warm as the touch of his hand, “you are my
only
concern here, that nothing he says or does will poison you with bitterness and anger.”

He moved in so close, his breath teased her lips, the scent of Tootsie Roll fluttering her stomach. With a lingering caress of fingers to her cheek, he slowly swayed his mouth against hers, building to a heated kiss that left them both breathless. Pulling away, he tunneled his fingers into her hair to tenderly hold her head, gaze gentle. “Bitterness is a cancer, Lace, and in my world, if someone really and truly loves someone, why on earth would they feed that bitterness and help it to grow? I’m not going to do that, babe, because I love you too much, and I don’t want anything to hurt you. And trust me on this, Mike, your anger and bitterness toward your dad will hurt you far more than anything he ever says or does.”

She huffed out a sigh to deflect the tears that pricked. “Why did I have to fall in love with a future minister?”

His chuckle warmed her more than the stupid blanket he’d wound around her like a straight jacket. With a soft tap of her nose, he nuzzled a kiss against her lips. “To keep you in line, little girl, because He knew you’d need someone strong.”

Mischief heated her gaze as she loosened the blanket to wrap her arms around his neck. “Mmm … I wonder just how strong you really are.”

“Don’t change the subject.” He quickly removed her hands to swaddle her back up, tone parental and eyes so seriously intent, she could do nothing but smile. “Promise me, Lace, that every time you get angry at your dad, you will pray for him on the spot.”

Her jaw dropped. “I may as well enter a convent, Jack, because I’ll be praying night and day!”

A trace of a smile went head-to-head with the solemn look on his face. “It will do you good, you little brat, and as far as you entering the convent …” The smile won out with a dangerous twinkle. “I’ll have
‘nun’
of that.”

She groaned and shook her head. “Really? You’re making jokes while you’re trying to shackle me to prayer and forgiveness with my demon father?”

He jerked her close, lips hovering over hers as he burned her with a look. “No, babe,” he whispered, “I’m making jokes to keep from ripping his fool head off, and the only thing I’m trying to shackle you to, Mike, is me, so promise me—please.”

She lunged and kissed him with everything in her, the taste of chocolate sweet in her mouth. “All right, yes, I promise!” she rasped, so crazy in love, she’d promise him anything.

Gently fisting her wrists, he carefully lowered her arms and placed a kiss on the inside of each of her palms, gaze never leaving hers. “And one more thing,” he said, the warning note in his tone cooling any heat their kisses may have stoked. He grazed the ring he’d given her with his finger, pinning her with a potent look. “For me, this is far more than a promise ring, Lace, it’s a purity ring as well, and as I said before, I’m willing to compromise with more affection when you need it, but only within parameters that will keep our relationship aboveboard. So I need you to promise to help me because I sure can’t do this alone.”

“I will, Jack, I promise, but ...” She chewed on her lip, her hopes sinking faster than the sun into the river at dusk. “But you also promised we’d have s-steam,” she whispered.

That exasperating smile of his—patient, kind, and so utterly
mature
—eased across his handsome face as he re-tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Mike, there will be plenty of steam, I promise—I’m not a monk, after all.” The smile faded just enough to let her know he meant business. “But the moment I sense we’re headed for trouble, we stop—period. No argument, agreed?”

She felt a pout coming on. “For crying out loud, Brye, this is the 21
st
-century—nobody waits till marriage anymore, so why should we?” She stroked his stubbled jaw, desperate to make him understand the closeness she craved, especially after Daddy treated her like garbage. “I love you, Jack, and sometimes I need to express that love the best way I know how, and feel yours in return. So tell me,
please—
why should I agree to something I don’t believe in anymore?”

He studied her for several seconds, a faint smile on his lips despite a flicker in his jaw. “Because you love me, and know it’s important to me?” he said quietly, covering her hand with his own. “And because it’s the right thing to do.”

Her eyelids suddenly felt like lead, weighting her down.
The right thing to do?
According to Whom—God? Where was He when the “right thing to do” would have been to give her a father who loved her, sheltered her? There had been a time—before Nicki—when she’d felt just like Jack, wanting to do things God’s way. But that had never earned her a lick of approval from her father, so why did it matter now?

“Because you love me and it’s important to me?”

Jack’s words slowly bled the anger from her soul. Yes, she did love him, and although she desperately wanted to prove that love in a way that begged for release, she would do things his way—but only for him. Expelling a quiet sigh, she opened her eyes. “I agree,” she whispered, the very sound easing the worry lines etched in his face.

The wavering breath he released all but ruffled her hair. “I’m crazy in love with you, Lace,” he said softly, “and I promise to cherish you all the days of my life.” He nuzzled her mouth with a kiss so achingly tender, she could do nothing but melt into his embrace.

“I love you, too, Jack.” She snuggled against his chest, soothed for the moment by the safety of his arms. “With my whole heart and soul.”

And someday, when they finally truly belonged to each other?

Body and soul.

Chapter Eight

Jack slammed the kitchen cabinet a little too hard, earning a slant of brows from his mother, who paused at the sink with a paring knife in her hand. “Are you okay, Jack?”

“No, he’s not okay,” Cat groused from the side counter, popping a tangerine segment in her mouth while she prepared a salad for dinner. “He’s been a crab all week, and you know it. ’Bout bit my head off when I drank one of his Red Bulls.”

He rammed a mug against the icemaker lever, shooting his sister a look as cool as the cubes clinking into his glass. “That’s because you took my very last one, purchased I might add, with my very own money.”

Cat delivered a gloat over her shoulder, strands of strawberry blonde hair trailing from a messy bun. “Come on, Jack, I did you a favor and everybody else, too, because the last thing you need is more caffeine to feed your nasty mood.”

“Catherine Marie, hush,” their mother said softly, moving to Jack’s side to loop an arm around his waist. “Are you feeling alright?” She pressed a hand to his forehead, her fingers cool against his skin.

Ducking from her reach, he headed towards the fridge. “I’m fine, Mom, just a little tired.”

Cat lobbed another wedge in her mouth with a grin. “Maybe it’s the late hours you and Carbuncle keep.”

“Shut-up, Cat,” he snapped, regretting the harsh response the moment it left his lips. Gouging the bridge of his nose, he blasted out his frustration, the somber looks on his mom’s and sisters’ faces making him feel like a jerk. “Look, guys, I’m sorry, so just ignore me, okay?” He bussed his mom’s cheek before sparing Cat a feeble smile. “I’m just a touch cranky today.”

“No joke.” Cat fired a tangerine piece at Jack that he snatched mid-air. “So what gives?”

Tossing the segment up, he caught it with his teeth, grinding it to mush while he opened the fridge to pour some of his mom’s peach iced tea. “I guess I’m just not ready to go back yet.” He nudged the door closed with his shoulder and plodded to the table, sinking into a chair with a long draw of tea.

His mother moved behind him to gently massage his shoulders, her tone as glum as his. “Trust me, sweetheart, we’re not ready for you to go back either.”

“We really miss you when you’re gone, Jack,” Shannon said, the sheen in her eyes threatening to spark some of his own.

He deflected with a grunt. “Sure, especially Catfish over there.” He fished a seed out of his tea and finger-shot it at his sister who was still at the sink, hitting her in the back of the neck.

“Hey,” she said with a quick swipe at her hair, skewering Jack with a mock glare. “I sure hope that wasn’t in your mouth.”

He grinned and opened wide for another tangerine piece, and Cat complied by aiming a shot that splat against his nose before Jack hooked it with his tongue.

“Gross, Jack, you’re a regular toad,” she said with a chuckle, washing her hands before she strolled over to take the chair beside him. She dropped the offensive lemon seed back in his drink. “I think you lost this, you big brat.”

“Brat, huh?” Guzzling more tea, he promptly spit the seed into her hair, the horseplay between Cat and him helping to lighten his mood. “I think that’s the lemon calling the lime sour, don’t you, Catfish?”

“Jackson Alexander O’Bryen,” his mother scolded from the sink, a smile in her tone, “we do not spit in this house. Unless we’re brushing our teeth.”

“Ewww …” Cat immediately batted at her hair. “Keep your saliva to yourself.” She scooted her chair away while a wicked grin bloomed on her face. “And Lacey.”

“Catherine Marie!” Their mom turned to give both of them the evil eye. “We also don’t talk about saliva in that context, please.”

“What, Mom?” Cat said with innocent flutter of lashes. “We’re just talking kisses, right Jack?”

Heat scalded the back of his neck, his sister’s barb hitting a little too close to home. Yeah, just kisses. In theory. But in reality? He guzzled more tea, unwilling to acknowledge Cat’s question. True, Lacey’s good intentions had lasted most of the summer. Until a particularly vicious row with her father had sent her rushing into Jack’s arms for comfort and love, weakening his defenses, eroding his resolve. Somehow he’d managed to keep them in line, but it hadn’t been easy. The closer it came for him to leave for seminary, the worse it got. And the last two weeks of his summer vacation had been downright painful, culminating in constant fights between Lacey and him that always ended with her in tears. Her father’s rejection made her feel hollow inside, she claimed, insisting she needed Jack’s love, not his rejection too. The pressure was eating him raw, and Jack was almost anxious to head back to school before he did something they’d both regret. Draining his tea, he rose to take his glass to the sink. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, pausing to dab tangerine juice from his nose with a paper towel.

“In the garage.” Shannon glanced up with a smile while she meticulously rolled crescent rolls on a cookie tin. “Working on the lawn mower, I think.”

Cat futzed with her hair, patting it as if she expected to find more seeds. “Good grief, Mom, why doesn’t Dad just ditch that old thing and get a new one?”

His mother chuckled while she peeked in the oven, the smell of roasted chicken watering Jack’s mouth. “Oh, you know your father—a stubborn Irishman to the core. He refuses to let that old lawnmower win. Besides,” she said with a wry smile in Cat’s direction, “with one newly graduated college student heading to seminary and two slated for college next year, I think we need to save our pennies wherever we can, don’t you?”

Jack tossed the paper towel in the trash. “I think I’ll go see if he needs any help.”

“Tell him twenty minutes till dinner,” his mother called as Jack headed out the screen door, carefully closing it so it wouldn’t slam. Even so, Blue squawked in the oak overhead as usual, apparently in the Ben Carmichael camp as far as his opinion of Jack.

“Oh, put a cork in it, crow bait,” Jack muttered, his mother’s pet blue heron the least of his problems right now. Burying his hands in his pockets, he sauntered into the garage to find his dad bent over his workbench where their ancient lawnmower lay in pieces. The pungent smell of motor oil and sawdust took Jack back to wonderful afternoons of building hotrods with his dad, puttering on their cars, or woodworking to earn Jack’s Eagle Scout merit badge. The memories swelled his chest with gratitude that his dad was not only the father he adored and the spiritual mentor he respected, but his hero as well.

“I swear that thing has more lives than all of Mrs. Karr’s cats put together,” Jack said with a smile, ambling over to perch on the edge of the workbench. “Mom says dinner’s in twenty minutes, so you need any help?”

His father looked up with a wry grin, the sleeves of his well-stained work shirt haphazardly rolled as he smeared another streak of grease across his cheek with the side of his arm. “Yeah, you can keep me from profanity while I exorcise this piece of scrap metal.” He repositioned a bolt and screwed it in with his electric screwdriver, his body able and taut for a man who spent a fair amount of his time behind a pulpit or desk.

Tall and lean, his dad was all muscle from a father-son regimen of basketball, sailing, or lifting weights with Jack in the garage, excelling at everything he put his hand to. Whether a family fishing tournament on the dock or a wicked game of spoons, Adam O’Bryen was a competitor to the core and all that Jack aspired to be—a natural athlete, first in his class at seminary, and a true servant of God.

Not to mention the perfect husband and father.

Watching him now, Jack knew he’d come to the right place. An attractive and charismatic pastor beloved by his congregation, Adam O’Bryen would certainly understand temptation better than most. With sable hair silvered at the temples and an easy grin, Pastor Adam O’Bryen turned many a female head, according to Lacey. A worrisome fact verified by an argument Jack overhead one night between his mom and dad when they thought he wasn’t home. With his bedroom butted up to theirs, he’d heard every single word his father had spoken, despite his obvious effort to keep his voice low. In one of his rare angry moods, his dad had complained how Jack’s mom’s nursing job was jeopardizing their marriage, her schedule so sporadic, she seldom accompanied him on the multiple conferences he attended each year.

“It’s downright irresponsible for you to stay home, Tess,” he’d hissed, “because you’re putting me in a very vulnerable position.”

Lying on his back in his bed, Jack had stilled to stone.
Vulnerable?
What did
that
mean? Unfortunately, his mother’s muffled response had answered the question with frightening clarity.

“If a man of God blessed with a wonderful family can’t steer clear of vamps like Callie Barrett or Sharon Andrews, he has no business in the ministry.”

“
It’s-my-job
,” his father had nearly shouted, “and you’re my wife, so act like it!”

The angry exchange had been so painful, Jack had gone downstairs to watch TV, eventually falling asleep on the couch.

“You’re awfully quiet, Son.” His father’s comment jerked him back to the present where he found his dad studying him with a wedge of concern in his brow. “Something on your mind?”

Sucking in air, Jack met his father’s gaze head-on. “Yeah, Dad, as a matter of fact there is.” He cuffed the back of his neck in frustration while he vented with a heavy exhale, quickly averting his eyes to the grease-stained concrete beneath his feet rather than his father’s face. “It’s about Lacey.”

Silent seconds ticked by before his dad placed his screwdriver on the worktable, drawing Jack’s gaze when he slanted against the hood of his Ford Bronco with arms loosely crossed. “You two okay?” he asked, his casual tone at odds with the sobriety in his eyes.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Jack kneaded the bridge of his nose before giving his father an awkward smile. “Except when we’re not.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope …” His father’s eyes pierced straight through, boring deeper than any screwdriver.

Jack scrubbed his face hard, hoping his dad couldn’t see the heat crawling up his neck. “No, nothing like that.” He hesitated, fingers gripped white on the edge of the table. “But more than I like and certainly more than we agreed upon.”

His father paused. “Jack, I know it takes two, but … is Lacey pressuring you?”

The heat in his neck blasted into his face. “It’s her father,” he hissed, desperate to lay the blame anywhere but on the woman he loved. “He rails on her night and day, nonstop verbal abuse that would drive anybody to the brink.”

His father’s sigh carried across the room. “So old Ben digs the holes in her heart, and Lacey wants
you
to fill ’em up.”

Jack met his father’s gaze, the compassion he saw easing the strain in his shoulders. “You nailed it, and to be honest, it’s harder than I thought.”

Head bowed, his dad finally peered up beneath heavy lids. “You’ve explained what it means to you, I guess, and laid the ground rules when you gave her the ring?”

“Yeah, of course I did,” Jack said with a slash of fingers through his hair, “and she agreed. And we were great until she had a major blow-out with her dad a few weeks ago, which seems to have escalated since then.” He looked up, searching his father’s face with an appeal in his tone. “You gotta help me, Dad, because I don’t know what to do. I love her so much, I’m tempted to elope right now, but I know that’s not the answer.”

His dad pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he shared with his son whenever either one was stressed. “No, no, it’s not, Jack, although I know it feels like it at the moment. But that would just put you at odds with Lacey’s father even more, which would only exacerbate a whole host of other problems inherent in getting married too young.” A faint smile shadowed his lips. “Not to mention for the wrong reasons.”

“I know, but what am I supposed to do? I thought the ring would help stabilize her, assure her of my love and commitment, but the worse her relationship gets with her dad, the harder she seems to push, and I’m just…” His throat shifted hard. “Worried that Nicki’ll lead her astray again, and then when I come back, it could be worse than ever.”

“It’s a tough situation, no question, but nothing is too tough for God.” He moved to where Jack sat on the edge of the table and gripped him in a side embrace before easing up on the workbench beside him, palms propped on the scarred wooden surface. “Did you know, Jack, that when the prophet Hosea’s wife chased after other lovers, God placed a hedge of thorns around her to keep her from straying into evil, which eventually drove her back to her husband?”

Jack studied his father out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, I read that.”

“Well, did you know that you can do the same? When you’re back at school, we can pray for God to put a hedge of thorns around Lacey to hopefully keep her from bad influences and veering off-track.”

Jack squinted at his father. “So, you’re saying it’s Biblical and actually works?”

His father gave a slow nod, lips pursed in a bare smile. “Sure does, at least with my children so far …”

A slow grin traveled Jack’s lips. “That’s brilliant, Dad.”

His father chuckled. “Yes, well, God’s in the business of ‘brilliant,’ Son, which is why application of Scripture is so very wise.” He paused to tap Jack’s leg. “But there is a caveat. James 5:16 reminds us that ‘the prayers of a righteous man availeth much’ and Psalm 66:18 warns the Lord will not hear our prayers if we ‘regard iniquity in our heart.’” He gave Jack two firm pats. “Which means you have to keep your own heart clean, Jack, especially when you’re with Lacey.”