A Love for Safekeeping (12 page)

She’d struggled with her own wavering feelings— afraid to love him and more afraid if she didn’t. Her life had molded around his in these past months. Molded like two complimentary shades of wax forming one lovely candle. But Jane feared her fiery memories. What would happen if her past lit the candle and destroyed the rich, wonderful shape it had taken?

With a curious look, Kyle studied her, but didn’t ask
what she meant. Instead, he slid his arm around her back and drew her head to his shoulder. “To be honest, your question threw me. I couldn’t imagine that our relationship was over.” His gaze captured hers. “You know I love you, Jane.”

I love you. His words had struck her ear with so little fanfare, she thought she’d not heard him correctly. “You what?”

“I’ve fallen in love with you. And don’t argue with me. I know how I feel.”

The meaning of his words reached her senses slowly. As his message settled in, her pulse soared. She hadn’t expected him to say the words aloud. She’d sensed his rising emotions in the past months as she’d felt her own feelings move from friendship to something deeper. But saying the words caught in her throat.

“Just say you feel the same,” Kyle said.

Instead of joy, she felt sorrow. Though Jane loved him, she didn’t want to. Not yet. Not until she’d dealt with her old hurts and fears. How could she explain it to him?

Kyle clutched her hand. “You’re not answering me. I know you feel the same.”

She raised her other hand and pressed her palm against his cheeks. “Kyle, I can’t deny my feelings. But I have too much to deal with right now. Too many awful memories. Too little time to resolve them.”

His expression rent her heart, and she dropped her hand in her lap. “I can’t make a commitment until I’m confident that I’ve resolved the things that have haunted me for so many years. I tried to explain it before.”

“I heard you. But I’d hoped.” Staring at her pinched
expression, Kyle’s stomach churned. The weight of her comment pressed against his own happiness.

“But you didn’t believe me,” she said.

“I thought when you loved me you’d feel differently.”

“I do feel differently, but…if I said that your career doesn’t matter, I’d be lying.”

“Don’t, Jane. Never lie to me.”

“I haven’t.” She closed her eyes. “I’m confused. I’m concerned. I’m cautious. All I can concentrate on right now, Kyle, is what’s been happening. When— if—this horrible stalker thing is resolved, I’ll have time to work on
me.
It’s me, Kyle. I’m the problem. Not you.”

She sighed and Kyle held her closer, praying that the words in his head reached her heart. She meant the world to him, and God willing, he’d get her through this horror. No matter what.

The day before the holiday, Jane glanced out the classroom window and watched the snow drifting from the sky. The weatherman had been correct. The city would have a white Thanksgiving.

The flakes had begun the evening before, lightly at first, but by morning, the drive had been long and horrible as she crept along the road to avoid skidding on the slippery streets.

Before classes began, Celia bounded into Jane’s room, looking pleased with herself. Len had offered to drive her to school and had even carried in her books. The romantic picture sent a twinge of regret against Jane’s heart. Kyle hadn’t phoned to offer her a ride. The weight of their discussion lingered in her thoughts.

With the children occupied at their desks, Jane
stripped her bulletin boards of pumpkins, turkeys and Pilgrims and prepared them for the snowflakes and Christmas decorations stored in her closet.

Usually, her students, looking forward to the four-day break, were noisy and hard to control, but today they worked quietly, their noses buried in the math workbooks.

Jane tucked away the last Pilgrim into her closet and ambled through the aisles, checking the students’ progress—and her wristwatch—eager for lunch.

As her gaze settled on Lena, she wondered about Sam Malik. He’d seemed to ease off his attack since his last surprise visit. That day he’d left her curious. His only question was whether or not Lena was seeing the special education teacher. Jane had arranged an occasional session—nothing formal—between Lena and Betty Durham from special education. So she was able to answer Malik with a yes. She was thankful, but hoped she wasn’t experiencing the proverbial “calm before the storm.”

When the lunch bell rang, she shooed the students from the room, locked the door and headed for the teacher’s lounge. Stepping inside, her body propelled backward. Standing just within the doorway, Dale Keys eyed her with a grin.

Nodding, she slid into a chair beside Celia. But before she could count to five, Dale had plopped into the vacant spot next to her.

“Surprised to see me?” he asked. “I’m subbing. Fourth grade.”

Jane groped for a pleasant expression. “Some of your old students, I suppose,” she said, hoping she sounded sincere.

“I prefer third grade, but then, you have my class.”

Her shoulders tensed. It was
her
class, but why squabble?

But Celia didn’t keep quiet. “That was last year, Dale. This year it’s Jane’s class.”

“Right,” he said.

“You’re making me feel guilty,” Jane said.

Dale chuckled. “Didn’t mean to do that. If I hadn’t resigned, hoping for something better, I’d still be here.”

Curiosity got the better of Jane. “What do you mean ‘something better’?”

In a heartbeat, Dale spit it out. “A more cooperative principal, for one.”

Surprised, Jane inhaled, and a piece of apple caught in her throat. She coughed and dislodged it. “You shouldn’t make me laugh when I’m eating,” she said.

Dale shrugged. “Sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“I know,” Jane said, happy to hear she wasn’t the only one who found him disagreeable.

After lunch, she promised the students a spelling game to end the day. Anything to get through the last couple of hours. When they were all quiet, Jane reviewed the rules.

“Does everyone understand?”

Head nods and shouts of yes filled the room.

“Okay.” She glanced at the ledge below the board, noticing it was empty except for an eraser. “Then all we need is chalk.”

Jane opened her desk drawer and withdrew the chalk box while the children waited eagerly. She pulled out two sticks and delved in for two more. She recoiled, feeling a sharp, stinging jab.

Withdrawing her hand, she gaped at the blood seeping from her index finger. Hoping the children hadn’t
noticed, she hid the wound beneath a tissue from her desk. Blood would frighten the children, especially hers.

Wrapping the cut tightly, she forced a smile to her lips and looked inside the cardboard package. A razor blade stuck upward, and a telltale piece of bloodied paper nestled amid the white chalk.

She eased two more chalk sticks from the cardboard along with the paper and dropped the box into the pocket of her blazer.

“Okay, time to begin.” She selected the four students and gave them the signal.

As the children were absorbed with their teams, Jane unfolded the slip of soiled paper, preparing for the worst. Her body quaked as she focused on the note.

Look! Look! Look! See Jane bleed.

F
acing the classroom, Jane leaned her shoulder against the doorframe for support, praying that someone would come by. The blood seeped through the tissue. She needed to clean the cut and find a bandage.

“Jane.”

Like an answer to her prayer, she spun around to face Mary Campbell. “Mr. Skylar wants—” She halted. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Without details, Jane explained her cut finger.

“Bandages are in the workroom cabinet,” Mary said. “Go ahead, and I’ll stay here a couple of minutes.”

Thanking Mary, Jane hurried toward the office. At this point, she didn’t care what Skylar wanted. She wanted a bandage and to know how the razor blade got into her chalk box.

Rounding the corner, Jane spied Charlie ducking into a custodian’s closet, his rolling trash container lagging a little behind him.

“Charlie,” Jane called out, remembering he had a key to her room.

He peeked around the door, his mouth gaping.

“Did you let anyone into my classroom this morning?”

He drew back, shaking his head. “N-no. Rules say I c-can’t. Just y-you or a sub.”

She showed him her bloodied tissue-wrapped finger.

He gaped at it, then scowled.

“Someone slipped a razor blade in the chalk, and I cut myself,” Jane said in explanation.

“A r-razor?”

His startled expression looked sincere. “It’s okay, Charlie. I’m fine.” Still, she wondered. He had a key to her room, and weeks earlier, she’d stumbled on him putting the chalk box into her desk. Could it be?

As Jane entered Redmond Community Church for the Thanksgiving Day worship service, Kyle guided her into a front pew, his dark gray suit accentuating his tall, powerful frame. Jane struggled to keep herself from admiring him as he helped her pull off her coat.

Once seated, Kyle held her hand, avoiding the one with the bandage. The evening before, she’d reviewed with him the events of her day: Charlie, the razor blade and her horrible run-in with Skylar while searching for a bandage.

After telling Skylar about the razor blade incident, he’d only quizzed her about Lena and the special education teacher Betty Durham. Jane had struggled with her response.

But instead of defending the special help she’d arranged for Lena she poked her throbbing finger in his
face. “What about the razor blade? And the note?” she had asked.

“Be more careful next time” was all he’d said.

Drawn from her recollection by the swell of the church organ, Jane sighed and glanced at the tape around her finger, then at Kyle’s powerful profile. As always in his presence, Jane felt safe, his broad shoulder pressing against hers and his ample hand wrapped around her smaller one.

Would she ever rid herself of the awful fear that hovered on the fringe of their relationship? She knew it was foolish. Kyle and her father were different men. Different cops.

But could she trust Kyle to stay as gentle as he was now? Would the stress of his career bring him home some evening, frustrated and angry, his voice shaking the rafters, his fists hammering the table?

Or like the rumors about her father, would a crafty criminal tempt Kyle to overlook a crime or destroy evidence? Would she wait for him to come home…and learn that he’d been wounded or, worse, killed?

She pushed the tumbling questions from her mind and drew in Kyle’s familiar fragrance, a subtle, woodsy aroma that caused her pulse to surge, just thinking of his nearness—the sweet kisses and tender retreat that left her wanting more.

Shame shuffled through her as she lifted her eyes to the stained glass window. Today was Thanksgiving. Instead of dwelling on her problems, she should give thanks and praise God for keeping her safe…and giving her Kyle.

Her gaze swept the sanctuary, adorned for the occasion with harvest symbols—cornstalks, fruits and vegetables, homemade preserves and giant pumpkins.
Seeing the pumpkins sent a tremor of fear down her spine.

When Kyle’s father stepped into the pulpit, Jane had no trouble concentrating. His commanding voice and powerful messages lifted her spirits, and when the service closed with the Doxology, Jane sang with fervor, praising God for all His good gifts.

Kyle’s mother joined them as they waited at the exit. Strangely, Jane had begun to feel like one of them. Unwise, she told herself.

On the way to his parents’ house, Kyle seemed distracted and withdrawn. Jane studied him, sensing that something weighed on his mind.

“A dollar for your thoughts,” she said.

He glanced her way with a faint grin. “Inflation?”

She nodded. “Something’s bothering you.”

“A bit.”

“What is it?”

He rubbed his temple without answering.

Though harnessed by the seat belt, she shifted slightly toward him. “You can tell me. What did I do?”

“Nothing. It’s just stress, I think.”

“Stress? You’re worried about me. I shouldn’t have told you about the razor blade.”

He glimpsed at her, his face breaking into a pitiful grin. “No, Jane, it’s not you. I’m glad you told me. You shouldn’t keep anything from me.”

“Then something’s going on at work?”

“Right, but it’s nothing you should worry about.”

Jane arched her brow. “You shouldn’t keep anything from
me,
either.”

He flashed a guilty look. “I’m expecting a small scene with my dad today. The department’s been work
ing on a series of armed robberies—two men who hold up small gas stations and party stores. I know Dad reads that stuff in the paper. Today he’ll ply me with questions. I can’t lie to him.”

She scowled. “Why would you lie?”

“Not lie, exactly. I’ve been called to the scene a couple of times, but we’re always there after the fact.”

“Guns?” Jane asked.

His mouth curved to a wry grin. “Yes, they’re armed.”

He ran his hand over her shoulder and caressed her jaw with his fingers. “Please don’t worry.”

Jane bent her head toward his hand, enjoying the sweet sensation. But the unpleasant thought of Kyle being in danger plastered itself in her mind. Her razor blade problem sounded foolish in comparison.

Her stomach tightened as her mind marched backward in time, thinking of the worried hours her mother spent waiting for her father to return home every day. Drugs, gambling, money laundering—all those crimes meant danger. She looked at Kyle’s handsome profile. How could she allow herself to fall in love with someone in the same dangerous business? The answer evaded her. But in truth, she had already fallen in love. Now, what could she do about it?

When they arrived at his folks’ house, the aroma of turkey and stuffing already filled the air. She joined Ruth in the kitchen while Kyle and Paul talked in the living room and watched a pregame football program on television.

Ruth had everything under control, but Jane finished setting the table, and finally the time came to carry in the food.

When they gathered around, the family joined hands,
Jane clasping Paul’s on one side and Kyle’s on the other. As each shared his own personal thanksgiving, Jane felt the strength and comfort of the two men beside her. After the blessing, she filled her plate and enjoyed a rare home-cooked holiday meal…with a family.

Later in the living room, Kyle and his father talked sports and stared at the television on one side of the room while Ruth and Jane, to Kyle’s obvious dismay, huddled on the sofa, looking through old photograph albums.

Kyle pulled himself from his conversation to toss a point to his mother. “You don’t have to give Jane a biography of my life, Mom. You’ll scare her off.”

Jane swatted at him from across the room. “Pay attention to the football game and let us be.” Yet teasing him, she looked again at his adorable photo and cooed, “You were so-o-o cute, Kyle. Look at that spiky brown hair and those mischievous blue eyes.”

Kyle eyed the photograph she held up for him. “That haircut wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, really?” Paul commented.

Ruth leaned toward her in a whisper. “He found scissors. Did a little trim of his own.”

Like a soothing balm, the feeling of family washed over Jane again. Never in her life had she sat around the living room relaxing with her parents. Her dad’s work schedule had been unpredictable, and her mother too often seemed withdrawn and unapproachable. With no brothers or sisters, “family” was an unknown entity. But today she luxuriated in the warm, comfortable sensation.

Kyle sidled another look at Jane and his mother. His parents’ fondness for Jane was blatant. He’d tried to
move slowly—as slowly as he could with his heart on a high-speed chase. He didn’t want to scare her off.

He’d watched her struggle with their relationship, but understood. He believed with all his heart that she loved him. If she didn’t, his parents’ obvious doting could send her packing.

He enjoyed watching his mother and Jane collaborate like two old friends, chuckling together and poring over the old albums. She loved him. She had to.

“Did you hear me, Kyle?” Paul asked.

Kyle’s head pivoted from Jane toward his father. “Sorry, Dad, I was thinking.”

Amusement rose on Paul’s face. “Sure you were.”

Kyle steered him away from any more comments. “What were you saying?”

“I talked to Walter Kitzmiller the other day.”

“Kitzmiller?”

“Walter from the Rotary Club—you remember him.”

“Sure…I guess. So what’s up with old Walter?” Kyle grinned, but Paul raised an eyebrow. Seeing his father’s sincerity, Kyle struggled to look interested.

“He owns the White Knights Security and Surveillance Services.”

“Oh, right.” Kyle knew him, and now he’d caught on. The conversation was leading where he didn’t want to go, and his gut tightened.

“Sometime after the first of the year, he’ll be looking for an administrator,” Paul said, dropping the information with as much nonchalance as a hippo on a tightrope. “Someone to run the business for him.”

“I see.” And Kyle did, but he wouldn’t make it easy. His father’s expression pulled at his conscience.
He understood too well, but a desk job wasn’t what Kyle wanted. Would his dad ever understand?

“You ever think about that, Kyle? Security?”

“No, Dad. Never.” Though his eyes were focused on his father, in his peripheral vision, he saw Jane’s attention turning to their conversation.

“Good pay. Real good pay,” his father said.

“Really? You thought I might be interested?”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe. He told me. I’m telling you.”

Kyle swallowed the burning bile stinging his throat. “I don’t want to disappoint you, Dad, but that’s not my line of work. I can’t imagine myself—”

“Just thought I’d mention it,” Paul said, obviously struggling to cover his disappointment. “Something to think about.”

Kyle nodded his head. “Sure.”

But it wasn’t something for Kyle to think about. He glanced at Jane and saw her pained expression. She’d overheard, and Kyle wondered what had been said that upset her. When he caught her eye, Jane looked the other way, returning to her own conversation with his mother.

Paul retrieved the folded newspaper next to his chair and placed it on his lap.

The bold headlines of the serial-style holdups glared like a spotlight, and Kyle knew his other worry was becoming a reality.

“I was noticing, there’s been a series of holdups in the area.” Paul pointed to the paper. Though his question sounded casual, Kyle recognized his dad’s concern.

Kyle shot a quick “I told you so” look at Jane. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Any leads?”

“A couple.”

“Guns?”

“Yes.”

If the situation weren’t filled with tension, Kyle might have chuckled at their controlled conversation, each struggling to keep his voice cool and calm. Neither fooled the other one, nor themselves.

“Kyle said he always gets called after the fact,” Jane blurted, apparently uncomfortable with the tension.

Irritation jackknifed through Kyle, but he recovered. He understood that Jane thought it would alleviate his father’s fears. But Kyle knew better.

“Oh,” his father asked, “you’ve been on duty then?”

“Yes, Dad. I know you’re worried, but don’t be. It’s part of the job.”

At that point, Kyle gave up. While he laid out the details, his father listened with deep concentration etched on his face.

When he’d finished, Kyle leaned back, waiting for his father’s retort. But his father’s loving response hit Kyle harder.

“I’ll keep you and your department in my prayers,” Paul said.

Kyle grimaced, sorrowed by the pain he was causing. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate that.”

Paul’s grim face flashed a heartrending grin. “Son, you know that you’re always in my prayers.”

“I know. Now, let’s talk about something more…general.”

A heavy silence hung on the air. The four sat gaping at one another at a loss for words until their uneasiness
turned to laughter and lightened the uncomfortable moment.

When his mother mentioned pumpkin pie, Jane rose to help, but his dad jumped from the chair and volunteered.

Jane sank into the cushion, and Kyle took the opportunity to join her on the sofa.

“I hope you’re not bored with all the albums and, well, my dad’s comments. I knew this would happen.”

Jane shook her head. “I’ve liked your folks from the day I met them, Kyle. They’re wonderful. I’m crazy about them.”

“What about their son?”

“He’s not bad…most of the time.”

Kyle did a double take. “What does that mean?”

Jane leaned against the corner of the sofa, distancing herself from him. “I don’t like the tension I felt between you and your dad. There must be a better way to handle that.”

“Tell me how, Jane?” His father’s words marched through his head. After the first of the year, Walter Kitzmiller would need someone to run his security company. What was he supposed to say? Should he consider a desk job…for his dad? For Jane?

His heart tumbled to his toes and a prayer rose in his thoughts as he considered his parents and Jane.
Lord, what am I to do?
He’d make three people happy if he left the force.
Is that what I should do, Lord? Please give me guidance.
Jane’s voice brought him back to the present.