“I’m clean, at least I was at my last checkup. They took out a lung and part of my stomach and liver. But I beat it. I hope.”
She touched his arm, and he flinched. “But you’re going to be okay?”
Was he? Physically, perhaps. But emotionally, he still felt annihilated. Not by what had happened but by what he could never have. A child. The aggressive cancer treatment had stolen from him a legacy. The next generation. Someone in his likeness to love and cherish and be the kind of father his had been to him. There were times, especially in the past six months of living near Joe and his family, that this pain sliced so deep, he sometimes felt like curling into a ball and howling. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“I wish I’d known. I’d have figured out a way to see you.”
He glanced at her, and the sorrow on her expression and in her radiant eyes made him believe her. “I probably would have liked that, even if I didn’t tell you.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, you might have cuffed me with your IV and screamed for security.”
His smile dimmed. “Probably. And I would have been wrong.” He touched her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
She shrugged, but his apology glistened in his eyes. “So, did you find out where Coward’s Hollow is?”
“Mark Twain National Forest in southern Missouri.”
She nodded, put her feet up on the dash, and leaned her head back. “We have a long drive ahead. Do you want to stop somewhere?”
He put both hands on the wheel, then looked at his speedometer. “No. We’ll head to the hotel where my team is waiting. You’re going to have Emily back in your arms by tomorrow night.”
“If the NSA doesn’t track me down first.”
He said nothing. He still wasn’t completely sure that giving themselves over to the greater powers wouldn’t be in their favor, but after the shootout at the OK Corral, he wasn’t sure that power was the NSA. Maybe he should call Senator Ramey after all. Or maybe …
“Lacey, in the glove compartment, you’ll find my Bible. Can you grab it?”
She gave him a one-eyed frown, then took her feet off the dash and unearthed it. “You going to read as you drive?”
“No, you are. Open it to Psalm 107.”
He saw her purse her lips as she turned to the psalm. “Okay. What verse?”
“Just read the whole thing. To yourself.”
She gave him a look. “Listen, if you didn’t get the message at breakfast, God and I aren’t really on speaking terms.”
“Yeah, I picked that up. And I want to know why.”
She shook her head. “If you can’t forgive me, how do you expect God to? I can’t even forgive myself.”
“But John’s death was an accident, Lace. God knows that.”
“Yeah, and He also knows about all the millions of compromises I’ve made, not counting the bad decisions based on greed or fame or whatever other sin He’s warned against.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’ve discovered that it’s not the big sins that dig at your soul, but the thousands of tiny, seemingly inconsequential ones that slowly gnaw away at any sense of hope.” She looked at him. “I am not going into detail, but you of all people should believe me when I say I’m not a saint.”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re different.”
He gave her a hard look. “No, I’m not. Do you seriously believe that in my line of work I haven’t made a few compromises? struggled with times when I’ve killed? fought my own fury for control?”
She clenched her jaw, and he could almost see her imagination run behind those pretty eyes. He didn’t want to paint too dark a picture for her, but it seemed that she had some squeaky-clean, holier-than-thou vision of him and he wanted to dispel it here and now.
“Believe me, I’m no saint. I’m just … saved. And trying.” Right now he was trying, with all his man-sized effort, to keep his hands on the steering wheel instead of driving into the ditch and pulling her into his arms.
Only that would defeat his prayer to cut her out of his heart. It wasn’t lost on him that God was doing just about everything opposite to Micah’s prayers. And instead of bringing her to justice, Micah was on the lam right beside her.
So much for being God’s man.
Lacey sat beside him, obviously lost in her own thoughts, staring at the Bible.
“Read verse one aloud, Lace,” Micah said, suddenly needing God’s words like he needed his next breath. He had the passage memorized, had dissected it years ago.
“‘Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever.’” She seemed to struggle with the words.
“Okay, now go down to verse ten, I think.”
She traced her finger down the page. “‘Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom, miserable prisoners in chains. They rebelled against the words of God, scorning the counsel of the Most High. That is why he broke them with hard labor; they fell, and no one helped them rise again. “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress.’”
“Stop there.”
But she continued: “‘He led them from the darkness and deepest gloom; he snapped their chains. Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for all his wonderful deeds to them.’” Her voice broke on the last word. Micah glanced over at her, but her gaze was fixed on the Bible. “‘For he broke down their prison gates of bronze; he cut apart their bars of iron.’”
She stopped, and silence filled the empty space.
Micah stared ahead, praying for wisdom. This faithless Lacey he hadn’t expected. Maybe he thought she’d still be the woman who sparred with him over the gifts of the Spirit, who stood beside him, arms raised in worship at a summer revival meeting. Who took his hand and prayed for his safety at boot camp. He should have guessed that John’s self-atonement theology would rub off on her. That years of grieving her mistakes might scalp her faith down to a nub. Still, he hadn’t expected the anger, the despair, the cynicism. It hurt him worse than having her tie him up and leave him for the bad guys.
“‘They rebelled against the words of God …,’” he started.
“‘That is why he broke them with hard labor,’” she finished. “You’re trying to make a point here, aren’t you? About God letting a person struggle, letting a person drown in darkness.”
“I am. You’re so sure that God can’t be in control of your mistakes. But this verse says that yes, you can make mistakes—free will—and God does put you in chains. It’s not about who does the shackling … it’s about who does the
saving
. The people cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them from their distress. Whether we have free will or God has it all planned out, there is only one way to be saved.”
She frowned, and he could nearly see her chewing his words in her intelligent mind. “Keep reading. The next passage is about people becoming fools and suffering because of their iniquities. And the next, God stirs the waters, causes the storms, then brings the people to safety. There is constantly the paradox of free will versus an all-sovereign God. And the only answer is—both are right.”
“Both?”
“I know it’s impossible for our brains to wrap around that. We like to think in linear patterns. Especially people like you and me. We want to solve problems, whittle down the scenarios, and egress without casualties. But we’re not going to win this battle. Whenever our confusion and God’s Word go toe to toe, God’s Word will always win. Because it is from the mind of God. He is light and all knowledge. We see only darkly through the prism of ourselves and our experiences.”
They turned off the country road and onto the highway. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and long shadows scraped the road.
“So you
and
John were right.” There was something in her tone that made him smile. A sort of wonder.
He felt it too, a resonating peace knowing that John had a place of purpose in her life. What, Micah didn’t want to speculate, but if God could use the last fifteen years and her marriage to John for good … “Yeah, I guess so,” Micah agreed.
She closed the Bible, sat back. “I’m hungry.”
He stifled a sigh, wishing that she’d allowed God’s Word—the only thing that could save and restore her life—to dig deeper, shine light into her dark soul. “We’ll stop at the next truck stop.”
“Micah—” she touched his arm—“I know what you’re trying to do. I … I miss God. I do. But I can’t face Him. It hurts too much.”
“He loves you, you know.”
She went silent and backed away from him. His arm felt cold where her touch had been.
MICAH FIDDLED WITH the radio, hitting Seek until he happened upon a country radio station. Lonestar’s beat filled the car, and he turned it down, lest the sound awaken Lacey. He’d like to drive in silence, but fatigue pressed on him and he had to have the noise and the window cracked slightly to keep his reflexes sharp.
Good thing he’d helped her scarf down a bag of pork rinds. They tasted like cardboard—no, cardboard was probably better—but they were filling and just stomach-curdling enough to keep him uncomfortable and awake.
As for Lacey, she had curled up against the seat and fallen asleep, her penny red hair in tangles, her jean jacket over her. She looked breathtaking, especially in slumber. Finally, perhaps, at peace. Except every once in a while she let out a little whimper of pain or grief. He wondered if she’d ever truly sleep in peace.
He’d been fighting the nearly overpowering urge to pull over, wrap her in his arms, and let her sleep on his shoulder. Or in his embrace. Earlier, he’d nearly held her tight when he’d tracked her down the hill, through the bramble, and found her weeping at the base of a huge elm, as if her heart had shattered.
Lacey had some kind of magic power over him. Just being around her, he seemed to forget that she belonged to another man. Even if he was dead, John had been her husband and part of God’s plan for her life. Micah had no right to her. He’d forfeited that on prom night of her senior year.
He glanced at her now, resisted the urge to touch her hair. He wondered if it was still as soft and silky. If, when she piled it on her head like she had that night, tendrils wisping around her face, she’d look like a teenager.
No, that night she’d looked pure princess. Ethereal. Regal. And off-limits.
He still remembered sitting outside her house in his car, staring at the lighted porch, sweating in his dress blues. He’d been posted out there for a good half hour, running over the afternoon’s events in his mind. Focusing mainly, of course, on the kiss. The mind-blowing, heart-stopping, whoa-back-and-don’t-let-your-emotions-show kiss. And that had been on his side. He hadn’t expected the 110 percent response she’d given him. It scared him. Because since that moment, he’d dreamed, more times than he wanted to admit, of pulling her into the shadowed grounds behind the country club where they were holding prom and kissing her again. Just like he had in the creek.
Only he wasn’t supposed to be holding her. At least not like that. She was John’s girl and had been for nearly two years. But whose fault was that? He leaned his head on the steering wheel, feeling the cool leather against his hot brow. He’d introduced Lacey to John. Fool.
Fool!
He’d been too stupid to say anything about his own feelings until it was too late. Almost overnight, she’d become John’s girl. And then what could he do?
Somehow he summoned the courage to walk to her front steps. Ring the bell. Stand there until her father opened the door. Of course, her father trusted him. They’d attended the same church since he was a kid. Micah smiled, hoping Gerald Galloway couldn’t see inside him to the desires he battled.
He knew he was a goner the second Lacey walked down the stairs. She wore a blue gown; he remembered that much because it turned her silver eyes the palest of blues. He could hardly breathe, let alone conjure up words as she took his hand and gazed into his eyes.
“You look … great,” she said.
He licked his lips. Swallowed. “Yeah. You too.” Oh, that didn’t even begin to touch what he felt. She looked
incredible
and deserved to be told that. But tonight was about subduing all those feelings and running back to his army base, to his new world, as soon as he could extricate himself from this mission.
“I brought you a corsage.” Micah held up the box, saw that the white roses had wilted, just a little. The carnage from his battle in the car.
She didn’t hint that she noticed and held still as he pinned it on. He grimaced when his hands shook. He’d been shot at, dropped out of an airplane, hiked for days without decent food, and bested a man in hand-to-hand combat, and yet pinning on these flowers had him nearly unhinged.
“Thank you, Micah,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“So are you, sis,” said Janie, wearing a UT sweatshirt and holding the hand of her fiancé, Dan. “Mom would have been so proud.”
Micah noticed tears in Lacey’s eyes when she turned and hugged her older sister. “Thanks, Janie.” Then she walked over to Micah and slipped her gloved hand through his arm.
“Don’t they look great together?” Janie asked.
Gerald appeared with a camera. Lacey leaned into Micah as her father snapped the picture. “Now listen, you bring her home safely.” Gerald shook Micah’s hand, but caution edged his eyes. “She’s my little girl and I want her to have a wonderful night.”
Micah nodded and changed his mind, now dead sure that this man could see right through him. “Yes, sir.”
Lacey held his arm as they walked out to the car. In her high heels, she stood nearly to his shoulder. But he felt a thousand feet tall while he helped her in the car.
The moon had risen, despite the early hour, and she pointed it out as they drove. He kept both hands on the steering wheel. She talked about others who would be at the prom, her sister’s upcoming wedding, the dirt bike her brother Sam had purchased, and her favorite new foal.
He thought of John and prayed for self-control.
The country club was lit up with Christmas lights, the beat of a country music band thumping through the breeze. The rose garden had already bloomed, the fragrance perfuming the air. Laughter and the hum of voices spilled out from the veranda. Micah pulled up, glad he’d taken his father’s Buick LeSabre rather than his on-its-last-legs VW Rabbit. He helped her out and then left to park.