Lakeside Reunion (16 page)

Stephen thumbed away a stray tear on her cheek. He cupped her face with both hands and looked into her eyes. “Lindsey, I love you. I promise I will never intentionally hurt you again.”

She gripped his wrists and pulled his hands away. “I know. And that makes this all the harder.”

His heart stuttered. “Makes what harder?”

She closed her eyes and covered her mouth. Her shoulders shuddered.

He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed his cheek against her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

Lindsey twisted out of his embrace. She backed up until she bumped the edge of the couch. “I'm sorry, Stephen, but I can't marry you.”

The air escaped his lungs as if someone had headbutted him in the stomach. Pain rippled through his system, threatening to drop him to his knees. He clutched the edge of the mantel for support. “Why?”

She sat on the couch and hugged one of the throw pillows. “When you didn't show up for breakfast, it was like déjà vu.”

“Honey, it was a small gash.” He took a tentative step toward her, but her stiffened body warned “Do not approach.”

“This time. What if that creep had stabbed your heart?”

“But he didn't. Other than a few stitches, I'm fine.”

She tossed the pillow back on the couch and jumped to her feet. She paced, punctuating the air with her arms. “
I'm
not! I can't wonder each morning that I kiss you goodbye if it will be the last time I see you. I can't worry if you're ten minutes late and think the worst has happened. Stephen, I'm sorry, but unless you're willing to give up your badge, I can't marry you.”

He grabbed her elbow and forced her to face him. “An ultimatum, Lindsey? Not cool. Being a cop is who I am.”

A wild look crashed over her face. She clutched his arm. “Which is why I can't marry you. Don't you see? I can't take the chance of losing you, too.”

“Sounds like you're losing me already.” Blood pulsed through his veins. He clenched and unclenched his hands into fists. Bile burned his throat. He forced his voice to remain calm. “Come on, Linds. Be reasonable. Please.”

“I'm sorry.” Her voice sounded so small, as if she was talking from some faraway place. Or maybe the sound of his heart shattering drowned out her words.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, beg and plead until he wore her down. Not one to quit, he wasn't ready to give up so quickly, especially knowing she loved him. But she was asking too much. Give up his badge? Impossible.

The hard set of her chin and look of determination on her face made Stephen realize no matter how much he begged,
she wouldn't crack. He closed his eyes against a sudden rush of moisture and spoke through clenched teeth. “Be sure of your answer because I will not propose a third time.”

“Goodbye, Stephen.”

S
awdust and grime coated Stephen's arms. His thigh burned. The painkillers wore off about an hour ago. But that was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. Maybe he deserved the pain. He should have tried harder to keep her from leaving.

“Figured I'd find you here.”

Stephen glanced over his shoulder through the haze of dust to find Oliver in uniform filling the garage doorway. He shut off the belt sander and shoved his safety glasses on top of his head. “What do you want, Kendall?”

Oliver pushed away from the door and crossed to the workbench.

“Shouldn't you be resting? The doctor said to keep weight off your leg.”

“Great. Just what I need, another mother.” Stephen glared at his friend. The last thing he wanted was company. Seeing Kendall in uniform poured salt in his wound—a perfect reminder that Stephen screwed up. Not only with Green, but with Lindsey, too.

He wiped his damp hands on his dusty jeans and set his glasses back in place. Flicking on the switch, he gripped the sander and ran it over the pencil squiggles he drew next to
the wood nosing along the edge of the bookcase. Once the pencil marks disappeared, sanding would be complete. If he sanded too deep, he'd take the veneer finish off the plywood.

Oliver yanked on the power cord, bringing the whining sander to a halt.

“Dude, not cool.” Stephen flicked the switch to Off and tossed his glasses on the workbench. Using the hem of his T-shirt, he wiped the dust off his bottle of warm soda and guzzled the rest.

“Hey, man. We need to talk. I know you've had a rough day, but I've got some news that might cheer you up.”

Stephen twisted the cap on the empty bottle and pitched it into the recycling barrel. “Spill it.”

“They got him.” Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, a satisfied smile splitting his face.

“Who?”

“Hank Earle.”

Stephen braced his hands on the table, locking his elbows. After all that time, they finally caught him. “When? Where?”

“They found him out in Colorado. He rolled some dude, knifed him and assumed his identity. Apparently he robbed a liquor store again. The local police lifted a partial print, but it was enough to identify him. They snagged his sorry behind and put him in custody. He's being extradited back here to stand trial.”

Finally.

“So it's over. That's great, man. Best news I've heard all day.” Stephen sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

Oliver slid the cordless phone across the workbench to Stephen. “Answer your phone and you would have known. The chief tried to call several times.”

“About Earle?”

“That and the LT results are in.”

Stephen's nerve endings stood at attention. “And?”

“You'll need to hear that from the chief, but something tells me you'll be needing to send your uniform shirts to the tailor.” Kendall clapped his back. “Congrats, man. You're getting everything you've worked hard for.”

“Not everything.” He grabbed a rag and wiped the dust from the bookcase.

“Have you called her?” Oliver raised an eyebrow and shot him a challenging look.

He tossed the rag on the table. “What's the point? I'm not going to beg. If she doesn't want to be with me, I can't force her.”

“So you're letting her walk away. Just like that.”

“She didn't leave me much choice.”

Oliver leaned against the table, apparently in no hurry to leave. “Life is all about choices. You know that as well as I do.”

Stephen tossed up his hands. “So what am I supposed to? Throw my badge on Laughton's desk and walk away? Be something I'm not for the rest of my life? I have Ty to think about. A mortgage. I worked hard to get where I am today.”

Oliver scoffed. “She's scared. Can you blame her?”

“That's her problem. Nothing I can do to help that.”

“Can't or won't? Like I said, life is all about choices. You need to decide what you want more—the job or Lindsey.” Oliver pushed away from the bench. “That badge won't keep you warm at night.”

Stephen rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “If Amy asked you to give it up, you'd do it?”

“In a heartbeat.”

His head snapped up. “Why?”

Oliver shrugged, as if the question was a no-brainer. “I love her. Who would you give up your badge for? Ty? God?”

“He wouldn't ask that of me.” Stephen thrust his hands in
the front pockets of his worn jeans, wincing when the material tightened against his wound.

“Don't be so sure. He tested Abraham, asking him to sacrifice his son Isaac. Once He saw Abraham's willful obedience, God provided a ram to be used instead of his son. But here's the kicker—Abraham loved God so much that he was willing to obey God by killing his own son. God loved us—prideful, sinful human—so much that He sacrificed His own Son for our sins.”

“I don't need a Bible lesson.”

“Maybe you need to decide why you cling to that badge, that cold piece of metal. It's not who you are. Your past sins have been forgiven. You need to forgive yourself and get over it. We've all sinned. Don't let your past stand in the way of your future. What are you willing to give up to keep Lindsey?” Without another word, Oliver turned on his heel and strode out the door.

Stephen limped over to the outlet and plugged in the sander cord. Returning to the workbench, he picked up the sander, turned it on and hit it against the wood. He ground away the pencil marks, trying to drown out Oliver's words.

Hank Earle had been caught. About time. He deserved to pay for what he had done. But Stephen wasn't the one who brought him in. No, he failed at keeping the promise he made years ago to catch the guy.

He gripped the sander until his arm muscles quivered. Sweat soaked his chest. Faint pencil marks shadowed the wood. He could stop and the edging would be flush. But he kept sanding, belt against the wood to erase every last mark for a perfectly smooth finish. He shifted from one foot to the other for better balance.

Pain slammed through his thigh, nearly dropping him to his knees. The sander shifted, squealing against the wood, gouging the surface.

Stephen shut off the sander and tossed it on the table. He worked so hard to make the bookcase look perfect—something Ty would be proud of. And look at what he did—he ruined it. He could patch the gouge, but it wouldn't be the same. The marred finish would show through the stain.

He ran his hand over the wood, assessing the damage. A splinter speared his thumb. Pain shot through his hand. He clenched his teeth and swallowed words that seared the tip of his tongue.

He slid open a drawer in his rolling tool chest and pulled out a small pocketknife given to him by his grandfather when he was twelve. He used it to dig out the splinter and then squeezed his thumb to make sure there weren't any remaining bits of wood hiding beneath his skin. A drop of blood bubbled from the wound and ran down his finger. He grabbed the rag he used to remove dust from the bookcase and wiped off his thumb.

Stephen stared at the blood staining the dirty rag. As dirty as his heart. His eyes shot to the gouge in the wood. Oliver's words about his sins being forgiven echoed in his head. His heart pounded. He shook his head. No, it wasn't possible.

A verse from Isaiah filtered through his head.

Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.

Was he the one holding his sin close to his vest, feeding on it to be a person of honor? Is that what God would have wanted him to do?

His breathing racing, Stephen braced his back against the workbench and slid to the floor. He pulled up his knees, wincing from the heat in his thigh. His stomach rolled. He rested his elbows on his knees and raked his hands through his hair.

A lump clogged his throat. He swallowed it. Tears warmed
his eyes. He blinked them back. He was a piece of work. He tried so hard and failed. Failed to keep his promise to Lindsey. Not only to find her father's killer, but the promise not to hurt her again.

“Oh, Lord…” He sniffed, wiping a hand under his nose. He knocked his head against the table and clenched his jaw. “What do I do?” Tears blurred his vision.

Oliver asked whom he was willing to give up his badge for. Was he willing to give it all up for Lindsey? Or God? Did God really want it all? His job? His past?

As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us.

Could it be that easy?

Stephen scrubbed his hands over his face, his fingers coming away wet. “You win, Lord.”

Warmth rushed through him, filling every pore with a peace that edged away those feelings of worthlessness. He buried his face in his hands. For the first time since Bethany's death, Stephen wept.

 

The inn stood in her absence. If anything, Rita and Paul improved the atmosphere—fresh-cut flowers and local gourmet chocolates upon arrival, turndown service—little things guests may not have noticed but enhanced their visits. Was she even needed back in her own place?

Cinnamon fragranced the air as Lindsey passed by the dining room, carrying a steaming cup of French vanilla tea to the registration desk, leaving behind the sounds of chatter and music from the radio in the kitchen.

She reached into the drawer and pulled out colored chalk and an eraser. She wrote out today's savories and sweets on the miniature chalkboards that would sit on the antique buffet—crustless cucumber sandwiches, open-faced turkey with melted Swiss, crab salad on toast points, lemon squares,
apple tarts and hand-dipped chocolate strawberries served with an assortment of teas and coffee.

Finished, she carried the boards into the dining room and set them on the easels next to the tiered plates. Eight tables covered with floral and lace linens and able to seat twenty-two guests filled the room. Yellow-and-lavender place mats, mismatched porcelain teacups and saucers, and polished silverware on linen napkins dressed the tables with single pink roses in clear vases reigning as centerpieces.

Bells over the front door jingled, signaling a visitor. Lindsey gave the dining room a final glance and then returned to the reception area.

Melissa stood next to the desk, her arms twined around the handle of the baby carrier. She glared at Lindsey. “I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend.” Lindsey tugged on the cuff of her white eyelet sweater.

Melissa snorted and shook her head. “You have a funny way of showing it. No goodbye? Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.” Lindsey extended a hand toward the front parlor. “Would you like to come in and sit down? May I offer you some tea?”

“Stop treating me like a guest at your stupid inn.”

Melissa stomped into the parlor and set the baby carrier on the floor while she shrugged out of her jacket. She draped it over the arm of the pale blue settee and perched on the edge of the seat to remove Nathanial from his cocoon. She cradled her son against her breast and rubbed his back. Tears filled her eyes. “You know, Lindsey, the first time you left, I understood. Your dad had just died. And then Stephen's about-face on the whole wedding thing. But now, what did I do to you to deserve this?”

“Nothing.” Lindsey picked up Melissa's jacket and slid it onto a hanger. She hung it in the closet outside the parlor.
The action prevented Lindsey from having to see the hurt in her friend's eyes. Lindsey turned and almost bumped into Melissa. “It wasn't you, Mel.”

“Then what's your problem?”

“It's complicated.” Her eyes drifted toward the soft curls darkening Nathanial's head. She breathed in the scent of baby shampoo.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “I have a master's in education, Linds. I think I can handle it.”

She held out her hands. “Can I hold him?”

Melissa turned her shoulder, shielding Nathanial from Lindsey. “You're not touching him until you tell me what's going on.”

“Why don't you ask Stephen?” Lindsey returned to the parlor and sat in one of the matching buttercup-colored Queen Anne wing chairs. She picked lint off her black dress pants.

“He's as tight-lipped as you are.”

Lindsey looked up. “So he didn't tell you—”

Melissa scowled. “Tell me what?”

Lindsey rested her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, reliving the moonlight shimmying across the water, the warmth of Stephen's jacket around her shoulders. She opened her eyes, but dropped her voice to a whisper. “He asked me to marry him again.”

“Okay, now I really don't understand the problem.”

Nathanial started and voiced his displeasure of being awakened from his nap. Melissa bounced him gently and patted his back. “If he asked you to marry him, then why are you here?”

“I told you, it's complicated.”

“You turned him down, didn't you?”

Lindsey stood without answering. She refolded an afghan and laid it across the back of the taupe leather sofa. She
straightened a pile of magazines and shoved them in a wicker basket beneath the mahogany-and-glass coffee table.

“Why?”

“Mel, your brother is a cop. Doesn't that scare you?” She plucked a dead leaf out of the fresh arrangement of golden carnations, red daisies and bronze roses nestled in a glass pumpkin-shaped container.

“At times, yes. But I can't let that fear control me. Stephen's not one of these rogue cops you see on TV who disregards protocol and goes off on his own. Besides, Shelby Lake is a lot safer than the big cities.” Melissa laid Nathanial back in his carrier and rocked it with her foot. He rubbed his head back and forth across the padding before closing his eyes.

Lindsey watched him and tried to squelch the ache rising in her chest. “My dad was killed in Shelby Lake.”

“Oh, honey, I know, but that's not the norm. Your dad's death changed a lot of things in our community, but we can't live smothered in fear.”