Authors: Brenda Minton
Gray intercepted her slow-motion gesture, fully aware that she was afraid of hurting him. He grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her to him, coaching her through the countermoves to block his advances. If only it were this easy to teach her to block the furtive looks he often found himself aiming her way. But every time he caught her gaze, her wide hazel eyes projected the message that he had already knocked her off her feet, without even touching her.
He still cared about her. Couldn't be close like this without caring. And wanting to kiss her. It was clear something was going to give, and he was afraid it would be his determination to do right by Ruthie and hold her at arm's length.
It was getting late. He'd better end this class before he did something stupid. Like pull her into his arms and give her a kiss that would make her forget her own name. If he did that, though, he'd better be prepared to forget about the reason they no longer shared the same faith.
Her faith involved reliance on a capricious God who sometimes answered prayers and other times left a believer floundering alone and wondering why he had been abandoned. His faith, on the other hand, involved reliance on knowledge, strength and sometimes a bit of luck. Those were what had gotten him through the tough times...the times when God hadn't been there for him.
“Before we wrap it up,” he said, “look around you for a weapon to swing or throw at the assailant and an exit route for escape. No matter what your environment, always make yourself aware of the tools at hand that can assist you if you're ever approached by someone intent on harming you. Even if you don't render your attacker unconscious, you'll want to throw him off-balance to give you a few seconds to get away.”
Ruthie didn't need to throw a table lamp at him. She had already knocked him off kilter just by being here. Just by being herself. By being the same woman he'd fallen in love with. Worse...by having grown into an even better version of the young woman whose heart he'd been forced to break a few years ago.
After they restored the reception area to order, the young women left amid a flurry of thank-yous and see-you-laters. All but Ruthie, who had put on her bike helmet and now poked the white earbuds back into her ears.
Gray reached forward and plucked them out. He wrapped the cord around his hand, tied a tidy little knot and handed the earphones back to her. “How are you going to be aware of your surroundings with music pounding in your ears?”
She pushed them into a tiny key pocket in her yoga pants. “Oops, forgot.”
Outside, Savannah's car pulled away from the curb, drawing his attention to the fading daylight. Ruthie's bike ride wouldn't take more than about fifteen or twenty minutes, but he didn't like the idea of her going home to an empty house at dusk.
He pulled his keys from his pocket. “You can take off your helmet. I'll give you a ride home.”
“That's not necessary. I'm fine.”
Of course she was fine. Better than fine. She was superb, a fact that wouldn't go unnoticed by someone with criminal intent. Sure, the likelihood of her being accosted by some random stranger was slim, but recent news reports of a prowler in the area had sent his protective instincts into overdrive.
“Okay, you go first,” he said, holding the door. “I'll follow you in my car to make sure you get home safely.”
She did a cute little eye roll reminiscent of her teen years when Sobo had insisted she let him walk with her whenever she left the house after dark.
“Bristow men protect their
gokazoku,
” Sobo had said, referring to family. “And their women let them.”
Ruthie hesitated, then a tiny glimmer lit her eyes. A glimmer that he had come to know meant she was up to something. A glimmer that had him wondering if he was about to be laid low by this little snip of a woman.
“I suppose we are still
kazoku,
” she said, using the more intimate version of the word for family. She swept the helmet off her head and sent those red strands flying. She stepped past him into the hallway where her bike awaited. “Thank you. Are you sure you have room in your car?”
He had plenty of room in the car for her bike. But nowhere near enough for all the baggage they lugged between them.
* * *
Ruthie's spirits soared on the drive home. There was still hope.
She'd noticed the awareness that had passed between them, as she was sure he'd also noticed. Yet here he was, driving her home despite everything that had transpired between them, both today and in the past. She was still
kazoku
to him. Not sister family but bonded-by-the-heart family. Once he let someone in, that person was always his.
Gray pulled into an open parking spot in front of her house on Floyd Avenue. Shadows fell beneath the ancient maple tree, casting the sidewalk in a mottled pattern that created an illusion of movement beneath her feet. The house lay dark before her. Ordinarily, she wouldn't think twice about the eerie effect, but today's class had made her hyperaware of all aspects of her surroundings. Especially of the big strong male hoisting her bike out of his car.
She moved ahead, keys in hand, and pushed the gate open on her side of the house. Divided down the middle, with separate entrances and a white picket fence between the two halves, the blue two-story frame house exuded a quaint charm that harkened back to the early 1920s.
Should she invite Gray in? How would he interpret such an invitation? Would it scare him off? Despite a few bumpy moments, the day had gone well, and the last thing she wanted was to make things awkward between them.
Something snapped. At first Ruthie thought the noise came from the latch she lifted to open the gate. She moved it again, up and down, but the noise did not repeat itself. Their neighbors, a young married couple with a spoiled miniature dachshund, were away for the weekend, so the sound couldn't be attributed to Rotten Ralphie snuffling through the postage-stamp yard.
A cool breeze swept over her, raising gooseflesh under her jacket sleeves. Now she peered through dim light into the neighboring yard but saw nothing that warranted alarm. She gave herself a mental shake for being so silly and reminded herself that a combat-trained former soldier followed just a few yards behind her. The sound had probably come from the neighbor two doors down who liked to cook out on the barbecue all year long.
She pushed through the gate, Gray bringing up the rear, and this time something rustled sharply on the other side of the divider fence. She spun toward the sound to glimpse a quick movement in the next yard.
Her heart lurched into her throat, and she clenched the keys so hard they would certainly leave imprints on her skin. A nondescript brown dog nosed along the bushes, its tail curved upward like a feathery plume. Just as quickly as she had started at the sound, she blew out a relieved breath and proceeded up the steps to the front door.
She pushed the key into the lock. Every now and then an occasional stray animal wandered the neighborhood, but she had no idea how this one had managed to find its way inside the fence. She'd check it after Gray brought the bike in to see if it wore a collar and tags.
Behind her the bike suddenly clattered to the ground, and feet pounded up the paved walkway. She turned just in time to see Gray vault sideways over the waist-high divider fence, his movements as fluid as a gymnast's.
The bush shook violently in front of the latticework, and a man in camouflage clothing bolted from his hiding place in the neighbor's yard. Gray burst after him and rounded the yard in pursuit, the brown dog hot on his heels.
“Go inside and lock the door,” he ordered, then disappeared around the side of the house.
Ruthie stood frozen for what seemed like minutes but was probably only a couple of seconds before she collected herself enough to reach for her cell phone and dial 911. She quickly gave the dispatcher her address and a summary of what had happened.
“Does the man have a gun?” asked the woman at the other end of the line. “Or a weapon of any kind?”
A gun? It hadn't occurred to her that Gray might be chasing an armed man. He might be good at self-defense, but bullets were stronger. And even if the stranger wasn't armed, his dog had teeth that it might be willing to use to protect its owner.
“I don't know,” she said. “He had a medium-size dog with him, but I don't know if it's aggressive.”
After shakily answering a few more questions, she disconnected the phone and begged God to watch over the man who was willing to protect her, even at risk of harm to himself.
High-pitched yelps resounded from the back of the house. Ruthie's chest squeezed so that she could barely breathe. Remembering Gray's admonition to always be aware of potential weapons, she scanned the front porch and grabbed a ceramic pot filled with soil...the intended home for Savannah's future begonias.
By now footsteps trod slowly and unevenly on the flagstone path that led from the backyard. She doubted the prowler would be daring enough to make his way back here, but an equally disturbing thought occurred to her. What if Gray had been injured and was now limping back?
She had prayed for him throughout his tour of duty in Afghanistan, even after their breakup, and he had returned home safe and uninjured. One hand automatically curled, her thumb touching her fingers.
Please, God, You kept him safe before. Don't let anything happen to him now.
Ruthie sprinted back toward the gate, the pot of dirt tucked under her arm, leaped over the prone bicycle and flung open the gate to her neighbor's yard. With an extra burst of adrenaline, she lifted the pot in preparation for defense, skirted the yard and slammed to a halt.
In the shadows of the narrow corridor between this house and the neighbor's, the tall male figure loomed before her. He clutched something in his arms and moved toward her.
“I told you to go inside,” Gray said, his tone abrupt but tinged with concern and maybe a little fear. For her?
“I was...” She set the begonia pot on the ground. Was he all right? Was that a limp?
As he trudged closer, thin rays from the streetlights fell on him, and she was able to discern the brown dog that he held close to his chest. The dog lifted its head and tentatively licked Gray's chin. Another female fallen prey to his strength and charm.
“You were praying, weren't you?” he said with a nod toward her left hand. The question sounded accusatory. Almost angry.
She looked down at her hand, knowing even before seeing it that the familiar gesture had tipped him off to what she'd been doing. He used to tease her for the way she prayed when in public. Her mother had taught her to pray with both hands folded in front of her, and that was how Ruthie preferred to talk to God. Ideally, on her knees. But sometimes, when she was driving or involved in some other activity that didn't lend itself to such a reverent posture, she liked to show her respect by pressing together the thumb and fingers of one hand. A one-handed version of folded hands. Gray had often joked that the formation resembled the head of a baby bird, and he had made shadow puppets on the wall to demonstrate. “Got your emu?” he'd asked when she tearfully kissed him goodbye the day he deployed.
He'd been joking then, but he didn't seem very amused by it now.
“Looks like your God forgot to watch out for this little one.”
Chapter Six
A
crimson stain covered the short brown fur on the dog's shoulder and smeared across Gray's arm. In the darkening shadows, it looked like a scene from a horror movie.
“Oh, no. What happened to her?” She quickly scanned both man and animal for further injuries, but in the dark it was hard to tell what additional damage they may have suffered. “Are you all right?”
“I'm okay. I had just grabbed the guy by the scruff of the shirt when Calamity Jane here had a close encounter with the metal corner of a lawn chair. Her squalling distracted me, and the prowler got away.” Then, perhaps in an effort to reassure Ruthie, he added, “We don't know that he was up to any harm. He may have just been a Peeping Tom.”
Not that it made any difference to her. Either wayâprowler or Peeping Tomâit was just plain creepy to have a strange man lurking near her home.
The Lab mix lowered her ears and extended her nose as Ruthie approached. The dog sniffed her hand and gave her fingers a friendly lick. And to think she had worried this sweet dog might try to bite Gray.
“We should get her inside and see if she needs to be looked at by a vet,” she said.
They walked back to her house with Gray in take-charge mode. “Get the gate.” “We need to call the police.” “Don't forget to let your neighbors know what's going on.” “Let's wash the blood off this dog so we can see how bad she's hurt.”
At any other time, she might have chafed under his bossiness, but after what had just happened, she appreciated his calm certainty about what needed to be done next.
The police arrived just as Gray had maneuvered the dog into the bathtub to get cleaned up. While Ruthie gently sprayed water over the dog's cut, Gray went to the door and gave his statement and a description of the man he had chased out of the bushes. Then they swapped places, and she told her version of what happened.
After she showed the police officers out, she went back to the bathroom, where Gray toweled off the dog, taking care to avoid rubbing the laceration on its shoulder. Gray had already washed the blood off his own arms, but the stain remained on the sleeve and front of his shirt. The scary evidence of his close encounter reminded her that it could just as easily have been Gray's blood staining his shirt. Ruthie prayed a silent prayer of thanks for God's protection during their run-in with the prowler.
“All that blood made the cut look worse than it really is,” he said, pointedly ignoring her emu hand while he dabbed liquid from a brown bottle onto the wound. “A little peroxide, some food to fatten her up and soon she'll be good as new.”
Gray rose to his feet, and the dog shook herself and wandered off to the kitchen as if to say the idea of food was a good one. Ruthie rummaged through the refrigerator and filled a bowl with leftover roasted chicken, a sprinkling of peas and carrots and a small dab of mashed potatoes.
“Calamity Jane,” she said, referring to Gray's earlier description of the dog. They watched the animal devour the sumptuous fare, and after it finished, she added a bit more chicken. “Jane doesn't seem to fit, but perhaps Calamity would fit...or Cali for short.”
Gray shook his head. “Don't do it. If you name her, you'll end up keeping her.”
He was right. If she didn't commit to the dog in the first place, it would hurt less later on when it came time to part with her. Too bad the dog had already become Cali in her mind and would remain so forever. Just as her heart still claimed Gray as her fiancé. Ruthie found it easy to make room in her heart for more loved ones. Letting go proved to be more of a challenge.
“You shouldn't stay here tonight,” he said. “In case the prowler comes back.”
Right again. Part of her wanted to argue that she'd be fine staying here by herself, but the truth was she'd really rather not remain in an empty house while a potentially dangerous man roamed the neighborhood. Although the guy had likely been scared off for good, there was still the slight chance he might come back for the dog or whatever else had drawn him here in the first place.
“I suppose I could go over to Nikki's place. They already have a sleeping bag for me, and we could put down a blanket for Caliâum, the dog.”
Gray reached down and rumpled the dog's ears. Cali melted under his touch and rolled over onto her back. If Ruthie had been a dog, she would have done the same thing. Instead, she tried to suppress her natural inclination to turn to putty in his presence.
“Might be a little noisy for her after what she's been through this evening,” he said. “It would be quieter at Pop's house, and he could use the company.”
She nodded. Pop had been spending most of his time at the hospital with Sobo, but evenings were the worst. He had admitted it was hard to climb those stairs alone and spend the night apart from his wife of almost sixty years. “Do you suppose he'd mind me bringing the dog?”
“He'd love it. Why don't you pack an overnight bag, and I'll drive you over there. We can pick up some dog food on the way.”
She did as he suggested and returned a few minutes later with a duffel bag and the belt from her bathrobe to be used as a temporary leash for Cali.
“I'll bring you back here tomorrow,” he promised, “and will put in a security alarm then. It's long overdue.”
Ruthie's thoughts went to what Sobo had said about Sundays being reserved for going to church. If he no longer believed, did that mean the rule ceased to apply to him? “There's no need for you to work on Sunday. I'm sure a few extra days won't make any difference.”
He slanted his gaze at her, making it clear he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Think of it as rescuing a lost lamb on the Sabbath. That should exempt us.”
But it wasn't she who was lost and needed rescue. Silently, this time without clasping her hand, she asked God to help Gray find his way back into the fold.
* * *
Gray stood on Ruthie's front porch and rang the doorbell. The purpose of the visit was to pick up a tool he'd left here when he had installed the security system yesterday, but deep down it was really because he wanted to see her again. Four years apart had left him craving the kind of companionship that only she could offer.
No answer, so he rang the bell again. He'd called only twenty minutes ago to arrange to pick up the staple gun, so she should be here. At the very least, maybe one of her roommates was still at home since it was too early for shop hours. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard someone holler something from inside, so he tested the doorknob.
It turned. Annoyed that it had been left unlocked after their encounter with the prowler, he pushed the door open, leaned in and said with more than a hint of sarcasm, “It's just me, your friendly neighborhood stalker.”
Ruthie's voice floated to him from the center of the narrow house. “Come on in. I left the door open for you.”
He gritted his teeth. “I noticed.”
As he stepped inside, he noticed an old belt and a rope dangling from a hook by the door. A leash and collar wouldn't cost much, but he knew that the mere acquisition of dog supplies would have established a sense of permanence. For that reason he'd discouraged her from buying toys and stuff for the dog, out of concern that the more financially and emotionally invested she became in the animal, the more firmly cemented it would become in her life. Although it would hurt her to give the dog up after they found out who it belonged to, he knew it would hurt her more to stand between the dog and its true owner.
Apparently the belt and rope were her temporary solution to a lack of proper equipment. He shrugged. Maybe he should pick up a decent collar and leash for Cali and give it to her with the caveat that they were to be passed along when she returned the dog.
He followed her voice to the hall and was prepared to give her a lecture for leaving the front door unlocked. But when he laid eyes on her, all such thoughts vacated his brain.
Ruthie knelt on the bathroom floor in front of the claw-foot tub, where Cali sat patiently. The dog's long ears were submissively plastered to its neck. Both woman and animal were soaking wet and covered in soapsuds, and the scent of perfumed shampoo hung heavy in the small bathroom as she made baby talk to Cali.
“You're being a good girl,” she cooed. “We're almost done. Here, have a treat.”
Cali's ears went up when Ruthie dug into a box of biscuits and gave her one.
Gray felt a grin steal over his face. He couldn't help it. It was an involuntary reflex when it came to Ruthie. She had a way of making people lean in to take in whatever she happened to be saying.
She babbled something about going to the vet but assured the dog in that same singsong tone that there was nothing to worry about.
“The vet? What happened?”
Although Cali had turned toward him when he had stepped into the open doorway, it wasn't until she heard his voice that she seemed to remember who he was. She reared up in the tub and offered an excited howl of greeting. Amid the commotion, she sloshed water over the side and soaked Ruthie with bathwater.
“Easy, girl.” Gray hurried to Ruthie's side to help contain the dogâand the waterâin the bathtub. Unfortunately, his approach only excited Cali even more, and she tried to clamber out of the tub to lick his face.
“You seem to have that effect on a lot of females,” Ruthie said.
Amazingly, he managed to avoid the spray of water, but a small tidal wave, stirred by the dog's wild movements, rocked through the tub and cascaded again over Ruthie. Her red hair, which had previously been piled in a messy knot on top of her head, now clung in spiderlike strands to her face. And the pale blue T-shirt whose sleeves she had carefully folded up to keep them dry now dripped water to the tile floor. Didn't matter. To him she still looked pretty. Beautiful, in fact.
He handed her a towel and she attempted to blot herself dry, but it didn't do much good.
“I need to take her to the vet,” Ruthie said, picking up their conversation where they'd left off before Cali had decided to douse her, “because she seems to be favoring the shoulder that got cut. It may be infected.”
Cali bounced in the tub, clearly unaffected by the injury.
“She looks fine to me.”
Ruthie blushed, her reaction telling him more clearly than words that she had gone into nurturing mode. He hoped she wouldn't be devastated when the time came to give the dog back to its owner, but he knew the possibility was slim that she'd give Cali up without at least a few tears.
“I thought that while we're there, we'll have her scanned for a microchip, or at least see if anyone there recognizes her.”
A roundabout way of saying she was emotionally adopting the dog.
She stood and pulled the rubber stopper from the bathtub drain.
“Um, you might want to change before you go.” He averted his gaze and busied himself with hanging onto Cali to keep her from jumping out of the tub and soaking either of them any more than she already had.
Prompted by his suggestion, Ruthie glanced down at her shirt, blushed and pressed the sodden towel to her front.
To his credit, he fixed his eyes firmly on the dog. A real feat, considering he was 100 percent male.
“Just for that,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice, “you can finish the dog.”
Then she swishedâor rather, squishedâout of the bathroom.
* * *
Gray's laughter followed her out the door and down the hall to her bedroom.
She changed into clean jeans and another long-sleeved T-shirt, this one black with a scalloped neckline.
His voice drifted to her again while she slipped off her sodden slippers and stepped into a pair of dry shoes. She tilted her head to hear him and picked up only broken snatches of what he was saying. “...pretty girl...so funny.” And most heart catching, “...love you.”
Was he talking to her? No, he couldn't be.
Cali made squealing grunts of happiness, and that was when it sank in that Gray was talking to the dog, not to her. She imagined she'd make similar noisesâin her mind if not out loudâif he made a fuss over her like that. But they were still new at being back together, as friends even if not romantically. They were still on unsteady ground. With God's blessing, perhaps their relationship would grow to the point where they were comfortable enough to easily share such sentiments again.
“Okay, okay, I love you, too. Stop the kisses already.” Gray's voice became muffled, as if he was covering his face to block the doggy affection. “
Blech!
Aw, come on. Knock it off.”
Ruthie paused, her hand on the bedroom door's vintage glass knob. He hadn't said he loved her since that fateful letter when he'd tried to soften the blow of their breakup. The thought saddened her for a moment, but then she immediately cheered up again. He'd kissed her before, and she had faith he would kiss her again. And she was sure the kisses they'd shared were better than the sloppy doggy kisses Cali doled out.
The “I love yous” would come in good time. In God's time.
She went back to the bathroom, looking and feeling more refreshed than when she'd left.
Gray looked up at her as she entered, a smile of appreciation covering his face. It felt good to see his uncensored reaction to her...a reaction that reminded her of their better days together.
Cali, now toweled off and energized by the bath, charged past her into the front room, where she ran in crazy circles and rubbed her back against the couch. Then the little speedster threw herself onto the rug and crept, army-style, across the floor.
Gray had followed them to the front room and stood at Ruthie's side to watch Cali's antics. He laughed, the sound a bit sardonic. “This dog is living a better life than some people I've seen.”
Noting the seriousness in his tone, she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”