Love Inspired June 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Single Dad Cowboy\The Bachelor Meets His Match\Unexpected Reunion (49 page)

Sobo's recent health crisis had driven home the unwelcome reality that Ruthie's loved ones were getting older. Only God knew how much longer she would be able to enjoy their company, so she needed to make sure to spend plenty of quality time with them now. The Bristows—all of them—were her family. Without them, she would be as adrift as the day her mother died.

No, she couldn't bear the thought of losing her honorary grandparents.

“What about you and Gray?” Savannah persisted. “You two seem pretty happy together. Does that mean your faith issues have been resolved?”

Ruthie focused on straightening the items on the Peg-Board wall. She couldn't bring herself to look at her friend, who would surely be able to see the conflicted feelings in her eyes—the joy of being back together with the man she loved, tempered by the feeling they were incomplete without the faith that had once connected them on a very deep level.

“Progress is slow,” she admitted. “He has his heart set against God, but I'm praying and believing he'll eventually turn around. Hoping for sooner rather than later.”

It had to be soon if their relationship was to survive. The longer she waited for Gray to return to God, the harder it would be to let go if this proved to be an irreconcilable point between them.

Savannah fell silent, an unusual occurrence for her bubbly friend.

Finished with arranging the wall display, Ruthie turned to ease herself down from the cabinet and found Savannah staring at a stern-faced Gray.

“That's not what we agreed,” he said, his voice grim.

Savannah looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but here, but being the true friend that she was, she stayed and extended a hand to Ruthie. “Here, let me help you down.”

“No,” Gray intoned. “
I'll
let her down.”

If Ruthie hadn't otherwise been focused on coming up with an explanation for her overheard comment, she might have taken a moment to mull over his odd choice of words.

Savannah scurried off and glanced over her shoulder at Ruthie, an expression of apology on her face for bailing out and leaving her to deal with Gray's dark mood alone.

Gray lifted a hand, and Ruthie reluctantly accepted the help he offered and gingerly clambered down.

He closed his fingers around her hand and grasped her elbow to steady her. Holding her this close made him want to pull her into his arms. But to do so would sacrifice his integrity. His sense of honor. The request to keep faith off the table had been a sincere one, and her comment to Savannah told him she hadn't taken it seriously, that she had merely been biding her time until he changed his mind.

Why did she have to go and ruin everything just when he thought they were doing so well?

Ruthie looked up at him with big eyes. She reminded him of the time when, as a teenager learning to drive, she had accidentally bumped her car into his in a clumsy attempt to parallel park. She had clearly been scared he would blow up at her for having dinged his precious Miata. But he hadn't then. Definitely wouldn't now either, even though she had dinged something even more precious than a car fender.

His trust.

The situation with Jake Rayner had taught him he couldn't count on God or anyone else to take care of him and the people he cared about. People had to take care of themselves. Right now he needed to protect himself from her unreasonable expectations.

What hurt most was Ruthie's unspoken message that he wasn't enough. That he would only be good enough if he would just ignore the life lesson he had learned in Afghanistan and come around to her way of thinking. But he couldn't ignore the fact that his friend was dead because Ruthie's God had ignored the kid's pleas.

Maybe he wasn't enough. If so, he was sure to disappoint Ruthie at every turn. What kind of a relationship was that? In addition to protecting himself, he needed to do the right thing and protect her from endless disappointments that would surely arise when he couldn't—and wouldn't—become the kind of person she wanted him to be.

He directed her to a quiet corner, away from the customer who studied an assortment of decorative wall clocks. In backing up, he bumped against a small display table, and he felt more than heard something wobble and fall. A millisecond later the brittle sound of broken glass filled the air.

He turned and stared down at an ornate picture frame that had split into four jagged pieces, then bent to pick up the sharp fragments.

“Don't worry about it,” Ruthie said, touching a hand to his arm.

He yanked away from her. “You don't understand. I
do
worry about it.” He scooped up the pieces and piled them on the cabinet where she'd been standing a moment earlier. “That's me,” he said, pointing to the shards of glass and bent silver frame. “The frame can't be fixed, and God and your prayers can't fix me, either.”

He gripped her by the upper arms, and she seemed so small in his hands. Her eyes had reddened, and she blinked back the moisture that threatened to spill over. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to be tears of remorse for having broken their pact but rather of disappointment. In him.

“I really wasn't trying to fix you,” she said, her gaze pleading with him to understand.

That was the problem. He didn't understand. Didn't understand why a young soldier had to die, nor did he understand why she persisted in believing a fable. Why she expected that he should believe it, too.

“I just thought that—”

“That I would become what you want me to be? That I'm not enough just as I am?” He thought of the church hymn that promised he would be accepted just as he already was. What a cruel joke.

But it was no more cruel than staying in a relationship that defined him by what he wasn't. By the person he could never be again.

“I can't be the person you want me to be.” He reached for Ruthie, but she pushed his hand away.

She squared her shoulders and stood as tall as she could in his looming presence. All this time, she'd been wishing, hoping, dreaming and praying that they'd overcome the one obstacle that kept them apart. She had hated when their relationship had broken up while he'd been at war, and now she hated that their recently renewed relationship had become a war front in its own right.

She wanted him to believe as she did, but he just couldn't do it. As long as they were together, this would be a point of contention between them, no matter how they bargained to abide by the status quo.

With a note of heartbreaking finality, she summoned from deep inside herself the courage to tell him, “I can't be with you and not want you to know and love God as I do. And I refuse to continue to cling to what I now know is false hope.”

She felt the heat of Gray staring down at her. She bit down on her lips, which puckered from an attempt to hold back the sob that caught in her throat but which might otherwise look as if she were begging to be kissed. She'd done enough begging and conceding. Now was the time to hold firm, not only to her faith beliefs, but to what she wanted in a romantic partner and possible future mate. Even if it meant letting go. As much as she wanted otherwise, this relationship—this man—was obviously not meant for her.

Her chin trembled, and she regretted that he saw her weakness. Hoped he wouldn't read the sign of emotion as mixed feelings or, worse, uncertainty over what she was about to say.

“You were right the first time,” she told him, her voice stronger than the spaghetti noodles that suddenly inhabited her bones. “This can't possibly work between us.”

Gray pushed a hand through his hair. Despite his initial anger over her refusal to give up on her hopes of converting him back to being a believer again, he had not expected she would use this IED to resolve their differing stands. The sob that she'd been trying so valiantly to hold back now lodged itself in his heart. Her chin quivered again, making her seem small and delicate.

Delicate, yes, but he knew from experience that she could set her jaw in stubborn determination when she wanted something strongly enough. Although he wouldn't—couldn't—change his heart to appease her, he had no desire to throw away all the other things that had been going so well between them.

“Let's talk,” he said, and tried to steer her toward the shop's exit. “You'll close Gleanings, and we can go over to Pizza Piazza for lunch. We can order breadsticks. Like old times,” he urged, and belatedly realized he was using food to bargain with her. “Let's not be hasty. We can work this out.”

She shook her head. “I'm not hungry,” she said, letting him know without saying so that she would not budge from her stance.

These weren't old times, and what had worked for them in the past no longer brought them to a common ground.

The customer at the wall clock display lifted one from the shelf and tilted it in Ruthie's direction to get her attention. Both hands on the clock pointed straight up.

Ignoring the woman, she finished what she had to say. “I'm sorry, Gray, but this isn't working. It's better we end it now.”

Now it was his turn to struggle to hold back the emotion. He tried not to notice her reaction. Eyes unnaturally wide. Biting her lip. Trying desperately to keep from crying. Any other time, his instinct to protect and comfort her would have compelled him to take her in his arms and hold her until all was well again. Unfortunately, all would never be well between them again. Their happy little experiment to coexist with opposing mind-sets had failed.

He pulled some bills from his pocket and left them on the cabinet to pay for the broken frame. Bent and shattered. That was exactly how he felt.

“I'll see you around at Sobo and Pop's,” he said, and turned toward the door.

Ruthie watched in silence as he paused to pick up a small shard of glass from the floor.

Seeing her opportunity, and apparently oblivious to what had just transpired between her and Gray, the nearby customer hustled toward Ruthie, clutching a weathered Allentown clock to her chest as if a greedy shopper might snatch it from her.

“Are these all the clocks you have? I was looking for something similar to this one but a little bigger and maybe a different color.” The woman held it out at arm's length and seemed to consider the possibilities. “I suppose I could paint this one. Maybe change out the hands for an antique spoon and fork.”

Gray rose to his feet, clearly as dumbfounded as she was that anyone would consider altering such a great-looking clock.

Ruthie looked from the woman to the timepiece, finally settling her gaze on the open design of the large meshed gears and Roman numerals. Still reeling from their breakup, this one at her hands, she was so shocked by the outrageous question that it took a moment to form the words to reply.

Gray set the final shard of glass on the pile with the others. He was right—their relationship was as irreparably broken as the bits of glass that lay in front of her. In his mind it was broken because she wanted God in it. But she knew that for herself, any pairing without God in it was destined to come apart.

“If you change the clock, you'll ruin the patina,” she told the customer, but her gaze never left Gray's face. “In this case, it's best to leave it alone and just appreciate it for what it really is.”

Chapter Twelve

R
uthie's dream that God would change Gray's heart had been crushed. The truth was that his heart had indeed changed.

It had hardened even more than ever.

The Dear Jane letter had hurt so much that she'd thought she would never heal. She had thought nothing could be worse than reading that the man she loved more than anyone on earth wanted nothing more to do with her. Yes, that had hurt, but to be the one who broke up with him—in person—was much, much worse.

Four years ago, she had somehow managed to distract herself from the heartbreak by immersing herself in opening Gleanings and focusing on turning it into a success. Back then it had worked for brief periods of time, so today she attempted once again to stay too busy to think. Unfortunately, business slacked off for a little while after lunch, and Savannah had started puttering with the wedding dress. Her friend, on realizing the pain it caused her to look at it, had started to tuck it away, but Ruthie had insisted Savannah shouldn't alter her work schedule on her behalf.

Ruthie turned away from the sight. For the next couple of hours, she threw herself into her shop duties and hovered over customers in an attempt to erase the words that echoed in her brain:
It's better we end it now.

For as little as she had accomplished this afternoon, she should have gone home. The distraction wasn't working.

What weighed heaviest on her soul was not only the fact that she had given up on Gray...but worse, that he had given up on God. Permanently.

Savannah ambled over from Connecting Threads. “Ruthie, honey, is there anything I can do? I just hate seeing you looking this miserable.”

Ruthie looked up from her paperwork and wondered inanely if Gray and Daisy were still going over his security company's paperwork. She met her friend's compassionate gaze. Today Savannah wore a vintage wrap dress that she had refashioned with embroidered embellishments over the bodice and a sheer flowy skirt to cover the bottom. This modernized version looked very little like the original and very much like Savannah. Ruthie's attention dropped to the long fluff of white fabric draped over her arm.

Following her gaze, Savannah looked down, appeared to realize what she'd done and belatedly moved the veil behind her back.

Ruthie's jaw hurt. Probably from clenching her teeth. At least it diverted her attention from other, deeper hurts. “Thanks, but there's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”

That was the part that hurt the worst. She could handle disappointments that came along in life as long as there was a plan, something she could do to make it right again. The day between learning that her stepfather was going back to New Jersey without her and receiving Sobo and Pop's insistent invitation to come live with them had felt like a bottomless chasm. But the plan to move in with the generous couple—people she barely knew—had given her hope. A lifeline just when she'd needed it most.

For the past couple of weeks, she'd had such a lifeline with Gray. True, she had agreed not to try to coerce him into changing his mind, but her private plan had been to wait him out in hopes he would eventually see the calm assurance and the sense of peace he'd been missing without God in his life. But that lifeline had been steadily unraveling until, today, it had finally broken.

So she had to come up with a new plan. A plan to accept this new turn of events and trust that God would protect Gray and ultimately—perhaps even years from now—lead him back to church and the faith that had previously been such an important part of his life. The acceptance part was so hard, especially when it meant not having Gray in her life. So she needed to come up with an additional plan. One that would fill the gaping void in her heart. Staying busy at work helped only to a point.

“Actually, there is something you can do,” she told Savannah. “Let me know if any customers need me. I'm going over to Milk & Honey for some hot tea and to try to figure out what comes next.”

* * *

Ruthie examined the menu while she mulled over her next move. Sobo always said that whenever you need something, give it away to someone else. Well, today she was sad, so the obvious solution would be to cheer up someone else.

She started a list while waiting for Paisley to take her order. Help the homeless, as Paisley did? Follow Savannah's lead and volunteer at the children's adoption agency? Perhaps offer to help out at the animal shelter where Cali—Radar—had almost been sent? Or go visit Private Denton at the VA hospital?

She drew a heavy line through the last possibility. Mainly because Denton might not be ready for visitors at this point, assuming he wanted any, but also because interacting with military veterans would remind her of the very person she was trying so hard not to think about.

Paisley draped a bar towel over her shoulder and swaggered over to the table as if she were a bartender in an old Western. “What's your poison, pardner?”

Ruthie smiled, glad for her friend who always knew just how to lift her spirits. “Earl Grey,” she said. “Straight up.”

Paisley returned a few minutes later and set the tea and a scone in front of her. Then she took a quick look around to see if anyone needed her before seating herself at the table. “I was so chuffed about you and Gray getting back together. I thought for sure it would work out this time.”

Ruthie took a careful sip of the hot tea, then shook her head. “I should have known it wouldn't work. Unequally yoked and all that,” she said, repeating the reason Gray had cited in his original breakup. “But I was so sure God intended for us to be together.”

She still felt that the verse from Jeremiah had been a message for her.
Plans to give you hope and a future.
Maybe she had misunderstood, and God had planned to give her hope and a future with someone else.

The very thought made her stomach churn.

“You'll get through this,” Paisley assured her.

Unfortunately, Ruthie had no idea how. Since her friend was in a listening mood, she poured her heart out, starting with her initial determination to give her relationship with Gray another go even though he was still adamantly set against the faith that was such an important part of her own life.

“To make matters worse,” she continued, “today is the day of the birthday party for Mrs. Kagawa's aunt. I'm going to have to tell Sobo that I accidentally sold her doll. It'll break her heart.” Since she was already riding the pity train, she poured out the other piece that had been weighing at the back of her mind. “And after Mr. Denton gets his meds straightened out, I'll have to say goodbye to Cali.”

Although she knew Cali—rather, Radar—loved her owner and belonged with him despite his troubles, having to give up the sweet dog was the final straw that threatened to break her emotional back. Her eyes filled with tears of sadness and loss, and the sunshine that poured through the café window seemed to mock her with its good cheer. She shook out her napkin and dabbed her eyes.

Paisley had rested a sympathetic hand on her arm, but her attention was focused beyond Ruthie on something outside the window. “Somebody's running across the parking area.” The bell over the door jangled at the abrupt entry. “And I think she's looking for you.”

Ruthie turned in her seat and took in the well-dressed woman who paced the front of the shop and looked around frantically. The customer's words tumbled out so fast it was hard to understand her, and she seemed very agitated.

Mrs. Kagawa.

“What now?” Ruthie muttered. Was the customer upset because she'd found a defect on the doll? That would be just her luck.

Determined not to follow Gray's lead, she pushed the thought of luck away from her mind. Whatever was going on, good or bad, she asked that God use the situation in a way that would bless them and honor Him.

Mrs. Kagawa noticed her and spun in her direction, and she covered the distance with amazing quickness.

Ruthie rose to her feet and mentally braced herself for whatever was to come. She didn't know what was going on, but she had a sickening feeling she was about to be hit with more bad news.

Speaking even faster than before, Mrs. Kagawa stopped at the table and tumbled the words out in what sounded like a haphazard fashion. Although Ruthie couldn't make out exactly what the problem was, there was no question the woman was in supreme distress.

Paisley stood and pulled out a chair for their visitor. “Slow down. Take a breath,” she urged. “Have some tea.”

“No time,” said Mrs. Kagawa. “
Obasan
open present and see doll. Now she cry, and she cry more. No stopping. She only say, ‘Whose doll?' I don't know what is matter.”

Ruthie didn't know whether to comfort her or probe for answers. She finally settled on asking a couple questions of her own. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked softly. “What do you want me to do?”

“You come,” Mrs. Kagawa said, holding out a hand for her to follow. “You tell her about doll. She stop cry.” She reached for Ruthie and tugged at her sleeve. “Come, quick-quick.”

Until Gray had come into the shop looking for the doll less than a month ago, she had never paid much attention to it where it had sat on a shelf at the Bristows' house. For that reason, she doubted she could answer the aunt's questions about it, nor could she offer any comfort that the aunt's own family hadn't already attempted to provide.

Gray knew more about the doll than she did. Maybe he could help shed light on this strange turn of events. On the way out, she reached for her cell phone and hit the speed-dial button that connected her to Gray.

“Meet me at Mrs. Kagawa's house. Something's going on with the doll.”

* * *

The inside of the Kagawa house was even more beautiful than the outside. The minimalist decor combined clean Japanese lines with comfortable American furniture that made Ruthie feel both welcomed and a little in awe of the careful styling.

At the front of the room, an older woman took the place of honor in a plush wingback chair that nearly swallowed her tiny frame. The matriarch's dark hair, almond eyes and amber skin were echoed in the family members clustered around the room. A couple of children stared openly at Ruthie.

The aunt's face was splotchy from crying, and tears glistened on her lashes. In her lap sat two identical dolls, one dressed in royal blue and the other—Sobo's—in red.

Mrs. Kagawa introduced her aunt as Tomiko Kishimoto and explained that she had purchased Sobo's doll because it was a perfect match to the one Tomiko already owned. She said something in Japanese to her aunt, and the elderly woman teared up again. Clearly confounded by the predicament, Mrs. Kagawa turned to Ruthie, her expression one of helpless frustration.

“See? She crying.”

Ruthie went to the aunt and offered a bow of respect.
“Kon'nichiwa.”
Thank goodness she remembered the basic greetings Sobo had taught her more than ten years ago.
“Watashi no namae wa
Ruthie
desu.”

The woman looked at her and politely dipped her head.

Taking the gesture as one of acceptance, she knelt to interact with the woman at her level.

Mrs. Kishimoto said something in Japanese, but her speech was much too fast and too advanced for Ruthie to follow. She turned to Mrs. Kagawa in a silent request for her to translate, but the elderly aunt grabbed her arm and gripped it tightly. Taken by surprise, she could only marvel that someone so tiny could clamp on so hard.

One of the children, a boy about three or four years old, sidled closer to Ruthie. Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted a hand and touched her hair so lightly she barely felt it.

Mrs. Kagawa spoke to the boy in Japanese, her face and tone stern, and he stepped away. To Ruthie she said, “
Oba
wants to know where you found the doll.”

Ruthie directed her answer to the aunt. To reply in Japanese was beyond her ability, so she mimed in conjunction with her response. Pointing a finger at her own chest, she said, “My
sobo.
”

Apparently surprised at her use of the Japanese word for her relative, the woman jerked her gaze to Ruthie's red hair.

Understanding the matron's confusion over a Japanese woman having produced a granddaughter with red hair and fair skin, she quickly explained, “Sobo is my honorary grandmother. I love her the same.”

Mrs. Kagawa translated. The aunt leaned forward in the chair and gently touched Ruthie's face.

Surprised by the unexpected gesture, Ruthie sat and accepted what could only be described as a loving touch. She became aware of the door opening and someone entering the room. Gray must have arrived. If her chin hadn't been so carefully cradled in the aunt's thin fingers, she might have turned to see him. See if the hurt he wore earlier today was still evident on his face. Or had he forgiven her for breaking up with him? Breaking both of their hearts.

The woman turned the dolls toward her and lifted the red dress to show her the Japanese characters that had been handwritten on its leg. Sobo's doll.

“
Imōto-san.
Naoko.” Tomiko pointed to Ruthie and added,
“Obaasan.”

Yes, Naoko was her
obaasan.
Her grandmother, of sorts. She had known without the extra hint that the red-dressed doll belonged to Sobo and wondered what she was getting at. And what did
imōto-san
mean?

Gray cleared his throat and introduced himself in Japanese as Naoko's grandson.

The woman's gaze left her face and turned toward him, her face lighting with delight.
“Oi,”
she said. She bowed her head, then again.
“Oi.”

Gray blinked in response, apparently taking in what she said.

Mrs. Kishimoto urged him to pull up a chair beside her, then showed him the writing on the other doll, in the same location.