Seaside Reunion (10 page)

“That sounds like Ruth.” As Cindy checked her watch, she leaned back to peer around the shelving. “Looks like they’re still hard at it over there. You know, I couldn’t get Jarrod off the computer last night. And he was so busy copying and pasting articles for Nate he didn’t want to go to bed. Here’s the best part, though—he wanted to talk about some of the things he’d read. He opened up even more than when he was seeing the grief counselor.”

“That’s wonderful, Cindy.”

“It’s a start, anyway. I don’t know how long your friend is planning to hang around, but as far as I’m concerned, it can’t be long enough.” Cindy shifted a bulging satchel from one hand to the other. “Well, I guess I better break up the party over there. I don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Five minutes later, as Cindy and Jarrod exited, Lindsey took a deep breath and walked toward the nook. Time to put her appeasement plan into action.

As she stepped into his line of sight, Nate motioned her over. “Take a look at this.”

She circled around the table until she was beside him, then leaned down to see the screen. As the subtle scent of his aftershave wafted her way, she closed her eyes.

“Pretty amazing, huh?”

Yeah. Amazing.

Oh, wait. He was talking about something on the computer screen.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on the text. Several sentences had been highlighted in yellow, and she tried to switch gears, to grasp the significance of what she was seeing.

Fortunately, Nate came to her rescue. “The only way I could be certain Jarrod was reading the material—and comprehending it—was to ask him to highlight passages he thought were important. And for a first go-round, he’s done a remarkable job. Not only did he find relevant information, he did a great job picking out the most important parts.”

Lindsey took a closer look, scanning the highlighted sentences. “You’re right. I’m impressed. Cindy said she had to persuade him to go to bed last night because he was so into this.”

“That’s what we were after.” As Nate leaned back, the hair near his temple brushed her cheek.

She straightened up and took a quick step away as her heart did a disturbing little skip.

He fixed those appealing blue eyes on her. “About yesterday, Lindsey. I’m sorry I overreacted.”

The perfect setup to extend her olive branch of friendship. “And I’m sorry I read your private material. In fact, I was hoping to make amends by inviting you down to The Point after dinner for some whale watching. I’ll supply the binoculars and chocolate chip cookies.”

He shot her a surprised look. Had he seen through her ruse? Did he know this wasn’t whale-watching season? Most non-residents didn’t.

But then he smiled, dispelling those fears. “Now there’s an invitation I can’t refuse. Just name the time.”

“Why don’t I meet you at the access road about seven?”

“Could we take the trail from town instead? For old time’s sake?”

“Sure. Do you remember where it starts?”

Twin creases appeared on his brow. “Behind the place that used to sell souvenirs—now a dental office?”

“Very good.” The bell over the door jingled and she walked toward it. “Duty calls.”

“Hey, thanks for the invitation.”

She risked a quick glance over her shoulder. The warmth in his gaze played havoc with her equilibrium, but she did her best to maintain a conversational tone. “No problem. See you later.”

Then she beat a hasty retreat.

Safely behind the counter once more, Lindsey tried to ignore the little buzz zipping through her. The kind that had nothing to do with friendship—and everything to do with attraction. Like it or not.

And she didn’t like it.

She’d given her heart to Mark years ago. As far as she was concerned, it was still his—and would be long after her childhood friend accomplished whatever it was he’d come here to do and returned to his real life.

And despite the gyrations of her pulse in his presence, despite the traitorous tingle of electricity his cobalt eyes could generate, she had no intention of offering Nate anything more than friendship.

Chapter Seven

N
ate watched Lindsey stride down the single-file path ahead of him toward The Point, the breeze ruffling her hair, her confident gait in marked contrast to the nervousness she’d exhibited when he’d shown up at the trailhead five minutes ago.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she was on edge.

This excursion wasn’t about whales. Wrong season. It was about attraction. She was feeling the charge that detonated every time they were together just as strongly as he was.

But he suspected that in Lindsey’s mind, it was the wrong season for that, too.

The question was, would it be fair to try and convince her otherwise, given his temporary status in Starfish Bay?

His hormones said yes.

His conscience said no.

But that debate would have to wait. They’d reached The Point.

As they emerged from the woods, Nate lengthened his stride until they were side by side. The sun was still high in the sky, but it had begun its descent toward the horizon, the bright white light of day giving way to a more golden hue that suffused the chapel with a warm, flattering glow.

Lindsey’s step slowed as she gazed at the structure. “I can still picture it the way it looked on my wedding day. We hung huge wreaths of wildflowers on both of the front doors, with different colored ribbons trailing down that danced in the breeze. It was beautiful.”

At her soft comment, he looked over at her. Though the hint of a smile played at her lips, her wistful tone tugged at his heart. “Memories like that are why touchstones are important.”

She directed her attention to him, clearly surprised he’d broached that topic, given his reaction yesterday.

He was surprised, too.

Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the bench and started forward again. “Shall we?”

She fell in beside him, her expression pensive as they crossed the weed-covered ground and settled on the stone seat. After putting the white bag of cookies between them, she pulled the binoculars from their case and held them out to him.

Playing along with her charade, he lifted them and scanned the undulating blue sea. No whales. Surprise, surprise.

“Looks pretty quiet out there.”

“Whale-watching takes patience.”

“I remember. In the meantime, how about one of those cookies you promised?”

She fished one out of the bag and passed it to him.

He lowered the binoculars and took a bite. The chips were soft and gooey, the cookie slightly warm. “Did you just make these?”

A faint tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she tugged the binoculars from his grasp and pressed them to her eyes. “We sold out at the Mercantile. And I never break my promises.”

Savoring the cookie, he watched her, just as he’d done twenty-five years ago. In the old days, he’d thought of her as strong. Indomitable. Courageous. His opinion hadn’t changed. She might have lost the man she’d loved, but she was carrying on. Doing what had to be done. Trusting in a greater authority—as had the soldiers he’d interviewed on the battlefield.

Except he had a feeling her greater authority outranked even a five-star general.

“So do you still go to church every Sunday?”

At the out-of-the-blue question, her posture stiffened. “I try. It doesn’t always happen.” She kept the binoculars glued to her face.

“Your family never missed a Sunday when I lived here.”

“Things change.”

“Including God?”

She slowly lowered the binoculars and turned to him with a frown. “That sounds like something Reverend Tobias would have said.”

Yeah, it did. Was it possible the man had spoken similar words to him, once upon a time? Funny they would surface after all these years.

Nate brushed the cookie crumbs off his fingers. “He and I had quite a few talks in this very spot. Maybe some of what he said stuck.”

“I take it you’ve parted ways with God?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Let’s just say I haven’t seen much evidence of His presence in my life.”

She lifted one heel to the bench, wrapped her arms around her leg and rested her chin on her knee as she looked toward the horizon. “Yeah. I hear you. But He’s still around. Still listening. It just takes a while sometimes for His voice to get through. Or so my dad is always reminding me.” She sighed, then angled her head toward him, cheek on knee. “That’s one of the reasons I keep coming out here, where His voice was always strongest. Hoping to hear it again. More evidence of the value of touchstones.”

As he reached over to take another cookie, the folded sheets of paper in his shirt pocket crinkled. Reminding him of their presence. And of the compelling sense of urgency that had pulled him back to this spot, to the one place where, for a brief moment in time, life had made sense. The place where he’d hoped to find answers. Absolution. Hope. So far, that search had been a bust.

Perhaps because the key to it lay in a person, not a place.

In Lindsey, if he could find the courage to open his heart.

Pulling his hand back from the cookies, he lifted it to his pocket. Fingered the sheets of paper. Eased them out.

God, please help me do this!

The silent plea was out before he could stop it. Odd. It had been years since he’d spoken to the Lord. Yet here, in the shadow of the chapel where Reverend Tobias had ministered with such kindness, compassion and deep, abiding faith, it felt right.

Opening the sheets with fingers that weren’t quite steady, Nate swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat. “Speaking of touchstones…you read some of this yesterday. I thought you might like to read the rest.” He held it out to her, across the bag of chocolate chip cookies. Across the years.

She glanced at it, then gave him a wary look. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

The truth—that he thought she was as special now as she’d been twenty-five years ago, and that in a mere handful of days he felt closer to her than anyone else in his life—might scare her off. So he settled for a portion of the truth.

“Since you love The Point, I think you might appreciate it. And I trust you to keep the personal stuff to yourself.”

After one more assessing sweep, she took the sheet, shifted back toward the open sea, and began to read.

No more than a few paragraphs into the document, Lindsey realized that Nate had given her an amazing gift.

Not only was the piece evocative, eloquent and thought-provoking—it also told her much about the grown-up version of the little boy who long ago had shared this bench with her.

This was a man who asked the hard questions and didn’t settle for easy answers. A searcher who, like Carl Sandburg, recognized that life was like an onion—you peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep. A man who understood that true value wasn’t measured in dollars and cents, but in treasures of the heart.

And a man who was wrestling with demons hinted at here, but not fully revealed.

When she reached the last paragraph, she read it twice.

This time next year, in the name of progress, The Point may exist only in memory. The chapel that compelled a wayward soul to make a cross-country trek may have vanished. The world won’t end, of course. Or perhaps even notice the loss. But it will be less rich in all the ways that matter.

As she finished, Lindsey took a deep breath. There were references here she didn’t understand—like soldiers dying around him on a battlefield—but one thing was very clear. He’d offered her a window to his soul. And she was honored.

But she was also scared.

A man didn’t do that unless he liked you. A lot.

Too much.

She lifted her head and looked at him. He was watching her, his studiously neutral expression giving no hint of his feelings.

Taking her time, she folded the sheets of paper, unsure how to deal with Nate’s deeper motivations for sharing this piece. Better to focus on the piece itself for now. Later, she’d work through the personal implications.

“This is amazing.”

Nate attempted a smile, but couldn’t seem to get his lips to cooperate. “It’s not my usual style.”

“Maybe it should be.” She fingered the document. “You’ve captured exactly the reasons why The Point is worth saving.”

“That’s not why I wrote it.”

“I understand that.” She passed the sheets back to him, ignoring the warmth of his fingers when they brushed hers. “But you have an incredible ability to touch people with your words. I saw that in your war stories, too, but this is…”

“What war stories?”

Oops. She hadn’t intended to let that slip.

She shifted on the bench and clasped her hands in her lap, over the binoculars. There was no honest way out of that little gaffe. “After the snippet I read yesterday, I was interested to see what else you’d written. So I went online and pulled up some of your articles. There was some powerful writing in there.”