Seaside Reunion (17 page)

Maybe it was time to give it another shot.

“What’s this I hear about hand-holding in the redwoods?”

At her father’s question, Lindsey jerked toward him and promptly dropped the box of tuna she’d retrieved from the back room to restock the shelves. Cans rolled in every direction. But instead of being aggravated, she was grateful for the excuse to get down on her hands and knees and hide the telltale flush she knew was turning her cheeks bright pink.

“That depends. What did you hear? And who did you hear it from?” She kept her face averted from the counter as she reached for one of the wayward cans.

“I heard it from Jarrod. He and Cindy stopped in this morning. And according to your young guide, Nate told him it was because you were friends.”

Great. How was she supposed to refute an eyewitness account?

“Well, we are.”

She braced for his response, but to her surprise he remained silent.

Lindsey used the reprieve to gather up the rest of the cans and give her heightened color a chance to recede. By the time she stood, box of tuna in hand, she felt more composed.

Until she saw her father’s speculative—and not altogether happy—expression.

“What’s wrong?” She kept her distance, bracing the box against her chest.

“Nothing.” He fiddled with the dome over the cookies, resettling it in the grooves around the edge of the plate. “Much.”

At his tacked-on caveat, Lindsey tightened her grip on the box. “Okay, Dad. Let’s have it. What’s up?”

He looked around the store. They were alone, as he well knew. So why was he stalling? That wasn’t Jack Callahan’s style.

“I’ve been thinking about you and Nate.” He paused. “You know he’s leaving soon.”

She tried to ignore the little pang in her heart. “So?”

“So I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Too late for that. She already knew she was going to miss Nate after he left. A lot. Despite their disagreements, she’d felt more alive in the past three weeks than she had since before Mark died.

She moved toward her father and slid the box on the counter between them. “The last time we talked about this, you said you were praying for a new man to come into my life. And you seemed to think Nate might be the answer to that prayer. Don’t you like him anymore?”

“Of course I like him. I think he’s a fine, decent man with honor and principles. But aside from the fact he’s not going to be here long, I’m also getting the feeling he has some issues. You have enough of those yourself without taking on someone else’s.”

Too late for that, too.

She leaned on the counter. “He’d had a tough life. But he’s dealing with his baggage.”

“Have you dealt with yours?”

“You mean as far as Mark is concerned?” She pressed her finger against a stray cookie crumb that must have eluded her last night when she’d cleaned up for the day.

“Among others.”

“Not entirely. But I’m working on them.”

He eased a hip onto the stool. “Chicago is a long way away, Lindy. You ready for a move like that?”

She looked up. “No.”

“Because of me?”

“What?” She blinked at him.

“You don’t have to hang around forever babysitting an old man, you know. I could handle the Mercantile on my own now, with a little part-time help.”

She forced her lips into a smile. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“You know better. But I don’t want to hold you back, either.”

“You’re not what’s holding me back.”

“Didn’t think so. Wanted to check, though. You making any progress with the man upstairs?”

Sighing, she propped her elbow on the polished wood and dropped her chin in her palm. “Not enough. But I’ve started reading the Bible again.”

“I noticed.” He reached under the counter, pulled out the small book with the familiar black cover, and set it next to the jumbled box of tuna. “I found this in the sunroom. Figured it was a positive sign.” He checked his watch. “Looks to me like it’s past time for lunch. Why don’t you grab a sandwich and take a walk out to The Point for an hour? Nice spot for reading.” He eased the book with the embossed gold cross closer to her fingers.

Subtlety wasn’t her father’s strong suit.

But his suggestion had merit. It was a beautiful day. And spending an hour with the Lord at The Point held a lot of appeal. Maybe it would help her sort through some of the issues her father had referenced.

“Okay.” She hefted the box of tuna and set it on the floor at the end of an aisle. “I’ll finish this when I get back.”

“No hurry. I’m not expecting a run on tuna fish.” He grinned at her.

She grabbed a turkey sandwich and a soda from the deli case, tossed them in a bag, picked up her Bible and started toward the door.

“Lindy…”

At her father’s summons, she turned, hand on the knob.

“Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. And you don’t have to solve every problem by yourself. He’s on your side.” He gestured toward the Bible in her hand. “You just have to put your trust in Him, especially when life’s hard to figure out.”

Lindsey nodded and pushed through the door, the merry jingle of the bell following her as she struck off for the hidden trailhead. Her dad was right. But trust didn’t come easily for her anymore. That was why she carried the Beretta, tucked snug and secure in the concealed holster at her waist or kept close at hand behind the counter. Why she’d been wary when a grungy, road-weary Nate had shown up at the Mercantile that first day. Why she was fighting to save The Point from a developer who appeared to be ethical and honest, but who could end up destroying her cherished headland.

And as she circled the dental office and began to follow the faint trail that led to Starfish Bay Chapel, she wondered if even the Lord could restore the trust that had been shattered on that deadly night three years ago in Sacramento.

Tugging his phone off his belt, Nate plucked a dead blossom from the pot of flowers beside the stone bench and gazed out over the quiet sea off The Point, letting the peace and solitude of this place seep into his soul. He’d rather not take the call. But it was Clark again. And when a man who lived by email resorted to the phone, you answered.

Especially if you were toying with a proposal that would require his approval.

“Hi, Clark. What’s up?” He put the phone to his ear, sat on the bench and stretched his legs out in front of him.

“Have you checked your email today?”

“This morning. Why?”

“What’s the tally now?”

“More than five hundred.”

“How are you answering the questions about donations?”

He frowned. “What questions?”

“Have you been reading the emails?”

“Some of them. But I have limited access to the internet here. I’ve been skimming through a few here and there.”

“Well, start reading them. If we’re getting questions about donations, you must be, too. People want to know where they can send money to help save The Point.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“It’s quite a compliment. When people are willing to shell out cold hard cash to save a place they’ve never seen because of words you’ve written, you know you’ve hit a home run. So where are we supposed to direct these people?”

“I have no idea. There is a Save the Point committee, but I don’t think it’s been formally organized or anything.”

“Then tell them to get on the stick and set something up. If they want to take advantage of this outpouring of generosity, they need to strike while the iron is hot.”

“I’ll pass that on.”

“You working on your next piece?”

“The research is finished.”

“Excellent. Let me know how it’s going. And get back to me on the donation question.”

As the line went dead and Nate slid the phone back on his belt, he caught a glimpse of a slim figure emerging from the woods.

Lindsey.

Perfect timing.

A smile curved his lips as he followed her progress. Her head was bent, as if she was deep in thought, and she seemed oblivious to the wind that was tossing her hair around her face.

Only when she drew within fifty feet of the bench did she look up.

Her mouth formed a silent O and her step faltered before she picked up her pace again.

By the time she joined him, she was smiling, too. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Great minds and all that.” He scooted over and patted the seat beside him. “I saved you the best seat in the house.”

She settled onto the concrete bench, depositing a paper sack and a book with a gold cross on the cover between them. “Lunch hour.”

He eyed the book as she dug into the sack. “Looking for answers?”

Her hand stilled for a minute, and then she drew out a sandwich. “Yeah. I have been for three years. Want half? It’s turkey.” She held up the plastic-wrapped offering.

“No, thanks. I ate a little while ago. Nothing that healthy, though. I’m addicted to the Orchid’s French fries.”

“That can happen.” She opened her sandwich.

“I have some good news. I just talked to my editor. They’re getting questions from readers who want to know where to send donations to help save The Point.”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Are you set up to handle that?”

“No. But we can be. I’ll call my tax guy as soon as I get back. This is fantastic!” A flicker of excitement sparked in her eyes, reminding him of the old days. The first such spark he’d seen since his return. “I told you your piece would have an impact. You have a talent for that kind of writing. Maybe you should consider doing more of it.” She lifted the sandwich toward her mouth and shot him an expectant look.

That wasn’t a topic he was ready to talk about. With his editor—or Lindsey. Shifting the spotlight back to her, he tapped the cover of the book. “So is this helping you find your answers?”

The sandwich froze in front of her mouth for an instant before she took a bite—and gave herself an excuse to stall in the name of good manners.

Nate wasn’t surprised. He’d been uncomfortable at first yesterday, when she’d pushed him to talk about stuff he’d never shared with anyone. But even as a kid, she’d had a way of listening that made you feel as if nothing else mattered, that nothing in the whole world was more important than what you had to say. She hadn’t lost that knack. Or the ability to radiate empathy.

Today he wanted to return the favor. Offer her the same sympathetic ear.

And perhaps find answers to some of his own questions—about her.

After taking far longer than necessary to chew the mouthful of turkey and bread, she washed it down with a swig of diet soda before she responded. “Not as many as I’d like. And maybe I’ll never find them. As Dad reminded me today, part of faith is trusting in the Lord—especially when things happen that you don’t understand.”

“That’s not easy.”

“No.” She examined her sandwich, then set it back on the plastic wrap.

“I read the articles about your husband. And about the foundation set up in his name. Did the fund ever top half a million?”

“Yes. By a couple hundred thousand. So some good came out of the tragedy, at least.” She broke off a piece of crust. Smashed it into a little ball in her fingers. “But it didn’t bring Mark back.”

There was no answer to that.

“One of the articles mentioned you’d been injured, too.”

A spasm of pain flickered over her features, and she looked out over the sea. “Yes.”

“How badly?”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. A few faint beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip. Her chest rose and fell more quickly as her respiration grew shallow.

He watched, shaken and contrite at the realization that even three years later, memories of the incident could induce physical symptoms of trauma.

“Lindsey.” He touched the clenched fist that lay in her lap. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forget I asked.”

More silence.

Finally, she drew a shuddering breath and turned to him. “You told me yesterday you’d never shared the bad stuff in your past with anyone. I haven’t, either. Not even my dad. Not all of it. But maybe I need to.” She unclenched her fingers and ran them over the Bible beside her. “Maybe I have to let go of my hate and anger and resentment in my heart before there will be room for the Lord. Before I can heal.”

“Maybe.” What did he know? He was no theologian. Or psychologist. He was just a man who wanted to offer an old friend the same understanding and support she’d given him yesterday when he’d bared his soul.

A friend who was rapidly becoming much more.

Enough to make him rethink his future.

He moved the Bible and the sandwich he suspected she wasn’t going to finish to his other side. Scooted close. Took her cold hand.

“I don’t know where to start.” The tremor of unshed tears was thick in her voice.