The Forgiving Hour (27 page)

“Mmm.” The throaty response was the best she could do. She felt too lazy to speak.

“Or the Lone Star’s got great barbecue.” He sounded as relaxed as Sara felt.

“Mmm.”

The water stirred around her. She opened her eyes to find Dakota, his torso draped over the top of another air mattress, floating directly in front of her. Close enough for him to reach out and take hold of her hand.

“You’re not going to fall asleep and drown, are you?” he asked. “Because if you do, I’ll have to use mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to revive you.”

What a wonderfully enticing thought that was. It might be worth swallowing some water in order to be saved by him.

His grin was positively wicked. She should have known it meant trouble. If she hadn’t been lulled by the warm water, her brain distracted by images of romantic rescue, she might have realized he was formulating a plot against her.

Suddenly Dakota disappeared beneath the surface of the water. A second later his hands closed around her ankles. She squealed in protest, but it was already too late.

Down she went.

When they bobbed up, in tandem, Sara brushed the water from her eyes and declared, “You got my hair wet, Dakota Conway, and that means war.”

Using cupped hands, she took the offensive in an all-out water fight. When it became obvious he was beating her at her own game, she grabbed a plastic bucket from the side of the pool and used it to toss water in his face.

“Uncle!” he cried at last.

Laughing and panting, they made their way to the shallow end of the pool where they collapsed, side by side, onto the step.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding totally unrepentant. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You
should
be sorry. Do you know how long it takes to dry this hair of mine?” She scowled at him but knew the look was unconvincing.

“No. Tell me how long it takes.”

A shiver of awareness shot through her. “Hours. Hours and hours. If I had any sense, I’d chop it all off, the way I used to wear it in high school.”

“I like it long.” He reached out and took hold of her soggy ponytail. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Her mouth went dry, and she felt lightheaded.

“But you’d be beautiful no matter how you wore it.” He slid closer to her. When he continued, his voice was low and husky. “I think it’s time I kissed you again, Sara.”

She swallowed.
Yes.

He drew near, his eyes staring deeply into hers. He moved with extreme care, as if she were a skittish colt tangled in barbed wire. When he kissed her, she felt treasured, special, and utterly desirable.

His hands came up to cradle the side of her head, and the kiss deepened.

She would have had a hard time explaining why, but she knew in that moment — with water lapping around her shoulders, her sodden ponytail tugging at her scalp, and Dakota’s fingertips stroking her temples — that it was no mere passing fancy she felt for this man.

And it wasn’t simply physical desire. It was something much more. Something much better.

The moment was perfect … right up until the beach ball smacked their heads, knocking them apart. Impish laughter regaled them.

“Tommy Johnson!” The woman’s voice was stern. “You apologize this minute.”

“But they were smoochin’, Mama. They shouldn’t’ve been doin’ that in the pool.”

Their assailant stared at them from about fifteen feet away. Maybe seven years old with carrot-red hair, freckles, and a face that said Trouble! with a capital T.

“You apologize to those nice people this minute, or you’ll get the tanning of your life when we get home. When I tell your father …”

Dakota stood and turned toward the mortified mother. “No harm done, ma’am. It was just a beach ball.”

“All the same, he needs to apologize. Tommy, you do what I say right this minute.”

Tommy scrunched his lips together and narrowed his eyes.

“Thomas Roy Johnson.”

That did the trick. Reluctantly, Tommy moved through the water toward Dakota and Sara. Sara could read the rebellion in his eyes. This kid was anything
but
sorry. If she were his mother, she’d have scolded him too. But she wasn’t his mother, and all she wanted to do was laugh. He was just too cute to be angry at. She had to fight to hide her smile.

“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled. “I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

Dakota sank down in the water again. “Apology accepted. Only from now on, you do what your mom says the first time she says it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come on, Tommy,” his mother called. “It’s time to go.”

“But I said I was sorry!”

Dakota leaned toward him, saying in a deep, solemn voice, “The
first
time, Thomas Roy Johnson.”

Sara was amazed by how quickly Tommy decided he’d better mind. He scrambled past her on the step and hurried toward his mother, who wrapped him in a large beach towel and ushered him into the warmth of the dressing rooms.

Dakota chuckled. “His mom’s in for it in another ten years.”

“His mom’s already in for it.” She laughed with him, then said, “You’re good with kids.”

He shrugged and smiled at her.

“Do you want children of your own?” She hadn’t known she was going to ask the question until it was out.

“Yes. Several. I’d like a family like the one you grew up in. I want to take my kids camping and do all the sports things with them like baseball and soccer.” His voice lowered. “I want to be a dad who’s there for his kids whenever they need him.”

His comment seemed more intimate than a kiss. Perhaps because it revealed more about him than he knew.

She took hold of his hand beneath the surface of the water. “You know all about my family, but we haven’t talked much about yours. Tell me about when you were growing up.”

What Dakota wanted to do was kiss her.

“Please,” she whispered, her gaze locked with his.

How could a guy resist the gentle caring he saw in her eyes and heard in her voice? He couldn’t.

“Not much to tell really. Mom raised me by herself from the time I was twelve. My dad’s dead. There wasn’t ever any extra money, so we lived pretty simply. I know she worried all the time about paying the bills and about raising me right, and I sure didn’t make it any easier on her. I was what they politely call a troubled teen, right up until I became a Christian.”

“Losing your dad so young must have been hard on you. I’m sorry.”

He realized she thought his father had died when he was a boy. He hadn’t meant to mislead her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, apparently seeing the consternation on his face.

“Listen, Sara. I made a promise to my mom many years ago not to talk about my dad. Not to anyone. Not even when she isn’t around. You see, things didn’t end well between them. So until she tells me different, let’s just avoid that topic. Okay?”

“Sure.” She looked a little hurt.

He gave her an apologetic grin. “I’ll tell you anything else you want to know. I broke my arm when I was fourteen. Had my wisdom teeth yanked when I was sixteen. Or were those my molars? Oh, I’ve got a mole behind my right ear here.” He showed her. “And I’m a sucker for dark-red hair and beautiful green eyes.”

As she returned his smile, he couldn’t help wondering if their kids would have hair and eyes like their mother.

Claire supposed it was just as well that Kevin had been called out of town on business this past week. Being totally on her own — during the day while handling the myriad duties associated with setting up the new office and at home in the evenings — had forced her to do a lot of reading and studying, thinking and praying.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. The Bible was clear on the subject. She knew. She’d read the words every single day and could repeat them from memory.

For if you forgive men for their transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.

Yes, she knew what she was supposed to do, but she didn’t know
how
to do it. How did she forgive Dave for cheating on her, for going to bed with other women, for rejecting not just her but the son she had given him? He had left them with no money and a ton of debt and just skipped out. How was she supposed to forgive him all that? She was the innocent party here. Dave was the one who’d sinned. He should have been punished. She remembered hoping he’d gone to hell when he died. He’d hurt her. He’d wronged her. Why should she have to forgive him?

She’d nursed this hatred for so many years it seemed impossible to let it go.

“Obedience is better than sacrifice,” the pastor had said last Sunday.

It took Claire the better part of the week to figure out what that meant. And this morning, she’d read something in her devotional that helped even more. Faith wasn’t about feelings, it said. If we only obeyed God when we felt like it, then few would obey Him.

Not about feelings.

Obedience.

Forgive or you can’t be forgiven.

Obedience, not feelings.

And so on this cloudy and rainy winter afternoon, Claire knelt beside her sofa, bowed her head, and prayed. “Lord, I don’t feel forgiveness, but if that’s what You want from me, I’ll do it. As an act of obedience, I forgive Dave. Now if You want me to feel it, You’re going to have to change my attitude because I can’t do it on my own. Amen.”

She rose and walked to the window.

That wasn’t so bad, she thought. Now she could put Dave completely out of her mind, once and for all, just as she’d tried to do before. This time it would work. Besides, there were so many good things to think about, so many wonderful things happening in her life now. Who wanted to rehash things of the past?

The Lone Star was packed to the brim when Dakota and Sara arrived. Rather than wait forty-five minutes to get a table, they decided to buy steaks and salad fixings at the grocery store and return to Sara’s apartment.

Sara was surprised — pleasantly so — when she discovered it was Dakota’s intention to prepare the meal while she relaxed.

“Hey, this isn’t the fifties. Guys cook.” He flashed one of his charmingly crooked grins.

“I have a dad and three brothers,” she stated with authority. “Trust me.
None
of them cook. When their wives aren’t around, the best any of them can do is operate an electric can opener. Pork and beans is the usual fare in such situations.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just have to invite them over to my place for a few lessons.” He flourished his right hand in the air. “Maybe I should have my own television show. ‘Men in the Kitchen with Chef Dakota.’ What do you think?”

She tried to imagine her dad and brothers learning how to chop an onion or marinate meat or bake something from scratch. It was so ludicrous that she laughed out loud.

“And what’s funny about that?” He looked offended, but she knew he was teasing her. “Do you think I
couldn’t
teach them a thing or two?”

“It isn’t you. It’s them. They’re all hopeless.” She shook her head, trying to stifle her amusement.

“Do I hear a” — he made quotation marks in the air with his fingertips —
“typical male
hidden in those words? If so, I take exception.”