“I . . . Okay. I might go home first and take a shower.” She gave a short laugh. “I’ll bring you a bottle of nail polish I just bought. It’s a great color, but it’s not me.”
“Good. I’ll see you when you get here—oh, wait. I almost forgot. I changed the gate code. Let me give that to you.”
Riley disconnected, glad Kate had agreed to come. It felt like months, not weeks, since they’d spent any real time together. So much had happened in those few weeks . . . for so many people. Her heart ached for the grieving Collins family, yet Riley was thankful for the sweet blessing of their newborn . . .
Hope.
And though she was unclear about Vesta Calder’s reason for leaving her house last night, it was obvious that something pivotal had happened in the woman’s life. Something that challenged the fear that had held her painfully captive for years. Vesta’s request for prayer had seemed an important part of that. Riley was relieved that she had survived the accident without serious injury, but the fact that Vesta chose the Mercedes as her means of escape seemed somehow fitting.
“Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong.”
Whatever the motivation, Vesta Calder had been courageous, indeed.
Kate thought the world had spun off course, but Riley saw it differently; despite all the turmoil and tragedy, she’d finally found a measure of peace. She was certain now that God’s hand was in all of these things. And that he’d wanted Riley there, that she was part of the plan. She wasn’t broken and useless. The long and painful struggle had helped to make her exactly who God needed her to be, a trauma chaplain. Whether she’d continue to do that here at Alamo Grace or in Houston, Riley wasn’t sure. But right now the only decision she needed to make was about breakfast.
Riley started a fresh pot of coffee, then opened the refrigerator, hoping she’d been right about the eggs and bagels. But there on the shelf was the peach cobbler. Sitting next to a jar of peanut butter.
Bandy . . .
Tears stung her eyes. She thought she’d cried them all.
The doorbell rang, and Riley swiped at her eyes. God’s perfect timing—Kate must have decided against the shower. And the nail polish. Riley couldn’t wait to hug her.
She opened the door . . . and her legs nearly gave way.
“You sent me the gate code,” Jack said, more tentative than she’d ever heard him. His clothes were rumpled, face rough with beard growth; his eyes looked bruised by pain. He smelled of smoke. “I know it’s early, but . . .”
“Jack . . .” She wasn’t sure who reached out first, but suddenly they were hugging each other, and her heart was breaking for him.
36
“I think I’m in shock,” Riley said, trying to take in all Jack was saying. About the fire, Bandy’s heart attack—and that Vesta had been a witness to Abby’s murder? He sat next to her on the couch, smelling more of soap than soot after using the guest bath to wash up. One side of his forehead was mildly blistered from the heat of the explosion. Her throat tightened.
Jack risked his life for Bandy.
“It’s all so incredible.”
“You can say that again.” Jack blew on his coffee. “Even Rob was amazed at how it came together—questioning Griff Payton about the cold case, then discovering a new crime. Apparently our contractor was too stoned to get rid of his smoky clothes.” He shook his head. “Or clean up the dog bite on his ankle.”
“Hobo the watchdog.” Riley nodded. “Griff set fire to the clinic so his father’s company could get the land for that condo project?”
“And because he’s always been a firebug. Arson, drugs, petty crimes as a juvenile—all reasons his father sent him away fifteen years ago.” Jack frowned. “Of course, Ross Payton had no idea how bad it really was—that his son was connected to a murder. The recent rash of arsons gave Griff an opportunity to hurry his plans along; he thought the clinic fire would be passed off as more vandalism. I’m sure it didn’t help his state of mind when I mouthed off at the library.” Jack’s expression left no doubt he regretted his actions. “Rob’s inclined to believe Griff didn’t know Bandy was sleeping inside the clinic. And maybe even about his part in Abby’s death. He claims he only agreed to steal a car, not . . .” Familiar sadness flickered in Jack’s eyes.
“And Vesta held the key to it all.”
“Yes.”
Jack was quiet for a moment and Riley noticed how different he seemed. Apart from the grief he was obviously feeling, there was something more. His anger seemed to be missing. Last night’s tragedy should have had him pacing, agitated and even vengeful. But now . . . She cleared her throat. “Abby’s murder will finally be solved.”
“Looks like it. Griff offered up names. The FBI took charge since it was a kidnapping. It’s all coming together.” He shook his head. “Because a frightened woman had the courage to climb into her car and—”
“My car, actually. She let me store it at her house.”
“I should be surprised, but . . . it makes sense somehow.” Jack set his coffee down. “I’ve been thinking about some things, Riley. That’s why I came here. I need you to listen.”
Riley nodded. She saw it again. That change in him.
Father, please. You’ve made me a listener. Help me to do that now . . . for Jack.
* * *
“I heard the news about Bandy when I was at the clinic last night. I’d promised to check on Hobo,” Jack explained, needing to share everything. “He was scared, shivering. So we climbed into Bandy’s truck. After a while, Hobo fell asleep. And . . . I started thinking about things Bandy had said over the time I knew him. He was always doing that. Peanut-butter-and-wisdom sandwiches. You know?”
Riley nodded, her expression solemn. “I do.”
“At the hospital he’d told me he wasn’t afraid to die. I blew it off; Bandy was always saying that. But while I was sitting in the truck, I got to thinking about how easygoing he was. He always tried to see the best in everyone—
everyone
. Even me, at my worst. . . . And then I remembered what happened when you came to the clinic last night. Those things you said to me.”
Riley winced. “I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” he said, stopping her. “The point I need to make is that you were right, Riley. I did make that clinic about me. I was angry and defensive and willing to go to battle—I wanted to fight. Anybody, everybody. I told myself I was doing it for people who couldn’t defend themselves. Because it was the right thing to do. But . . .” Jack took a slow breath. “The truth is that I was angry with myself. Abby saw it when my dad was dying. That’s why she picked me up that night. I was circling the drain and she wanted to help me. Then Abby had a flat tire and we got carjacked. And I was too drunk to stop them from . . .”
“Jack.” Riley reached for his hand. “Don’t.”
“It’s all right,” he said, holding her hand between his—her warmth like balm for his soul. “It’s a relief to finally see this. I couldn’t save Abby—maybe I even felt guilty that I lived. I don’t know. But I understand now that everything I’ve done since that night was a lame attempt to prove I was better than that loser kid who got left on the roadside. I took every kind of risk I could because . . . I was afraid I was a coward.” He shook his head. “And then, last night . . .”
Help me, Lord. Give me the words to explain this.
“I’m listening,” Riley said, barely above a whisper.
“I found Bandy’s Bible in the truck. And it got me thinking. It wouldn’t have been there if Bandy hadn’t gone out to the truck to give us privacy. You and me, Riley. If he hadn’t taken it there, that Bible would have burned—along with all those idiot photos above my desk. Do you understand what I’m saying? It was there for me to find because you had the courage to tell me the truth about myself. And then because you encouraged Vesta, she had the guts to climb into your car and come forward about the murder. Abby’s parents will finally have some peace. And maybe—” Jack’s throat constricted—“I can look in the mirror and not be ashamed of the man I see. Stop taking it out on everyone else. I’m so tired of feeling that way.”
Riley’s eyes filled with tears.
Jack went on. “So I sat there holding Bandy’s Bible and I knew none of this was coincidence. It can’t be. Bandy, Vesta . . . you. Everything that’s happened and how it’s all connected. I have to believe that God planned this. That . . . maybe he hasn’t given up on me.” He shook his head. “Does this make sense?”
A tear slid down Riley’s cheek. “Perfect sense.”
“Good. And to tell you the truth, I’m not sure where I’m going from here.” His heart thudded in his chest. “But right now I need to clear up a couple of things. Okay?”
* * *
Riley nodded, suddenly as dizzy as she’d felt in the skydiving plane. Hope was heady stuff. But no matter what happened next, this was already enough.
Thank you, Father.
“It’s true that I applied for the Hale Foundation grant,” Jack told her. “But that was weeks before I met you. And it’s true that I asked you to volunteer because I was hoping you’d give credibility to the clinic. In that sense, I did use you. I’m sorry. I think we’ve already established that I’ve been a selfish fool. But . . .” He reached out, brushed a tear from her face.
Her skin warmed at his touch. “But what?”
“Everything that happened afterward was real. I knew you were special from that first day, when we found Stacy on the porch. I care for you, Riley. More than I’ve ever cared for any woman before. And . . .” Jack paused, a question forming in his eyes.
“Don’t stop,” Riley whispered.
“I’m trying to say that I need to know there’s a chance for us. I need that chance as much as I need . . . to breathe.”
Breathing. Yes, she should do that.
“Riley?” Jack’s brows pinched. “Will you give me another chance?”
“Yes,” she managed finally. Not easy, considering the fact that her heart was skydiving. “More than a chance.”
“Good—great.” Jack’s eyes lit. “One more thing.”
“Wha—?” She stopped as he drew her close.
Oh.
“This,” he whispered, kissing her temple. “And this . . .” He touched his lips to a corner of her mouth.
“That’s two things,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Stop counting.”
His kiss was warm, tender, then eager . . . and nearly endless. She wasn’t sure she’d ever breathe again. Or if that was even a problem. Riley’s senses swirled as she returned Jack’s kisses, measure for measure.
When at last they broke away, she didn’t trust herself to speak. She snuggled close, her head against Jack’s chest as he stroked her hair.
She heard his heart beating, smelled the remaining traces of smoke on his shirt—evidence of courage. He’d carried a man from a burning building. But in the end, it was much more. She thought of something Bandy said the day she’d first seen Jack’s “Buckle Wall.” He’d said,
“A big buckle doesn’t make a big man.”
And that it had taken him a long time to learn that.
Then Riley thought of Jack sitting in that truck until dawn with a crippled dog and an old Bible, of the lessons he’d learned there. She had no doubt that Bandy Biggs was smiling in heaven. The same way she knew that her heart was safe with this hero.
Epilogue
September
Jack glanced down from the porch, doing one last check: traffic barricades in place, circular driveway and wheelchair ramp swept and hosed, reflecting tape on the steps. Safety first. There was a designated parking area for the catering truck, press, and—
He smiled, his heart doing what it still did every time he saw Riley Hale. Even after almost six months. Especially today.
“I think we’re all set, Dr. Travis,” she said, stepping out the front door wearing an apron and an oven mitt. She smiled. “I do love the fragrance of new lumber and fresh paint . . . mixed with the scent of six dozen peanut butter cookies hot from the oven.” Her blue eyes glittered. “I think you should invent a shampoo.” Her expression grew wistful. “I’d send a bottle to Kate so she’d know what she’s missing.”
Riley had been disappointed when Kate accepted a position as emergency department manager at Austin Grace Hospital. But it was easy to see that the incident with Griff Payton had affected her more than she admitted. Jack sensed that Kate Callison was searching for something but wasn’t quite sure what it was. He’d felt that way himself. Until Riley.
Jack was grateful beyond reason. For that and for so many things, including the phone call he’d had from Bandy’s son this morning. They’d received the fire insurance check in time to stop the foreclosure on their home. He’d started his job, and their new baby boy was doing fine.
Jack’s pulse quickened. He hoped that today would mark two more new beginnings, starting with . . .
“C’mon,” he said, making his way down the steps. “They got the sign up. Have a look.”
“Great.” She glanced back toward the doorway. “But I still have a batch of cookies in the oven.”
“Wilma’s in there. She’ll take care of it,” Jack insisted, realizing that he was nervous. Excited too, but nervous. Today had been a long time coming. “And people will start arriving in another twenty minutes. I want you to see this—with me.”