Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) (25 page)

"I've missed this," Jeb said quietly.

They both uncrossed their arms at the same instant. Their hands bumped, and somehow their fingers tangled, and then Jeb's big warm hand shifted to close firmly around Laney's.

A pulse of excitement surged through her, but she stared hard at the starlit lake, afraid to move or speak lest she somehow spoil the perfect moment.

Jeb cleared his throat. "Laney, I have something to—"

She gasped in delight.

"Ah," he said with quiet satisfaction. "Look at that."

Far above them, a huge oval of ghostly light had suddenly appeared and was growing in intensity. Within seconds, it began to undulate, and fingers of palest green reached all the way down to the silhouetted trees on the far side of the lake.
Alternately dimming and brightening, the Northern Lights fluttered like sheer curtains in a brisk summer breeze.

Jeb appeared to have forgotten he'd wanted to tell her something, but she could remind him in a minute or two, after they had enjoyed this wonder together.

The lights brightened to a more definite green. Their dance became frenetic, as though to describe the emotions churning through Laney, and suddenly it was all too much. She let go of Jeb's hand and turned toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face against his solid chest.

His arms circled her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Her heart pounding, she lifted her head and gazed at the shadowed planes of her best friend's face. Here it was at last, the moment they'd been moving toward since the night he'd come home—and maybe even longer than that.

But Jeb looked puzzled, and since there was no stepladder handy, Laney summoned her courage, hauled in a breath, and said—

"Kiss me, Jeb."

"
What?
"

He stared at her, appalled. Had she fallen and hit her head while he was busy rescuing Mrs. Lindstrom? If she thought he was going to risk messing up their friendship just to satisfy some silly whim—

"Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like?" she whispered.

"No," he said shortly, and it wasn't even a lie. This was a place he had never allowed his mind to go, although it had sure tried often enough.

She held his gaze, challenging him, and for what seemed like an eternity, Jeb battled the temptation to give her what she thought she wanted.

In the end he told himself it might not be so bad. A single kiss might be enough to satisfy her curiosity, and they could go back to being friends, no harm done.

Yes, he was rationalizing. But he'd like to meet the man who could look into Laney Ryland's sweet eyes and tell her no and make it stick. He just couldn't believe anyone had
that
much self-discipline.

"Please, Jeb." She raised her arms; her soft hands touched the back of his neck.

And weak-willed moron that he was, Jeb bent his head.

His mouth settled against Laney's as softly as a butterfly landing on a rose blossom. He congratulated himself on keeping the kiss chaste, but his lips had no business touching hers to begin with. So after just a few seconds of mind-bending bliss, he marshaled his strength and withdrew.

"I knew it would be like that," she whispered, staring up at him with a dreamy expression that broke his heart.

He had to find her a husband, fast. Before she talked herself into some ridiculous romantic obsession with
him
.

He let her go and took a step away from her. "That was a mistake," he said firmly, pushing his fingers through his hair and wanting to yank it out to punish himself for his colossal stupidity. "So we're just going to forget it."

"Speak for yourself," she muttered.

"Come on," he pleaded. "You have to help me with this. You have no idea how much I—" He stopped, horrified at what he had almost said.

"How much you what?" She gazed at him in apparent fascination.

"Nothing. I'm just
 
tired." And terrified. "We should get going." Before he lost what was left of his mind and kissed her again.

He nudged her away from the passenger door so he could open it, but she made no move to get in.

"It's very late," he reminded her.

"Jeb?"

"Laney, please." He tipped his head back and stared helplessly at the starry sky. "Please just get in and let me take you home."

She got in, and she didn't say a word all the way home. Jeb could feel the hurt rolling off her in waves, but coward that he was, he never once turned his head to look at her. When he finally pulled into her driveway, she uttered a choked, "I'm sorry," and tumbled out of the SUV almost before its tires had stopped rolling.

Jeb opened his mouth to call her back, then closed it when he realized there was nothing he could say to
make this easier for her
.
I'm not good enough for a woman like you
was the stark truth, but he wasn't stupid enough to say that. Laney would just look at him the way Charlie Brown had looked at that pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree and think:
He needs me.

Sighing, he climbed out of the Explorer and looked across the street. There was only one fire truck left in front of Mrs. Lindstrom's burned-out house, and the neighbors who'd stood gawking on the sidewalk earlier had all gone home to their beds. Standing alone in the darkness, Jeb tunneled his fingers through his hair and then grimaced at the stink that released.

He had almost died tonight. The thought of that happening and Laney not knowing he was safe with God had upset him so much that he'd taken her up to the lake to tell her everything. But then he'd lost his mind and kissed her.

What a
screwup
. He sighed again.

Laney's kitchen light went off, and Jeb imagined her weary tread as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. It seemed to take forever for the upstairs lights to come on, and when they finally did, Jeb realized he'd been holding his breath.

She wouldn't sleep tonight, and that was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as self-loathing sucked at him like quicksand trying to drag him under.

Kissing her was a mistake he would never repeat, no matter how sorely he was tempted. Tomorrow he'd find a way to make this up to her, and then they'd go on just as if that kiss had never happened.

She would be okay.

And so would he, Jeb resolved as he turned toward his own house. He could stand being around Laney without kissing her.

Hadn't he been standing it for years?

Why had she pushed him? How could she have upset him that way? Freshly showered, bone-weary, but too disgusted with herself to sleep, Laney flopped over in her bed and punched her pillow. How was she ever going to face Jeb tomorrow?

Maybe she should just get it over with now. Then at least she might be able to sleep. She reached for her lamp switch.

A moment later, she stood by her window, phone in hand, looking down into Jeb's brightly-lit music room.

He was seated within the large semicircle of his bay windows, his profile in full view as he played the baby grand piano he'd bought the morning after his father's death.

The timing of that purchase had scandalized Mrs. Lindstrom and two other neighbors who had witnessed the instrument's prompt delivery. But eighteen-year-old Jeb hadn't been celebrating his father's demise and his own subsequent inheritance, as everyone had been so quick to assume. He'd just been trying to keep himself too occupied to reflect and remember and
feel
.

He had never admitted it, but Laney had looked into his haunted eyes often enough to know that until his father's death, the love-starved child inside Jeb had still hoped for some small sign of approval from the man.

He was so alone, she thought
as she watched the fluid movements of his long hands over the piano keys. So very alone.

He stopped playing and gazed at the ceiling for several heartbeats. Then he reached for the pad of paper lying beside him on the bench and made a note.

He was writing a song, and ordinarily Laney wouldn't have disturbed him. But he must be feeling as awful as she was about what had happened at the lake, so she hit a preset key and raised the phone to her ear.

She saw him startle and then immediately turn to look up at her window. She couldn't quite make out his eyes, but knew they were locked on her face as his phone rang a second time and then a third. Finally, he reached into his pocket. The fourth ring was cut short as he raised the phone to his ear.

"Don't say a word." His voice was low and urgent. "It was completely my fault."

"I don't know how you figure that," Laney shot back. Why did he always jump in to take the blame for the stupid things she did? "I told you to kiss me."

"You wouldn't have said it unless you thought I wanted to." He walked over to the windows and stood before the center one. "So I apologize for whatever I did that gave you that message."

Laney sighed. "You didn't do anything, Jeb."

"Well, what put the idea into your head, then?"

She pressed the palm of her free hand against the window glass. "I almost lost you tonight," she reminded him in a small voice.

"Well, you
didn't
lose me, so stop thinking about it. You have to be up in less than four hours, so you'd better—"

"Jeb, are we okay?" she interrupted.

"Of course. Just like always. Now go to bed, princess."

"I can't sleep. My mind's too busy. The fire and— Well, everything."

"Warm milk," he suggested.

"Yuck. I'd rather have a lullaby, if you don't mind."

That provoked his deep chuckle. "We haven't done that in years."

"No," Laney agreed softly, remembering the balmy summer nights when he'd been home from college and she'd lie next to her open window and drift sweetly to sleep while he played soothing classical pieces on his piano. Remembering, also, how often she'd found that window tightly shut the next morning and known her mother had crept in during the small hours to make sure she was warm and safe.

Jeb tilted his head, holding the phone with his shoulder as he used both hands to raise his window sash. "The temperature's dropping," he warned. "Don't open your window very far."

"I have an extra quilt," Laney assured him. "Thank you and good night."

She put the phone down and raised her window just a few inches. She grimaced at the charred smell that wafted in from across the street, but figured it wouldn't be so noticeable after a few minutes. She could hear the rumbling engine of the remaining fire truck, but as that vehicle was parked on the opposite side of her house, the sound was muffled to a soothing white noise.

As Jeb played the first sweet notes of Beethoven's "Moonlight" sonata, she retrieved an extra quilt from her cedar chest and added it to her pile of covers. Then she switched off her lamp and crawled into bed.

Lying on her back, she laced her fingers behind her head and closed her eyes, enjoying the nippy night breeze on her face as Jeb's skillful playing began to soothe her agitated spirit.

There could be no doubt about it after tonight. The stark terror Laney had felt when she'd realized Jeb was inside that burning house had stripped away all uncertainty.

She was in love with him.

She told herself it was for the best that he didn't feel the same way. They could never marry, not when he didn't share her faith.

The breeze from the open window chilled the sudden dampness on her cheeks, making her shiver.

As Jeb finished the Beethoven and began Debussy's "Clair de Lune", Laney dried her tears with the ruffled edge of her sheet. And then for the first time in months, she took her troubles to the Lord.

A
t noon the next day, Jeb sat at his kitchen table downing his second cup of morning coffee and doing his best to beat back a ferocious craving for a cigarette. He'd thought giving up alcohol would be the hardest thing, since he was the child of an alcoholic and had been drinking for years. But it was the cigarettes that tempted him most, and mornings were awful because nothing went better with a cup of coffee than a cigarette.