Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (64 page)

He didn't even pretend not to understand. He acknowledged her statement with a brief nod, and compassion flooded his gaze. His tenderness nearly undid her. She could not—would not—come unhinged while talking about Adrian. Her past was just that—her past. There was no way around the pain and discomfort except to plunge forward, right through the middle of it, and no amount of time or therapy would ever quite take away the sting.

“I wondered,” Shawn murmured. “But I don't want to push you. If you're not ready to talk about it, that's okay. I'm here for you if you need me, but I don't want you to feel I'm pressuring you.”

“Is that your pastoral training talking?” She didn't know why she said it that way. The question sounded dismissive and off-putting even to her ears. She couldn't imagine how it sounded to him.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No. I don't think there is training for situations like this one. I want to be your friend, Heather, not your pastor. If you'll let me.”

Could she let him?

Her heart said yes, but she didn't trust her emotions anymore.

“You probably know I was married before,” she began, stumbling over her words.

He nodded but didn't interrupt.

“Well, what you don't know—it's something I don't usually talk about.” She paused and squeezed her eyes shut, praying she could get through this and say the words aloud. “My ex-husband is serving time in prison.”

“Is he?”

“Yes. It's where he belongs. Adrian is not a nice man, but he puts on a surprisingly effective facade. I'm embarrassed to admit I fell for it. I thought I was marrying a charming, faithful man. It was only after we'd exchanged vows that I discovered I was married to a monster.”

“He was physically abusive,” Shawn concluded. It hadn't taken much for him to fill in the blanks. “Which explains a lot.”

“That was the least of it.” Heather couldn't keep the disgust from her voice, nor the fear and pain.

“Don't say that.” Shawn started to reach across the table, then abruptly stopped himself and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

His gaze said it all. He believed in her. How little he knew.

“It kills me that he hurt you,” Shawn said through gritted teeth. He clenched his hands into fists, and his biceps pulsed, but oddly enough, she didn't feel threatened by his posture. She felt safe. “What makes this infinitely worse is that I can see the lasting effects his abuse has had on you, showing me that he's
still
hurting you even though he's not around anymore. Honey, you're worth more than you know. To God. To your kids. To me.”

Her breath scratched against her throat. She so wanted to believe his words, but he'd spoken in haste, before he'd heard the whole story. Once he had, she had no doubt his opinion of her would take a nosedive. She was too far beyond God's grace for easy redemption.

She paused. Maybe she should stop right here and not say any more. She'd said enough to explain her peculiar reaction to him in the barn. She could leave off and he'd never have to know the woman she really was.

But she wanted—well, she didn't even know what she wanted. Or at least, she couldn't put it into words. But she was certain playing the pity card wasn't going to get it for her.

Shawn had extended a genuine hand of friendship. She couldn't accept it under false pretenses, no matter how much a part of her wanted to sweep her past under the rug. No, her memories were something she would have to live with for the rest of her life.

“I need to tell you why Adrian is behind bars.”

Shawn's lips quirked and his gaze flashed with anger. “If you'd like to tell me, I'll listen.”

Heather shoved out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Homicide.”

Chapter Six

T
he word hung in the air like an icicle between them. Sharp. Jagged. Dangerous.

Shawn pursed his lips, searching for words. What was there to say?

“He killed someone.” It wasn't a question, and Shawn didn't phrase it as such.

“Three people.” Heather's complexion turned a pasty white. Shawn couldn't blame her. He felt a little nauseated himself. “A mother and her two children.”

Oh, dear Lord, comfort her,
he prayed silently. What a heavy burden Heather was carrying.

Shawn had already suspected that Heather was the victim of physical abuse, and there was no shortcut out of that camp. But the fact that Adrian had somehow killed people? That was heaping misery upon misery.

“How did it happen?” He approached the question with caution. Bringing these memories to the surface was clearly painful for Heather, but at the same time, he suspected sharing her burden with someone—with
him
—might be the first step in her healing process. He experienced a deep, burning desire to be the bridge that reconnected Heather with God and helped her find peace within herself.

“It was an automobile accident—if you can call it an accident. He ran a stop sign and sideswiped the vehicle.”

“That's terrible.” His chest ached so hard he thought it might burst. And if it was this bad for him, he couldn't imagine how Heather could even stand it. He wanted to do something, anything, to ease her pain. He'd never felt so helpless in all his life. His very ministry was built on his ability to come alongside people and comfort and strengthen them, guide them back to the gentle fold of God.

He searched, but he had nothing.

“It was terrible,” she said, pressing her palm to her temple. “The police showing up at our door. Adrian being arrested. Finding out that children had died because of his actions. The whole thing makes me sick. And the worst part is, I was an accomplice.” She swept in a breath that was half a hiccup, half a sob. “God forgive me, I let it happen.”

“That can't be true.” Shawn could see the shades of guilt in her gaze, but he didn't understand it. How could this sweet woman, who had done nothing to deserve the physical and emotional abuse she'd endured, blame herself for the accident? Didn't she realize that she was as much a victim as that poor family Adrian had hit?

“You see, I let him walk out the door that day. I knew he was going to get behind the wheel of a car. And he'd been—”

The doorbell rang, bringing her sentence to a grinding halt, but Shawn knew what she was about to say.

He'd been
drinking
.

This time the sharp ache in his gut was all too familiar. He knew all about alcoholism and the helplessness those who lived with such addicts felt. Surely she realized she couldn't have stopped Adrian even if she'd tried. Couldn't have stopped him from drinking, and couldn't have stopped the reckless behavior once the alcohol was in his system.

Thoughts shot through his head like bullets as he excused himself to answer the door. He wasn't expecting anyone. As he'd told Heather earlier, he rarely had visitors. He was often invited to his parishioners' homes to share a meal with them, but it was unusual for someone to come by the ranch.

Maybe someone was in the midst of a crisis. His curiosity ramped as he swung the door wide-open.

“Dad!”

“Took you long enough.” The white-haired, sixtyish man with a deeply lined face and skin wrinkled beyond his years stumbled past Shawn and into the house without waiting for an invitation. “Sh-pected you'd be happy to see me, at least.”

Shawn's stomach tumbled and he sent a horrified glance toward the kitchen, where Heather sat waiting for his return. Noelle was with her. The kids were playing in the backyard. This had the makings of an all-out catastrophe.

Dad's timing could not have been worse. What could he do with him to keep him from causing an unnecessary and very likely excruciating ruckus?

Shawn had been anticipating—and dreading—this confrontation with his father for a long time, but he'd never in a million years imagined circumstances like these. His father's health had been heavy on Shawn's heart for a while now, but he'd expected, or at least hoped, that he would be able to deal with this outside the watchful eyes of Serendipity.

And Heather—if she were to encounter his father...

Shawn didn't even want to know.

He took his father's shoulders and guided him toward the hallway. Maybe if he could get Dad into a back bedroom the situation would resolve itself. As soon as his father saw a bed, Shawn knew he would pass out within minutes.

“Shawn?” He heard Heather's curious voice coming from behind him and pressed harder on his father's back.

A few more feet and he could breathe easy.

He didn't anticipate his father's next move. Kenneth O'Riley planted his feet and then spun around, slipping under Shawn's grasp and staggering back toward the living room. “Didn't tell me you had company,” his father cackled. “Of the female per-shway-shun.”

Shawn cringed at the sound of his father's slurred words. He couldn't imagine how this episode would affect Heather—and just as he'd believed she was beginning to trust him.

Why had God let this happen? There must be a reason, but Shawn was too numb with horror to think it through.

It was bad enough that he was going to be forced into an impromptu intervention with his father, but he was far more concerned about Heather's reaction. After all, an alcoholic man had dragged her through the pit. For her to witness his father like this...

Heather rounded the corner between the kitchen and the living room, a polite, slightly strained smile on her lips. “I didn't realize you were going to have company. I'll just gather the children and leave.”

Shawn scowled and stepped in front of his father, doing his best to shield Heather from seeing him. “Sounds like a plan. We'll talk later.”

She wasn't buying it. Her eyes filled with curiosity, and Shawn knew why. His behavior at the moment wasn't exactly falling into the normal category as he physically blocked his father from advancing. His heartbeat pounded through his head.

Go, Heather. Please. Just go.

“Shawn?” Heather asked, her voice hesitant. “Is everything okay? Do you need me to stay?”

He met her gaze and was stunned at the strength he found there. Only moments before she'd been practically falling apart as she relayed her own horrific story, cringing away from his touch; but now she was reaching for him, gripping his forearm, offering him the support she somehow sensed he needed.

If only he could make this all go away. The feel of her palm against his skin helped calm the panicked racing of his mind, but even as he straightened out his thoughts, he realized there was no easy way out of this mess.

“Who-sh the young lady?” his father asked with a laugh that made Shawn's hair stand on end. “Aren't sha gonna introduce us?”

Shawn's eyes met Heather's, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. He hoped she'd understand what he meant and head for the hills.

Don't get involved. Take the kids and run.

But no. She stepped forward and offered her right hand in greeting. Her jaw was tight but her expression was resolute. She wasn't backing down.

“I'm Heather Lewis, a friend of Shawn's. And you are?”

* * *

Heather didn't have to wait for the inebriated man's answer to guess who he was. Shawn's likeness to his father was as unquestionable as the fact that the man must have started drinking near breakfast time for him to be as intoxicated as he was now.

Shawn had never said—but then, he hadn't really had the chance. Their conversation had been interrupted by the arrival of this...person.

“Kenneth O'Riley,” the man said, wrapping his clammy hand around hers and pumping it vigorously. “Sh'my pleasure.”

It certainly wasn't Heather's, and it definitely wasn't Shawn's. She didn't know whether the worry lining Shawn's face had more to do with his father showing up here smashed and presumably unannounced, or whether it was because he was concerned about how she was going to handle it, but either way, she was determined to step up and come to his aid.

She could handle it. And she could help Shawn with his father.

The situation might have overwhelmed her not so long in the past, but to her astonishment, today it didn't. Maybe it was because Shawn was here with her. She knew that no matter how belligerent or out of control his father might get, Shawn would keep her safe. Perhaps it was because Shawn looked as if he was out of his element and needed her assistance.

She
wasn't out of her element. Not a bit. This was home turf for her—dealing with a drunk man. Bring it on.

“Why don't you sit down, Kenneth, and I'll grab you a cup of coffee from the kitchen?” she suggested mildly, gesturing toward the couch.

Shawn nodded and clasped his father's arm, carefully leading him toward the sofa at the far end of the living room. Heather scrambled for the kitchen, taking time to check on Noelle and check on her children, who were, thankfully, still entertaining themselves throwing sticks for the Shetland sheepdog to retrieve for them. Since there were only two mugs in the house, she quickly rinsed out the one she'd been using and poured a fresh, hot cup of coffee for Kenneth. Curling her fingers around the warmth of the ceramic, she paused, closed her eyes and offered a quick prayer.

She didn't know if God would listen—not because she believed He wasn't there or couldn't be bothered, but because she wasn't worthy of approaching His throne to make requests in the first place. But she hoped for the best. After all, she was praying for Shawn, and he
was
a good, God-fearing man. Surely the Lord would hear and take account because of Shawn.

Blowing out her breath to steady her nerves, she returned to the living room and pressed the mug into Kenneth's hands. His head lolled back against the forest-green cushion, and Heather was a little worried he would spill the hot liquid into his lap.

Then again, she supposed that would get him sobered up right quick.

Shawn crouched before him and placed a hand on his knee, shaking him gently to gain his attention. “Dad. What are you doing here?”

The answer was long in coming as Kenneth attempted to focus his bleary eyes on Shawn. “Came to stay with my shon,” he mumbled.

“You can't stay here. Not until you're sober. We've talked about this.” Shawn's voice was gentle but firm.

Kenneth came alive, slamming his cup on the coffee table and spilling the dark liquid across the wood. “Look at this house. You're all by yourself here, and you've got plenty of room,” he roared.

Shawn didn't budge, but Heather jolted backward, an instinctive and unconscious act of self-preservation. This was what she knew.

Violence.

Shawn grabbed his father's shoulder with one hand and held up the other to Heather, palm out, reassuring her that he had control of the situation.

“I'm not backing down on this, Dad. I've done some calling around and I've found a nice place in San Antonio that has an opening. They're experts. They can help you find a way out of your addiction.”

Heather waited for the denial she knew was forthcoming.

“I don't see why you're pressuring me.” Kenneth glared at Shawn, but to Shawn's credit, he didn't budge or capitulate. “I've said it before and I'll shay it again—you're looking at this all wrong. I'm not an alkie. I don't have to drink. I like to drink. There's a difference.”

Shawn's soul-weary sigh moved the depths of Heather's heart, but Kenneth remained unfazed.

“No, Dad, that's where you're wrong. You drink to mask the pain, and until you deal with the underlying causes—David's death, Mom's illness—you will never find peace. It certainly isn't at the bottom of a bottle.”

Kenneth growled in protest. “Don't you preach to me, kid. Remember who you're talking to.”

Shawn shook his head. “Unfortunately, it's not something I can forget. And I'm not preaching at you. Just stating facts. Now, are you going to let me get you some help, or aren't you?”

Heather was certain no one breathed as she and Shawn awaited Kenneth's answer. For an instant the man's expression changed. He looked old, tired, weak. But then resolve took hold and Heather braced herself, hoping Shawn had also seen the subtle shift in his father's demeanor. Kenneth wasn't going down without a fight.

“I'm jush fine the way I am. Butt out of my business.”

Shawn's jaw tightened and his shoulders firmed as he stood and yanked his father up with him. “Then you are no longer welcome in my house.”

Heather could see the pained look in Shawn's eyes and knew just how difficult it was for him to stay strong in this. But no matter how hard it was, it was the right thing to do. She was impressed by Shawn's display of fortitude. Kenneth might be a drunk, but he was Shawn's father, and it was obvious that Shawn loved him. It was equally apparent that he refused to be an enabler—something Heather had never known how to do.

“David would never have treated me thish way,” his father slurred. “You are not a good son.”

Shawn winced and his expression froze. “I guess we'll never know about that, will we?” His voice was so ice-cold that Heather shivered.

Kenneth mumbled and protested as Shawn physically escorted him to the back bedroom, but Shawn was larger and stronger than his father, even without the benefit of Kenneth having had too much to drink. Shawn opened the door and deposited his father on the bed.

“Sleep it off. When you wake up, I want you to leave. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He closed the door with a firm click and turned and leaned his shoulders against it, scrubbing his hands down his face as he shoved out a breath.