Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (65 page)

“Heather, I'm so sorry for that.”

“There's no need to apologize,” she assured him.

“I would have told you, especially after what you've been through, but I didn't get the chance. And I certainly never expected that Dad would actually show up here in Serendipity.” His shoulders slumped, the first sign of succumbing to the intense pressure he'd been under. “I don't know. I guess I should have realized it would happen eventually. He's been calling me for weeks, asking for money, mostly. I should have figured if he couldn't get at me one way, he'd try another.”

“You can't anticipate what an addict will do,” Heather responded, wishing there was more she could say to take the burden from him.

Their eyes met and held. His gaze was a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability, the boy he used to be dealing with his unruly father. Truly heartbreaking.

She brushed his hair out of his eyes and smoothed his temple with her fingertips as she did to soothe little Henry from his nightmares. But Shawn wasn't a child, and the action that had started as a comforting gesture transformed into a caress across his scratchy cheek. Their breath came in unison, their hearts beating as one.

He held his arms out to her. Not demanding, not forcing. Not even begging.

Just asking.

She answered by stepping into his embrace, curving her arms upward as her palms grazed the firm planes of his shoulder muscles. His hands found her waist.

For several seconds she stood immobile, working through her irrational fight-or-flight instinct, acknowledging it and letting it flow through her. Warmth and peace nudged fear out of her heart and she relaxed into his arms.

Shawn was her safe place. There was no threat here, only a man who needed the comfort of a woman's embrace and the reassurance of her words.

“You're very brave,” she said.

He scoffed and leaned back so their eyes met but didn't release his hold on her waist. “Am I? Because right now I feel like a world-class jerk.”

“You're not. I know it's hard now, but you did the right thing. You can't let him think he's got you fooled or he'll continue to take advantage of you. You wouldn't be doing him any favors by ignoring his addiction. At the end of the day, the best thing you can do for him is force him to see himself as he really is—locked into substance abuse. He needs to look in the mirror and understand he needs help. He's got to want it. Until that happens, there is nothing more you can do for him.”

“I know.” He tightened his embrace and lowered his head, his breath warm on her ear. Her heart thrummed. “But it isn't easy to say no to him. And I do wonder sometimes...” His sentence drifted into a strained silence.

“What?” she whispered when he didn't continue.

“How different things might have been if David were here.”

Who was David?

The words were on the tip of her tongue to ask when they were interrupted by the clamor of children barging inside like a herd of elephants, followed by the high-pitched wail that signaled Noelle was awake.

Even though the kids were in the kitchen and couldn't see them, Shawn snapped his arms to his sides and stepped away from her. He attempted a weak smile but it didn't reach his eyes. “We're up. It sounds like our kiddos need us.”

Heather regretted that the moment had passed before she could receive answers to the questions she had yet to ask. As she watched Shawn gather Noelle into his arms and shepherd the other three children toward the living room, her emotions swelled into her throat, cutting off her breath.

There was so much to learn about this man, a man whose heart was big enough to care for farm animals, a church full of people and a tiny baby girl.

He'd experienced heartache, too, and plenty of it. She'd just scratched Shawn's surface with what she'd seen today.

She wanted to know more.

Chapter Seven

W
ho was David?

Heather mulled over the question as she knitted a sweater for Noelle and watched her children racing from room to room playing Follow the Leader. Jacob was currently in front, and he tended to play a little rougher than his foster siblings, so Heather kept a close eye on them.

Was David Shawn's brother? And what had happened to him?

The questions haunted Heather, but despite the fact that she and the kids were now regular visitors to Shawn's ranch, she'd not been able to find an appropriate opportunity to ask. Instead, the time was spent with the children helping Shawn take care of the animals. He was a mentor and a role model for the kids, showing them how a good man thought and acted.

But he was careful never to be alone with Heather, and he never offered any further explanation as to who David was, or what had happened to his mother that had sent his father seeking solace in a bottle. It wasn't the kind of thing one just blurted out, so she did the only thing she could do—play by his rules. He'd completely avoided talking about what had happened that day between him and Kenneth.

She understood why he didn't want to draw attention to the situation, and she didn't want to add to his sense of shame and vulnerability by bothering him about it.

She ought to just let it go—and yet she couldn't quite put it out of her mind. Whether she was playing with the children or knitting a scarf for one of the kids or answering email for a client, thoughts of Shawn would creep in. She had curiosity about his family situation, but if she was completely honest, that wasn't all there was. Her mind kept drifting to the way her emotions had skyrocketed when she was wrapped in his muscular arms.

She'd felt safe. Secure—feelings that had been foreign to her for so long. That was part of the reason why she couldn't stop thinking about it. But there was something else, something she'd never experienced before, not even when Adrian was courting her.

Her stomach tumbled with butterflies. It was the nicest of feelings. The warm glow of a fireplace on a cold night couldn't even begin to compare.

She scoffed and returned her attention to her knitting. She was dropping stitches. And for what? Silly notions?

She needed to nip that kind of whimsical nonsense right in the bud. Even if she wasn't completely physically and emotionally scarred after Adrian, Shawn was not and could never be the man for her. He was a pastor. He had the love and respect of the entire community.

She was the beat-up, badly used and tossed-away plaything of a convicted killer. Hardly a perfect match.

A shrill scream suddenly rent the air, and Heather bolted to her feet, tossing her knitting aside. Jacob sprinted out of the hallway, his hands waving wildly and eyes wide with fright and gleaming with moisture.

“Mama, Mama, come quick,” he said, grabbing her arm and urging her down the hall. “Missy hurt herself.”

With her heart in her throat, Heather followed her older foster son into her bedroom, where Missy lay wailing, curled up on a pillow with her face buried in her hands. Heather's breath cut out when she heard what she immediately recognized as Missy's pain cry.

The child was really hurt.

“She hit her head,” Jacob explained on a sob as Heather gathered Missy in her arms, expecting she'd need to comfort the poor little girl for getting a bump on the noggin. It wouldn't be the first time such an accident had occurred. One of the more painful lessons she'd learned as a new foster parent was that she couldn't shield her kids from all harm. Children were bound to get a few bumps and bruises along the way as they explored their world.

But when Heather rolled Missy over to pull her into the curve of her arm, she was shocked by the amount of blood covering the little girl's forehead.

Lots and lots of blood, coming from a gash that was a good half inch long and just as deep.

“Jacob, what
happened
?” she demanded, trying and failing to keep the sharp edge from her voice. It was no good panicking, and her going off would only upset the boys more than they already were. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Get me a clean towel from the linen closet, please.”

Jacob dashed out and returned a moment later with a freshly bleached white towel, which Heather pressed to the wound. Poor Jacob's blue eyes were flooded with tears that ran unheeded down his face.

“It's all my fault,” he wailed, clinging to Missy's hand.

“What happened?” Heather asked again in a gentler tone.

“We were jumping on your bed,” he admitted miserably, not meeting her gaze.

“You know you're not allowed to—” she started, but then quickly brought her sentence up short. Jacob knew he'd broken the rules, and he was clearly distressed over what had happened to Missy. He was learning a painful lesson today and didn't need her to rub it in.

The hand towel was soaked with blood within a minute, and Heather felt a moment of panic. She was all alone with an injured child and two more who needed her care. This wasn't a scenario she'd imagined when she'd signed the papers to become a single foster mother.

She needed help.
Now.

“Jacob, bring me my cell phone. It's on the end table next to the sofa.”

He was out and back with it in a jiffy. She pressed the phone log, wondering if she had Dr. Delia Bowden's number stored. In hindsight, she realized that was something she ought to have done—put the doctor's number on speed dial. But it was too late now to rectify that oversight.

Instead, it was Shawn's number that popped up first on the list. Not surprising. He still called nearly every day needing advice on parenting Noelle.

This time she was the one who needed
his
help. She pressed his number and waited, her breath in a knot.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Heather. Are you and the kids going to meet me at the ranch later to help me feed the animals?”

“Missy had an accident,” she said, cutting right to the chase. “She hit her head and she's got a big gash on her forehead. I tried using direct pressure, but I can't seem to get it to stop bleeding.”

“It probably needs stitches,” Shawn surmised. “But don't worry, honey. Head wounds tend to bleed a lot. Doesn't necessarily mean it's serious.”

“I know you're right, but it looks awful.”

“I'm at the church now. Get the kids buckled up in your SUV and I'll be right there. I'll drive you to see Delia.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and tears pricked at her eyes. She hadn't even had to ask for his help. She'd simply shared her problem, and that was enough to prompt him into action on her behalf.

Now was not the time to wonder why calling Shawn had been her first impulse after she realized she didn't have the doctor's number.

“Jacob, grab your coat, and get Henry's while you're at it. Just to be on the safe side, we're going to take your sister to the doctor.”

The boy nodded and ran for the jackets. Heather wrapped Missy in a quilt and continued to apply direct pressure to the girl's forehead as she led the kids outside to her SUV.

“Jacob, why don't you sit in front? Pastor Shawn is coming to drive us over to the doctor's office. I'm going to sit back here with Henry and Missy, okay?”

It was only after she'd managed to get Henry buckled into his booster seat that she realized she needed to make room for Noelle, but when Shawn arrived a few moments later, he was alone.

“Where's the baby?” she asked as Shawn climbed behind the wheel.

“Jo Spencer has her. Apparently ‘Auntie Jo' wants to show her off to all of her customers today.”

Heather expected that statement to be accompanied by one of Shawn's frequent and heart-stopping grins, so she was surprised when the corners of his lips turned down. That wasn't like him.

“How's our little patient doing?” he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as he started the engine.

Hmm. Maybe that was all it was. He was worried about Missy. But something niggled in the back of Heather's mind, and her gut feeling was that there was more he wasn't saying.

“It's quite a large gash. The bleeding has slowed some but it hasn't stopped yet. She'll probably have a nice scar to remember this day by.”

“How'd it happen?”

“Certain little monkeys were jumping on the bed when they weren't supposed to be.”

“And one fell down and bumped her head,” Shawn added.

“Exactly.”

“That's why you need to listen to your mama, kids,” he admonished. “She knows what she's talking about, and she's trying to keep you safe.”

“Now you sound like a preacher,” she teased, and the back of his neck grew red. “Or a father.”

He shot a look over his shoulder that Heather had a hard time identifying. Almost as if she'd—well, not insulted him, exactly, but definitely called him a name he didn't want to hear.

Which was what?
Preacher? Father?

Nothing new there. No startling revelations. Shawn was both pastor and parent.

Shawn pulled the vehicle up in front of Delia's office before she had the opportunity to question him about his odd reactions. He was out and around the vehicle, opening the door for her before she'd even had the opportunity to get unbuckled.

“Come on, little lady,” he said, scooping Missy into his arms, careful to keep her wound covered. “Let's go see Dr. Delia and get you all patched up.” He was incredibly gentle for a man his size, and once again Heather marveled at his kindness.

And she wasn't the only one who thought so. Missy gazed up at Shawn as if he were her knight in shining armor. In a way, Heather supposed he was, quick to come to their rescue when she'd called him.

Missy reached up and placed her little palm on Shawn's whisker-roughened cheek, and Heather's chest could barely restrain the swelling emotion. Such an innocent display of love and trust—and Shawn, she knew, wouldn't betray that trust.
Ever.

Delia greeted them at the door and immediately ushered them to the back room, where she instructed Shawn to place Missy on the nearest bed. She made quick work of examining the girl. Shawn didn't leave Missy's side, and the little girl clutched his hand.

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Delia assured them. “No signs of a concussion, and the wound itself is superficial. I'll clean it up and we'll use some glue and a butterfly bandage to seal it up tight.”

“I like butterflies,” Missy inserted, looking hopeful.

Delia laughed. “Well, Missy, I'm afraid the bandage isn't actually a butterfly, but I'll bet I have some princess stickers around here somewhere.”

Missy's excitement immediately turned to fear when Delia dabbed the wound with an alcohol swab.

“It hurts. It hurts,” she wailed, fresh tears brimming in her bright green eyes.

Heather hated this part of motherhood—the part where she had to put on a brave face for her children when she was quaking inside. Shawn, however, didn't flinch.

“I know it hurts, darlin',” Shawn told the girl, pressing his palm against her cheek. He didn't try to dismiss her pain or marginalize her fear. No wonder he was such a good pastor. “You're being such a brave girl. I think cookies are called for after this, don't you? Just let Dr. Delia get you all glued up and I'll take you over to Cup O' Jo's for a treat. All of you,” he added, his eyes on Jacob.

Heather wanted to hug him for including the boy, who was still huddled in on himself in guilt. She probably would have launched herself at Shawn, if it weren't for Delia being in the room.

The doctor worked quickly, cleaning and gluing the wound, then covering it with gauze and tape. “Keep the wound clean with soap and water,” she advised, “and call me if you see any signs of infection—redness around the gash or oozing from the wound. Otherwise, come back in a week for a quick follow-up.”

Delia allowed each of the kids to pick out a sticker from a bucketful of choices, but she allowed Missy to have three, since the little girl couldn't choose between princesses. She liked them all, so she got them all.

Heather was relieved that Missy was all patched up and the accident had resulted in nothing more than a gash that could be fixed with a little glue. Missy seemed to have forgotten that she'd been the one on the doctor's table at all. She was the first one out the door, racing down the clapboard sidewalk with her brothers right behind her, heading toward Cup O' Jo's on the corner.

The only one who looked as if he'd been negatively impacted by the day's events was Shawn. As long as he'd been in Missy's line of sight, he'd been all smiles and strength, but now he looked as if he'd swallowed something bitter and was fighting to keep it down.

She followed Shawn out of the doctor's office and couldn't help but admire the view of the cowboy preacher replacing his straw hat and loping along after the children, but she wondered at his distracted mood. She caught up with him and laced her arm through his, half expecting resistance. He glanced at her, surprise evident in his gaze, but he slid his hand over hers and slowed to match her pace.

“No more monkeys jumping on the bed,” he teased, but his attempt at a smile was faltering at best.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong?” She applied pressure to his arm, stopping him before he could enter the café.

“I—” he started, then stopped and shook his head. “No. It's nothing. The kids are waiting for their cookies, and I'm sure Jo is plenty ready to be done with baby duty. She's had Noelle all day.”

Heather highly doubted the truth of that statement. Jo Spencer loved babies above all things. She wouldn't be in any great hurry to part with darling Noelle. But Heather knew a brush-off when she heard it, so she reluctantly turned loose of his arm and allowed him to enter the café.