Mixed Signals (24 page)

You’ve already done that. He deserves an apology. And the truth
.

Okay, okay, I’m warming up to it
.

He was staring at her, still wearing a question mark on his face.

Go on, Belle. Say something. Anything
.

“Say!” Her voice squeaked in the key of Betty Boop. “Would you mind terribly if we climbed into your truck? To warm up?” She gulped, ignoring her noisy conscience and waving the keys at him, hoping she looked playful instead of desperate.

He nodded, expressionless, sending her frozen fingers shaking toward the lock. It clicked open and she stepped back, uncertain.
Do I get in on the driver’s side or the passenger’s?
One look at the snow-covered road solved that problem.
Driver’s side
. She used the steering wheel to pull herself up, bemoaning as usual the limitations of her petite stature. Finally settled behind the wheel, she trained her eyes on his and slid back across the seat, headed for the opposite door.

He was inside the truck in two seconds, shutting the door behind him with a rusty bang. Reaching across to grasp her hand, he yanked her none too gently in his direction.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily.” His tone was neither cold nor hot, but his gaze burned with purpose. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Belle, but I intend to find out. What does inviting your parents for Christmas have to do with me?”

“N-nothing.”
The truth, Belle
. “Okay, something.” She groaned in defeat. “Everything. I was worried that my parents might think you and I … well, I’ve been single so long and …” She dipped her head, knowing her cheeks had to be crimson. “I was afraid they’d come to the wrong conclusion.”

“Do
what?
” The question mark look was back.

“You know. Three couples. Mom and Dad. Norah and Patrick—”

“Since when are Norah and Patrick a couple?”

“Oh, for the love of Mike!” She snatched her hand out of his and
folded her arms in dramatic disgust. “Where have you
been
these last few weeks?”

“At work. At home. At church. Same as you.” That blasted grin she found so appealing was moving across David’s face. “It appears I’ve missed a budding romance between our boss and your landlady, is that it?”

“It seems you have.” She snorted, not caring how unfeminine it sounded.

His only reaction was the slight arch of one eyebrow. “So you were concerned that your parents might mistake
us
as a couple?”

Belle’s spine snapped to attention, nearly lifting her off the Ford’s bench seat. “You can wipe that wry grin off your face, mister!”

“Wry? Oh,
rye!
” He touched his lips in mock chagrin. “Coulda sworn it was wheat. Or oat. Pumpernickel, maybe?”

“Y-you!” She swatted at him as if he were a pesky fly. “This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I wanted to avoid. People making assumptions, jumping to conclusions.”

His grin faded, one centimeter at a time. His gray eyes softened, darkened. She felt the texture of the air around them changing. Thickening.

David’s teasing tone was gone, subdued to a plaintive murmur. “The one who jumped to conclusions today was me, Belle. All along I thought you were headed to Moravian Falls, that I was definitely on Norah’s guest list. When I looked in and saw the table already filled and the stockings on the mantel with everyone’s name but mine and …” His voice trailed off into a lengthy sigh.

She watched him wrestle with some inner struggle, his jaw clenching, working back and forth. Under the red tie, his throat tightened and swallowed. Without question, this handsome, mature, utterly together guy was doing his level best not to cry.

His pain touched her in a corner of her heart she didn’t know existed. “David, you’re always welcome here,” she whispered through the tears in her throat. “You know that, don’t you?”

He shook his head, staring out the front windshield in silence. She watched him watching the snow, swirling in circles down the steep street, the sky heavy, a silvery white. The tall pines that climbed the street bent their branches under the weight of the snowfall, mirroring the mood that
had settled over the two of them without warning.

When David spoke at last, his pitch was lower than she’d ever remembered. “You’re looking at a guy who seldom feels welcome anywhere.”

With exceeding care, Belle matched her voice to his. “If you want to talk about it, I’m listening.”

“Maybe I’m not talking.” He shot a searing glance at her, as if testing her sincerity.

She rested her hand on his elbow, noticing for the first time the fine fabric and cut of his suit. It matched his storm gray eyes perfectly. Fit his muscular form to a T. She forced her eyes to stay focused on his, putting aside the niggling temptations of being this close to a man she found so alarmingly attractive. “David, I thought we were friends. We are friends, aren’t we?”

His response was more shrug than nod, but she plunged forward. “The best gift you could give me is your trust. Trust me, David. Tell me why you’ve often felt left out.”

Left out
. Pretty good assessment on her part.
Shut out. Pushed out
. Those fit, too.
Can I trust this woman, Lord? You know I need to talk to someone, to share this burden before it utterly crushes me. How much do I tell her?

The answer was loud and decidedly clear.
All of it
.

He shifted his body to look at her more directly. “Belle, how much do you know about me?”

She seemed surprised at the question, but after a moment she splayed the fingers of her left hand to tick off the facts. “Born and raised in Abingdon. Air force for four years. Virginia Tech for another four. WPER for a first radio gig. Remodeling a house. Single, never married.” Her bright eyes lifted in anticipation. “Is there something I missed?”

“Not intentionally.” He felt his empty stomach tightening, tying itself in a knot. No one in Abingdon knew except Sherry’s parents. No one. They’d kept the secret of Sherry’s pregnancy to themselves for nine years. Even Josh might not know the whole story.
Why do I feel compelled to share it now?
Was it sympathy he wanted? Compassion? Understanding?

No
.

Forgiveness.

That’s what he needed most.

He knew the Lord had forgiven him. Said so right in the Bible. If a man honestly confessed his sins, God faithfully forgave him. Cleansed him, too.

It was other people he worried about. Could
they
forgive him? Not only about his son’s conception at the start, but how he’d handled things since then. Should he have followed Sherry to California? Insisted they marry? Dragged her back to Virginia? Sent more money? He’d volunteered to do all of the above and more over the years. Sherry had rejected every offer. Said Josh didn’t need a man like him for a daddy. That
she
didn’t need him for a husband.

Didn’t need his money, either.

She’d kept the money, though. Cashed every check the day it arrived.

He wrote long letters to Josh, month in and month out. Sherry wrote him back maybe three times a year. He’d never heard Josh’s voice, never looked in his eyes, never hugged his own son. It was hard not to be bitter. Not to hate Sherry for calling all the shots.

Then again, he knew it had to be hard for her. A single mother, thousands of miles from her support system. Not that her family had ever been supportive. Her friends had left town, off to colleges and careers and husbands of their own while Sherry Robison kept her secret to herself. She’d always been a free thinker. Independent. She’d have fled Abingdon for one reason or another eventually. He’d simply provided her with the best reason of all.

He brought his thoughts back to the present, to the woman curled up in the front seat of his truck, her thick braid draped over her shoulder, eyeing him, expectant.
She doesn’t expect
this,
I’ll bet
. But she deserved the truth.

Breathing out a silent prayer, he plunged in. “Belle, there’s one thing you don’t know about me, about my past, that will probably surprise you.”

She flashed a set of sparkling white teeth. “I love surprises!”

He winced. “Wrong word. It’ll probably shock you.”

“Oh.”

“You were right, Belle, I never married.” His eyes searched hers, anticipating her response. “But I should have.”

No reaction. Yet. Merely a question. “Were you in love with her?”

“Love? Who knows. We were eighteen. A couple of rebels. Sherry liked rubbing her daddy’s face in it. Me, I liked … well, I liked … her.” No backing out now.

“Oh.” Belle’s voice was softer. He was relieved that she looked neither curious nor disgusted. Yet.

Hands clammy, his mouth drier than Tucson in August, he licked his lips, stalling.
C’mon, Belle. Let me have it. Tell me I’m a jerk, a skirt-chaser, something
. When her face remained calm, he snapped under the pressure and blurted out, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so.” She tipped her chin up, as if preparing for a blow. “Were you … intimate with her, David?”

Yeah, she understood
. He exhaled, relieved to have admitted that much. She didn’t look shocked, not really. He’d expected disapproval or disappointment, but didn’t see that either. Nor judgment. Yet.

Maybe she’d given in to temptation herself once. Had a wild youth.
Doesn’t seem likely, but who knows?
Maybe because it happened long before he turned his life over to God, maybe that gave Belle the ability to accept and forgive him for his … indiscretion.

Sin, man. It was sin, nothing else but
.

He realized Belle’s accepting spirit might vanish when she heard the rest of it, and braced himself for the worst. “There’s more to it. We have … a son. Joshua. He’s eight.”

“A son?” Clearly she wasn’t ready for that one. “Where … ?” Her mouth opened and closed. So did her wide amber eyes. If she was trying to look blasé about his announcement, it wasn’t working.

Surely the last few details would be easier on both of them.

“He lives in Sacramento with his mother. I haven’t seen her since … well, since.”
She doesn’t need to know about the money. Or the letters. Enough is enough
.

“You mean you’ve never laid eyes on your own son?” Now she
did
look shocked. Her eyes snapped in anger. “What kind of woman would do such a thing?”

David shrugged. He wasn’t about to defend Sherry’s disappearing act,
though he knew the crux of it. “She was ashamed, Belle.”

“Of what she’d done? Of being pregnant?”

The memory rose up inside him anew and the bitter taste of bile crept along the back of his throat. “She was ashamed to admit I was the father. Because I’m a Cahill.”

Belle leaned back, pressing against the passenger door, as if trying to get a better look at the big picture. “Why? What’s wrong with being a Cahill?”

“In Abingdon, Virginia, everything.” Maybe the rest wouldn’t be so easy after all. David ran his hands through his hair, shoving back his wayward bangs in frustration, sensing a prodding he couldn’t ignore, much as he desperately wanted to.

Tell her all of it
.

He squared his shoulders and forced his voice to sound matter-of-fact, as if the truth didn’t still rip his heart in two. “We were poor. The poorest in town. My father was a drunkard, my mother wasn’t far behind him. He was the best carpenter for miles around but couldn’t keep a job. So, we lived in shacks on the wrong side of the tracks. Moved around. Scraped by on handouts and hand-me-downs.”

Belle’s face was the picture of dismay. And mercy. “David, I’m truly sorry.” She meant it. Empathy rolled off her in waves, filling the air as distinctly as her perfume. It seemed to take her a long time to speak again. When the words came, he heard the tears that lingered just behind them. “What a sad way to grow up. You’ve done so much when life gave you so little to start with.”

She hadn’t moved, yet her entire body strained toward him in sympathy. From out of nowhere, he thought of kissing her, just once, just to thank her. A foolish idea he sent back to nowhere and fast.

When his conscience jabbed him again, he released a noisy sigh. “Might as well tell you the rest of it.” Which he did. The money he sent, the letters he wrote, the frustration of knowing his son existed yet not knowing him at all.

“How terrible for you.” She nodded slowly. “What I really want to know is, what sort of relationship do you and Sherry have now? Not that
it’s any of my business, of course.”

“Our relationship ended nine years ago. Completely.”

The look of relief on Belle’s face almost took his breath away. Maybe his feelings for her weren’t so one-sided after all.

“Sherry and I have nothing in common but Josh. Someday, when he’s ready, I hope he’ll come find me so we can make up for lost time.” He shrugged, fighting the sense of helplessness that always settled in when he thought about his son. “It’s hardly an ideal situation, but I manage.”

There was one more truth he wanted her to understand. “Christmas is the hardest day of the year for me.” The pain of it hit him anew, aching like a partially healed wound split open again by a careless blow. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I think about Josh more than usual, wonder if he’s having a better holiday than I did growing up. We never had presents or decorations or turkey on the table.” He tipped his head, sizing up her reaction, warmed by the compassion he saw in her eyes. “I guess that’s why today was so important to me.”

“No wonder.” Her words were gentle as a mother’s caress. “Will you forgive me for almost ruining Christmas for you?”

Before he could respond, Belle let out a sudden cry of dismay. “We gotta go!” She started fumbling with the door handle, a look of distress flashing across her features. “Norah has been waiting twenty long minutes to find out if she’s feeding five or six of us! Not to mention trying to keep the food hot.” Belle shoved the door open with her shoulder and gave him an impish wink. “Let’s get our story straight. I’m telling Norah you put up a struggle, okay? Fought me every inch of the way.”