Twilight
Twilight
Copyright 2002
Kristen Heitzmann
Cover design by Ann Gjeldum
Scripture quotations identified NIV are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW
INTERNATIONAL VERSION. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved. The “NIV” and “New International Version” trademarks are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by International Bible Society. Use of either trademark requires the permission of International Bible Society.
Scripture quotations identified KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN-13: 978-0-7642-2605-2
ISBN-10: 0-7642-2605-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heitzmann, Kristen.
Twilight / by Kristen Heitzmann.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7642-2605-3 (pbk.)
1. Single mothers—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.E468 T88 2002
813’.54—dc21 2002002466
Dedicated to those who serve
either heroically
or quietly
R
OCKY
M
OUNTAIN
L
EGACY
Honor’s Pledge
Honor’s Price
Honor’s Quest
Honor’s Disguise
Honor’s Reward
D
IAMOND OF THE
R
OCKIES
The Rose Legacy
Sweet Boundless
The Tender Vine
Twilight
A Rush of Wings
The Still of Night
Halos
Freefall
Secrets
Unforgotten
Echoes
KRISTEN HEITZMANN is the acclaimed author of eight novels, including
Honor’s Pledge
from her bestselling ROCKY MOUNTAIN LEGACY series. Raised on five acres of ponderosa pines at the base of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, Kristen has long held a passion for the state she and her husband call home. A teacher, a music minister, and a mother of four, Kristen delights in sharing her American heritage through the written word.
Contents
T
HE MAN WHO WALKS IN THE DARK
DOES NOT KNOW WHERE HE IS GOING.
John 12:35 NIV
T
HE THING ABOUT SERVING is that it isn’t true service until there’s nothing in it for you—no personal benefit, only pure sacrifice. Doing what you have to do when you can’t give yourself a single reason, except someone needs it. And sometimes what you do looks just plain stupid. That explanation wasn’t in the dictionary, but Cal had spent some hours defining it in his mind. He had redefined a lot of things these last months.
He stood now in the lounge of the fire station that served Montrose, population four thousand, and the surrounding county. By its nature the career he’d chosen meant training, dedication, service. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known he wanted to rescue people, combat destruction, take charge of any emergency. But some situations were beyond control.
Like the people lost in the terrorist attacks running into a building to save, rescue, aid, and the unimaginable destruction that followed. Pure service that cost them their lives. Cal’s memories threatened to erupt, but he pushed them aside. Not now; not here.
He stepped up to the wall. The mirror threw his face back at him, each of his twenty-nine years leaving their mark in the lines around
the eyes and the scar running white across his sunburned chin, shaved clean of the weekend’s growth. He looked decent, manly, handsome enough if he wanted to go there. He wasn’t vain—just assessing what he saw these days when he faced himself. It was about to change anyway.
White paint erased the chin scar as he shaped a smile outlined in red—a goofy, extravagant smile. He hid his blue eyes behind wraparound sunglasses and pinched on a red plastic nose, then mashed his hair down like a mess of straw and pulled on the curly yellow wig. His uniform shirt took on a whole new look with the spotted, oversized bow tie, but the emblem on the sleeve gave Spanner the Clown his purpose. Jokes, magic, laughter—all to grab and hold attention, promote memory. Climbing into baggy pants, he snapped the suspenders on his shoulders and stepped out into the garage.
The dented, red engine waited beside the smaller rescue vehicle. Cal stood for a moment, eyeing the old truck’s length, the hoses accordion-folded in the back, the steps to the jump seat behind the cab where a man could crouch, the siren shrill in his ears, holding the side bars as the engine sped along, adrenaline transforming him into a machine primed for action. The new trucks were enclosed for safety, but not old Susie.
Stepping back, he made way for Rob and Perry to finish the checklist on the engineer’s panel. Rob nodded, and Cal returned it, pretending he didn’t notice the smirk on Perry’s face, though it was how he’d have looked at one of them dressed like this. But he didn’t judge anymore, not by appearances anyway. The real man was not on the surface—sometimes in the eyes or in the stoop of the shoulders, but never in the face he showed the world.
And that was the irony, Cal thought, frowning inside the white smile. Painting a clown’s face was only a gross imitation of the masking of humanity. Everyone just pretended no one knew. He took the boxed theater, props, and puppets from the shelves and went out into the glaring sunlight. Missouri didn’t seem to know it was November. The air was warm and dry, and the daylilies along the road were putting out sprouts. Even nature could be fooled.
His scalp itched, and he stuck a finger under the edge of the wig to scratch as he climbed into his jeep.
Fremont Elementary, here I come
. He could have dressed at the school and saved himself Perry’s contempt, but kids were sharp. He didn’t want them to see the man who would dress up as Spanner the Clown. He wanted Spanner to arrive. It helped the magic.
One year ago he would have never believed the tricks he’d taught himself in high school would become so important. That, and the drama classes taken for the heck of it. And his natural cut-up personality. It was crazy. He shook his head. Not crazy, just unexpected.