Sweet Blessings (Love Inspired) (17 page)

She watched his truck amble along the main street through town, slow in obedience to the posted speed limit. The vehicle grew smaller until the angle of the buildings hid him from her sight. Forever. That was all she would ever see of Heath Murdock, capable cook and, for lack of a better word, soul mate.

She ran her fingertips across the library book
he'd left clearly in the middle of the coffee table. Sorrow drained all the light from her spirit, and she felt as heavy as lead. The punch of pain in her chest wasn't her heart shattering. It couldn't be. She wouldn't let it be.

She didn't want the warm syrupy rich flow of affection to fill her up, but it did. She knew that loving Heath Murdock was the second biggest mistake of her life. Why was it the bitter truth that as responsible and hard-working and good a man that Heath was, he couldn't promise her anything more than Westin's father had? For different reasons, sure, but it was a pattern with her. One she'd been smart enough to escape this time.

This time she'd kept her dignity. This time she'd spotted danger before she lost her heart.

But it was no consolation as sadness overwhelmed her and tears started to fall.

G
ood old Oregon rain. It fell in a misty drizzle that was so fine, it seemed to hang in the air. Heath had forgotten what a vibrant green Portland could be in early summer. The cemetery seemed to shine with greenness. The deep velvet green of the grass, the dark forest-green of the cedar and fir trees. The brighter newer greens of the aspens and maples.

Three years today. Heath traced his finger along the date etched in the marble. His wife and son shared a grave. He knew that's what she would have wanted. His dear wife and son. He wished he could go back in time and find time for the small things, to check the batteries in the smoke alarm so he could be now where he belonged, with his family. That's what he'd wanted, all this time he'd been grieving. He wished he'd perished with them.

He didn't know why he was here to lay white
roses on one grave and tie floating balloons to the other marker. But somehow it was part of God's plan. He was no longer bitter or despondent. Because he had something he thought he'd lost with his grief.

Good memories. Of a happy marriage. How they'd anticipated Christian's birth, how happy they'd been the day he'd come home. How one little boy who had brought so much chaos had also brought love and joy.

His cell phone jingled, and he reached into his coat pocket and checked the caller ID. Good, he'd been expecting this call. Heath answered, heard the good news and stood in the rain. He just breathed in the fragrant grass and trees, heard the sound of car tires on wet pavement on the busy road at the side of the cemetery.

He'd spent a few weeks handling things that should have been taken care of long ago. But he was done. He'd put his affairs in order and he was free.

Free to go home.

The pad of a footstep had him turning around. His mother had flown up from Kansas, and she stood beneath the wide brim of an umbrella, her eyes gleaming with emotions only he could understand.

“Have you forgiven yourself, finally?” she asked, loving. Always loving.

He nodded. Somehow things had changed. And he knew why. God had led him to Amy. God had given him a second chance.

Maybe. He was ready to find out. He took his mom by the hand and escorted her through the rain and grass.

 

“Westin?”

The house was unusually quiet. Amy dropped the armload of staticky, dryer-fresh clothes on the couch cushion. The hum of the pedestal fan in the living room breezing cool wind across her face was the same, but there was something different in the air. She couldn't place it until she stepped into the kitchen.

It was the scent of roses. She could only think of one person who would bring her roses—Heath. There, on the pink Formica table lay a dozen pink roses, perfect petals cupped tight, as if they were getting ready to open. Her favorite kind, too, and there was no way he could know it. She caressed the silken buds and turned toward the sound of her son's voice outside, blowing in with the wind.

“Wow, I hit it! I really did!”

Was he out there with Westin? Then she heard Heath's rumbling baritone, warm with a chuckle. “You sure did. That was some hit. Do you think the neighbor lady will let us go into her yard to get your ball?”

Heath.
Her heart wrenched seeing him for real standing in her yard, illuminated by the bold bright sunlight. He was unaware she was at the window, and his back was to her as he approached the chain-link
fence. He looked fine in his usual jeans and T-shirt and with a baseball cap shading his eyes.

“Westin, is this your baseball?” Mrs. Nash's jagged voice, made shaky by the first stages of Parkinson's, was more beautiful for her kindness.

Amy could see her sidling up to the fence, holding a small white ball in the palm of her hand. The wind shifted, carrying away the strands of the conversation, but she was spellbound watching as Heath took the ball, smiled at Mrs. Nash, and then turned with the ball in hand, held the way a pitcher did, ready to throw.

“I'm ready! I'm ready!” Westin ran backward and held up something bulky in his hand—a new baseball mitt.

Heath sent the baseball sailing in a slow arc across the front of the lawn. Westin, instinctively keeping his eye on the ball, wove back and forth and then stepped back, holding the stiff glove up and the ball plopped right in.

“All right!” Westin turned toward the window, and then grinned when he spotted her behind the screen. “Did you see, Mom? Did you see?”

“I saw. That was excellent, baby.”

“I know!” Pleased with himself, he reminded her so much of her brother, a natural athlete and naturally confident.

What was Heath doing here? He probably had no idea what he was doing to her. What she'd been try
ing to deny ever since he'd walked into her life that stormy night. The gentle scent of tea roses filled her kitchen and brought tears to her eyes, because she didn't know how she was going to hold onto her heart now that he'd come back.

“Mom! Mom!” Westin pounded up to the door and used both hands to shade his eyes so he could see her through the mesh screen. He was out of breath, wheezing a little, but his face was rosy from playing and, she hoped, happiness. “Me and Mr. Murdock are so thirsty, we're gonna dry up like this. Whoosh!” He flickered his fingers, as if what he was saying was perfectly clear.

“Well, I certainly don't want you and Mr. Murdock to go whoosh.”

“Like dried-up dirt!” As if he were choking, Westin made a fake gagging sound, because he was in such a good mood and he knew it would make her laugh.

Careful to keep her eyes averted, she retreated to the fridge and pulled out two cans of black cherry soda and a pitcher of sun tea. “Can you take a glass of ice tea out for Mr. Murdock?”

“It's Heath.” There he was, on the step behind Westin, shading his eyes, too, with both hands. Oh, he looked good. With the sun burnishing him, he looked younger, bolder. Brighter. “I'm a great fan of black cherry cola.”

“Mom! Me and Mr. Murdock, we're alike! We
both like baseball and we both drink cherry pop! And look! Look what he got me. It's a real baseball glove, for T-ball! And I can catch real good with it! You saw, right?”

“I saw.”

Heath stood in the background, hands fisted at his hips, so invincible and stoic it was hard to read his emotions. She needed to be realistic. He'd probably come back just to say hello, like so many of the customers in the diner had asked him to. That was all. It would be smart to hold back her heart.

But she feared it was too late. “Westin, did you say thank-you for the glove?”

“Yeah! Ooh, thanks for the pop!” He loped away, feet pounding, confident that she'd come to watch.

She pushed the screen door open. Heath hadn't moved; he was standing on the cement walkway that cut through the middle of her lawn. Petunias brushed his shoes in bright, splashing colors and it was strange to have him here, in the middle of her yard, when she'd tried so hard to banish him from her thoughts. From her dreams.

She gripped the iron railing and she didn't remember the stairs or her feet padding on the concrete. Only that she came to a stop in front of him. He towered over her, blocking the sun and, standing in his shadow, she could no longer deny the truth in her
heart. He was the one. The one who would be her one true love. Forever.

And he wasn't hers to keep.

“Thank you for the lovely flowers.”

“And you look even lovelier.” He laid his hand against her face, cradling her tenderly.

She pressed into his touch as the shine of his soul moved through hers. There was no more darkness or grief. Only hope.

He'd faced his past. She could feel it. He could go back to his old life, or maybe a new one somewhere else, a dedicated surgeon and such a very good man. He deserved all the happiness he could find.

It took all her dignity to keep her voice steady and her hopes from crashing to the ground. “It's almost lunchtime. Why don't you stay for the meal, as our treasured friend of the family?”

“You're fooling yourself, if you think the reason I'm standing here is friendship. I don't want to be your friend.”

Her bottom lip trembled.

Yeah, he knew what she was feeling. He felt the same. As if he was taking a step off the northern rim of the Grand Canyon and looking at the distant rocky floor beneath him. And stepping into thin air, anyway, knowing he was going to fall. But he had faith.

“I've come for you and your son.” Tender love rose through him until he was so full he could hardly speak. But he'd gone through a lot to get to this point
in his life, and he was going to do this right. “I know you've been hurt before, and you don't want to trust any man like that again. But, Amy, you are the blessing I thought I'd never find. If you agree to be my wife, I vow to cherish you above all others. If you marry me, I will never hurt you, never betray you, never leave you.”

This couldn't be happening. Surely this was a dream. She had to be hallucinating or something, but Heath's hand against her cheek trembled, and she could feel his genuine love for her, soul-deep and everlasting.

It was the same love she had for him in her soul. “You came back here to propose to me?”

“Not empty-handed.” He pulled a ring from his pocket. A rich gold band with a big center-cut stone. Brilliant and perfect and probably expensive. “Amy, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? To honor and cherish for the rest of my life?”

“Oh, yes!” Tears burned in her eyes as she leaped up to hug him, holding him tight. So very tight. Joy lifted her up as Heath wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the step and kissed her long and sweet.

Her soul sighed, complete.

As he slipped the ring on her finger, she could see a glimpse of their future. Of happy days just like this with the breeze whispering through the trees and the sun smiling down on them together. As a happy family.

As she followed her son up the front steps, she remembered to give thanks for this unexpected blessing. The sweetest of them all. Heath took her hand, kissed her cheek and they went into the house together.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for choosing
Sweet Blessings
. It was such a joy to return to THE MCKASLIN CLAN. Cousin Amy, the youngest of her family, is a single mom who works hard to provide for her small son. She's given up on believing that there are men who are noble, strong and faithful in this world. Until Heath Murdock wanders into her family's café for a late-night meal. She recognizes in him a great wound. With God's help, both Amy and Heath discover that true love can heal even the greatest sorrow.

Wishing you the sweetest of blessings,