For the next hour, the two men talked roofing supplies and techniques. Ed might be a man too large to move quickly and too heavy to climb a tall ladder, but he had a sharp mind and he knew about construction, lumber and hardware. He was a virtual font of information.
By the time the order was written up and they’d exchanged a bit of town gossip, Ian noticed the store
growing dark. He turned toward the storefront windows, only to discover roiling black clouds had arrived while he was inside.
“I’d better get a move on. Don’t like the looks of that sky.”
“Sure thing. I’ll have all these items you ordered by Monday.”
“Thanks.” He said his farewells to the other men in the hardware store, then hurried to his pickup.
He was driving out of town when the first bolt of lightning flashed toward the ground, followed by a deafening crash of thunder. It was too early in the season for any real danger of forest or grass fires, but all the same, he preferred to be at home and watchful when a storm like this blew into the valley. Better safe than sorry.
He pressed down on the gas pedal.
When what sounded like an explosion right above her head shook the big house to its foundations, Shayla let out a shriek, then rushed to the nearby window to look outside.
She’d never seen such an ugly, angry sky before. Clouds as black as night swept over the mountain peaks, churning like a storm-tossed sea. A fork of lightning lit up the valley, connecting sky to earth. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as a loud crack assaulted her ears.
“Honey Girl!” she cried, remembering the puppy in the kennel.
She raced from the guest room, down the stairs,
through the kitchen and out the back door. The sheltie cowered in a corner, whimpering in fear.
“It’s okay, girl,” she said as she opened the gate. “It’s okay.” She picked up the quivering puppy. “Oh, you poor thing. You poor little thing.”
Another flash of lightning. Another crack of thunder. Shayla squealed again, then hightailed it back into the house, feeling as frightened as the young dog in her arms.
She hated thunderstorms.
She took shelter in an overstuffed chair in the great room, as far from the window as she could get. She cuddled Honey Girl close to her chest, pressed her face against the puppy’s soft coat and closed her eyes, dreading the next crash that would shake the house.
And it did.
Again and again and again.
To Shayla, it seemed like the coming of Armageddon. The end of the world could be no more terrifying than this. Not to her anyway.
The wind began to howl, stirring up dust and pebbles from the barnyard, pelting the sides of the house.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
It sounded like a machine gun. Even knowing what it was didn’t help. It was still a frightening sound, especially with her eyes squeezed shut.
That’s how Ian found her.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked gently. “Afraid of a bit of lightning?”
She felt his arms go around her, and she allowed it. He was big and strong and safe, and she could hide her face against his broad chest instead of against the small, quivering puppy. His large, callused hand stroked her hair with surprising gentleness. He murmured comforting words while the storm raged overhead, and little by little, her terror lessened.
Except for the soft patter of raindrops upon the porch roof and the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel, all became quiet. The storm moved across the valley and beyond the eastern mountains. And yet Ian continued to hold her, his arms warm around her, his heartbeat melding with her own.
She felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Or maybe it was the flush of pleasure. Regardless, she straightened, then stood. She didn’t want to look at him, but she knew she must.
“I…I’m sorry.”
He stood, too. “No reason to be sorry.” His gaze was compassionate, understanding.
“You must think me a terrible baby.” She brushed the tearstains from her cheeks.
“We’ve all got our private fears.”
She had the insane desire to return to the warmth of his embrace. Instead she took a step backward. “I’ve always been terrified by lightning and thunder. I don’t know why.”
“How about a cup of something hot to soothe the nerves?” He held out his hand, as if to take her arm.
She nodded in acquiescence. “I’ll put Honey in the kennel.” Then she led the way to the kitchen, thinking it better if she didn’t allow him to touch her again.
Ian had liked holding Shayla. Liked it more than caution said he should have. She’d seemed fragile and feminine in the circle of his arms, and he’d felt a strong desire to protect her and drive away her fears.
As he placed the teakettle on the burner, he recalled how her hair smelled of wildflowers. When was the last time he noticed the scent of a woman’s hair? A long, long while. That it should happen with his temporary neighbor was of some concern.
He heard footsteps and turned to see Shayla entering the kitchen.
Ian would be plumb loco if he allowed his unexpected attraction to this little, artistic-minded city gal to go any further. He needed a woman who was comfortable in Levi’s, boots and cowboy hats, a woman who could talk horses and cattle as easily as she could talk kids and cooking, a woman who knew a half-diamond hitch from a granny knot.
Shayla Vincent wouldn’t know a granny knot from a hole in the ground. He’d wager his best heifer on it.
So why didn’t that seem to matter anymore?
“I
never should have agreed to go,” Shayla said as she glared at her reflection in the mirror.
She hadn’t a clue what to wear to a Grange potluck. She didn’t even know what a Grange was, for pity’s sake. Regardless, she shouldn’t have chosen this dress from the clothes in her closet. It made her look short and frumpy.
Of course, she
was
short and frumpy. There’d never been a time when those adjectives hadn’t described her.
A glance at her wristwatch told her it was too late to change into something else. Ty was due any moment. In fact, there was the sound of a vehicle pulling into her drive right now.
Releasing a sigh of frustration, she grabbed her purse and a sweater and headed for the door, opening it as Ty reached the deck.
He had traded his faded work denims for a pair
of slim-cut black jeans. His snakeskin boots, peeking from beneath his pant legs, were polished to a high sheen. His Western shirt was similar to the ones he’d worn all week, but this one was newer, its colors—white, red and black—still bright. And he was obviously wearing a “dress Stetson,” a hat kept for Sundays and other special occasions.
Pure cowboy, she thought as she smiled at him.
“Evenin’, ma’am.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought we’d agreed to forgo that ma’am stuff. It makes me feel old.”
“Right you are. Evenin’, Shayla.”
She stepped onto the deck, closing the door behind her. Ty came forward, took the sweater from her hand, and draped it over her shoulders.
“You look prettier’n a heifer in clover.”
“Do you always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Never mind.” She laughed softly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, then took hold of his proffered arm and allowed him to escort her down the steps and out to his Jeep.
“I asked Ian to ride with us,” he said as he opened the passenger door, “but he said he’d take his own truck.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Who is he bringing with him?”
“You mean as a date?” He laughed. “Nobody. He hasn’t had a girlfriend for quite a spell. Not that there aren’t some who’d give their eyeteeth for a
chance with him. But Ian’s been feeling a bit wary ever since Sally Pruitt turned out to be a gold digger.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. More than a year. People are still talkin’ about it like it was yesterday. Lucky for Ian, she moved up to Spokane not long after he quit seeing her. Had to make it easier for him, her being gone.” He closed the door, then strode around to the driver’s side, got in and started the engine.
“Was he in love with her?”
“Naw. Don’t think so.” He gave her a quick glance as he put the car in gear. “You buckled up?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get a move on.”
They were silent as the Jeep bumped and bounced its way down the dusty road toward the highway.
Shayla couldn’t help looking out the window toward the big house at Paradise Ranch, wondering if Ian was there or if he’d left for the Grange Hall already.
Ian had been watching the entrance for fifteen minutes. He’d managed to carry on a reasonably intelligent conversation with Ed Clark and the Barnetts without looking too distracted. At least he thought he’d carried it off.
He felt a jolt of relief when Shayla finally walked through the door with Ty, glad to see they’d arrived safely. Ty’s twenty-year-old Jeep wasn’t the most reliable vehicle in the valley.
Or maybe it wasn’t relief he felt when he saw
them together. Maybe it was something more akin to jealousy.
“Look, Roger,” Geneve Barnett said to her husband. “There’s Miss Vincent. Thank goodness someone invited her. It was thoughtless of me not to do so on Sunday. We must go welcome her.”
I should have asked her to come with me,
Ian thought as he followed the Barnetts with his gaze.
Why didn’t I? Why’d I let Ty beat me to it?
He turned toward Ed. “Think I’ll get me something cool to drink,” he said, then walked toward the back of the hall, far away from the front door, Shayla and Ty.
For the next half hour, he succeeded in keeping his mind off the couple by involving himself in a conversation with several friends and neighbors. First they talked about the upcoming school board election. Then the topic turned to the price of beef, and from there it drifted to yesterday’s storm.
The storm.
Lightning and thunder.
Shayla, frightened and teary-eyed, cowering in a chair in the great room.
Shayla, nestled in his arms, feeling as if she belonged there.
He wished he could hold her again.
Shayla was having a wonderful time. Everyone she’d met made her feel welcome and a part of the community. With Ty standing at her side, she answered questions about herself, her hometown, her writing.
“Portland, huh?” This from Walt North, a grizzled cowboy in his early fifties. “I worked there one year. Long time ago. Rains too much. Damp gets in your bones and never goes away.” He shook his head, the action clearly saying,
Can’t imagine why anyone would want to live there.
“Who’s your favorite writer?” Nat Briscoe, next year’s Rainbow High senior class president, asked before Walt could start talking again.
“Oh, I have lots of favorites.” She took a sip of red fruit punch from the tall plastic tumbler in her hand. After a moment, she said, “Mary Higgins Clark was the first writer to make me think I’d like to write a novel. And there are a number of wonderful Christian suspense novelists who inspire me.”
“You ever come visit Lauretta when you were a youngster?” asked Hydrangea Zimmerman, a woman in her early seventies with sun-leathered skin and watery blue eyes.
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, girl, I think I met you back then. Freckle faced, with your nose peeling from a sunburn. Just knee-high to a grasshopper, you were.” She chuckled. “Not much different from what you are now.”
“That was me.”
The wizened old woman, a good two inches shorter than Shayla, leaned forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “Don’t envy them tall folk. They’re always hitting their heads on one thing or another.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Is this your first book you’re working on?” Geneve Barnett inquired.
“Yes. But I’ve wanted to try my hand at it for many years.”
And so the evening went. Only one thing kept it from being perfect—it wasn’t Ian standing at her side.
From the darkened balcony at the north end of the Grange Hall, Ian watched as Shayla mingled, talked, laughed. That lilting laughter that made him smile whenever he heard it. And it wasn’t only a smile it brought him. It also lightened his heart, made his insides feel airy, weightless as a cloud.
So that was the way it was going to be, he thought as he stared down from his lofty sanctuary. He wasn’t going to listen to his own good sense. He wasn’t going to heed the voice of wisdom that told him he would be better off pursuing someone else.
Anybody
else.
No, he was going to obey the urging of his heart instead. Maybe it wouldn’t lead anywhere. Then again, maybe it would. He might as well find out, one way or the other.
“Sorry, Ty,” he whispered, “but I’m not honoring any claims you might’ve made on our little mystery writer. All’s fair from this point on.”
Thirty minutes later, on the drive home to Paradise, Ian hummed softly to himself. But it wasn’t until he pulled into the barnyard, cut the engine and turned off the headlights that he recognized the song
running through his head. The lyrics included something about taking a chance on love.
He remained in the cab as he silently repeated those words:
Taking a chance on love.
He’d loved Joanne with everything in him.
Then he’d let love die.
And then he’d let Joanne die—or so it seemed to him at the time.
Could he love a woman that way again? Could that woman be Shayla? And if he
did
fall for her, would he live to regret it?
He didn’t know, but it was time to find out.
“Thank you, Ty. It was a lovely evening.”
“For me, too. Maybe we can do it again.”
“Maybe.”
She avoided him trying to kiss her on the mouth by placing a hand on his shoulder, then rising on tiptoe to lightly brush his cheek with her lips.
“Good night,” she said as she opened the door and slipped inside. The moment she flicked on the light, Honey Girl whimpered an excited greeting and scratched at the door of her crate.
“Ready to go outside, little one?”
Shayla opened the door to release the puppy. Honey Girl ran circles around her legs.
“Let’s get you outside.” She patted her thigh. “Come on, Honey.”
A full moon floated above the mountains in the east, seemingly perched on their craggy peaks, bathing the valley in a blanket of white. The light un
dulated atop the field grasses, rising and swelling with the whims of the midnight breeze.
In the city, she wouldn’t have dared wander outside alone at this time of night. Here, she felt safe doing so.
Here, everything was different.
“Even I’m different.”
She couldn’t explain it, not even to herself, but she felt more alive, more confident, than she’d felt in a long, long while. Maybe because she was following the path she believed God wanted her to take.
The image of Ian O’Connell drifted into her mind. There was no denying that she was attracted to him. Almost from day one there’d been something that drew her to him. While she knew she and Ty Sheffield—despite how much she enjoyed this evening—would never be more than friends, Ian could pose a serious distraction. That wouldn’t be a good thing.
Shayla stopped and stared at the starry heavens. “Lord, I’m grateful for all You’ve done for me. I’m thankful for this chance to write, to see if I really have what it takes. Help me to be obedient to Your calling. Help me not to get distracted by anything—”
or anyone
“—else.”