“Didn’t you get enough of old movies this afternoon?” She sent him a teasing smile, surprised and warmed by his unexpected presence. When he and Mark had disappeared after dinner, leaving her security in the hands of Rick and Mac, she’d assumed she wouldn’t see him again until his 6:00 a.m. shift started on Wednesday.
“I have to admit I found it relaxing. They don’t make comedies like that anymore. It did, however, convince me I never want to build a house.”
Her smile broadened. “I might have to agree.
Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House
can’t be a favorite movie of architects or home construction companies.”
“That would be a safe bet. I liked the scene where Cary Grant got locked in the closet.” He chuckled, the sound a pleasing rumble in his chest. “I hoped I’d be in time to catch some of the late show.”
“It’s only nine o’clock. I don’t think this qualifies as the late show.”
“Depends on how tired you are.” He scrutinized her face. “You need to get some sleep.”
“Easier said than done.” No sense pretending her nights had been anything but restless. The shadows under her eyes proved otherwise.
“You’ll get through this, Monica. Things have to break sooner or later.”
The huskiness in his voice tightened her throat, and she had to swallow before she could respond. “I know. I’d just prefer it to be sooner.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t suppose there are any updates? Or that my father has heard from the informer?”
“No. I’d have let you know if there were any developments.”
“I figured you would.” She brushed her hair back with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.
He observed her for a few seconds, then inclined his head toward the TV. “What’s playing now in your movie marathon?”
“I’m afraid it’s a musical. But it’s winding down.” She mustered the semblance of a smile.
As she spoke, Gene Kelly launched into the title song from
Singin’ in the Rain
and began to dance his way through the thunderstorm.
“At least you picked a classic. How about that popcorn?”
“You mean the musical didn’t scare you off?”
“Nope.”
“Brave man. Sure. I’ll have some. I ran out of these an hour ago.” She lifted her empty, crumpled M&M bag.
“I’ll have to put those on the resupply list.” He winked. “Back in a minute.”
The enticing aroma of fresh-popped corn filtered into the hearth room a couple of minutes later, and Coop reappeared soon after carrying one large bowl. He took a seat on the couch beside Monica and set the bowl between them.
“Dig in.” He helped himself to a handful and turned his attention to the TV screen.
Although Monica followed his lead, she had difficulty concentrating as the movie wound down. Coop had changed into worn jeans and a black sweater that enhanced his dark good looks, and despite the bowl separating them she could feel his presence in an almost tangible way. It was reassuring and comforting . . . but also disturbing. His proximity caused her nerve endings to tingle in a strange, though not unpleasant, way, creating a physical awareness in her that defied reason.
It was odd, she reflected. She’d met dozens of eligible men over the past twenty years, at school, in the course of her work, at social events. None had attracted her as Coop did. And he wasn’t even her type. He was too enclosed, too uncommunicative. Still, he’d done a pretty good job of loosening up this afternoon when he’d talked about his past, she admitted. But she suspected that had been an aberration. That he’d been acting against type, for reasons that eluded her.
His appeal must be related to his role as protector, she theorized, trying to apply logic to the situation. She was depending on him to keep her safe. And despite the popularity of women’s lib, despite her own convictions about equal rights and standing on her own two feet, there was a certain romantic allure about the stereotypical archetype of a knight in shining armor. Thrust into a situation of high danger, where her life depended on the ability of Coop—and the other agents—to protect her, it was only logical that she’d be grateful for their help.
But gratitude didn’t explain the zing that shot through her when she dug into the bowl for popcorn and found her hand resting against Coop’s.
She snatched it back as if she’d been burned. “Sorry.” The apology came out in a breathless whoosh.
“I didn’t mind.”
He gave her a slow smile that turned her insides to jelly and did nothing to stabilize her respiration.
“Do you want the last of the popcorn?” He motioned to the few kernels remaining in the bottom of the bowl.
“No thanks.”
Gathering them up, he popped them in his mouth as the closing credits of the movie began to roll. “Do you have a third feature planned?”
“No. I think I’ve had my movie fix for a month, let alone a day.”
“Heading to bed?”
She stared at him, fixated on the word
bed
.
He tilted his head and gave her a curious look. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Everything!
Her heart was thudding in her chest as if she’d run a fifty-yard dash. What in the world was wrong with her? She wasn’t some teenager suffering through her first crush. She was a thirty-four-year-old professional, mature woman
. Get a grip
, she admonished herself.
“Are you sure?” Skepticism narrowed his eyes.
“Yes. Absolutely.” She had to leave. Now. Running away wasn’t the most adult response to her unruly emotions, but she didn’t trust herself to stay in Coop’s presence. Not when she kept wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped in those strong arms.
As Monica picked up the Bible, obviously preparing to exit, Coop tried to interpret her expression. He’d seen that type of look before, and in a typical social situation, he’d classify it as longing. And invitation.
But this situation was neither typical nor social. Monica’s emotions were running high for a lot of reasons, including fear. No surprise, considering her life was in danger and her world had been turned upside down. Perhaps the glimpse of yearning he’d seen was more a silent plea for reassurance than anything else. A reluctance to break the connection between them and retreat alone to her room with only worry for company.
Nor did he want her to retreat. To his surprise, their discussion earlier in the afternoon had been a cathartic experience. He still couldn’t believe he’d opened up about his childhood. But he didn’t regret it. Sharing the trauma with Monica had diminished the loneliness he hadn’t even been aware of until the past few days. Eased it to the point that he’d reneged on his promise to himself to steer clear of her once he was off duty for the day.
Now he sat inches away from her, fighting a powerful urge to lean over and taste those soft lips that were dusted with salt and glistening with popcorn oil.
“I-I guess I’ll call it a night.”
Her shaky words, the slight dilation of her pupils, almost compelled him to step over the line between personal and professional conduct. But calling on every reserve of discipline he could muster, he managed to rein in his impulses.
“Good idea. Maybe that will give you some comfort.” He tapped the Bible clutched in her hands.
Hugging the volume tight against her chest like a shield, she gave a slow, deliberate blink. As if she was shifting gears. “Whenever I feel in over my head or things seem to be spiraling out of control, this centers me.”
“I envy you that consolation.”
“It’s yours for the asking.”
He gave a quick, dismissive shake of his head. “You make faith sound easy.”
“I don’t mean to. It’s not easy at all. There are days I struggle, especially if I don’t understand why certain things are happening. Doubt is part of being human. But my core belief—that no matter what happens, God is with me—never wavers. And it’s a great comfort to know that once you turn your life over to him, you never have to face anything alone again.”
He draped an arm over the back of the sofa and angled toward her. “I don’t think I could turn my life over to anyone. Letting go of control, relying on someone else . . . that requires a lot of trust.”
“You trust Mark, don’t you?”
“Yes. But that’s different. We’ve worked together for three years. He’s earned my trust.”
“So has Jesus.”
Her quiet response took him off guard. “How so?”
“He was an innocent man, wrongly accused, who died to pay the price for our sins. He redeemed us when we didn’t deserve redemption. And he did it out of love. Pure, unselfish love. If that isn’t enough to earn our trust—and our love—I don’t know what is.”
Coop knew the salvation story from the sporadic Bible classes he’d attended as a youth, but Monica’s succinct summary of its significance suddenly struck a chord.
Dying to save innocent people was a concept Coop understood. Much of his work revolved around that very principle. But would he lay his life on the line for someone who didn’t deserve to be saved? No.
Yet that’s what Jesus had done. Motivated, according to Monica, by selfless love. And she believed his sacrifice had earned him allegiance.
On the rare occasions when Coop thought about God, he always pictured him as an oppressive, omnipotent dictator. A stern, faceless, impersonal judge.
By contrast, Monica seemed focused on the personal relationship she had with the Almighty. The God-man who had loved humans enough to die for them despite their imperfections and flaws and mistakes.
That concept put a whole different slant on religion, Coop reflected. A God like that would be worthy of the leap of faith he’d always shunned as irrational. There was a logic to it that appealed to him. And to his concept of loyalty.
“That kind of love is pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
At Monica’s gentle question, Coop drew a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s a little hard to grasp.”
“You said you enjoy reading . . . would you like to borrow this?” She held up the Bible. “It might give you a few insights. And some answers.”
“I wouldn’t want to take away your source of comfort.”
“I’ve read it lots of times. My favorite verses are filed away up here.” She smiled and tapped her head.
If someone had told him a few days ago he’d be interested in reading the Bible, Coop would have laughed. But considering the way his feelings for Monica had thrown him off balance—and given rise to some pretty uncharacteristic behavior—he figured anything that offered the possibility of answers was worth checking out.
“Okay. Thanks.” He took the book from her and tucked it under his arm. “Let me ask you one more question. This concept of turning your life over to God—don’t you find that diminishes your freedom? That it chips away at who you are as a unique individual?”
“No. I’ve had the opposite experience. Giving my life to God has been liberating because I know he loves me. And when you know you’re loved, you trust the other person. That frees you to be exactly who you are. To reach inside and bring out the very best you have to offer without fear or pretense.”
Interesting, Coop thought. Monica viewed love as liberating. He’d always viewed it as confining. Dangerous. Predicated on passing certain “tests.”
But according to Monica, God gave love freely. No strings attached. Even when humans didn’t deserve it, his love was constant.
Constant, unconditional love.
It was an awesome concept.
And not that difficult to grasp, Coop conceded, given that God was divine. It was logical that his love would be perfect.
Human love, however, was a whole different story. It often came with stipulations and contingencies, corrupted by selfishness and agendas. It could be used to manipulate and control. It could diminish.
That’s why he’d vowed never to marry.
Monica Callahan was the first woman who’d managed to shake his resolve.
As she looked at him across the popcorn bowl, her expression placid, he realized that in the few short days he’d known her she’d already had a significant impact on his life. Her empathy and insights had forced him to reexamine some of his long-held beliefs. And to identify some issues he hadn’t even recognized. Like loneliness.
In other words, she’d given him a lot to think about.
Forcing his lips into the semblance of a grin, he rose. “I’d say it’s about time to call it a night. You’re sure you don’t mind if I borrow this?” He lifted the Bible.
“No. I’m heading for bed anyway.” She remained seated.
“Try to sleep. You’re well guarded.”
“I know. I trust you guys.”
There was that word again.
Trust.
He understood earned trust on a professional level. His life sometimes depended on it. But in Monica’s mind, trust was also inexorably linked with love. A far riskier proposition, as far as Coop was concerned. He could deal with putting his life in jeopardy. He was far less comfortable exposing his heart to peril.