A Time to Surrender (27 page)

“Yeah, but you love it now that we’re, well, you know.”

Three hours ago she would have given him a flirty glance and offered a smart remark. Not now. Probably not ever.

Just when they were getting started.

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “Seriously, get out of here. I promise I won’t eat more than one brownie when they’re done. And I won’t let Erik have more than three.”

“I can’t—”

“Give it up, Sky.” He dried his hands with a paper towel. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

The waterfall sound of his tone had become the salve she longed for. It covered her wounds, diminishing the pain so that now she was able to feel the exhaustion and to hear the voice of reason. Did it really matter that she alone took care of the kitchen? Did it even matter that the brownies burned or were underbaked or if he and Erik ate the whole pan?

Did it matter that she knew the bomber?

Danny pulled her to her feet and steered her out the door. She didn’t resist.

They walked through the courtyard in a comfortable silence, passed the last guest room, and rounded the corner. She remembered the first time Indio had walked this route with her.

And she wanted to cry.

At her door, Danny gestured with a flourish. “Ta-da. The ‘oh, by the way’ room, m’lady.” He leaned over and planted a sweet kiss on her cheek as if it were the most natural thing in the world between them. “Sleep well.”

“’Night.” She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“You lock your door, right?”

“No.”

“Will you tonight?” He stood only inches from her, but his face was hidden in shadow.

“Why?”

“I forget,” he murmured.

She sensed the shift in the tenor of his voice. “Danny, you really don’t know the first thing about me.”

“You keep saying that like I give a rip. We are the sum of our past, mistakes and all. The sum that I’ve experienced in you is one that I care for deeply.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either, but I will. It’s part of life, but you know what they say. It sure beats the alternative.”

In the darkness she felt more than saw his gaze on her. She knew she should step away from him.

But his words offered her such hope, his presence such security, his low rumble of a voice the promise of a physical expression of it all and more.

He touched her cheek gently, cupped her face in his hands, and then he kissed her. He kissed her again. And again.

That solace she craved was freely poured into her. She swam in it, soon lost to all pain and fear.

When at last they parted, she thought she must be dreaming. She’d never felt so incredibly cherished.

He laughed softly. “Whew.” And then he walked away.

Skylar carried the gift he’d given her through the door and into her little ‘oh, by the way’ room.

How was she ever going to leave?

Forty-seven

M
s. Mason.”

Jenna looked up, surprised to see two students standing at her desk. Aliah and Kaiya, best friends who cruised through English, totally complacent with pulling down average grades, yet capable of reaching the stars.

Jenna twiddled a pen in her hand. After the previous night’s crash course on group grieving, she had made it through her first Friday class drained of patience and energy. Hitting a neutral tone was out of the question.

She said sternly, “I thought the bell rang and my prep period started.”

The girls exchanged an uh-oh glance. Their flat-ironed hair resembled stiff brooms, one magenta, one peacock blue. That was this week’s color.

Kaiya, of the blue shade, turned a determined expression to her. “We wanted to try out a couple of metaphors.”

“Or similes,” Aliah added. “We get them confused.”

“’Kay,” Jenna replied. That idiom was foreign to her, but it was how Amber talked. Modeling her friend’s lingo and attitude seemed the easiest way to make herself more approachable to the kids. “Bullhead Mason” ranked right up there with “Princess” as the identity she most wanted to lose.

She smiled at the girls. The fact that they actually stayed after class to talk with her proved that change was in the air. “Go ahead.”

Aliah cleared her throat. “You look like something the cat swatted, mauled, and dragged in. Is that metaphor or simile?”

“Uh.” She blinked. “What do you think?”

“Simile because of the word
like
.”

Jenna nodded. “Good.”

Kaiya said, “How about this one: if you were a towel, it’d be past time to put you in the rag drawer. Metaphor?”

“I think you know. What’s going on, ladies?”

Again the exchanged glance. The eyes they turned back to her, though, glistened.

Kaiya said, “You don’t look like yourself. Is your husband okay?”

Jenna bit her lip. She’d gotten to bed about two that morning after returning home from Miranda’s. The short hours between two and six hadn’t exactly been a beauty rest. She’d thrown on slacks and cotton shirt, no jewelry except for a pair of earrings, her hair in a need-a-shampoo-yesterday ponytail.

The girls were right. Their worry touched her. That made three of them on the verge of bawling.

She chose the teasing route. “He’s fine, but I’m miffed now. You’re really more concerned about him than me, aren’t you? Probably because he’s cuter than I am.”

They giggled. Aliah said, “Mrs. Mason, he is sooo hot.”

Kaiya sighed dramatically. “What’s it like being married to him?”

“Honestly, right now our marriage is a royal pain in the neck.”
Whoa
.
That might have been too much information
.

“Cliché, right?” Aliah grinned.

Jenna rolled her eyes.

Kaiya’s smile changed quickly to a grimace. “We are really sorry that he’s overseas.”

Not sure what might come out of her mouth next, Jenna stuck to nodding.

Aliah said, “And class was a major bore today. You might as well go home and let the sub take over again.”

Kaiya gasped and pulled on her friend’s arm. “I can’t believe you said that. Gee whiz. Mrs. M, can we have a late pass? Please?”

Mrs. M.
Jenna liked that. She would have given the girls passes to a rock concert.

After they left, she remained at her desk, too exhausted for physical exertion. The girls were right about the way she looked and the boring class. What counted at the moment, though, was that Jenna was there, plugging forward, not giving in.

Two things had haunted her through the night: the image of a hopeless Evie and the unsettling phone conversation with Kevin. They still shadowed her when she finally got up after the sleepless hours.

As she had stood unseeing in front of her closet, she recalled a conversation with Rosie. Jenna had asked the policewoman about the horrible time the previous spring when she had shot Erik. Although Rosie acted in self-defense and Erik survived, the mere thought of the incident still sent shivers through Jenna. She could not understand how afterwards Rosie was able to go back to the streets, back to her regular job.

Rosie replied that long before it happened, she had learned to compartmentalize thoughts and feelings. She would simply lock the intrusive ones inside a mental closet, freeing her mind to focus in the here and now.

The trick was working fairly well. One class down, four to go, the boring aspect didn’t count. What was it Kevin used to say to get himself pumped?
Ooh-rah.
That was it. Well, ooh-rah for Jenna.

At the sound of a rap on her open door, she looked up to see Cade.

“Hey.” He strode across the room. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.”

He pulled a student chair to her desk and straddled it backwards. “I’m tracking down rumors. Quote, ‘Mrs. Mason is boring today and she doesn’t look right,’ unquote.”

“Yeah, that’s all true. So what?”

“Jenna, this is when you go home.”

“Huh-uh. I am not giving in. This idiotic war will not get the better of me. I have a job to do here.”
Ooh-rah.

Cade gave her two thumbs-up. “Way to hang in there.” He crossed his arms on the back of the chair. “Still. It’s only second hour.”

She nodded slowly. After the hearty outburst, her sails were flagging.

“What happened?” he asked.

The protest didn’t make it to her vocal cords. He knew. Somehow he knew.

She said, “One of the wives had a major meltdown last night. Evie. Sweet. A mom. Twenty years old. I was up in Oceanside with her and some others until almost two this morning.” Jenna shook her head. “Her eyes were—the light was out. Nobody was at home.”

Cade shut his eyes. A long moment passed before he looked at her with gray eyes turned dark. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s like a torture. This not knowing day in and day out if he’s dead or alive.” Her voice was tight. She heard fear and anger in it. The mental closet had been shoved wide open. What would Rosie do with that?

He stood abruptly, reached over her desk, and pulled the stack of papers from under her arm. “Get your stuff. You’re out of here. If the sub can’t make it by the start of next hour, I’ll cover for you. Where’s your lesson plan?”

“I am not leaving!”

“I’m not asking if you are. I’m telling you that you are.” The steel in his voice nearly scared her.

She gathered the papers from him, straightened a few things on the desktop, got her bag from a drawer. Her hands were shaking.

“Lesson plan?” he said.

It took her a moment to uncover it. “Here.”

“Can you drive home?”

“Yes.” She stood and rummaged in the bag for her car key.

“Jenna.”

She looked at him.

“You’re still recovering. Go home and stay there. The world will go on without you for a few days.”

The sensibleness of his words struck her. She was thinking of what she needed to do if she wasn’t staying at school: go to the doctor, go to Evie’s, call the sub herself, go help her mom, call Amber, grade papers, stop at the dry cleaners, check e-mail again for a note from Kevin. A wave of relief loosened all that anxiety.

She said, “I’ll go home.”

“You can bet your next paycheck you’ll go home.”

One anxiety remained, though, a yearning so strong it physically hurt.

She wanted Cade to hold her.

The fact that such a possibility was totally out of the question only amplified the feelings.

They walked across her classroom, not even their arms close to touching.

He said, “I’d escort you to your car, but I have a sub to call ASAP.”

“I don’t need to be escorted.”

At the door he stopped. “It’s more about what I need.” There was a fleeting hint of a smile on his lips, a softening in his icy gaze. “I’ll check in on you later.”

She savored his words and the expression on his face. It was the closest thing to a hug he could give. It would have to do.

For now.

Forty-eight

A
h, normalcy returns.” Claire sipped her first cup of coffee, seated at the island counter.

Skylar eyed her over her own mug. The movie-star image had returned, smile and sparkly eyes intact, outfit unwrinkled. She said, “Normalcy, except that Danny’s still here and Max and Ben aren’t and we don’t have enough brownies for lunch.”

“True. But you look better today, honey.”

She waited a beat for the yank on her heart to subside. “Thanks. So do you.”

“It’s been difficult with Max and Ben gone this week. Not even talking to him since they got there has been harder than I imagined. And you and I did a lot of extra work. You’re even helping Lexi with the horses.”

“No problem.”

“I talked to Jenna. I don’t think she’s going to make it up this weekend. She wants to spend time with that group of Marine wives in hopes of moving beyond the ‘misery loves company’ phase.”

“I can bake cookies,” Skylar said.

“No. Danny ate the brownies, Danny can run into Santa Reina and buy all those special ingredients, and Danny can mix them up.”

“Then he can get out of our way and I will bake them.”

Claire smiled.

Skylar felt like crawling under the table. “Claire, I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from her without thought. “For not being up front with you.” She caught herself in time before saying enough to get her booted down the road.

Booted down the road?

More like locked in a room until the sheriff got there.

“Skylar.” Claire’s face softened to an expression of pure compassion. “Indio and I both realized that you were in trouble the moment you showed up. Generally speaking, people do not appear on our doorstep in the middle of the boondocks without a car, no cell phone in their pocket, carrying all their earthly goods on their back. Yes, we believe that God brought you to us, but not just because we were desperate for a cook.”

“Why . . . why else?”

“Because you needed us, too, for food and shelter, for a safe harbor.”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“None of us deserves such good things. We totally ignore our Creator. That’s why He sent Jesus, to be our intermediary. The more we accept how we are continually being reconciled to God—in our past, in our everyday ways of ignoring Him—the more real His love and acceptance becomes. And the more we live in the reality of being His precious child.”

Precious child? Precious? Child?
The words spun in Skylar’s head, sounds from some dead language she’d never learned.

Claire got off her stool and stepped over to Skylar. She wrapped her in a big hug. “It can be a difficult concept to grasp. Just know that Indio and I love you. We love you unconditionally, as if you were our own precious child.”

Skylar’s defenses all but vanished. Danny’s expression of care, Claire and Indio’s tenderness, the security of the Hideaway, the beauty of the land, the comfort of her own room . . .

The threat that emanated from Rosie’s report dissipated, a river of doubt and fear spreading across a floodplain.

Forty-nine

D
anny folded his arms across his chest. “This is a bad idea.”

Jenna stomped her foot. She was in definite princess mode. “Come on, Danny. All I want is a guy’s take on how the toilets flush and the garage door swings.”