Kept (47 page)

When Boaz told Ruth to stay in his field and take what she needed, Miska’s tears returned. How silly she’d been to think that God hadn’t been there before. How many people over the centuries had he provided for?

When Boaz told Ruth that he’d heard she’d left her father and mother and the land of her birth and had come to a people she didn’t know, the tears flowed again. Ruth understood. Boaz understood.

God understood.

And then
she
understood why Tracy had told her to read the book. Ruth went to Boaz and asked him to take care of her. To provide for her. To be her husband.

That Tracy.

She read on, realizing at the end that this Boaz, this Ruth, had been part of the line that belonged to King David. This foreigner who had come from a godless, wicked society had left all for the faith of Israel.

And she’d been welcomed.

And loved.

Loved!

Her Bible cross-referenced Matthew, and Miska looked up the verse. Ruth’s role as a many-times grandmother of Jesus wasn’t hidden. Anyone who wanted to see it, could. Ruth, Rahab, Tamar, David, Bathsheba—they’d all been placed out in the open as ancestors of Christ. Anyone who wanted to know—it was there.

If God had chosen them for his own son, might he really have chosen her for someone like Dillan?

The thought was staggering.

The closings were both tomorrow. She had to have her place empty and the keys to Ian before eleven. She packed and cleaned late into the night, this time skipping small group because she had to in order to be out on time.

But she prayed while she cleaned. About Dillan. For Dillan. About what she should do. She’d thoroughly turned him down, and clearly he believed she meant it. He’d never resumed knocking on her door and stayed on the other side of the auditorium.

So if anything was going to change, it was going to be up to her. She had to take action.

Just like Ruth.

On the last day of August, Miska woke before the sun.

She showered and dressed, fixed her hair and put makeup on, even though she expected to go for a run. Smiling, she tossed her pajamas into the laundry bag on her empty closet floor. The only clothes left were the white shorts and gray, cotton T-shirt she’d wear after her run.

Moving day clothes. She couldn’t wait.

She filled her water bottle and left her condo. She’d wasted so much time, hiding out instead of enjoying her last days in Grant Park, but no longer would she look back.

Today was all about the future.

She leaned against the wall opposite Dillan’s door and waited.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Fifteen.

He should have come out already.

The door opened, and Garrett flew out, his pace taking her back to when Dillan had barged into her life, knocking Mark flat.

How right that had been. And she hadn’t even known it.

“Miska.” Garrett sent her a curious smile as he locked his door. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for Dillan. Is he coming?”

He took in her running clothes and makeup. “Is this what I think it is? You have a ring on you?”

“Stop it.” He laughed, and she backhanded his arm. “Keep it down. He’ll hear you.”

“He went running early. Has been all week.”

“He’s out there already?”

Garrett checked his watch. “A good forty minutes. Hurry; you might catch him.”

She raced for the elevator.

Dillan wasn’t by the fountain or in the trees or paths nearby. Praying he hadn’t taken the route back by the Art Institute, she jogged across Lake Shore Drive and down the stairs to the running path.

August wind blew her ponytail off her neck. Water slurped at the concrete’s edge, and she stopped, unwilling to face the northern path where Mark had almost destroyed her. She looked south, toward Adler Planetarium and Shedd Aquarium.

No perfectly tall man stood out in the joggers.

That left only one place. She took a long, slow breath. It was daylight, she reminded herself. Mark was still in jail. She swallowed, turned, and looked north.

Far down the running path, Dillan faced the water, hands in his pockets, watching her.

She stayed there while her lungs filled, then swallowed the terror that crashed through her. Why didn’t he move?

Maybe he’d had enough. She wouldn’t blame him if he had.

But maybe he hadn’t either.

She kept to a walk as she approached him, kept her eyes trained on his, on those guarded brown eyes that watched her near. He held her gaze until she was close, then looked down, one Nike kicking the ground like he’d done so long ago when they’d first talked beside the fountain.

“Hey.” She forced a calm smile. “I’m glad I caught you.”

His eyes returned to hers, his smile tentative, maybe even hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” She dropped her gaze. “Dillan, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal? “You saved my life. More than once. You and Tracy—you two mean everything to me.”

Caution filled his eyes.

How she’d hurt him. “I’ve treated you terribly, Dillan, and I have to tell you how sorry I am.”

His lips twitched. He looked across the lake.

Clearly he didn’t want to hear what she had to say, but she needed to try one final time. “Tracy told me I should read the book of Ruth. You know that one?”

“Sure.”

She laughed. “Rhetorical question.”

A wary smile broke. “I don’t know it all.”

“Me either.” She reached for his hand, took his long, masculine fingers in hers. “What I do know is that I’ve twice told the most amazing man that he deserves better than me—when all I want is to see him every day.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“Dillan.” She swallowed, wrapped both hands around his, and glued her gaze there. “I’m about the worst woman a pastor could date. I don’t know the Bible well, I’ve got a past that I wish would disappear, and I’m so scared that I’ll hurt you or that…”

His fingertips slid along her hairline. “Or that I’ll hurt you.”

She couldn’t look at him. Her voice wobbled. “That’s crazy, I know. I’ve done so much that I have no right to think you might—”

“Miska.” He stepped closer, his warmth enveloping her. “Can I see you tonight?”

She caught her breath. Oh, his eyes. “Tracy and I are moving.”

“I’ll bring movers. And pizza.”

She smiled tremulously. “Lou Malnati’s?”

He chuckled. “If that’s what you want.”

“I just want you, Dillan.”

The words hung between them. She shouldn’t have said them. But there was her deepest desire, laid before him, waiting his response.

He didn’t look away. “Do you have plans for Friday night?”

“No.”

“What about Saturday lunch? And Sunday afternoon? Because I’d like to spend them with you.”

She could hardly breathe. “Please, Dillan.”

A deep, relieved smile broke over his face. He reached for her again, fingertips gliding along her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw.

She closed her eyes and cupped his palm to her face.

“Miska,” he breathed. He pulled her to him, and her head rested against his broad chest, his arms circling her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close while people jogged past them. While his heart thudded beneath her cheek.

She’d done nothing to deserve this love, this grace.

“Dude, you kiss her yet?”

A grinning Garrett stood behind them, phone up as he recorded everything. “Am I too late?” he asked.

She looked up at Dillan who narrowed his eyes, even though his mouth fought a smile. “Yes, you’re too late,” he said. “Go away.”

“Liar. Kiss her already.”

Dillan smiled down at her. “What’s the rush? We’ve got time.”

Perhaps a lifetime?

But he lowered his head anyway, brushed his gentle lips across hers, pressed his mouth to hers again.

Yes, a lifetime of this…

They broke apart, and a deep smile creased his face. “Miska,” he whispered.

He hugged her close, and she tightened her hold. Why God would give her so much when she offered nothing—she’d never understand it.

But she didn’t have to. Dillan’s God—
her
God—loved her, despite her sins.

Despite her ignorance.

Despite her mocking.

If she’d known a year ago that love could be so pure, so chaste, so perfect, she wouldn’t have wanted it. But God had wanted her for himself, had wanted her for Dillan, this incredible man who linked fingers with her and refused to look away.

This God would keep her, would keep Dillan, would keep them both.

And she’d keep trusting him. No matter what came.

Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you what a thrill it is to meet you here at the end! I hope you enjoyed Miska and Dillan’s story as much as I did. They’re very special to me, and if you’d like more time with them, please visit
http://sallybradley.com/sallys-books/extras-for-kept/
which will take you to a page just for
Kept
readers. There you’ll find deleted scenes, the ending written from Dillan’s point of view, and a fun interview with them about where their relationship has gone.

If you still want even more time with the
Kept
characters, please pick up
Taken
, a
Kept
novella, in the Smoke and Mirrors Collection
. Right now the novella is included in a set with seven other novellas and is $.99 through May 20th. (There’s a sneak peak of
Taken
right after this page, so I keep reading!)

You can also pre-order
Homestands,
book one in the Chicago Wind series.
It’s also in a box set with eleven (eleven!!!) other authors and is only $.99 as well. What a deal, right?

If you’d like to be stay updated on my book releases, please subscribe to my
newsletter
. Your info stays only with me. I probably hate spammers just as much as you do. You can also stay in touch through my website,
sallybradley.com
, or my Facebook page,
Sally Bradley, Writer
. I’d love to connect with you there.

Until we meet again, I’m praying that you find plenty of stories that build you up and point you back to God.

Sincerely,

Sally Bradley

Cam Winters has been known as the guy who dates the new women at church—and then ends the relationship quickly. He's never talked about his past, about life before he became a Christian. But Jordan Foster has learned to look past all of that. Cam’s a strong, caring man—a man she can see herself with.

A man who refuses to ask her out for fear of what her brother, one of his closest friends, might say.

So Jordan takes things into her own hands.

When Cam admits to sharing her feelings, the two fall quickly in love—just as that past that Cam won't ever talk about returns for Cam and those he cares for—a group which now includes Jordan.

“Cameron, it’s… me.”

Her hushed words on his voicemail still silenced his breathing, even years after hearing her new greeting for the first time. Ever since they’d reunited, those three words and that scared yet bold pause between them always made him stand motionless, hold his breath, and wonder.

Wonder if she regretted what she’d done.

Of course not,
she’d say.

If her life might ever be normal.

Cameron, this
is
my normal
.

If wrong would someday be made right.

Cam Winters smiled sadly at his phone, the screen fading to black. He tucked it into his pocket and moved forward with his day.

That last question? That one he couldn’t quite stomach.

Because the answer was
no
. It could never be made right.

“Ah. Those two…” Jordan Foster’s voice was wistful, a mix of happiness and melancholy, as her brother’s car drove away.

As they walked away from Chicago’s Buckingham Fountain, Cam turned his gaze from his best friend’s car to study his best friend’s sister. What made her sound so sad?

She met his gaze, her brown eyes matching the hair that framed her pretty face, and smiled at him. “Dillan and Miska are engaged—finally. But now we’ve got to wait for the wedding.”

“Won’t be long, by the sounds of it.” Cam stopped at a crosswalk while traffic zoomed by. Dillan getting married. He’d begun to think the guy would be single forever. Which was probably the same thing people thought about him, older than Dillan and still single at thirty-two.

“I’m glad Dillan asked us to videotape him proposing, you know?” Jordan hugged herself, all wistfulness gone. “Wasn’t that the most romantic thing? Taking her to all the spots by Buckingham Fountain that had connected them? Then him taking her to a new spot to actually propose? Creating a new memory here?”

Yep. It was romantic. Had to give Dillan credit for that. Cam pretended deep interest in the sun-lit skyline in front of him. “Dillan’s gone soft.”

“Gone soft?” Jordan’s mouth fell open, and she whacked his shoulder with the back of her fist.

Cam laughed.

“Being romantic does not mean a guy’s gone soft. It means… he’s a real man.”

“Ah, Jordan. You’re cute.”

“I should have known that’d be news to you.”

“What? That you’re cute?”

She rolled her eyes. “That real men are romantic.”

He snorted, warming up to their banter. “I can be romantic.”

“That’s not what I hear.”

“Yeah? From whom?”

She raised her chin and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

But now he wanted to know. “Come on, Jordan. Who says that?”

She faced him again, flirtatiously tilting up her nose. “Everyone.”