Lambert's Peace (20 page)

“Come on, who else?” Ethan cajoled the others. “You can't leave me with a four- and six-year-old.”

Julie laughed. “Please, somebody play with him. He's been dreaming of this all week.”

Bobby sighed and slapped his napkin on the table. “I'll regret this tomorrow, but I'm in.”

Tim, Jarred, and Quentin agreed to play.

Will downed the last of his tea. “I'll get the football and organize the little guys.” He looked at Taylor. “You playing?”

She glanced at the long table loaded with dirty dishes. “No, I'll help in here.”

Grandma held up her hands. “Now, Taylor, I've got a room full of women who couldn't care less about playing flag football. You go ahead. We can handle this.”

Elizabeth and Julie egged her on. “Yeah, Taylor, give those boys a run for their money.”

“Well.” She stood, unable to hide her grin. “I guess I can play.”

Eight-year-old Eva piped up. “I want to play.” Her big, blue-eyed gaze shifted to Claire. “Are you playing?”

Claire cut a glance at Taylor. “Should I?”

Laughing, Taylor slipped her arm around her niece and smoothed her hand over Eva's dark hair. “Absolutely.”

“This game needs a referee,” Buddy said. “Besides, I need to work off some of this turkey so I have room for pie.”

“Everyone who's playing, go on,” Grandma commanded. “We'll clean up and have pie later.”

“Down! Set! Hut, hut, hut!”

Jarred snapped the ball to Will. He dropped back to pass, his sights on his brother.

But the opposition rushed hard, mainly Taylor, and he had to scramble to keep from losing the blue flags tucked into his waist.

“You're mine, Adams,” she shouted, running after him.

On the run, he cut to the right. “Don't tease me, Hanson. Bobby, get open!”

Ethan ran circles around Bobby, waving his arms in his face.

“Bob, come on! Shake him!” Will shouted, laughing. Just as he drew his arm back to pass, he stumbled, with Taylor on his heels and lunging for his flag.

Thud!

“Ouch!”

Will looked behind him as he released the ball.

“Taylor, what happened?” He looked down at the svelte, athletic brunette lying on the ground, her hand over one eye.

“You elbowed me.”

He pinched his lips together to keep from guffawing and knelt on one knee. “Let me see.” He pulled her hand away. A dark, reddish ring circled her eye.

“Oh, baby, I'm so sorry.”

“No, it's not your fault. All's fair in war and football. Is it a shiner?”

He smiled, cupping her chin in his hand. “A beaut.” Gently, he touched the bruised area. “Does that hurt?”

She swallowed. “No.” Her fingers gripped his hand.

“Liar.” Will tipped his head and gently kissed her eye. Then her cheek. Then her lips.

Sunday morning Taylor dressed for church, her mind made up. No more Will Adams kisses. No more romantic interludes. No more football. No more walks down memory lane. The past is in the past and should be left there. They couldn't recapture ten-year-old emotions. It was ridiculous to try. Life moved on, and so should they.

Her face felt hot when she thought of his Thanksgiving Day kiss in the Lamberts' backyard. Everyone saw them.

“A weak moment,” she muttered, brushing mascara on her lashes. “I let the man who gave me a black eye kiss me.”

In spite of herself, she laughed. “It
was
funny.” She leaned in to get a closer look at her eye. The swelling had gone down and now, with makeup, she could barely see the dark circle.

“Taylor, I'm going on ahead. I have to set up for Sunday school refreshments,” Mom called up the stairs.

Taylor stuck her head out the door. “Okay.”

Mom said to Dad, “We'll be home right after church, Grant.”

Grant answered, “The weatherman said it's going to snow, so don't dally after services.”

Taylor smiled. She would miss these exchanges when she moved to California. “Come on, Alex Cranston, call with the offer.”

Peace and warmth filled the church sanctuary. Taylor took an aisle seat as the pastor opened the service with a prayer.

“Scoot over.”

She looked up at Will's handsome face. With a grimace, she made room.

“How are you?” he whispered, turning her face to his with a touch on her chin. “Your eye looks good.”

“I'm fine.” She pulled away from him. His two-second presence melted all her resolve to move on without him.

One whisper, one touch, and she found herself remembering his kiss and longing for another.

She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head.
Lord, take this away
.

Up front, Jeremiah strummed his guitar, opening the worship service by exalting the name of Jesus. Will's smooth baritone washed over her.

Oh, Will!
There were too many wonderful things about him. Why couldn't he have said yes ten years ago?

Taylor tried to focus, tried to worship the One who loved her and deserved all her adoration. But Will's presence almost overwhelmed her.

She had to get out of there. Picking up her purse, she pressed her hand on Will's arm. “Excuse me.”

Surprised, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“California.”

By late afternoon, snow had covered the town in a blanket of white.

Will lit the gas logs in his fireplace and settled in his recliner to read, but he couldn't focus. He read a whole chapter without comprehending one word.

With a sigh, he closed the book, walked over to the window, and watched the snow gently falling.

Harry nudged Will's leg. “This is your kind of weather, isn't it?”

The dog barked once, loudly.

Will laughed. “Guess we could go out for a walk.”

Harry yipped at the word “walk” and wagged his tail. Once outside, the huge sheepdog romped in the snow like a puppy. Snow fell steadily, and with every step, Will plowed a new path.

After an hour, he beckoned Harry with a whistle. “Come on, boy, let's go home.”

As he turned toward home, the path he'd plowed to this point was already covered in snow.

A reflection of my life with Taylor
, he mused. Just when he thought he'd made headway with her, he found he'd left no imprint on her heart at all.

“Lord, am I like that with You? So calloused at times that Your touch on my life is buried and hidden?”

Will stood in the moment, praying, yearning to yield more of his heart to the Lord's touch. Taylor or no Taylor, he was nothing without the love of Jesus.

In the quiet, with Harry panting softly next to him, the familiar peace of Jesus fell on him. He understood the Lord commanded his life—even his relationship with Taylor.

“You can have all of me. Even my love for Taylor.” The words stung for a moment, but Will determined to make Jesus Lord over every area of his life.

From the twilight horizon, Will heard the music of sleigh bells. He turned to greet Jamis Willaby.

“Nice day for a sleigh ride, don't you think?” Jamis called out. “Whoa, boy.”

Will slipped off his gloves and touched the horse's velvety nose. “Is this Polo?”

“Yep,” Jamis said with a nod, his breath billowing about his head. “Son of Marco.”

The horse tossed his head with a snort as if he understood, the bells ringing.

Will laughed. “Beautiful sleigh.” He walked back toward Jamis. “The craftsmanship is excellent.”

“My granddaddy made it. Don't get to use it much, but I couldn't resist today. The salt trucks will be out soon and by tomorrow the sleigh won't be able to go the roads.”

“You're right. Nothing like a romantic—” Will stopped abruptly. “Say, Jamis, how much to rent the sleigh?”

The older man laughed. “Nothing. You need to borrow it?”

“Just for tonight.”

Jamis moved over and motioned for Will to hop in. “I'll give you the two-second lesson.”

Taylor stood back, her hands on her hips. “A little more to the right, Tim.”

He pushed on the tree.

“No, now that's too much,” Mom said. “Back to the left.”

Tim peered at them through the blue spruce tree's branches. “Would you two make up your minds?”

Taylor spread her arms. “We are. You're moving it too much. Just a half inch to
your
left.”

The spruce moved slightly.

“Perfect,” the ladies said in unison.

“Okay, Taylor, hold it in place while I tighten the bolts,” Tim said.

Taylor hurried over. “This is fun. I haven't decorated a Christmas tree in ages.”

“Really, Taylor, you should slow down and enjoy life a little,” Mom said.

“One day, Mom, one day.”

“Hot chocolate.” Dana carried a tray from the kitchen. “Jarred, Quentin, Claire, hot chocolate.”

The boys shut down the video game, but Claire remained at the kitchen counter, cell phone pressed to her ear.

“How about some Christmas music?” Taylor suggested.

“Got it, Aunt Taylor.” Quentin moved to the stereo.

Taylor picked up two mugs and handed one to her father as she sat next to him on the family room sofa.

“You think Boswell Global is going to make you an offer?” Tim asked, perched on the edge of the love seat with a steaming mug in his hand. “Claire, hang up and join the family.”

“She's in love,” Dana said, sitting down next to her husband.

“With whom?” Taylor asked, her eyes wide.

“Zach Maybrey. Nice boy—very cute.”

“Is that the boy she asked me about several weeks ago?”

“Probably,” Dana said.

Tim called to his daughter again. “Claire, come on, off the phone.”

“Shh, Tim, she's eighteen.”

Tim sat back. “Don't remind me.”

Dad laughed. “Never had to worry much about Taylor and boys. Only one she ever hung around with was Will, and I'd trust him any day.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah, did you hear about the Thanksgiving Day kiss?”