Love Inspired March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Wife for Jacob\The Forest Ranger's Rescue\Alaskan Homecoming (24 page)

Maybe it was best if Jill didn't attend Evie's dance program tomorrow evening. Because his heart and mind couldn't take the emotional assault.

Chapter Four

B
rent awoke slowly. The sounds of voices drifted in and out of his mind. He was dreaming. Yet, it seemed so real.

No, it wasn't a dream.

He blinked his eyes. The sounds filtered around him. Voices sifting through the house in hushed tones. Subtle but persistent.

He sprang into a sitting position and stared into the dark. A quick glance at the electronic clock resting on the bedside table told him it was one thirty-eight in the morning. He'd been asleep for less than an hour.

Everything looked normal. Night shadows clung to the large dresser hugging the far wall. The basket of clean laundry sat right where he'd abandoned it earlier, still waiting to be folded and put away. He'd been too tired to deal with it before morning.

For a few moments, the voices faded. He heard nothing. Just the hum of crickets outside his bedroom window and the persistent whoosh of the furnace blowing warm air throughout the house. Maybe the neighbors were getting in late. Maybe they were watching a late-night show and had the TV volume turned up too high. Maybe he'd imagined the noise.

He shifted his weight against the mattress, prepared to lie down and go back to sleep.

There it was again! The unmistakable sounds of people talking. It wasn't the neighbors. It was here in his house. And in a rush, he realized what must be happening.

Evie couldn't sleep. Again.

Tossing aside the blanket, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. Padding barefoot across the thick Berber carpet, he paused in the hallway and cocked his head to one side, listening.

Yes, definitely the TV set in his living room.

Treading down the hall, he peeked around the corner. All the lights were off; an eerie red glow emanated from the TV screen. Evie lay curled on the couch, snuggled beneath her monkey blankie. Lina had made the blanket when Evie was a newborn baby. Evie had later named it after the myriad of little blue monkeys covering the soft flannel. It was one of her most prized possessions. A memory of her mother. The girl never went to bed without it and her stuffed bunny rabbit. Both the bunny and the blanket were now so threadbare that Brent didn't dare wash them anymore. They might fall apart, and he feared he wouldn't be able to console Evie over their loss.

She wasn't asleep. She stared into the dark room, her eyes wide open and trained on the TV. The shopping channel, thank goodness. The variety of late-night shows were for adults, not an innocent little girl who couldn't sleep. TV was a Band-Aid for a much bigger problem he didn't know how to fix.

He leaned against the doorjamb. His movements must have caught Evie's attention. In one movement, her gaze shifted to him, her chin went up, her eyes flared and she cringed.

Terrorized.

“It's okay, sweetheart. It's just me,” he said soothingly.

Recognizing her daddy, she relaxed, her tiny fingers clutching folds of the monkey blankie up against her neck. In spite of the warm air, her slender shoulders shivered noticeably. He walked to her and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. She coiled against his chest, her cheek pressed against his heart. A huge sigh escaped her lips, as though she were relieved he was there.

He kissed her hair, catching the fruity scent of shampoo from her evening bath. “Can't you sleep, honey?”

He felt her shake her head.

“Did you have another nightmare?” He rested his chin against her forehead.

Another shake
no
.

He took a deep inhale and let it go. “Are you afraid to go to sleep?”

A nod
yes
.

“Why, sweetheart? We're here in our own home, safe and sound. No one is going to hurt you here. I won't let them.”

He looked down at her face and caught her mournful expression. So lost. So afraid.

She didn't answer, but he didn't really expect her to. Sometimes he missed her sweet voice. Missed her bright laughter, too. It was so hard having a one-sided conversation with his own daughter. Trying to figure out what was wrong, or what she wanted, or how to help her. He thought about asking where she'd put the dry-erase board. But no. That would require turning on lights and searching the entire house. And right now, he wanted her to calm down and go to sleep.

“Are you afraid you might have a nightmare?” he asked.

A small shudder swept her body and she nodded
yes
. Brent's heart gave a powerful squeeze. How he ached for her anguish.

He blinked his eyes, wondering what to do. When she had a nightmare, she usually woke up screaming. But tonight, she was too afraid to sleep. Fearful of closing her eyes for what might lurk behind her imagination.

“It's okay. I'm here now. You can rest. I promise not to leave you.”

He hoped that one day she'd recover from her fears. That she'd start talking again and they'd live a normal, happy life.

He almost snorted. Happy? He didn't know what that meant anymore. He'd been happy before Lina was killed. He'd had the world in the palm of his hands. A challenging career. A beautiful, loving wife. A sweet little daughter. What more could a man ask for? And in the blink of an eye, it was taken from him. He didn't even get to tell Lina goodbye. Not until he'd seen her in the morgue. And then, he'd wept for hours afterward. Great wrenching sobs. Because he knew all that he'd lost. And he knew Evie would have to grow up without her mommy.

For now, he lay back against the couch, tucking her monkey blankie around her spindly legs. She didn't sleep. Not for a very long time. She snuggled her arms against his chest, her hands clutching folds of his nightshirt as though that would hold him there like a lifeline. He could feel her body tensed against him, constricted with fear.

For several hours, Brent sat there and dozed. Ever conscious of his daughter, he'd awaken with a jerk and glanced down at her face. She blinked up at him, her chin tightening. Without saying so, he knew she feared he might tuck her back into her bed. Alone. With her nightmares.

But he wouldn't. Not when it might traumatize her more. He hadn't been there for her when Lina was killed and he wouldn't abandon her now.

Around five o'clock, he caught the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window curtains. He felt Evie relax against him and heard her soft, even breathing. Her long lashes curved against her smooth cheeks, her mouth slightly open. In that moment, she looked so much like her mother that his throat constricted in a wave of grief. He knew one thing for sure. Until Evie recovered, she needed his full attention.

He thought about Jill Russell and her gentle way of handling his daughter.

He pushed such thoughts aside. It did no good to torture himself. This was reality and he had to deal with it. But he and Evie couldn't continue like this. He'd tried everything he could think of, but nothing had worked. It was time to take action. He prayed silently, asking for help. Asking how to get Evie to accept that she was safe. That no harm would come to her.

Ask Jill Russell for help.

The thought popped into his mind with perfect clarity, but he shook his head. He couldn't call on Jill. No doubt her entire family resented him. Yet what other options did he have left? He'd do anything for his daughter. Even ask Jill, if he thought she'd help. But she wouldn't. He was almost certain of it.

Or would she? He'd never know unless he asked.

* * *

On Thursday night, Jill pulled her car into the parking lot at the civic center. Late again. Dinner with her mom and brother had kept her overlong. Ellen, her old friend from high school, had called to invite her to attend her daughter's dance recital, or she wouldn't have come here at all. Not when it meant running into Brent again.

The glow from the streetlights gleamed overhead as she found a parking place far away from the entrance and killed the engine. She snatched up her purse and threw open the door. Rushing up the front walkway, she stepped into the white brick building and hurried toward the cultural hall.

She must be crazy. What was she doing here? She had no idea. It wasn't so she could see Evie and Brent again. No, she'd come to see Ellen, her best friend from high school. As teenagers, they'd been inseparable. Until Jill left for college and Ellen married her high school sweetheart and remained here in Bartlett to raise her three kids.

Ellen's daughter, Chrissy, was Evie's age. That's why Jill was here. To be supportive of her friends. To watch Chrissy perform. Or at least that's what Jill told herself.

She stepped inside the outer foyer. Over the loudspeaker, someone's voice announced the first number. Great! She hadn't missed anything. Just in time.

As she made her way into the dimly lit hall, she blinked to adjust her vision. She sidled her way down the narrow aisle, looking for a vacant seat. The place was jam-packed with gawking parents. She moved toward the front, thinking she might have to crouch at the foot of the stage to watch Evie dance.

Correction. To see Chrissy dance. But Jill didn't mind being here for Evie, too. After all, it was important not to let the little girl down. Evie had invited Jill and she was happy to give the child some support. The girl had been through a lot. She deserved so much more. But a niggling doubt at the back of Jill's mind asked her why she cared so much.

Spying an empty seat, she ducked her head and went for it, climbing over people to get there before the program began. Grace Harvey, one of her mother's friends, glared with disapproval as she stepped past the woman's feet.

“You're late,” Grace whispered in a low hiss.

Tossing the woman an apologetic smile, Jill kept going.

Cal Winfield, a worker at the sawmill, waved as she hurdled his long legs, trying not to break her own ankle in the process. She gave him a lame smile.

As she sat down, Susan Winfield patted her arm and whispered. “It's good to see you again. You in town for long?”

“Just a few weeks,” Jill claimed, hoping it was true. But after what she'd seen at the sawmill, she feared she'd be here all summer long.

The woman nodded and focused on the stage. Jill looked up and swallowed hard. Brent Knowles had turned in his seat and looked at her. She took in his angular face and the sparkle in his dazzling blue eyes. She remembered when she'd tripped and latched on to him to keep from falling flat on her face. For several long moments, she'd found herself spellbound by him. So handsome that she'd had to swallow hard.

He sat one row ahead and two seats to the left. So close that she could almost reach out and touch him. She'd hoped to avoid him tonight but realized that was impossible now.

She returned his half smile and looked away, feeling suddenly flustered and self-conscious. She didn't understand this attraction between them. Hopefully, Brent would turn around and ignore her. Maybe she shouldn't have come tonight. She'd felt compelled, as though her future happiness depended on it. A weird notion, if ever she'd had one.

Staring at the stage, she folded her arms and took a deep, settling breath. But it didn't help much. She could almost feel Brent's gaze resting on her like a load of bricks. And the worst part about it was that she longed to talk to him. About nothing and everything. To say hello and ask how Evie was doing. To discuss her concerns about the sawmill's financial situation. To ask about the timber theft. And why she had the urge to confide in Brent Knowles, she had no idea. He was a stranger. An outsider. And she shouldn't trust him one bit.

Scratchy music filtered over the air. As if on cue, a line of adorable little girls, ages five to six years, filed past the front row of spectators. Each girl wore a pink tutu, matching leotards and black tap shoes. The fifth child in the row was Chrissy, immediately followed by Evie. Their long blond hair had been pulled up in a bun on top of their heads with a gangly pink flower pinned at the side. Sweet and cute as buttons. All of the tiny girls looked identical, except that Evie didn't smile.

The kids swung their arms as they tromped up the steps and onto the stage. Instead of delicate ballerinas, they sounded like a herd of cattle. A low murmur of delighted laughter filtered over the audience.

The lead dancer scurried across the stage in a fast trot with the other girls following behind. When the first girl stopped abruptly at the end of the stage, the second girl plowed straight into her back. This set off a chain reaction of dominoes with the girls sequentially butting against each other. It took several more moments for the children to regain their balance and adjust their spacing.

The parents in the audience chuckled and clapped with pleasure. Jill stole a quick glance at Brent. His chiseled profile softened with his wide grin. Like any proud father, he appeared to be completely enjoying himself.

Jill forced herself to look away and smiled so hard that it hurt her face. And when the music started and the girls began to tap-dance, she laughed out loud.

The miniature ballerinas tried to snap their fingers in time to the awkward clicking of their feet. Since they were so young and still trying to gain their coordination, most of them could do no more than rub their thumbs and index fingers together. Each child was off-beat, their timing wrong, but that didn't stop them from twirling and swaying their arms. And it didn't matter one bit to the audience. These little girls were so endearing that Jill's heart melted at the cuteness of it all. And right then and there, she couldn't help feeling deep and abiding regret that none of the girls belonged to her. That she might never know the joys of being a wife and mother.

Brent's deep laugh sifted through the air as he clapped his approval. How she wished she could have met and married a man like him. How she envied the love he'd shared with his wife and daughter. Jill would give almost anything to be cherished like that. She'd always wanted children, but David hated kids. He'd claimed they were too messy, cost too much money and took up too much time. Selfish reasons not to have any of his own. A number of times during their marriage, Jill had thought of tricking him into becoming a father, but she didn't want to base their marriage on lies. In retrospect, she was glad they'd never had kids. But that didn't keep her from wanting them. Now she might never get another chance to have a family of her own. And sitting among a plethora of friends and neighbors she'd known her entire life, she felt more alone than ever before.