Sweet Blessings (Love Inspired) (5 page)

“Is that Mr. Winkler's order you've got nearly ready?”

“Yep, just need to add the bacon—” Amy used the spatula to lift the eight blackened strips of bacon, cooked just the way kindly Mr. Winkler liked it, and added it to his order of buttermilk pancakes and two poached eggs and handed up the plate. “I think I've
almost caught up. Who knew it'd be such a busy morning?”

“It's the power outage. It sounds like nearly half the county was out of electricity last night, and a lot are still out this morning.” Jodi bustled away with the order.

The noise in the dining room seemed to crescendo, or maybe it was because she was trying so hard to listen for the doorbell. She'd hardly been able to sleep last night, for she was troubled not only by the weather and the stress of normal life, but also because she couldn't get the loner out of her mind.

As she added plenty of cheese, smoked sausage, onion and jalapeños to Mr. Brisbane's omelette—how anyone's stomach could handle that at 6:23 a.m., she didn't know—she thought of the loner again. Last night rewound like a movie, to the place where he'd stepped out of the storm, looking more intimidating than the lightning forking down to take out a transformer half a block away.

By standing tall, he'd stopped whatever those awful men had planned. She knew in her heart he was leaving, maybe he'd already left, but she had prayed he might stop in for breakfast before moving on. She'd been watching for him between scrambling eggs and frying bacon and browning potatoes and whipping up her family's secret pancake recipe.

Had she seen him? No, of course not. She'd been busy, that was one problem, but there was only so much of the dining room she could see from behind
the grill. Maybe he wasn't coming. He certainly didn't seem eager to see her last night. And she'd had the sinking feeling when he'd seemed to disappear in the storm that she'd never see him again. He'd more than likely followed the road out of town and she had responsibilities. People who counted on her. She ought to pay attention to her work—the omelet oozing melting cheese and the sausages nearly too brown.

She whisked the meat and eggs onto a clean dish, handed it up with her left hand as she turned bacon with the other. Wherever her loner was, she prayed the good he'd done for them was returned to him tenfold.

With the edge of the spatula, she scraped the grill—she liked a tidy kitchen—and studied the last meal ticket on the wheel. It looked like Mr. Whitley had shown up, the sixth member of the retired ranchers who met every morning at the same table. She cracked three eggs neatly—Mr. Redmond's Sunrise Special was the last of the first wave of the usual Saturday-morning rush. Maybe she'd be able to take a few minutes away from the grill, grab some coffee and—

Jodi shouldered through the doors, loaded down with empties, which she unloaded with sharp clatters at the sink. “Well, I tell you, that just about breaks my heart.”

“I'm betting you don't mean the pile of dishes to clean?”

“Nope. I waited on a man this morning. Striking, young guy, somewhere around our age, maybe a bit
older. You know how on some folks it's hard to tell?” She washed and yanked a paper towel from the dispenser to dry her hands.

Amy's pulse thickened. It was as if her blood had turned into sand, and her heart was straining to pump it through her veins. The background sounds of the cooking food and customers in the dining room faded to silence. Why was she reacting this strongly to the mere mention of the man?

Unaware, Jodi continued on. “Well, I tell ya, I've never seen a sadder-looking man. People got all kinds of heartaches, we both know that, but it just sort of clung to him like an aftershave or something. Just so much despair.”

Amy knew. She'd seen it, too.

She tossed the used paper towel. “He looked like he was down to his last dollar, but he left me a five-dollar tip.”

“You mean he was here and left?”
And I didn't see him?
The spatula clattered forgotten to the counter as she went up on tiptoe to peer at the long line of booths in front of the sunny window.

Of course he wasn't there, and she rocked back on her heels. “Finish this up, will you? I'll be right back.”

“Well, sure, but what—?”

Amy pushed through the doors and left without answering. She hurried down the center aisle where old timers argued over politics and the weather, where early risers read the day's paper over coffee.
A typical morning, with the scents and sounds and people she knew so well, and she couldn't explain why she felt so desperate. It was as if she'd failed to do something important, and that didn't make any sense at all.

The cap. She remembered, skidded to a stop in the doorway, let the glass door swing shut as she reversed and dropped behind the counter. The cap was still there on the top of the plastic bin and she grabbed it without thinking, pounding out the door, and making the bell jangle like a tambourine. Her shoes hit the pavement and the fresh breeze punched her face.

She ran half a block, past the diner and the drug store closed up tight. He was nowhere in sight. What was she doing running off like this? She'd left eggs on the grill. The sunshine slanted into her eyes, too bright to see up the sidewalk where it stretched the rest of the length of town. There was only one more block before buildings gave way to green pasture. He wasn't here. The hat probably wasn't his. So why was she standing here wanting something, and she didn't even know what it was.

What she should do was go back inside, rescue the Sunrise Special from the grill, concentrate on her job and not give the loner another thought. She didn't like men—she didn't trust them. She got along just fine in the world when they were customers or friends of the family or family. She had a policy
against interacting with the male gender for any other reason. So, had she lost her senses, or what?

No, she was shivering in the brisk wind because of her conscience. Her faith taught the golden rule—to do unto others, and she had to thank him, if she could. Even if it was only to return his hat,
if
it was his hat.

A strange sensation skidded against her jaw and cheek, or maybe it was the trees whispering in the breeze. Either way, she turned toward the sensation and there was a man's dark form, a man dressed all in black, a shadow moving in the sun-bright alley.

It
was
him.

“Hey, wait up!” She started toward him, but the wind snatched her words and she feared he hadn't heard her. He kept on walking with his purposeful, leggy stride. She saw an older-model blue pickup, dusty and well used, parked at the motel's alley-side lot.

There. She had her answer. She firmly believed that the angels above wouldn't have brought him to her diner twice if there hadn't been a reason.

Determined, she jogged after him, with the cap clutched tight in her hand. “Hey! Mister!”

He had to have heard her this time. His brisk gait stiffened. His shoulders tensed to steel. His long athletic legs pumped noticeably faster as he bridged the last few yards to the driver's door of his truck, unlocked the door and yanked it open. He was behaving as if he didn't want to talk with her. As if he wanted to avoid her.

She wasn't about to let a little thing like that get in her way. “Is this your cap?”

He turned, meeting her gaze through the window of the open cab door. His was a chilling look as he studied her from head to toe.

She was intensely aware of her scuffed sneakers and the knot in the right shoelace keeping it together as she jogged closer. As if resigned, he left the door open and backed away from the truck. A dark look masked his face. She held out the cap so he could read it.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, it's mine.”

“Good. Then I don't look quite so silly running after you at six-forty-—” she glanced at her wristwatch “—seven in the morning.”

“You don't look silly at all. Not at all. Just the opposite.”

“Good. I try not to make a fool of myself before noon, at least.” She held out the cap.

The sight of him in full light startled her. He'd looked solemn and mighty in the night. By day he seemed taller than she'd figured. Tall and lean—not skinny, but not bulky either.

As he approached, she swore she saw a softening of his hard mouth, as if he almost remembered how to smile. She bet he had a nice smile but that softness vanished, leaving only the stark mask of his face.

Somehow she had to get up her courage to talk to him. “I didn't get a chance to thank you last night. You disappeared into the rain before I could.”

He took the hat she offered, looking at it, then at the ground. At anything but her. “Just doing what anyone would do.”

“No, that's not true.” Standing here went against every life lesson she'd learned, but somehow it felt as if she were doing more than returning the cap, more than thanking him. It felt personal. He couldn't know how hard it was to slip from behind the hard shell she held up to men, and he'd already been gruff to her.

But she kept going. It was the right thing to do.

“A lot of people hate to get involved. My sister had our day's earnings on her, and if there had been trouble, well, we could have lost more than that. It's heartening to know there are men like you in this world. I just wanted to thank—”

“C'mon, lady, you can't be real.” He hardened before her eyes, his mouth twisting, his dark eyes flashing black. He grabbed the cap by the bill and lopped it onto his head. Gave it a yank to secure it in place. “I don't want your thanks. I don't need your thanks. Whatever it is you're thinking you can get from me, forget it.”

Amy's jaw dropped. His fierceness shocked her. She reeled as if he'd slapped her, and she couldn't think, couldn't move. She could only stare after him as he about-faced and climbed into his truck.

Without a look back, he gunned the engine and drove off with a roar, leaving her in his dust.

W
hat a perfectly horrible man! She was still fuming many hours later as she trudged across the school's back field that had been divided into over a dozen peewee soccer zones. Kids were everywhere, with their parents and siblings streaming from the jammed parking lot. She'd left her reliable sedan parked beside the city street because she knew there was no way she'd find a spot close coming so late.

Half of the games were in progress. Kids played in groups of six, their primary-colored shirts and shorts bright in the noon sun. Whistles shrieked over the sounds of coaches' orders rising above the children's voices.

A dog barked as he ran from one field to the other, happily evading the grade schooler who ran after him. “Rufus! Rufus, get back here!”

It was little Allie McKaslin. Her cousin Karen's
kid was the same age as her Westin. She wore the red-and-white uniform of the team the diner sponsored. With her fine blond hair flying, she managed to snatch the leash, halting the big golden retriever. Apparently, the match hadn't started yet.

“Hey, Allie!” Amy called to the little girl, circling around a game in progress, hurrying past the orange cones serving as goal posts. “Where's the rest of your team?”

“Oh, hi, Amy!” The blond little sweetheart laughed as the dog gave her a lick across her face. “It's way, way over there.”

“Want to come over with me?”

“Yeah!”

Girl and dog fell in beside her, the dog swinging at the end of the leash trying to sniff everything and Allie hopping along as if she were playing hopscotch.

All that energy. Amy sure could use some of that right now. The ice chest was unbelievably heavy—hadn't she vowed last week not to bring so much stuff? She glanced at the spectators lined up a few feet beyond the foul lines. She saw familiar faces, but it took her a while to spot her family.

Once she did, it was hard to believe anyone could miss the crowd of McKaslins. Her sisters and cousins were settled into folding canvas chairs, talking, laughing and shouting encouragement at the soccer players as they warmed up. Vaguely she was aware
of Allie handing the dog's leash to someone else and a chorus of greetings, but her gaze shot straight to her son.

Her little Westin looked handsome in his red shirt and matching shorts and sleek dark suntan. He'd been watching for her, as always, and gave her a quick wave. She sent one back his way, waggling her fingers and losing her grip on the corner of the cooler.

“Whew, I got that just in time.” Rachel came to the rescue, rising smoothly from the nearby chair, and they lowered the chest in unison. “It weighs a ton. What did you put in there? Anything good?”

“Open it and see.”

She heard the short blast of the coach's whistle, one of the high-school girls on the local team, and looked up just in time to see Westin charge the ball. He stumbled but managed to recover. He drew back his foot and sent the ball limping through the orange cones.

Amy whistled. Rachel shouted. The extended family clapped and hooted. Amy's heart melted as her little boy held up his fists in victory.

Linna, the coach, stopped it with the ball of her foot. “All right, Westin! Good job.”

Amy warmed inside as Westin beamed. They'd worked so hard this past week on that kick. She was so proud of him. He looked more confident as he shot her a winning smile before joining the other children in line, waiting their turns with the ball.

“Wow, he's gotten that kick down good.” Rachel
snapped open the cooler. “What do you have in here—ooh, my very favorite. You shouldn't have.”

“I couldn't resist.” It was pleasure to watch the happiness light her sister's face as she dried off the strawberry soda can on her sweatshirt and popped the top. She owed Rachel more than she could ever repay, and whatever she could do to make her sister smile made her happy, too.

Cousin Karen came over, her six-month-old daughter on her hip. She held out a plastic container. “Thought I'd make a trade for one of those sodas.”

“Not your grandma's famous cookies?”

“Two whole dozen. I was making a batch for us last night and I couldn't resist doubling it. Did you want me to take Westin after the game, or is Rachel going to?”

“Rachel said something about spoiling him this afternoon. I know, it's hard to believe.” They both glanced at Rachel, who was sipping her soda, seated in her chair, baseball cap shading her face as she rooted for every kid who kicked the ball.

“Thanks, though. How's little Autumn doing?” She couldn't resist stroking the baby's rose-petal-soft cheek.

The baby girl gurgled and gave a wide grin.

Amy's heart split wide open. “Oh, she's a sweetie.”

“She is, most of the time.” With a wink, Karen nuzzled her beloved daughter. “Do you want to hold her?”

“You know I do.” Amy handed the cookie con
tainer to Rachel, who let out a squeal of delight, and took the little girl in her arms. She stopped to watch as Allie, Karen's oldest daughter, boldly gave a mighty kick at the soccer ball…and missed.

She looked so cute that it was hard not to laugh, and the spectators did their best to hide their chuckles and sound encouraging instead. Allie got a second chance—this was the warm-up, after all—and managed to bump her toe against the ball and it hopped forward a few inches.

Amy, along with Karen and the rest of the crowd cheered as if Allie'd made the winning goal.

She felt a tug on her hair—Baby Autumn had a handful wrapped and gave a joyful gurgle. “You want all the attention, do you, darling?”

“Oh, don't hog the baby!” Rachel set her soda can in the holder in the chair's arm, brushed chocolate cookie crumbs off the front of her sweatshirt and held out her hands. “It's my turn.”

Gently Amy disentangled her hair from Autumn's dimpled fist and handed over the baby. Rachel immediately started cooing.

Whistles blasted—the game was about to start. Westin's cheeks were pink with delight as he crouched into the huddle.

“Hey, where's Paige?” Another cousin—Michelle—knelt down between the chairs. “Oh, wait, I know, she's chaperoning the youth group. Isn't she supposed to be back today?”

“Not today! Don't scare us like that!” Rachel teased. “She's going to interrogate me about the books I kept while she was gone, and I'm not very good with the books. I have until tomorrow, the day of doom, when she gets ahold of the ledger.”

“I brought those terrible nacho chips, they were on sale in the Shop Mart, and I got three bags for the greater good of everyone else. So please, eat them before I do.” She dropped a bright red bag on Amy's lap.

“Okay, but who's going to rescue
me
from these chips?”

“I will.” Rachel was all too quick to snatch the bag and yank it open, making them all laugh.

Michelle gave Amy's hair a quick inspection. “Don't you go putting off your hair appointment again. Your highlights are growing out. Don't argue, just come anyway. Well, I'd better get back to my little ones.”

After Michelle hurried back to her toddlers and baby, Amy and Rachel crunched chips, sipped on cool sodas and watched as the game started. The teenage girls were trying to direct the little kids, who were doing their best, but ran the wrong way, missed the ball, kicked to the wrong team and forgot what to do when the ball came to them.

“This is so funny,” Rachel said as she grabbed her camera and began taking snapshots in quick succession.

Her sister's laughter warmed her through, and
Westin's squeal of happiness as he kicked another goal uplifted her even more. The crowd cheered, and Amy soaked it up.

This
was why she was so grateful every day. She had the warm Montana sun on her face and the loving acceptance of her family and friends surrounding her. Not to mention her little boy grinning from ear to ear as he ran a victory lap, forgetting to go back to the game, which went on without him.

“Oh, I've got that recorded.” Cousin Kendra came over with her handheld DVD video recorder. “I'll make a copy for you. He's too cute.”

A shadow moved at the corner of Amy's eye, drawing her attention to the far edge of the school yard, beyond the tall chain-link fencing to the road out of town.

She recognized the man inside the blue pickup, which was creeping along in obedience to the school zone speed limit. She was surprised he'd stayed in town this long. The loner didn't look right or left, just kept a slow steady speed down the tree-lined lane and kept on going until he was out of sight.

His sadness clung to her as if it had somehow seeped through her skin and settled in her bones. She decided Jodi, the morning-shift waitress, was right. He was the saddest man she'd ever seen. It made it hard to stay angry with him, because he was alone.

And she was not.

The crowd around her came to life, yelling this
time for little Allie, who kicked and missed a perfect goal shot. Westin came running to fend off a little boy in a blue uniform, giving her the chance to try again. Everyone leapt out of the chairs and onto their feet, shouting encouragement.

Amy was on her feet cheering, too, as the goal was made, but she couldn't see for the tears in her eyes. Tears that hurt as they fell, not from pain but from gratitude. She never questioned that God was good, look how gracious He had been to her when she had made so many mistakes.

And the loner…

Please watch over him, Father,
she prayed, because she knew how bitter loneliness could make someone. And how bleak hopelessness could be.

 

Heath shifted into fourth gear as the town fell behind him and he accelerated on the two-lane country road. The look on Amy's face had stayed with him the entire time he'd been at the sheriff's office. Even when he and the deputy found out they'd served in the first Desert Storm within twenty miles of one another,
she
had been in the back of his thoughts, and that was saying something.

He couldn't get rid of the dark trembling feeling in his gut, that bad feeling he got whenever he did something he regretted. And what he'd said to the blond-haired woman who'd been decent enough to return his hat, who was simply a nice person—

He couldn't get past it. He'd been mean to her when she'd done nothing to deserve it.

It wasn't like him to behave like that. He never should have acted that way. He'd just been…wrong. Sure, there were a dozen excuses as to why he'd done it, but really, he didn't want to get close to a woman again. In any way, shape or form. There were plenty of reasons, but what did it matter, in the end? Excuses didn't erase the way he'd intentionally pushed her away.

“Some of the nicest people you'll ever meet, the McKaslins,” the deputy had told him after he'd filled out a report on last night's troublemakers. “When I first came to town to interview for this job, I'd stopped afterward for a bite to eat at the diner. It was after the lunch rush, and Amy was alone in the place.”

“Is it her restaurant?”

“The family's. Those women work hard, I tell you, and they make some of the best meals around. Anyway, after Amy grilled up my burger and gave me a whole batch of fries, she whipped up the best shake I've had anywhere.”

When Frank had gotten up to refill the coffee cups, it would have been a good time to have left. But for some reason Heath hadn't made a break for the door. He'd sat there, torn between wanting out and wanting to stay and hear more.

The deputy was more than happy to keep talking. “Amy found out I was the new deputy and offered me
the apartment upstairs, it was vacant at the time, to stay in while I looked for a place in town. That was real nice, don't you think?”

“Sure.” Built-in business, Heath had thought. Those McKaslin sisters were smart. It went to figure that Frank would buy most if not all of his meals at the diner if he was living above it.

“Empty real estate is pretty scarce around here, even apartments, and so I jumped on her offer. But Amy and her sisters wouldn't take a penny of rent, no sir. They kept me fed and happy, even fed my brothers when they came to help me move in. I tell you, I've never met a nicer family. Generous. Kind. They're the kind of folks who don't think about getting more than they give. With the things I've seen in my life, it's reassuring to know there are still honest-to-God good people in this world.”

Yeah, the deputy's words kept replaying in his head like a CD stuck on repeat. Words that grated against his conscience with every mile that passed.

Good people. Generous and kind. Those words hurt him in a way nothing had in a very long time. Longer than he wanted to count or to think about. For about as long as he'd turned his back on his old life. Nothing could hurt like the pain he left behind, but the prick of his conscience just kept going on and on.

Maybe it was the soft green of the rolling countryside, where new crops grew in endless fields on either side of the narrow country road. It was idyl
lic, it truly was. Like something on television with a filter over the camera lens to make the greens brighter and the blues deeper, to make life more vivid and beautiful than it could ever be in reality.

Tidy driveways veered off the main road, about a quarter of a mile or more apart, where mailboxes stood bearing the family name, some in the shapes of barns or decorated to look like a duck. The graveled driveways wound through the green fields and the country homes seemed to smile, although it was only the reflection of the sunlight on the front windows.

He saw everything from trailer homes to lavish houses. It was all so neat and quaint, with horses grazing in white-fenced pastures and now and then a farmer riding a tractor along the fence line. Irrigation tossed water into the wind, and thousands of tiny rainbows glittered midair in the spray.

The beauty surrounding him made him feel keenly what he'd become inside—ugly and bitter.