Heaven's Touch

Maybe he didn’t want to. He liked being alone. It suited him.

Rachel, who had no such problems showing her emotions, tugged a tissue from the box on the coffee table and swiped the dampness from her eyes. “You don’t understand how scared I was for you. I thought you’d never come back.”

“Don’t you waste your tears on me.” So he wasn’t a tough guy all the time. “I do what I do in the military so you can sleep safe in your bed at night.”

“I’d like you to be safe, too.”

“I am. I’ve got my M-203.”

“I take it that’s a gun?”

“One of the best. Stop worrying, got it?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, as if in resignation, and opened her mouth as if she were going to argue, then decided against it. She sniffed, dabbing at her eyes as she trailed off in the direction of the dark kitchen.

One thing he wasn’t going to let her do was wait on him. He wasn’t that hurt—or so he kept telling himself. He leaned forward to reach for the crutches, and the springs beneath him protested.

“I hear you trying to get up and don’t you dare!” Rachel scolded from the kitchen. “Stay right where you are, okay? I’ll bring supper to you. We had a slow night at the diner, so I had time to really cook up a big plate of your favorites.”

“I told you not to go to any trouble.”

“What trouble? Now, what do you want to drink? I bought chocolate milk at the store today, since I knew you were coming. A big gallon all for you.”

“All for me? That must mean you have your own stash of chocolate milk in the fridge you’re hiding from me.”

“If I don’t, then you’ll drink every last drop, just like you do every time you stay with me. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Hey, I buy more for you.”

“You do. I couldn’t ask for a better brother.” She was back, bringing her gentle cheer and a foil-covered plate with her.

Her words touched him, and he was again at a loss to return the sentiment. Not that he didn’t feel it, just that…he couldn’t say something so vulnerable.

Pretending it was the food that mattered, he took the plate from her, hot pad and all, and tore off the foil. The mouth-watering scents of country fried chicken, gravy and buttermilk biscuits made his stomach growl. That was much easier to deal with than his feelings. “This is great. I owe you supper tomorrow.”

“It’s a deal. And if you noticed, I gave you three helpings of mashed potatoes.” She set a wrapped napkin of flatware on the coffee table along with the carton of milk.

When he leaned forward to grab the napkin, her eyes rounded. His shirt—he’d forgotten all about his back, since his leg hurt worse than a first-degree burn.

Rachel went to her knees. “Oh, what did you do? Your shirt is singed and there’s this big hole. Were you on fire?”

“Yep, but it was nothing you need to worry about.” He forked in a mound of buttery potato, so creamy and rich, and kept talking with his mouth full. Man, he was hungry. “Disaster finds me.”

“As long as it doesn’t find you anymore. Do you need a salve or something? A bandage?”

She looked dismayed, and over something so minor. It was nice to know how much she cared. The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed even darker, if that were possible, and she radiated exhaustion.

The last thing she needed to do was waste any more effort on him, when she was what really mattered. Rachel and Amy and Paige were all the family he had in this world. “You look ready to drop, little sister. Go to bed, get some sleep and have good dreams. Will you do that for me?”

“I am bushed, but you’re on crutches.”

“I’m capable. I’ll be fine. Trust me.” He waited while her internal debate played across her face. Rachel was so easy to read. Always good-hearted and caring. It was a knack he wished he had, but he did his best to return what she’d already given to him. “Do I have to haul you over my shoulder and carry you down the hall?”

“Nope. I’ll go, if you’re sure you don’t need me.”

“You’re driving me crazy.” He said the words kindly, because he’d come to appreciate true goodness in the world, for it was rare. Her thoughtfulness said everything. She’d gone to all this trouble for him.

Yeah, he was pretty fond of her, too. “You didn’t happen to have any pie in the kitchen?”

“I’ll never tell. You’ll have to raid the fridge to find out.” Her eyes twinkled, eyes so like Mom’s. She looked more like Mom as time went by, and seeing that hurt.

Rachel waved as she breezed down the hallway.

“Good night, Rache.”

“Good night, big brother. Oh! Should I take your bag to your room, since I’m headed in that direction?”

“Nah, don’t bother. I can stow it.”

“Of course you can—what was I thinking?” She rolled her eyes, and she looked as if she were biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him. “I forget that you’re tough.”

Not tough enough. If he were made of titanium, then maybe he would be. But the sense of failure and regret surrounded him. His parents’ deaths. The lost and angry boy he’d become. The teenager on a self-destructive course. The people he’d hurt—his sisters, his aunt and uncle.

And Cadence. She’d looked beautiful tonight, strong and confident. Probably wildly successful in her life—but he could see in her the Montana country girl she used to be.

He was proud of her. She’d made something great of her life. See? She had been loads better off without him. He’d made the right decision long ago—for his own reasons, sure, but still. It had been right for her, too. He’d been able to get out of this quicksand town, and she’d realized her dreams of Olympic gold. Yeah, he’d watched her win on TV. He’d been stationed in Japan at the time, and he’d violated direct orders to watch her perfect dive.

Why was running into Cadence tonight part of God’s plan for him? His heart wrenched. What use was it in seeing what he could have had? In seeing the man he should have been?

Failure wrapped around him and he pushed the plate away. He sat in the dark and silence for a long while.

Chapter Three

It was gonna be a hot one. Sweat was already gathering between her shoulder blades as the morning sun, barely over the rim of the Bridger Mountains, beat down on her back.

Cadence balanced her cup of chai tea in her left hand and rummaged around in the bottom of her bag. She moved aside her rolled towels, her change of clothes, a paperback book, a lifeguard’s whistle and her wallet.

Loose change chimed and chinked together on the bottom of the bag as she felt her way to the fuzzy ball attached to her key ring—there it was. She tugged and yanked, and the key ring came free. One day she was going to have to get better organized—or clean out the bottom of her bag. But not today. The little soft stuffed sunshine with a black smiley face dangling from the key ring grinned up at her as she sorted through the keys.

One day I’ll have enough time to be organized and together. But for now, she was just doing her best.

She unlocked the door and let it click shut behind her. Late, late, late. Swimmers were going to start showing up any minute. She hurried through the echoing building, flicking on lights. Her flip-flops snapped against the concrete floor and her steps reverberated in the high ceiling overhead.

For now, she loved her life. She loved starting her days here, opening up the public pool. The sharp scent of chlorinated water was oddly comforting to her, and the smell relaxed her more than a big cup of steaming chamomile tea at night ever could. The aroma always brought up the best memories of when she’d been training and competing.

And now teaching and coaching. There were a lot of bad memories, too, but they were easy to set aside when she was here, the only one in this huge building. The water seemed to be waiting for her, and the morning sun streamed through the upper windows in the cathedral ceiling to sparkle and dance on the pool’s surface.

Stop dallying, Cadence! You’re late, late, late!