Child of Grace Read online

  Kelsey rested her elbows on the table, cradling the teacup in her hands. “She has a point.”

  “I agree. Especially at that age.” He chose his next words with care. “But friendships don’t have to be bound by geography—if people are willing to make the effort to stay in touch.”

  After a moment, she set her cup in its saucer, clasped her hands together, and rested them on the edge of the table. “Luke…I haven’t missed Hannah’s less-than-subtle efforts to push us together. Dorothy’s been dropping hints too. But you’ll be gone in three weeks. We hardly know each other. And relationships between mature adults come with baggage that can be difficult to deal with in person, let alone over a long distance.”

  Her candor was unexpected—as was the melancholy sadness emanating from her—but if she was cracking the door, he was stepping through. With both feet.

  “Are you talking about the baby?”

  After a brief hesitation, she rested a hand on her stomach. Swallowed. “To tell you the truth, I—”

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” The waiter stopped beside him and slid the check onto the table.

  Kelsey closed her mouth and reached for her purse.

  Blast.

  The moment was gone.

  Stifling his disappointment, he pulled his credit card out of his wallet and handed it over. “No. Thanks.”

  As the man walked away, Hannah rejoined them. “Did I miss anything important?” Her expression was hopeful.

  “No.”

  Her face fell.

  “What time is your flight tomorrow, Hannah?”

  Kelsey’s question redirected the conversation to more mundane matters, where it remained during the short ride home in the dark.

  When they parted in the driveway, Kelsey hugged Hannah, murmured her thanks to him for dinner, and disappeared around the trees before he could offer to walk her to her door.

  The instant the darkness swallowed her, Hannah turned to him. “So why didn’t you use the ambiance at the restaurant to your advantage while I was gone? Draw her out a little?”

  “I tried. The waiter interrupted us.”

  “That figures.” Hannah threw up her hands and started toward the house, leaving him to follow. “Well, you’re on your own after I leave, big brother. Work on it.”

  They parted in the living room after a hug, and Luke wandered into the kitchen while Hannah disappeared toward her room to finish packing. He crossed to the back door, stepped out, and strolled to the edge of the deck, taking in the moon-silvered whitecaps on the lake and the twinkling stars above. The peace was almost palpable.

  He angled toward the house next door, hidden by the darkness. Did Kelsey feel it?

  Doubtful.

  Despite her apparent conviction that leaving the corporate world had been a wise decision, she seemed weighed down with worry—and a sadness that was soul deep.

  Tonight, she’d not only admitted she carried baggage, she’d seemed on the cusp of giving him a glimpse into the secrets locked in her heart.

  But if she’d come that close once, perhaps she would again—under the right circumstances.

  Meaning it was up to him to create those circumstances before he flew south to start his ER director job in Atlanta.

  * * *

  Had she ever been this tired?

  Not that she could recall.

  Massaging the small of her back, Kelsey pulled a frying pan from the cabinet and tried to work up a touch of enthusiasm for the evening meal. But a sautéed chicken breast and simple salad couldn’t compete with last night’s dinner at Clearbrook. The oyster-and-asparagus chowder had been to die for, and the pan-seared New Zealand lamb had melted in her mouth.

  It didn’t matter, though. Her appetite was nonexistent tonight. Plus, her nagging backache wouldn’t abate. Too many hours on her feet at the shop, no doubt. Even sitting at the quilt rack had been uncomfortable. Necessary, however. The deadline on her commissioned piece was fast approaching.

  She pulled out a can of vegetable spray and coated the pan. Maybe if she put her feet up and—

  At the knock behind her, her hand jerked, sending a swath of glistening oil across the stovetop.

  Only two people had ever come to the back of her house—and one of them had flown home to Atlanta today.

  It had to be Luke.

  She set the can of vegetable spray on the counter and tried to downshift her pulse.

  Another knock sounded. This one louder.

  The temptation to ignore the summons was strong. She did not want to pick up last night’s interrupted dinner conversation. But he knew she was here. Her car was in the drive and lights were on all over the house.

  Psyching herself up for the exchange to come, she moved to the back door and exited into the screened porch.

  Luke was standing outside the porch, dressed in a chest-hugging T-shirt and worn jeans that hugged his lean hips. Despite her efforts to rein it in, her pulse revved into high gear again as she approached him.

  “Hi. Did Hannah get home safe and sound?” She almost pulled off her attempt at a bright, friendly—impersonal—tone.

  “Yes. I heard from her an hour ago. Am I interrupting anything?” He motioned toward her left hand.

  She examined her flour-dusted fingers, then swiped them on her skirt, leaving white streaks on the denim. “No. I was just fixing dinner. Nothing to rival last night. Thank you again for including me.”

  “It was my pleasure. May I come in for a minute? I borrowed this from Father Joe after today’s board meeting, and I thought you’d be interested in seeing it.” He held up a large black portfolio case. “Once we got a gentleman’s agreement on the land purchase, the architectural firm started working on preliminary drawings for the youth center. We wanted to have a few concrete ideas to show at the fundraising dinner.”

  He was here on business.

  Excellent.

  She could handle a business discussion.

  Pushing open the door, she stepped aside to let him enter. “Is that large enough?” She motioned toward the café table in the center of the room.

  “Should be.”

  He walked over to it, unzipped the case, and pulled out three color artist’s renderings. “They’re very different styles. Take a gander and tell me which one you like best.”

  She joined him at the table and leaned over to examine the drawings. All three were appealing, but one stood out. It was a low-slung structure, constructed of glass, wood, and stone, and the irregular shape lent itself to interesting rooflines that peaked and soared in several places.

  “No contest. That one.” She pointed to it. “It’s stunning.”

  “That was my choice too. We must have similar tastes.”

  She angled toward him—only to discover he was mere inches away.

  Her heart stuttered, then raced on, as she got lost in his dark eyes.

  Funny.

  She’d never noticed the flecks of gold in them before. Or the thin white scar near his hairline. As for the sensuous curve of his firm lips…

  She gripped the back of the chair in front of her.

  Enough.

  While Dr. Walters had suggested she let herself experience attraction in a safe environment, standing ten inches from Luke Turner suddenly didn’t feel in the least bit safe.

  As she tried to regain her equilibrium, her cell began to ring inside the house.

  Yes! Perfect timing.

  She eased away from Luke and backed toward the door. “I, uh, should get that. Thanks for bringing those over.” She motioned toward the table.

  “No problem.” He picked up her favorite. “After you finish your call, I’ll give you the highlights of the architect’s comments on this one.”

  He wasn’t leaving.

  Behind her, she groped for the doorknob, twisting it as she fought down a rush of panic. “This could take a while—and I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

  After a moment, he strolled over to the wicker se
ttee and sat. “I’m in no hurry. I don’t have any plans for tonight. But I promise not to delay your dinner long.”

  He did, however, intend to talk about more than the architect’s comments. There was no doubt of that.

  She pushed through the door and fled, trying to concoct an evasion strategy as she picked up the phone and gave the caller a distracted greeting.

  “Ms. Anderson?”

  The male voice was vaguely familiar. “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Mark Layton from St. Louis County Crimes Against Persons. Do you have a few minutes?”

  A shock wave ricocheted through her as an image of the detective’s face clicked into place—along with all the other details of that terrible night. Feeling for the stool beside her, she lowered herself to it as the stiffening went out of her legs.

  “Ms. Anderson?”

  “Yes.” She forced out the response.

  “I wanted to let you know we have a suspect in custody. His last victim managed to inflict damage to his face that raised red flags when he was stopped two days later for a traffic violation. We’re running DNA now, but the details of the latest crime fit his MO. I think we have our man. I’ll keep you informed, but I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Wh-who is it?”

  “A guy named Carl Williams. A real loser. Caucasian, twenty-nine, a history of minor run-ins with the law. Does the name ring any bells?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think it would. But I’d like to email you his photo—just in case you recognize him.”

  As he recited the email address she’d given him seven months ago, she began to shake.

  They wanted her to look at his face.

  She forced herself to keep breathing.

  You can do this, Kelsey.

  “Is that still correct, Ms. Anderson?”

  “Yes.” A tremor rippled through her voice. “I’ll check my email later tonight, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Do I…have to do anything else?”

  “Not at this point. No victim so far has been able to ID him, but the DNA should be all the evidence we need. If this goes to trial, you may be called on to testify, but that would be months down the road.”

  Kelsey tightened her grip on the phone, a shiver running through her at the thought of recounting her story and reliving the nightmare in front of a roomful of people. Yet the man should be punished—to the full extent of the law. If that took a court appearance, she’d find the strength to do it.

  But what had he meant by “if”?

  “Are you thinking this may not go to trial?”

  “It’s possible. He could plea-bargain. Plead guilty in exchange for leniency in sentencing. Frankly, I hope he doesn’t. We’d like to stick it to this guy. He doesn’t deserve one iota of consideration.”

  The hard edge to the detective’s voice reflected her own feelings.

  “I hope he doesn’t, either. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get back to you later tonight.”

  “That works. Take care.”

  The line went dead.

  As the seconds ticked by, Kelsey remained seated, phone mashed against her ear, breathing in. Out. In. Out.

  She was fine. Rattled, but fine.

  Nothing had changed. Yes, she’d made a mistake—but she wasn’t to blame for what had happened. God hadn’t been punishing her. She was the victim. Dr. Walters and Revered Howard has helped her accept that.

  And she hadn’t let the trauma destroy her. Instead, she’d used it as a wake-up call to build a different, better life. Residual fear and wariness were understandable—but they were dissipating now too.

  Thanks in large part to a kind, caring army doctor who even now sat waiting for her just steps away.

  A man who was fast making inroads on her heart.

  A man she’d be seriously interested in if her life wasn’t so complicated.

  As if on cue, one of those complications gave her a kick.

  Resting her hand atop the new, innocent life within her, Kelsey drew an unsteady breath. She couldn’t let herself get involved with Luke until she made a decision about this baby. That was only fair to him.

  But hours of thinking and prayer hadn’t yet yielded any guidance—and Luke was leaving in seventeen days.

  Finally lowering the phone to the counter, she swiped at a tear trailing down her cheek. But it was followed by another. And another. Until there were more than she could control.

  Dr. Walters had warned her tears would come at some point. Should come. That crying was cathartic.

  But this wasn’t the time. Not with Luke waiting for her.

  She rested her elbows on the counter and buried her face in her hands.

  Don’t panic, Kelsey. Just hang on. You’ll be fine.

  She repeated that mantra over and over, waiting for calm to replace panic…for her respiration to steady…for her pulse to slow.

  But as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks, her heart wasn’t listening.

  * * *

  Luke tapped the foam-backed rendering in his hand with his index finger and frowned. Kelsey had said she might be a while, but fifteen minutes seemed excessive.

  Did she hope he’d get tired of waiting and leave?

  No way. Before he returned to his house tonight, he was going to get answers to at least a few of his questions.

  Luke rose from the wicker settee, put the rendering back on the table, and moved to the door. Though she’d shut it, the window offered a partial side view of her. She was seated at the counter with her back to him, and her phone lay on the counter.

  The call was over.

  But the effects weren’t.

  Her face was buried in her hands and her shoulders were shaking.

  She was crying.

  His stomach clenched.

  Their acquaintance might be new, but his next-door neighbor didn’t seem like the type of woman who cried without serious provocation.

  Something bad had happened.

  He reached for the door.

  Froze.

  Following his first impulse—to pull her into a comforting hug, as Hannah had done with him not long ago—could backfire, since Kelsey had always kept him at arm’s length.

  Better go with plan B.

  Instead of opening the door, he lifted his hand and rapped lightly on the glass. “Kelsey?”

  His query carried through the open window, and her body went rigid.

  She raised her head, but kept it averted as she gripped the edge of the counter. “I’m not up for company, Luke.” Her voice was strained—and shaky.

  Without waiting for him to respond, she edged sideways down the length of the counter, her back to him. She paused for a moment to grasp the back of a kitchen chair, as if to steady herself, then hurried toward the hall.

  “Kelsey, wait!”

  At his entreaty, she picked up her pace.

  Not the best move in her condition.

  Two steps later, when she cut the hall corner too short and bumped into the wall, she stumbled. Teetered. Flailed for a handhold.

  Pulse surging, Luke yanked open the back door, sprinted across the room, and lunged for her as she pitched toward the floor. He managed to keep her from falling flat—but she did go down hard on one knee.

  Maintaining a firm grip, he crouched beside her. She was bent over, one hand on the floor, the other on her stomach. Her blond hair had swung forward, hiding her face from his view, but she couldn’t mask her ragged gasps—nor the tremors rippling through her body.

  “It’s okay, Kelsey.” He used his most soothing voice as he stroked her back. “You’ll be fine. Let me help you up.” Without waiting for a response, he rose and extended his hand. After a moment she took it. “On three. One, two, three.”

  He tightened his grip as he pulled her to her feet—and he didn’t let go once she was upright. Because as soon as she tried to put weight on her knee, she winced.

 
“Why don’t you sit for a minute?” He put his arm around her waist and, absorbing as much of her weight as he could, led her to a kitchen chair and eased her into it. Then he dropped down to balance on the balls of his feet so he could examine her knee.

  “I’m more worried…about the baby.”

  At her tremulous comment, he lifted his head—and got his first gut-clenching glimpse of her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks moist with tears, her shoulders taut. She appeared as traumatized as many of the patients he’d treated on the battlefield.

  Thanks to whatever has transpired during that phone call.

  Doing his best to keep his features neutral, he dealt with her immediate concern. “I don’t think the fall was hard enough to cause any problems on that score.”

  He shifted his attention to her knee, which was tender to the touch and already showing signs of discoloration. But it could have been far worse.

  “There doesn’t appear to be any serious damage, but it may swell, and it will definitely bruise. Do you have an ice pack in the house?”

  “Gram had one. It’s in the hall closet.” She waved toward the narrow passage she’d been barreling toward when she’d fallen.

  Her voice was still shaky. Too shaky.

  “I’ll get it, then we’ll move you somewhere more comfortable so you can elevate your leg.”

  He strode down the hall toward the closet at the end, giving each of the three rooms he passed a quick scrutiny. One contained quilt paraphernalia. The other two were bedrooms.

  There was no sign of a nursery—nor any indication a room was being readied to welcome the infant being carried by the traumatized woman in the kitchen.

  He opened the closet door, found the ice pack—and reached a decision.

  Until he had answers to all the questions that had left him tossing in bed for the past dozen nights, he was sticking close.

  And if he had to open his own heart and go way outside his comfort zone to get them, so be it.

  11

  As Kelsey waited for Luke to return, she rested her hand on her stomach and felt for signs of life. Despite his reassurance about the baby, the fall had been jarring. And she’d come too far on this journey not to see it through.