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Baker Publishing Group - Kristen Heitzmann

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167 pages

English

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Returning to her hometown was the last thing Laurie ever expected. But with two children in tow, she must begin anew... and face the life--and man--she turned her back on. Cal has been struggling with his own problems, but the arrival of Laurie brings new hope and meaning to his life. Can he push aside his feelings to simply be the friend she desperately needs? And when the dangers of her hidden past threaten, can Cal overcome the haunting memories of his own past failures to rescue the only woman he's ever loved?

Sujets

Historical romance

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 juillet 2002
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781585588046
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	5 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2002 Kristen Heitzmann
Published by Bethany House Publishers 11400 Hampshire Avenue South Bloomington, Minnesota 55438 www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan. www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 08.09.2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-58558-804-6
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Scripture quotations identified KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover design by Ann Gjeldum
Dedicated to those who serve
either heroically
or quietly
Books by Kristen Heitzmann
DIAMOND OF THE ROCKIES
The Rose Legacy
Sweet Boundless
The Tender Vine
A Rush of Wings
The Still of Night
The Breath of Dawn
Secrets
Unforgotten
Echoes
Twilight
Halos
Freefall
The Edge of Recall
www.kristenheitzmann.com
Kristen Heitzmann is the bestselling author of historical and contemporary romantic suspense novels, including Colorado Book Award finalist The Still of Night and Christy Award winner Secrets . She lives with her husband, extended family, pets, and wildlife in the Rocky Mountain foothills.
Visit her at: www.kristenheitzmannbooks.com Facebook: KristenHeitzmann Twitter: @ KristenHeitzmann
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Books by Kristen Heitzmann
About the Author
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
Acknowledgments
Back Cover
1
T HE MAN WHO WALKS IN THE DARK
DOES NOT KNOW WHERE HE IS GOING.
John 12:35 NIV
T HE THING ABOUT SERVING is that it isn’t true service until there’s nothing in it for you—no personal benefit, only pure sacrifice. Doing what you have to do when you can’t give yourself a single reason, except someone needs it. And sometimes what you do looks just plain stupid. That explanation wasn’t in the dictionary, but Cal had spent some hours defining it in his mind. He had redefined a lot of things these last months.
He stood now in the lounge of the fire station that served Montrose, population four thousand, and the surrounding county. By its nature the career he’d chosen meant training, dedication, service. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known he wanted to rescue people, combat destruction, take charge of any emergency. But some situations were beyond control.
Like the people lost in the terrorist attacks running into a building to save, rescue, aid, and the unimaginable destruction that followed. Pure service that cost them their lives. Cal’s memories threatened to erupt, but he pushed them aside. Not now; not here.
He stepped up to the wall. The mirror threw his face back at him, each of his twenty-nine years leaving their mark in the lines around the eyes and the scar running white across his sunburned chin, shaved clean of the weekend’s growth. He looked decent, manly, handsome enough if he wanted to go there. He wasn’t vain—just assessing what he saw these days when he faced himself. It was about to change anyway.
White paint erased the chin scar as he shaped a smile outlined in red—a goofy, extravagant smile. He hid his blue eyes behind wraparound sunglasses and pinched on a red plastic nose, then mashed his hair down like a mess of straw and pulled on the curly yellow wig. His uniform shirt took on a whole new look with the spotted, oversized bow tie, but the emblem on the sleeve gave Spanner the Clown his purpose. Jokes, magic, laughter—all to grab and hold attention, promote memory. Climbing into baggy pants, he snapped the suspenders on his shoulders and stepped out into the garage.
The dented, red engine waited beside the smaller rescue vehicle. Cal stood for a moment, eyeing the old truck’s length, the hoses accordion-folded in the back, the steps to the jump seat behind the cab where a man could crouch, the siren shrill in his ears, holding the side bars as the engine sped along, adrenaline transforming him into a machine primed for action. The new trucks were enclosed for safety, but not old Susie.
Stepping back, he made way for Rob and Perry to finish the checklist on the engineer’s panel. Rob nodded, and Cal returned it, pretending he didn’t notice the smirk on Perry’s face, though it was how he’d have looked at one of them dressed like this. But he didn’t judge anymore, not by appearances anyway. The real man was not on the surface—sometimes in the eyes or in the stoop of the shoulders, but never in the face he showed the world.
And that was the irony, Cal thought, frowning inside the white smile. Painting a clown’s face was only a gross imitation of the masking of humanity. Everyone just pretended no one knew. He took the boxed theater, props, and puppets from the shelves and went out into the glaring sunlight. Missouri didn’t seem to know it was November. The air was warm and dry, and the daylilies along the road were putting out sprouts. Even nature could be fooled.
His scalp itched, and he stuck a finger under the edge of the wig to scratch as he climbed into his jeep. Fremont Elementary, here I come . He could have dressed at the school and saved himself Perry’s contempt, but kids were sharp. He didn’t want them to see the man who would dress up as Spanner the Clown. He wanted Spanner to arrive. It helped the magic.
One year ago he would have never believed the tricks he’d taught himself in high school would become so important. That, and the drama classes taken for the heck of it. And his natural cut-up personality. It was crazy. He shook his head. Not crazy, just unexpected.
The drive was short, the walk inside routine. But the sea of children’s faces made him tense. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed and plump beside their smiles, life and energy so thick he could feel it . . . and yet so precariously poised on the edge of tragedy. One wrong step, one minute too few . . .
He grabbed Rocky, the wooden-headed fireman puppet, and fixed the lever that worked its mouth firmly in his palm. But he kept the puppet still at his side as he stepped around the side of the theater. “Good morning, kids!”
“Good morning, Spanner!” They knew him from the last trip, maybe remembered his name came from the fireman’s tool, the spanner wrench. If he could just know they would remember the message behind his tricks.
“Say hello to Rocky, kids.” He held up the puppet.
“Hi, Rocky!”
“Hey, Rocky, tell us a joke.” That from a husky boy near the back.
Cal thought fast. He’d already told every firefighter changing a light bulb joke he knew. He moved the puppet’s mouth. “Did you hear about the monastery that sold flowers to pay for a new chapel?”
“No!” The childish voices struggled to outdo one another.
Cal made Rocky bob his head up and down. “Yep. But the flower seller in the village didn’t like the competition. He told those monastery fellows to cut it out. Did they listen?”
“No!” The children collapsed in giggles. Cal loved that part.
“You’re right!” Rocky shouted, clacking his wooden legs that dangled over Cal’s arm. “They kept selling flowers. So that flower seller brought in the big gun, Hugh McHugh.” Cal pulled the puppet back to face him and kept his mouth almost still as the puppet pleaded, “I can’t tell this part, Spanner. You tell it.”
Cal made his own voice ominous. “All right, Rocky. If you insist.” He looked over the young faces, waved his hand, fingers splayed. “Hugh McHugh stomped up to the monastery. Those little friars heard every step—boom, boom, boom. They trembled behind the door, then jumped back with each thump of his fist. The door flew open, and Hugh said, ‘No more selling flowers!’ Did the friars obey?”
The answers were mixed. Some defiant children shouted no, others called yes. Cal held his white-gloved hand in the air. “Yes, they stopped, and do you know why?”
Quiet now.
“Because Hugh and only Hugh can prevent florist friars.”
The teachers around the gym rolled their eyes and laughed. Half the children laughed, and half leaned to a friend to get the explanation. Cal didn’t wait. His reason for coming was fire safety, and he went right into his spiel.
After the school show he went back to the station, changed and washed up, then went home, more drained than he should be. It hadn’t been that full a day: just paper work, code inspections, and one show. But seeing all those trusting faces, the innocence, little limbs, little minds . . . He dropped into his recliner. At the third ring of his phone, Cal picked up the receiver.
“Is this Cal?”
He grimaced. “Yeah, Ray. I’m the only one here, remember?” He tossed down the evening paper and popped the tab of his Coke. Its sweet effervescence took the bite from his mood.
“I got a job.”
Of course. Ray only used the phone when he’d picked up an odd job from his newspaper ad. If Cal hung his head out the window, he’d see Ray standing in the garage apartment out back. Ray could have easily run up the outside stairs and told Cal in person, but he always informed him by phone.
“That’s great.”
It was great. At thirty-something, and balancing his lack on the smarts scale with his substantial strength, Ray took his work seriously and got top billing in the odd-job column. On the side, he helped his aunts, Mildred and Cissy, keep up the old country estate that Cal also called home. For that he got the garage apartment gratuitously. As the sole renter, Cal occupied the attic. Mildred and C