A Love Worth Waiting For and Heaven Knows (11 page)

“Loud and clear, ma'am. I promise I'll be good. So, you saw Julie tonight.” Julie. He was glad she hadn't betrayed his trust.

“She cooked the most wonderful spaghetti sauce. I had to beg for the recipe from her. She baked bread and fixed up a fancy salad. My, it was a treat. She even made cheesecake for dessert. She's such a fine cook, I can't imagine why some man hasn't come along and snapped her up.”

“Neither can I, Nanna.” He rolled his eyes.

He loved his grandmother dearly, but she believed everyone should be married! Why? He'd never figure that out. Just because she had good fortune with her first marriage, she looked at love through rose-colored glasses. He adored that about her, but it wasn't realistic.

Although, to be honest, he liked to think people were happy together somewhere. That some marriages were about building one another up with love and caring. That was the kind of love television would have you believe. The trouble was, he'd seen the other side. He'd endured his parents' troubled marriage, and had the scars to prove it.

J
ulie couldn't sleep. She tossed off her down comforter and searched around on the floor for her fuzzy bunny slippers. She found them by touch and jammed her feet into them. Shivering, she groped in the dark for more clothing. She found a thick sweatshirt on the back of the chair in the corner and tugged it on over her flannel pajamas. The cat nestled in the chair cushion meowed his disapproval.

“Sorry, Wilbur.” She rubbed his ears in apology and grabbed the book from the night table.

The wind whipped against the eaves. A storm must be blowing in. The downstairs was cold, too, and she headed straight to the kitchen. Popping a cup of water into the microwave took a second. In a few minutes, she had boiling hot peppermint tea steeping.

The cat slinked through the shadows to inspect
his food dish, just in case. He sat in front of his kitty bowl expectantly.

“It's not even close to breakfast time, and you know it.” She tried to be firm with him, but he flicked his tail. Displeased with his human, Wilbur sauntered over to her and wound around her ankles, as sweet as can be.

“Turning on the charm, are you?” She lifted him into her arms to scratch him properly. He purred, leaning his chin against her fingers.

See, she wasn't alone. She had Wilbur. The happiness from the evening's dinner party seemed to remain in the kitchen, where Nora's hostess gift of silk flowers sat on the island, soft and colorful against the beige Formica. She had so many blessings, it felt wrong to wish for what she couldn't have.

Not knowing what to do, she carried her cat, her book and her steaming cup of tea to the living room. The fabric blinds were closed tight against the windows, blocking out the night and the draft. She hit the remote and the gas fireplace flared to life.

Wilbur, apparently having all the adoration he could tolerate, climbed onto his blanket and curled into a contented ball. Julie brushed the cat hair off her sleeve before flipping open her book. She would read, drink her tea—and in no time she'd be sleepy again. Insomnia wasn't going to trouble her for long.

Except she kept reading the same three lines over and over again. The inspirational romance that had kept her riveted an hour before bedtime couldn't hold her attention now. The words she kept staring at seemed to have no meaning. It wasn't the book, it was her. She
wanted
to think about Noah. She'd vowed
not
to think about Noah. And so she couldn't think of anything else.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his touch. His warm, steady hand cradling her chin. His feather-soft kiss on her cheek. She'd tried to forget the emotional closeness they'd shared, but it was impossible. All she had to do was think of him, and in her thoughts she was back in her truck, with his aftershave scenting the recirculated air and snow landing on the windshield.

I'm concerned about his health, that's all this is, she tried to tell herself. She would worry about anyone diagnosed with an abdominal tumor. But that wasn't the whole truth. She had so wanted Noah to stay with her, instead of leaving on his jet. She wished she had the chance to comfort him.

Okay, now that sounded a little selfish, and it wasn't how she meant it. She only knew that she wanted to mean something to him. She wished that when he was hurting, and when he needed someone to hold on to, he would reach for her.

But he'd gone back to New York. Returned to the world he preferred. He probably had tons of friends
and an active life. Broadway plays and football games and museums to wander through on a rainy weekend afternoon.

It was a few minutes past midnight. It would be just after two in the morning in New York. He'd be fast asleep, and in a few hours his alarm would go off and he'd start his day. It would be a day without her. A day when he wouldn't think of her once.

But she would think of him.

 

Noah couldn't sleep. He opened one eye to get a brief view of the clock—2:14, the green lights proclaimed. Great. He'd been asleep for an hour and two minutes. His chest was burning, and that wasn't a good sign. He prayed it wasn't the start of another attack. He had pain pills the doctor had prescribed for him, but he didn't want to take them.

Maybe what he needed was a glass of warm milk. With any luck, he was only experiencing heartburn. Indigestion. A pulled muscle between his ribs. Okay, he was reaching, but he was doing fine not thinking about the result of those tests.

If he didn't think about it, he didn't have to deal with it. If he didn't have to deal with it, then he wouldn't be afraid. He wouldn't wind up taking a look at what was really bothering him.

He figured staying in denial was a better alternative. He'd go along as he had, and in a few weeks his chauffeur would drive him to the hospital. With
any luck, he'd be given anesthetics right away and he'd never have to think about the possibilities of cancer.

Cancer. Great, he'd been avoiding that word until now, and it made a cold fear wash him, from head to toe. He nearly dropped his robe on the floor. He couldn't find his slippers so he padded barefoot across the plush carpet, his step loud in the silence. A single sconce in the hallway guided him past a row of doors, all belonging to empty bedrooms, past the foyer and into the gourmet kitchen.

He hit the switch over the eating bar and the track lighting shone off polished stainless-steel appliances and marble countertops. The marble floor was cool on his bare feet as he trudged to the stainless-steel-fronted refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk. He tore the plastic loop and removed the cap. After locating a saucepan in the bottom cupboards, he set it on the stove.

Boy, the place felt empty tonight. His movements rattled around in the shadows, making the apartment feel enormous. Too big for just one person. He'd bought this place because it was a good investment and because it was close to work. That was before Vanessa, when he'd held out the smallest hope that he might get married one day and have kids of his own. A family that would fill the rooms with their laughter and toys and stuff to trip over in the hallway.

He hadn't thought of that in years, and it was
because of those test results. The doctor had used the word
cancer,
and Noah felt as if the earth had fallen out from beneath his feet. Everything was uncertain. What would happen at his next doctor's appointment? How serious would the operation be? Would he be able to return to his work? And his health… Would he be all right? Or was this something so serious, it would take his life? What if the time he had left on this earth was much shorter than he thought?

That was a scary notion. He'd spent the last decade working long, hard days. Shouldering responsibilities to the board, the stockholders and the employees who received a check every two weeks. He'd given all he had to this company, and there hadn't been much time left for friends. Or family. Or doing anything he might enjoy.

What if he had one year to live? How would he spend it?

The milk bubbled, and he grabbed the pan from the heat. He filled a porcelain mug. He'd work—that's what he'd do. He'd put everything in order so someone else could take over the responsibilities of the company he'd built.

Work? No, that didn't seem like the right answer. He carried the mug to the shadowed table. The light over the sink cast a reflection on the black windows. He hadn't bothered to pull the shades. Rain smeared the glass, distorting his reflection.

He'd had a blast this weekend skiing with Julie.
Being out in those foothills, where the mountains were so rugged and huge, they were close enough to touch. That was paradise.

He loved skiing. He didn't go as often as he could. And why was that? Because he was busy working for a company that didn't care about him. That wouldn't miss him when he was gone and buried. Whether that was in a year or fifty years. He didn't love his company.

Trouble was, he didn't have a family of his own to love.

Sure, his sister and grandmother. But they were extended family. What he craved was a wife, kind in the way Julie was, who would love him and never let him down.

He'd never felt more alone than he did right now. Sure, he could pick up the phone and call Hope or Nanna. But Hope was married and truly happy. She had a husband and children, a real family of her own.

He couldn't tell Nanna about this tumor. Not after seeing her so happy this weekend. She and Harold had been adorable—there was no other word for it. The joy in her voice and the love in her eyes… No, he refused to take those away from her.

Maybe it was better this way. He really didn't need anyone. Really. This was supposed to be the best time of Nanna's life. He remembered how her face had lit with undiluted joy when she'd shown him the picture of her wedding dress. It has been
light gray, beaded and embroidered and lacy—all the things a bride wanted. The bridesmaid dresses would be an emerald-green. She'd showed him that picture, too, of the simple and elegant dresses, exactly something Nanna would pick out to adorn her beautiful bridesmaids.

Would Julie be one of them? He didn't know, but his thoughts turned to her. Maybe it was her presence he was missing tonight. The uncanny way she had of making him feel so deeply and so much. With her he felt real. As if his work and responsibilities vanished like smoke, and she was there. She'd been hurt, too. She knew what kind of scars a shattered relationship could leave.

He didn't know why she was the one. Why was it that she could simply sit with him in a snowstorm when he received the worst news of his life, and the constant aloneness he carried inside him disappeared.

What he wanted to do was to call her and hear the warmth of her voice. Julie was the only person he could talk to about this. The only one he trusted that much. It was past midnight in Montana. She'd be fast asleep, safe and at peace, tucked away in her cozy log home for the night. He couldn't wake her, but he wanted to.

That wasn't like him. He didn't need anyone, remember?

For the first time in his adult life, he felt off balance. As if someone had pulled the rug out from
beneath his feet and left him to fall. In one moment on the phone with the doctor, his entire world had tipped on its side. Everything had changed.

He felt lost as the rain pattered against the windows and the wind gusted around the corner of the building. The warmed milk didn't soothe him. The thought of Julie only unsettled him. The burning pain in his chest was stronger. It hurt to breathe.

“When I am afraid, I will trust in you.” The verse from Psalms came into his mind, and he felt comforted. Noah
did
trust the Lord to show him the way through this shadowed valley that had become his life.

 

Julie couldn't believe her eyes. There was Noah's e-mail address right there on her computer screen. He'd written! She clicked open the letter, not knowing what to expect. Now that he was back at home, surrounded by his friends and his busy life, she didn't expect him to think of her at all.

Wait a minute. Just because he'd dropped her an e-mail didn't mean he was feeling the same growing affection she felt. He'd probably typed a few lines in a friendly way. A short correspondence to a long-distance acquaintance. She shouldn't expect anything too personal or emotionally intimate.

“Dear Julie,” she read. “I can't sleep and it's too late to call you, so I thought I'd write. I miss you.”

She stopped reading and studied that sentence again. He missed her friendship? She certainly missed his. Her life felt empty without him. That didn't make any sense because she'd only known him for a short while. In their time together, he had made an impact on her heart.

“I meant what I said in the truck on the way to the airport. You've been a true friend.”

A true friend, huh? Julie sighed. He kept using that word
friend.
Okay, she could take a hint. She knew he wasn't looking for love. Good thing, too, because neither was she.

Think of what a terrible complication it would be if he wanted to be more than good friends? Oh, he'd buy her gifts and ask her on dates. He'd be calling her and doting on her, and frankly, who needed that kind of attention?

No, she was better off sticking to being friends. A friend couldn't leave you at the altar. A friend couldn't offer you a dream of a happy family, only to snatch it away.

As for these bright, sparkling feelings growing stronger in her heart, it was platonic affection and nothing else. She refused to love one more man who was wrong for her.

 

“Dear Noah,” Julie's e-mail began. “I hope you're enjoying your busy life in the city. Want to know what I did today? While you were probably in meetings in a room with hardly any windows, I
was out on my skis. Enjoying nature. Watching the sun set into the snowcapped Rockies.”

“You're torturing me.” He twisted the top off the iced tea bottle and took a sip. He had been in meetings all morning and had spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone. Sure, he had a great view from his office, but what could compete with Julie's view? And to think she could step off her back porch and start skiing, well, he would love to live like that.

And come to think of it, why wasn't he?

He ignored his assistant's knock at the door and the buzz of the telephone so he could keep reading.

“I had to keep out of the backcountry, because of avalanche warnings. We had a major storm blow through and dump a ton of snow. Maybe you'll want to schedule in a spare day when you come for the wedding. I'll take you up into the mountains and, trust me, you'll never want to leave.”

She'd gone skiing—and had the nerve to write about it. Remembering the cool air rushing across his face, the exhilaration of gliding on untouched snow beneath mountains too beautiful to describe made the tension melt from his shoulders. The problems piled on his desk—messages and file folders and a heap of paperwork in the in basket—lost their importance.