Bookends (20 page)

“Amen,” Beth echoed, then squeezed her hand tighter, adding, “And Lord, while you’re here with us, touch Emilie’s shoulder. Mend her broken bones and tender bruises. Comfort her with your assurance that all things work together for your good, Lord. Reveal yourself to her as husband and provider and lover of her soul.”

“
Lover?” Good heavens!

But Beth wasn’t done yet.

“Be with Drew as he travels to Atlanta on business in this awful weather. Keep him safe, Lord. I love him so much.” Beth’s voice wavered, but only for a moment. “Help me be a good mother to Sara. Our daughter is a precious gift. A miracle.” She swallowed hard again. “Bless this dessert now, Lord, and our time together. Thank you for my friend, Emilie, and for loving us so completely through your Son, our savior, Jesus. Amen.”

They both looked up—Beth with a sheen of tears in her eyes; Emilie with a flush of embarrassment easing up her neck. Whatever that was, it wasn’t the kind of thing
she
called a prayer. So personal. So … emotional.

Beth blinked away the moisture in her eyes and dove into her serving of sugar cake and a description of her morning with equal fervor. She’d almost finished with both when she added, “By the way, Jonas stopped by church.”

Ohh.
“Oh?”

“Monday morning missions committee meeting. He also wanted to find out how you were doing.”

Emilie stabbed at one corner of her cake. “He should know. He visited here yesterday.”

Beth’s gaze softened. “He’s being very … attentive then, isn’t he?”

“Guess so.”
Why is she looking at me like that? Am I supposed to say something? Know something?
“I think he feels a bit responsible for the whole thing. Which is silly. I’m the one who drove my car sideways down Cedar.”

“Now, Emilie, you weren’t responsible either. It was an accident, plain and simple. Jonas probably wishes he’d come over and picked you up, that’s all.”

Deep in thought, Emilie cautiously adjusted the sling around her right arm.
Not my fault? Really?
The concept stunned her. It was exactly the sort of reprieve she didn’t allow herself.

She stared at the bite of cake on her fork then swallowed it, barely noticing the flavor. “Tell Jonas I’m fine and—”

Laughing, Beth pointed at the back door. “Tell him yourself.”

Sure enough, the broad shoulders of Jonas Fielding filled the doorway, jolting Emilie’s heart into a double-time rhythm.

“Gotta run.” Beth scurried about, gathering her belongings. “Anna Ressler is patiently waiting for this relief pitcher to show up at home base.” She yanked open the back door. “C’mon in, big guy. You’re right on time. We were just talking about you.”

His dark brows lifted dramatically. “Anything … important?”

“Nothing … revealing.” Beth flashed the biggest grin Emilie had ever seen on the young woman’s face. “See ya.” With that, Beth was gone and a sudden quiet filled the kitchen.

A warm silence, full of possibilities.

“Hello,” Emilie said finally, finding it difficult to look away from his dark, steady gaze.

“Hello back.” He broke the spell at last, staring down at her plate with a wistful expression. “Got any more of that?”

“Here.” She pushed it toward him. “Have mine, I’ve barely touched it. Let me get you a clean fork.” Emilie stood, but too quickly. The windows dipped and swayed in a dizzy line before Jonas gripped her good arm, trying to balance her, steering her toward her upholstered living room chair.

“You’ll be more comfortable in here.” He tried to fluff some pillows around her, succeeding only in jabbing her twice with his elbow. “Good grief, I’m an accident in progress myself.”

“Not at all,” she murmured, taking a deep breath to slow her wildly beating heart. In the process, she inhaled the unmistakably masculine scent of him. Warm, almost peppery, like wood smoke. “Mmm. Do you have a fireplace?”

He pulled back in surprise. “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

She touched the end of her nose and smiled. “You don’t grow something this size and miss the smell of cedar logs on a man’s sweater.”

“Not a thing wrong with that nose,” he countered, staring for a beat longer than necessary. His eyes widened. Hers did too.
What is it? Something.
Something about her nose, of all things! Was it too big after all? Too round? Too soft?

His hand reached forward, barely touching the tip of it then pushing with the gentlest of pressure. She felt her nose spreading, surrendering to his touch. Felt a feverish blush rushing upward toward the same spot. Heard Jonas whisper, almost to himself. “Such a nice nose.”

“
Such a nice nose?” Just like last time. He remembered!

“Kind of you to say that, Jonas.” Emilie was staring at him now, bright pink just the way he liked her. Almost as an afterthought, she murmured, “So sweet.”

“
So sweet?” Just like last time. She remembered!

He released his hand then, feeling foolish for touching her like that. Still, he’d gotten his answer. She
did
recall their kiss in the hallway of Lancaster General. And—even better—she was still willing to talk to him.

“Hey, I brought something to cheer you up, keep you company. Hang on, I left it outside.”

“Outside? In this weather?”

He was already heading back through the kitchen, reaching one hand outdoors long enough to grab the fishbowl he’d left there.

“Get ready for a new friend, Emilie.” He strolled into the room and plunked the bowl down next to a precarious stack of research books. “Say hello to Marvin.”

She stared at the bowl, not blinking, not speaking.

“Cute, isn’t he? And no trouble whatsoever. A little food …” He fished in his pocket for a small canister. “Yup, a sprinkle a day, and Marvin will be a great little friend when it gets too quiet around here.”
Which has gotta be most of the time. The woman lives like a nun.

Emilie’s lips finally moved. “How do you know it’s a he?”

He shrugged. “I guessed. Does it look like a female goldfish to you?”

Her gaze shifted toward his. “When I was a child, all my stuffed animals were girls.”

“You had stuffed animals?” Somehow, he couldn’t picture Emilie hugging a teddy bear.

“Dozens of them. All girls.” She stared at the fish. “This isn’t Marvin, it’s Mavis.”

“Fine. Mavis. Whatever. You women stick together, have fun, go shopping.”

“Go
where?
”

“Uh.… shopping.” Did he say something wrong? Jonas plopped in the nearest chair, resigned to any diatribe she wanted to dish out, as long as he could gaze at her soft, pretty nose and imagine it giving way under his own.

“Jonas, one does not go shopping with a fish. Besides, I am not like most women. I abhor shopping.”

“Is that right? Me too.”

They paused, staring at one another in amazement.

“I study catalogs,” she explained. “Then I choose the store with the best return policy and buy the most practical, economical model available.”

“No kidding. I walk in, get the most expensive one with all the bells and whistles, plunk down the cash, and walk out.” He grinned. “Guess we don’t have too much in common there, huh?”

“I suppose not.” She glanced at a small stack of magazines, then her features brightened. “What about travel? You strike me as a man who’d like to see the world, as I would.”

He leaned back, threading his fingers together and tucking them behind his head. “Yeah, now that
is
something we can agree on. I’ve been to thirty-two states so far—”

“Really!” She seemed positively giddy.

“Yup. Trix and I slept under the stars in Montana, Colorado, Wyoming—”

“Under the … stars?”

“Backpacking.” He nodded, smiling broadly at the memory. “A sleeping bag, campfire gear, some grub, and we’re golden. Guess where I wanna head next?”

“England?” She smiled, a portrait of anticipation.

“Nah. Bunch of stuffy tea drinkers.”
Oops.
“I mean, tea is fine, don’t get me wrong. But England is a bit misty-moisty for camping. Good place for hiking, though.”

“Quite.” She sighed, smoothing her hand across the magazine cover. “I’ve always thought a walking holiday would be delightful.”

“Got the perfect place for you.” He paused, building suspense, knowing she’d be knocked out. “One word: Alaska.”

“
Alaska?
” She looked knocked out, all right.

“Glaciers, mountains, caribou, moose. And the northern lights.” He drew an imaginary arc above them with his arms, picturing it all. “Someday, when Carter’s Run is behind me, I’m heading north.”

She twirled a loose curl around one finger and asked in a softer voice, “For good?”

“Nah. A month, at most.” He stood and stretched, hearing the crackle and snap in his joints, no doubt brought on by the rain. “Fact is, I’m happy to call Lititz home.” He dipped his head to glance out the window. “Except in a soaker like this.”

“Isn’t it grand?” Her musical sigh filled the room. “I love rainy days. Perfect for curling up with a good book.”

Figures.
“Give me a hot, sunny day with a couple of sweaty guys and a backboard and I’ll shoot hoops till I drop.” He grunted, still staring out the window. “This kinda weather only works if you’re a duck.”

“In that case, quack.” She cleared her throat. “Or should I say … kwawk?”

His head snapped around. The woman was smiling. No,
grinning!

He grinned back. “This is duck weather. Definitely quack. Unless you’re a wood duck.”

“What sound does a wood duck make, Mr. Fielding? Provided I won’t be asked to demonstrate it.”

“I can handle that. They have a rising whistle.” He let one fly. “ ’Course, my own brand heads the other direction.” He winked and produced a full-bodied wolf whistle.

She immediately looked down at her lap and turned the color of raspberry sherbet.

It wasn’t possible.

“Emilie Getz, hasn’t a man ever whistled at you before?”

He barely heard her whispered confession. “N-no.”

The truth hit him like a freight train: the woman was
shy.
Not stuffy, not prickly, not a stick-in-the-mud.
Shy.

Shy, he could manage. Beneath that cool exterior beat the heart of a woman who hadn’t been … well, appreciated. For being a woman.

He regarded her bowed head with a newfound sense of responsibility. “Emilie, would it be accurate to say you’re not accustomed to receiving praise?”

She glanced up, still berry-colored but clear-eyed. “In my office at Salem College, I have a wall filled with degrees, honors, certificates, academic awards, letters from students—”

He waved his hand, cutting her off. “All well and good. Congratulations. But I meant personal compliments. Someone noticing, for example, how much your hands resemble birds.”

She glanced down at them in dismay. “Birds?”

“Doves. Small, white doves, flitting around your face when you talk. Nice birds. Honest.”

“Oh. Birds.”

“And your eyes. The color of that tea you drink all the time. Oval-shaped and full of … life.” He’d almost said
fire.
Well-banked, but embers were aglow beneath the surface.
Definitely.

“And your skin.” He was warming up to his assignment.
Somebody’s gotta do it, Lord.
“Your skin is like a statue.”

She balked. “A
statue?
”

“Yeah, a pure white marble statue or a porcelain doll. Pale and smooth. Very pretty.”

Except now her porcelain skin wasn’t white, it was pinker than ever.

He tipped his head and squinted, appraising her. “As for your bones …”

“Bones?” Her porcupine look was back. “You are
not
referring to my bony knees, I hope.”

“Haven’t seen your knees, though I’m sure they’re more bonnie than bony.”
Attaboy.
He chuckled at his own pun. “You have these interesting cheekbones …”

He dropped to his knees in front of her and placed one finger at the top of her cheek, tracing a line as he talked, feeling the heat of her blush under his fingertip. “They sit up to attention here, then angle along this unusually strong jawline of yours—” She made a tiny huff. “And come to a point at your charming chinny-chin-chin.”

She backed away from his touch, clearly flustered. “That should do it, then. We’ve already talked about my soft nose.”

“Which leaves only one feature to discuss.” He was gazing at it now. Shaped like a rosebud, full and sweet. Was it only three days since they’d kissed? “I … uh, covered that part … at some length.” His gaze inched up to meet hers. “On Friday. After the accident.”

“Yes, indeed.” Her eyes were unfocused, dreamy. “I remember that Friday afternoon well. I thought
you’d
forgotten, though.”

“Forget? Not me. Not likely.” He watched her moisten her lips, then, mesmerized, he leaned closer. “Suppose you refresh my memory.”

Emilie paused mere inches away from his lips—to breathe, rethink, prepare,
something.
If he needed his memory jogged, she recalled every second in sharp detail. “You were lying in the snow—”