Finding Her Way Home (18 page)

“He raped you.”

She nodded but her gaze never met his. A flush of shame darkened her olive skin.

“For…hours. I was in my own garage. Three steps and I would have been safe inside. But he'd locked the garage door down tight.” Her hand went to her throat. “I couldn't get away. I couldn't reach my gun. But after—after a while he got careless. He thought he'd gained total control. In a way, he had. I was—I pleaded—I was…broken. I would have done anything he said at that point. And I would have done anything to escape.”

The dark eyes she lifted were filled with guilt and devastation.

God, give me strength.

Anger such as he'd never known flooded through Trace. Anger toward a man filled with so much evil that he could do such a thing.

“My service weapon was under the car seat. I kept reaching for it. Finally…” She squeezed her eyelids tight. “I don't remember pulling the trigger. But I remember the shock on his face and the last breath he took. I was glad when he went still
and silent.” She made a tiny sound of distress. “What kind of person is glad when a man is dead?”

Trace didn't answer, but his fingers stroked the top of her hand over and over and over.

 

Cheyenne tried to draw comfort from Trace's tenderness, but she was afraid to need him too much. He'd be gone forever after tonight. So would she.

Her stomach pitched. She hated thinking about those hours alone with Dwight Hector, but Trace had deserved to know and she had needed to tell him. Now he would understand why she could not let him love her. She was defiled, unlovable, ruined.

A thousand times she'd wished she hadn't gone into the bar after work. If she hadn't, she would still have been wearing the revolver in the shoulder holster. Her mind would have been perfectly clear. She would have seen the signs that someone was in her garage. She could have arrested Hector and avoided the entire incident.

She rubbed at the ache forming inside her forehead. “As a trained professional, I should have been able to prevent everything that happened that night.”

“Whoa. Hold it right there.”

The anger in Trace stopped her cold.

Carefully, she withdrew her fingers from beneath his and pushed away from the table. “I'll understand if you want to leave now.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

She'd expected this. The compassionate vet would feel duty-bound to tend the wounded. “Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. Tomorrow I'm leaving Redemption. You can forget about me.”

“Not going to happen.”

“You're such a good man, Trace. Decent and good and a real Christian. Far too good for someone like me. I killed a man and he killed a part of me that I can't get back. I'll never be the person I was before.”

“No one expects you to be. You're you. A strong, amazing woman with the compassion to help someone like Emma. Don't sell yourself short.”

But she felt worthless.

“I thought God had taken all of it away,” she admitted. “Until the night you witnessed the flashback, I had been sleeping with the lights off and hadn't had a nightmare. I'd begun to believe healing was possible, but now—”

“With God in your corner, you will get better. When Pamela died, I thought I'd never breathe again. I didn't even want to, but I did. And eventually, with God's help and the support of my family, the guilt and sorrow disappeared.”

He tenderly took both her hands and drew her slowly toward him. “Let me be here for you, Cheyenne. Don't push me away.”

Inwardly, she battled. Was he feeling pity or love? Did he care for her? Or only care about her?

She shook her head, afraid to believe anything good at this point. “Don't be kind, Trace. I can't handle it tonight. You can't possibly want me now that you know.”

“Stop it, Cheyenne.” The hard edge in his tone shocked her. “If you don't want me, that's one thing, but don't deny my feelings for you. They're real.” He tapped his chest. “My heart hurts for what happened to you. I hate it. I love you so much I'm bleeding inside to know what you went through and I wasn't there to protect you. But get this fact through your hard head. The rape does not change my love for you.”

Stunned, moved, touched, she opened her mouth to speak, but Trace stopped her with a finger to her lips.

“Don't talk. Don't say a word until I'm finished. You had a right, even a responsibility to do your job as a police officer. You had a right to be in your own car, in your own garage. You had every right to defend yourself. The rapist made the choice. Not you. You had a right and he did not. His death was his
fault, not yours. You saved someone else from suffering the hell you endured.”

Cheyenne clung to every word. She had said those things to Emma not ten minutes ago. And she'd meant them. No man had a right to hurt a woman, in any manner.

Hope, like a broken-winged bird, flapped and fluttered, trying to rise and fly.

If they had any chance at all, she had to clear the air of everything. “I'd had a few drinks. The news media blamed me for everything. They said I was too cool, too collected, cold-blooded.”

“But you weren't. There isn't a cold-blooded cell in your body.”

Trace was right. The media didn't understand. They'd distorted everything and she'd bought in to their frenzy, taking the blame, accepting the humiliation as her due. But the light was beginning to dawn inside Cheyenne Rhodes.

“The only way I could cope was to detach before I came completely unraveled. I was going crazy inside.”

“You were a news story. They didn't know you at all. But I know you. And I love you.” He kissed her temple, his lips tickling against her hair. “If you'll let me, with God's help, I'll be the man you need.”

“What if I have flashbacks? What if I can't be the woman
you
need?” Disappointing him was her greatest fear, but, oh, she longed to hear him say she wouldn't be a failure as a woman.

“You already are the woman I need. Don't you see? Since Pamela died, I've been half a man, living in limbo. Then you arrived with your puppies and pretty face and I became whole again. I need you, Cheyenne. What happened to you infuriates me more than I can ever show, and I will spend the rest of my life showing you how a real man treats a woman—with respect and tenderness.”

“I already know that about you.”

“Then know this, too. I will do whatever it takes to help you feel safe and lovable again. If it takes godly counseling, prayer, time, patience, whatever you need, you'll have it.”

G. I. Jack's words about coming into God's marvelous light opened in Cheyenne's mind. Before she could heal, she had to release the darkness.

Accepting the truth, for only the truth could set her free, she cupped his face in her hands and gazed deeply into the purest blue eyes. The love radiating from Trace washed through her in warm, purging, purifying waves.

And at long last, Cheyenne released the darkness and embraced the light.

M
usic rocked the community center, and the smell of spaghetti and garlic bread made more than one belly growl. A huge crowd milled around inside and outside the building.

Cheyenne sat at a small table at the entrance, collecting donations for the fundraiser. Trace, with his charm and popularity, moved among the townsfolk, urging additional support for the women's shelter to be built.

Six months had passed since the night Ray Madden had broken down her door and Trace Bowman had broken down her defenses. Since then, she and Trace had become a team, at the clinic, in community service and personally. Her life had taken a complete turn from the broken, confused woman she'd been the day she'd driven across the river bridge and entered Redemption.

Renewed and deepened trust in God had done that for her. God and the love of a good man.

True to his word, Trace hadn't rushed her. Together they'd sought Christian counseling and slowly built a relationship based on honesty and trust and God's Word. More and more each day, Trace Bowman became the man she needed and she believed with all her heart, she was becoming the woman he and Zoey needed.

The thought gave her immeasurable joy.

Trace, deep in conversation with a wealthy oil man, glanced across the room and caught her eye, giving a thumbs-up. Happiness expanded in her chest.

“You're looking mighty pleased, Miss Cheyenne.” G. I. Jack pulled a hundred dollars from his breast pocket and plunked the bill on the table. She'd learned not to be surprised at anything about her two favorite senior gentlemen.

“Happy as a hog in a mud wallow,” she said, and waited for him to grin at the phrase.

“One of these days you're gonna make a country girl,” he said. “Where's our Zoey?”

Cheyenne gestured toward the long buffet line. “With Toby and some friends. They're helping Kitty and the others serve.”

Kitty, Emma and seven women who regularly attended Cheyenne's library meetings worked tirelessly in the kitchen and serving line. Emma had come a long way since that awful night. She had completed her GED and was working part-time at the courthouse, stunned by how good she was at office work. Ray Madden had disappeared from Redemption, though Emma was convinced he'd return. But now she had friends and the self-confidence to stand strong.

“I daresay half the town has turned out for the occasion,” Popbottle Jones said, adjusting an outdated tie. “In fact, I believe I spy a dear friend. Will the two of you excuse me, please?”

With a courtly bow, Popbottle Jones stood straight and tall, slicked both hands over his hair and walked with purpose toward one of the long, cloth-covered buffet tables. Annie Markham was setting a plate of spaghetti and salad in front of an older woman.

“Who is the lady with Annie and her kids?” she asked.

G. I. Jack watched his business partner with a speculative eye. “Miss Lydia Hawkins. She doesn't get out much these days. Bad health.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“She's a fine woman. A prayer warrior.” He turned to gaze down at Cheyenne. “You were on her list.”

“Me?” At his nod, Cheyenne marveled. A woman she didn't know had prayed for her. Maybe that was the “magic” of Redemption. People cared for strangers and friends alike. They prayed one for another, as the Bible said to do.

“Maybe you could return the favor,” he said softly. “Annie, too. She's had a rough go of things even though she never lets on.”

“I will.” Giving back felt good, whether in prayer, in her weekly counseling sessions in the library, or in helping raise funds for the shelter. “Popbottle seems quite interested in Miss Lydia.”

“I reckon you could say that.”

He didn't elaborate, but Cheyenne heard the tone. “I want to meet her. Will you take over for me here?”

“Be dee-lighted to.” He slid into her vacated chair. “You just watch and see. I'll harass more money out of these skinflints than you can shake a stick at.”

Grinning, Cheyenne patted his shoulder and wound her way through the crowd, stopping often. Many of these people were her friends now. As she moved, she searched for Trace, wanting him by her side.

The band eased into a soft instrumental number as she reached Lydia Hawkins's table. Popbottle Jones made the introductions.

Not knowing how to offer gratitude for prayer, Cheyenne sat down with the small party for a short chat. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

“We've needed a shelter in Redemption for a long time,” Annie said with a sad expression that made Cheyenne wonder.

Just then Trace appeared, his focus aimed at Cheyenne. Her pulse did a happy dance against her collarbone. She smiled up into his beloved face.

He tugged on her hand and she rose to meet him.

“You're needed outside for a moment.”

“I am?” With a little wave to the guests, she let him draw her through the crowd and out the back way. The night was dark and the alley was empty.

Cheyenne gazed around, bewildered. “What's out here?”

Trace grinned. “You and me.”

“But you said I was needed out here.”

“You are. I needed to be alone with you for a few minutes.”

“Oh, Trace.” She melted. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Everything. For bringing me out here. For loving me the way you do. For being exactly the man I need.”

Strong arms pulled her closer until she felt the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart. Trace Bowman, the Pollyanna vet, had the heart of a lion, a heart that beat for her.

The wonder of being loved by this man would never go away. Ever.

Before he'd come into her life, bringing God's love and light with him, she had been stumbling around in darkness, scared and alone.

She understood now what Kitty meant about Redemption drawing people in need. Redemption, or perhaps the spirit of faith and love and hope residing here, had taken her in all those months ago. And God in His great mercy had raised her from the depths of despair to peace and healing.

Trace tilted her chin and smiled. She smiled back.

“You're not afraid of the dark anymore.”

“With you by my side, I'm not afraid of anything.”

“When are you going to marry me?”

“The sooner, the better.”

“That's the answer I've been waiting to hear.”

And then his face descended and she welcomed him, at last, to be the woman she'd become, not the woman she'd been.

And the beauty of Trace's kiss was like a prayer, a fitting benediction on yesterday and a loving promise of what was yet to come.

Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed
Finding Her Way Home
, the first book in my new series, REDEMPTION RIVER. I had a great time populating this fictional small town with quirky characters like Popbottle Jones and G. I. Jack. They, along with more of the townspeople, will return in each of the upcoming books.

In
Finding Her Way Home
, I chose a particularly difficult topic—violent rape. Even in today's more open society, rape is an uncomfortable subject. To make my heroine a realistic character, I researched heavily, read many blogs by rape survivors and explored the ways each of them worked toward healing. Those survivors with faith in God were especially helpful and they seemed to regain their emotional health faster than those without faith, though all struggled with many of the issues that plagued Cheyenne. I owe a debt of gratitude to all of those survivors for their willingness to share the most painful, life-changing episode of their lives.

On a lighter note, Trace and Cheyenne had an ongoing joke about Trace's “famous” recipe for popcorn. I thought you might enjoy a simple recipe such as the one mentioned in the book.

Thank you again for reading, and don't forget to meet me again in Redemption River, where healing flows.