Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Bayou Sweetheart\The Firefighter's New Family\Season of Redemption (24 page)

His disappointment surprised him. “No other problems then?”

“Well...” She drew out the word. “Now that you ask, the house is another issue, and—”

“That's why I called.” His disappointment faded. “I'll be happy to pitch in where I can. I don't have a key, but if you trust me, maybe—”

“Trust you.” She sputtered the words with a chuckle. “Goodness, you're more than trustworthy. But I don't want to take advantage—”

“I'm volunteering. I have a couple of days off, so I can help. I know a guy who cuts trees—unless you have someone in mind—and I know another guy who can replace the window. I can give him a call about the situation if you'd like.”

“Like? It's perfect, and by the way, I called the insurance company so they know what happened. So, if you're willing...” She covered the mouthpiece a moment and then returned. “How about this? Jon just arrived. He can meet you at the house in ten minutes and give you the key. Will that work?”

“Sure does. I'll watch for his car.”

“It's light beige.”

“Got it.” When he hung up, he rose and dug into the refrigerator. He pulled out bread and slapped salami and pepper jack cheese between the slices. Dinner with no fuss. With a refill on coffee, he walked to the living room window and waited.

His interest in the project boggled him. Dealing with injured people and property damage was a daily event, and he tried to harden himself to it. Otherwise it would eat him raw.

But today he'd experienced a sense of mission, almost as if he had been called to serve in a special way. It had to be the boy. Kids could twist hearts around their tiny fingers. He'd been twisted already when he'd looked at the little boy's face.

His daughter, Kaylee, filled his thoughts again. He should have picked her up today, but her mother had called and asked him to skip the visitation this week. She'd sounded different—slow and calculated. He shouldn't have agreed, but she riled easily. To keep peace, he'd agreed to the change. He'd do anything to avoid arguing. He would see Kaylee on his next days off, but he still didn't like it.

When headlights reflected on the road, he chomped down the final hunk of sandwich. Though the night darkened by the minute, he could make out a light-colored SUV. He swallowed the last of the coffee, set the mug on the lamp table and stepped outside.

The vehicle pulled in front of Ashley's house, and as Devon neared, Jon slipped from the driver's seat. The man stood tall with broad shoulders and a shock of dark hair.

Devon crossed the street and greeted him in the driveway.

Jon dug into his pocket and dangled a single key from a key ring. “This is kind of you.”

“I'm happy to help. I know Ashley is a single mom, and—”

Jon dropped his gaze. “She's been through too much. This kind of thing doesn't help.”

Not seeing Kaylee today arose in his thoughts. “It doesn't.” But he'd admired Ashley's bravery from the moment they'd met. Questions filled Devon's mind, but he resisted and he hadn't needed to.

Jon released a long sigh. “Adam was a great guy. Kind, loving, faith-filled. He would have been a model dad.” Sadness filled his eyes. “He never had a chance. I know that made it more difficult for Ashley. But she only grew stronger. Instead of falling apart, she threw her energy into raising Joey.” Pride replaced his sorrow. “The boy's bright like his daddy—not to say Ashley isn't smart—but Adam had something special. I think his son has it, too.”

Devon coughed to cover his unexpected emotion and changed the subject. “I'll make those calls I mentioned to Neely, or if you—”

“Yes, thanks. If you'll get estimates, I'll call her insurance company for approval to proceed.” Jon extended his hand.

Devon grasped it. “Good plan. I'll give you a call tomorrow.”

Jon clasped his shoulder. “Thanks again.” Jon shook his hand again and turned down the driveway to his vehicle.

Devon waited until he pulled away, and though temptation to go inside lured him, he didn't. When he was wound up, his body kicked into endurance mode, and the sleep he needed might never come. Tomorrow made more sense. With that settled, he headed home. Maybe if he tried to read or watch a movie, he'd drift off in his recliner. That seemed to happen when he didn't want to sleep. Maybe tonight it would work in his favor.

* * *

Devon turned the key in the lock and pushed open the side door. Even though he had permission, walking into someone's house when they weren't home gave him the creeps. He wondered if burglars felt the same way. He took the two steps into the kitchen. A carton of milk sat on the countertop and a loaf of bread stood nearby. Ashley said she'd been in the kitchen when everything happened. He poured out the milk and tossed the carton into a trash can he found beneath the sink. He added “buy milk” to his task list.

He passed through a small dining area into the living room and faced the boarded window. A lamp lay on the floor beside a toppled side table. Across the carpet, glass shards glittered in the daylight from a side window. He righted the table, moving it away from the glass, and surveyed the lamp. No damage. The contents of a candy dish lay scattered nearby. He turned over the dish and replaced the wrapped candies, then set the bowl on the table. A photograph lay facedown. When he lifted it, his heart lurched. A good-looking young man, wearing his Class A uniform, blond hair showing beneath his cap. Adam. He'd been right about Joey's hair color, and now he noticed the similar jawline. A father who had never seen his son.

Though he'd learned to control his emotions, pressure pushed behind Devon's eyes. He closed them and set the photo on the table, refusing to weaken. A crying firefighter was useless, but hardening his heart was tough.

He walked into the kitchen, and near the backdoor where he'd seen stairs to the basement, he found a small broom closet. He opened it. No vacuum cleaner. He followed his instincts deeper into the house and located another closet, mainly linens with a small space to squeeze the Hoover. He pushed it into the living room, plugged it in and stepped on the button. The machine's hum filled the silence as he worked it back and forth. When the carpet looked free of glass, he attached an edge tool and inched it along the space close to the wall. Joey played on the floor, he was sure, and he didn't want the boy to get cut.

Standing back, he surveyed the window. Though difficult to measure, he pulled the measure tape from his pocket and did his best to estimate the size in each direction, one large window and two smaller panes. He'd let the expert worry about accurate measurements.

Devon made the two calls before he left the house. Both men promised to call back and come by today as soon as they could, so all he had to do was wait.

After returning the vacuum cleaner to the closet, he passed another row of photographs sitting on a small buffet in the dining room. He walked closer, his stomach tightening. Ashley and Adam's wedding photo wrenched his heart. Two smiling faces beamed into the camera, their arms entwined, a bouquet of white orchids tinged in pink, dark green vines twining between pink rosebuds. A lump formed in his throat, and at that moment, he realized the tears were for himself.

His marriage had ended more strangely than he could ever understand. He and Gina had never argued other than the typical little squabbles all couples had. They'd been in love...he'd thought. When he tried to sort it out, the only clue he found came after her pregnancy. She called it postpartum depression. He'd known of the illness, but had no idea the stress it would add to their lives. Days came when she didn't want to get out of bed. She had lost interest in everything. Her mood swung from anger to withdrawn silence. Even toward Kaylee. Because of his work schedule, she suggested living with her sister who could help her. He watched her go, but he'd tried everything to bring her home. Instead of getting better, she became worse.

The memories tore through him, weighting his chest and curdling his stomach. He loved his daughter. He'd loved Gina, but the love had died. She'd become a woman he no longer knew. He'd failed her. Even prayers and pleading with God had reaped no answer, and finally he stopped, sensing that her choice was God's will. Had he been wrong to think it had been the Lord's decision? He still had no answer to the question.

Thinking of her call, he'd heard a new desperation in her voice. Something prodded him to call her and demand Kaylee today. He could fight for custody. He turned his eyes to the one window open, which added light to the room. As he looked at the blurred scenery, tears rolled down his cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, frustrated that he'd allowed himself to succumb to self-pity.

Or was it really pity? Love for his daughter burned in his heart.

He forced himself away from the photographs, not liking the feelings they'd exposed. He scanned the other rooms. Everything looked in order, a few things here and there like any home. Ashley hadn't planned an injury and days in the hospital when she walked out the side door to move her car and salvage Joey's wagon.

Joey. The child would need clothes if he stayed with Neely, and he had the key. He'd call and return it. As the situations organized in his mind, a noise alerted him. He glanced out the front door and saw the window repairman. Once he was gone, he'd leave for the store to pick up milk. Or maybe he'd wait until he learned Ashley's release date.

With Ashley on his mind, he opened the door for the window installer and led him to the living room. While he watched the man work, he reviewed the thoughts skittering through his mind. He wanted to get to know Ashley better. A lady friend sounded nice. A sweet sensation rolled through his chest, but for now, he could only handle friendship.

He had offered his babysitting services to Neely again, thinking about Kaylee and Joey playing together, but the bonus to his plan offered him a chance to bond with Ashley. He liked her. A lot. Though Kaylee was almost a year older, Joey's skills for a three-year-old equaled hers, he was sure. They would get along fine.

But what if they didn't? That could be the end of his plan.

Chapter Three

A
shley closed her eyes, willing away the ache in her arms. She'd hoisted Joey so many times, but lifting her own weight on crutches brought about a whole different challenge. She caught herself more than once forgetting to keep the weight off her left leg.

“One more time.”

The therapist's command struck her again, and she wanted to rebel at his insistence even though she knew the therapy was good for her. When she could walk with the crutches, she could go home.

Home. She'd missed her place so much. She'd survived Adam's death. This setback should have been nothing more than a bump in her life. Instead, she'd allowed it to become a dunghill.

Shame swept over her. Strength. Courage. Faith. Those attributes had been her stronghold. Where were they now?

“Ashley. If you want to go home, you—”

“I know. If I want to go home, I have to maneuver stairs. I know. I know.” The tone of her voice sickened her.

“Good. So maneuver them.”

His cocky comment grated on her patience, but his job consisted of being firm, being supportive and teaching her to walk with crutches. He'd tried firm and supportive. All she'd left for him to use was sarcasm.

She lowered her forehead to her forearm and brushed the perspiration away from her eyes. The stairs took effort and balance. She could do it.

One step at a time, Ashley made her way to the top and back down the other side. “There. How's that?”

“Good. Take a minute and then do it again.” His eyes captured hers, and her frustration subsided.

Compassion. The emotion slipped through her, and she wished she'd not taken her defeated feeling out on him. Without another comment, she moved forward, working her way up and down each step, one at a time.

“Good job.” He gave her shoulder a pat. “You're finished for today. In fact, I think you could go home tomorrow.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Your surgeon makes the final decision, but I'll recommend it. I think you're ready.”

After four days she was ready. Tomorrow seemed a lifetime, but her gratefulness swelled. “Thank you, and I'm sorry for—”

He put his thick finger to his lips. “Shh. No apologies. I've heard much worse. I've been called names, hit with a crutch—”

“I hope you're kidding.”

“Nope. Fact.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Ashley, be patient with yourself. It won't be easy, and I know you have a toddler at home who you need to care for. Just be careful. No fast moves. Ask for help when you need it, and allow people to be there for you.”

He knew her better than she realized. “I'll remember.”

She slipped into the wheelchair, and he gave her an agreeable nod before turning to his next patient. While she waited for an escort to take her to her room, she reviewed what he'd said. Her family had been at her beck and call for so long. They adored Joey, and Adam's death had cut off a slice of their lives, too, but she did find it difficult to ask for help sometimes. Even Devon, her firefighter hero, had stepped into her life, and though she enjoyed talking to him, her discomfort grew, feeling the old guilt as if she shouldn't enjoy another man's company.

“Ready?”

Her head jerked upward, hearing the escort. She managed a smile, and he turned her around and wheeled her back to her room.

Once in bed, she had him prop her pillows so she could sit up and come alive. Her leg ached. Her arms ached. Her head ached. A pill could resolve those issues, but her other problems, ones she didn't understand, couldn't be settled with a pill. She closed her eyes, and Joey filled her mind. He missed her, and she missed him. Terribly. Neely's visit came with stories of his antics. Her father visited and relayed the cute things Joey did when they spent time together. Though she loved hearing their stories, they brought envy. No one should have fun with her son unless she was there to enjoy it.

Foolish, but that was how her mind worked most days.

One other person permeated her quiet moments. Devon. Despite her confusion with guilt and loneliness, she had been unable to control the longing she felt to see him again. Four days had passed with no word from him. Though it made no sense, she felt abandoned. He'd spent the day of her accident waiting in the hospital to make sure she would be okay. He cared for Joey while Neely visited and stuck around to talk with her. That was it.

What did she expect? The answer evaded her. When possibilities slipped into her mind, she chased them away. Getting involved with anyone again—anyone of the opposite sex—would take preparation and contemplation. She'd been duped by her former boyfriend and never wanted that to happen again.

Devon's image drove Erik from her thoughts. The firefighter had been a concerned neighbor. A gentleman with every meaning of the word. Thinking about a man who had become her hero was senseless, especially a man whose career had “no involvement” written all over it.

She eyed the wall clock. Time for lunch, then one more night in the hospital. Devon's image faded, replaced by her sweet son's face. The image made her grin. Tomorrow. She'd be home.

* * *

Devon surveyed the oncoming crew standing around the firehouse apparatus room. “I think that's it. After the last storm, I know we were grateful for the calm evening last night other than Mrs. Benson's falling over her dog again.” He grinned. Everyone knew the sweet but lonely lady used every excuse in the book to call firefighters to her home for a few minutes of conversation. The call also meant playing with her dog. She and the mutt loved the attention. “Any questions?”

No one responded except for a couple of murmured comments about dear Mrs. Benson and her dog. He stifled a yawn. “Okay, then. Time for you to work and for us to go home.” He grinned, and when he spun around, he rammed into Clint Donatelli. “Sorry, pal. My radar's out of whack.” He grinned, too tired to make sense.

“My fault.” Clint gave him a pat on the back. “Where you headed in such a hurry?”

“To bed.” Devon rubbed his eyes with his knuckle. “But I can only sleep a few hours. I'm picking up Kaylee from preschool this afternoon.” He eyed his uniform. “I need to change and be on my way. I thought I'd stop at the hosp—” Why had he said that aloud? He didn't need questions.

A frown shot to Clint's face “Is it your mom? I hope she's not ill.”

“No, Mom's fine. It's the... Just a friend.” He squirmed at Clint's telling expression, one eye squinting, the other boosting a raised eyebrow.

“Hmm? Could it be a visit with the young woman who was trapped under that tree.” Clint's squint segued to a wink.

Devon shrugged. “Okay. Yes. She's a neighbor, and I—”

“If I remember, an attractive neighbor enthralled by the brave firefighter who—”

Devon gave him a poke. “Ever hear of compassion? The woman's stuck in the hospital, missing her three-year-old son who's staying with relatives and probably confused.”

Clint wrapped his arm around Devon's shoulders and gave them a shake. “Just razzing you, Dev. You know me, an old man who wished he had someone to go home to.”

An unwanted ache slithered through Devon's mind. He'd had similar thoughts more than he wanted to admit. He let Clint's comment slide. “You're not old.” Clint was a few years older than his own thirty-three years. “You're seasoned.”

“My hair is for sure. Salt and pepper.” Clint flashed a grin and ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair.

Devon gave him a nod. “Salt and pepper looks good on you. But you're right, Clint. I'm afraid the stress is too much for some wives. I have membership in the club no one wants to belong to—divorced men.” After the words slipped out, he wished he could take them back.

“Right, and a club where you paid your dues. But at least you had a wife once. She accepted your work enough to marry you.”

The comment reminded him of Clint's fiancée walking out on him. “That was a bad situation for you, and I really don't understand why she waited so long to decide she couldn't handle your profession.”

“I never understood it either, so I decided no wife is better than being walked out on.”

The unintentional blow struck Devon.

“Hey, pal, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that about you.” Clint rested his hand on Devon's shoulder. “Anyway, you have a bonus from your marriage. The joy of being a father.”

The bonus comment caused Devon to grin. “True.” Kaylee had become his greatest joy. “We both have to face the truth. Neither of us is about to change professions. I love my work. Dangerous yes, but fulfilling.” He shrugged. “I suppose it's difficult for some people to understand unless they feel the passion we do about saving lives and property.”

“It's not you or me, Dev. It takes a special kind of woman to understand.” Clint stared into the distance. “But where are they?”

Devon looked down at his work boots. “You know, sometimes I think about my marriage and wonder what I could have done to make a difference in the outcome. The Lord has a purpose for each of us, and I can't imagine divorce is one of His choices. But it happened.” He shrugged. “I keep thinking anyway.”

Clint shook his head. “We all question what we did wrong. Maybe I didn't give enough when I was with my fiancée. Maybe...” He lifted his shoulders and released a lengthy breath. “Maybe I'll never know, but I'd like to think I can be a good husband if I had a chance.”

Devon nodded. “I'm with you. I hope one day I'll have another chance.” He chuckled and laid his palm on Clint's shoulder. “Maybe one day when I'm an old geezer like you.”

“Then you think I still have a chance.” His grin lightened the conversation.

“I sure do. You'd make any woman a good husband even if you are a firefighter. Wait and see.”

Devon strode to his locker and stepped out of his work gear into his street clothes, but his mind jumped back to the more serious side of their conversation. He'd asked himself many questions after Gina moved in with her sister. “For a while” was how she'd framed it. Worried about her depression and whether she could care for their new daughter, the option seemed the best at the time. But no matter how he sorted it out now, he'd let her down. Now he wondered if love would ever come his way again and if he would ever find someone who could deal with his career.

Clint was right. Only a special woman could grasp how much the job meant to firefighters.

As Devon headed for the exit, his purported plans for the day returned to mind—sleep and stop by the hospital on the way to pick up Kaylee.

He rubbed his forehead, searching for an answer to the question that had just flown into his head. Why visit the hospital? Ashley had enough problems in her life. She wouldn't be that special woman for him, but she was a neighbor, and a special neighbor since he'd come to her rescue a few days earlier.

He could sleep longer if he crossed the hospital off his list. That's what he should do. Why complicate his life?

* * *

Since hearing she could go home tomorrow, Ashley couldn't stop her right knee from jiggling, as if the movement would make the time move faster. The clock hands lumbered around the face, seeming as weighted as her left leg, bound in bandages.

Her crutches leaned against the wall. She'd gotten up twice, once to use the bathroom and again to step into the hallway for a short walk with a nurse's assistant. But those short trips disappointed her. She'd hoped that with therapy she would gain strength. Today she felt weaker than usual.

And Joey. She could think of no way to lift him into bed or into his booster seat. How could she do it with crutches and a leg that couldn't bear weight? Her frustration edged on self-pity, and she knew it. Pulling her focus from the wall clock, she studied the crutches. Determination spurred her on, and she slipped from the bed, balancing on her right foot, and leaned toward the crutches. Her left foot hit the floor and pain shot up her leg in a deep throb.

She sank back onto the mattress, tears burning her eyes. Everyone had stressed the importance of staying off the leg until the surgeon deemed it weight bearing. Stupid to get up by herself. Her confidence sank and frustration took its place.

Self-pity. Defeat. Emotions she refused to succumb to. She drew up her shoulders and, using her arms, shifted closer to the wall. This time she dropped to the floor, keeping her left leg safe, and grasped the crutches. “Did it.” Her voice surprised her.

Tucking the support under her arms, she tested her weight against the underarm pads and took a step. Determination returned. If she were to manage alone, she needed strength and mobility.

She stepped forward on her right leg and swung the left, trying to forget the ache in her arms.

“Look what we have here.”

Her pulse surged as she looked up. “Devon, I didn't expect to see you.”

Like a searchlight, a frown swung across his face. “I hadn't planned to come.” His expression read surprise. “But I pass this way to pick up Kaylee from preschool so—”

“She's your daughter.”

“Yes. Kaylee's four...almost five, she'll tell you, but that's a long way off.” He grinned. “Kindergarten soon. I can't believe it.”

The grin faded and sadness registered in his expression, and she sensed he harbored a deep wound. “I've seen her playing in the yard once in a while.” But she'd never seen a woman.

He nodded as he eyed his watch. “To be honest, my car just swung into the parking lot.”

The image of his car pulling into the parking lot against his will might have caused her to chuckle or roll her eyes, but not today. His unexpected visit surprised her and seemed to surprise him, too.

He fell silent again, and she had so much she wanted to know. She knew better than to push, and judging from his expression, something seemed to be on Devon's mind.