When Dreams Cross (19 page)

Allen Jenkins stiffened beneath Justin’s arm, and the inspector began to fidget. The group of men beside the building ceased their conversations. “I … I don’t know what you-”

Justin pointed to the rails over his head. “I’m talking about the fact that the spikes were removed on about twenty feet of rail. I’m talking about the missing joint bar. I’m talking about a cover-up!”

The inspector began to step backward, but Justin’s hands shot out and took him by the collar, jerking him upward until the short man’s face was closer to the frightening eyes that bored into him. “Why did you cover up? Did you have something to do with the sabotage?”

“What … I … No …” the man stammered.

Fury seethed through Justin’s veins, and he was on the verge of explosion. “Funny thing is, Givens isn’t going to cover for you. Remember the fire that was started a few weeks ago? He’s still letting Charlie Butler take the heat. Poor man’s sitting in jail, waiting for trial or for big, important Givens to bail him out, but he’s not going to. And he won’t bail you out, either. He’d as soon throw you to the wolves as remember your name.”

Allen Jenkins started to walk away, so Justin released the inspector and grabbed the security guard. Holding his collar in both fists, he dragged the guard close to his face. “And you … protecting the park from the forces of evil … who woulda thought that you might be one of Givens’s puppets, that you might have known what part of the tracks weren’t covered by cameras, and that you might have gotten up there without being noticed and pulled those bolts? Who would have believed it?”

“Hey, man. I didn’t do anything like that … I would never do anything to hurt Promised Land!”

“We have phone records, pal. We have your bank deposits. And you didn’t really think that Givens was going to get you out of this, did you? Give you an alibi? Bail you out? No. In fact, he has some interesting stories to tell about you.” It was a bluff, and he didn’t know for sure if it would work. But he was the king of the bluffers.

Andi seethed with rage. “We’ve been led to believe that you were the mastermind,” she said, adding to the bluff. “That you may have planned the whole thing.”

“That sleazeball told you that?” the engineer cried. “He told you that
I
masterminded it? Let me tell you something! If it weren’t for me, it might have happened when people were around it. I’m the one who made sure that no one got hurt! If it weren’t for me, it would have wound up like the fire, almost killing someone. Or the car wreck …” He caught himself and cursed, then kicked at the ground.

Andi and Justin exchanged glances, and there was a collective gasp from all of those around them. Then dead, barren silence.

“What car wreck?” Andi asked.

He clammed up, unwilling to say another word.

“What car wreck?”
she shouted. “My father’s? Was Givens behind my father’s wreck?”

The guard was shaking now, and he muttered, “I’m not saying another word until I have a lawyer.”

Andi, too, was shaking, and her eyes filled with tears. “We can make a deal with you. If you talk, and tell us everything you know that Givens has done, and testify against him when we get him to trial, I can guarantee you that we’ll drop all charges against you. Both of you. But if you don’t, I can promise you that you’ll rot in jail along with him, if it takes every last ounce of energy I have to make it happen.”

“Get me a lawyer, and I’ll tell you everything I know,” the engineer said.

The guard was almost in tears as he nodded his head. “Get me one, too,” he said. “And I’ll talk.”

They had the guards they trusted take them away until their lawyers could get there, and Andi stood frozen for a long moment, staring after them as the reality of what had happened sank into her. “Givens was responsible for my father’s death,” she said. “He caused the accident. He killed him …”

Justin didn’t care that she had sent him away, called him deadweight, told him she didn’t love him. He slid his arms around her and held her, only caring that she had some comfort from the ugly realities she had encountered today.

“Just hold me for a minute,” she whispered. “Don’t let me go.”

“You should know by now,” he whispered, his trembling arms crushing her more desperately against him, “that I have no intentions of ever doing that again.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

B
ecause of the mountain of evidence that came in like an avalanche regarding Givens’s part in the crimes against Promised Land, and the eyewitness accounts from people who were either approached about doing mischief on the grounds or hired to do it, not to mention the fact that the security guard swore to the fact that Givens had been responsible for Andrew Sherman’s accident, the man decided to plead guilty to extortion, conspiracy, slander, and manslaughter—a charge that had been bargained down in order to get his confession.

Three months later, he was sentenced to thirty-five years in prison—not enough for Andi, but enough to get him out of her way as she finished Promised Land. He was also ordered to pay her significant damages, an amount even higher than her insurance had already paid.

One morning, as she and Justin stood in the tower overlooking the park, where they had stood together on that first day that they’d signed the papers making Justin a part of Promised Land, she felt more peace than she’d felt in months. The Hands Across the Sea area had been rebuilt in record time, and the FanTran was finished, as well. Her investors had come to her aid to finance the rebuilding, knowing full well that the park would more than earn it back as soon as it opened.

“I can’t believe it’s almost finished,” she whispered as the breeze whipped through her hair. “Can you?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can. There it is.”

She smiled. “What would I have done without you, Justin? I’d be bankrupt. I’d be cowering in a corner somewhere, and Givens would have won.”

“You cowering? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve cowered from you an awful lot. God sure has taught me some lessons, Justin.”

He turned his back to the rail and leaned against it, gazing at her. “What lessons?”

“About my pride. About real repentance. About how self-defeating it is to always win.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sometimes you need to lose, don’t you? Just to keep you humble.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “I can relate. God’s had to bend me and break me and chip away at me to make me more like him. I still have an awful long way to go.”

“But look at his provision. He brought us together, with all our flaws, and knew that we would help lift each other up. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Not so amazing when you consider that it was all a part of his plan. To bring us together. To see us get married.”

Her eyes shot up to his, and he caught her chin and held it so she wouldn’t break his gaze. “Andi, it’s time.”

“Time for what?” she asked with a coy smile.

“Time to marry me,” he said. “The park’s opening next month. I think that’s ample time to plan a wedding.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to get married before the park opens?”

“Nope,” he said. “
When
the park opens. I want to get married on opening day, just like we planned.”

She stared at him for a moment as tears filled her eyes, then finally reached up to slide her arms around his neck. “I think that’s a beautiful idea, Justin.”

“Really?” he asked. “Even though it was mine?”

“
Because
it was yours,” she said.

A
month later, Andi stood beside Justin, her gown shimmering in the white-gold sunlight. Justin smiled down at her, running his finger around the inside edge of his stiff collar as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

The minister stepped to the bell tower railing of Khaki’s Kastle, and smiled down on the thousands of people below them who had packed into the Promised Land grounds for opening day and the fairy-tale wedding. With a triumphant smile, the minister spread his arms wide. “I now pronounce you man and wife,” he shouted dramatically as the crowd roared in wild excitement. Hundreds of colorful balloons rose to sprinkle the sky, and streamers and confetti floated everywhere.

“Shall I kiss the bride?” Justin inquired with an insufferable grin as he pulled Andi into his arms.

“If you don’t, I’m pushing you over,” Andi teased, sliding her arms around his neck and letting the forgotten bouquet hang from her fingertips as he dipped and kissed her.

His kiss was drugging, exhilarating, promising, awakening desire that would have to wait. A cheer rose from the crowd, then a unanimous demand for the bouquet. Justin broke the kiss and looked around, distracted. “Uh … I think they want the bouquet.”

She laughed and looked over the rail to the friends, family, and patrons below them. “Where should I toss it?”

Justin looked out over her shoulder until he found Sherry standing beside Madeline. “How about over there?” he asked. “It might cheer Sherry up.”

Taking aim, Andi leaned forward and launched the bouquet. Madeline dove for it, but it fell into Sherry’s hands. She looked stunned for a moment, then forced a smile and waved up at them. “I hope Clint comes back,” Justin said. “I think Sherry deserves to be as happy as we are.”

The Promised Land band struck up, and all of Khaki’s Krewe began to dance hilariously. “We really did it,” Andi said, turning back to Justin.

“God did it,” Justin whispered. “In spite of us.” Justin turned her to face him and pulled her into his arms. “I think we have a few hours until the reception,” he whispered against her ear, referring to the Downtown, Planet Earth party they had scheduled for that night, the party that would remain a nightly Promised Land event. “Why don’t we try to slip away?”

“You’re on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

He reached down and swept her up in his arms and carried her down the long staircase to the coach that awaited them.

Wes and Laney, with Amy and the baby, leaned into the chariot before it moved. Wes pressed a kiss on her cheek, then clutched Justin’s hand in silent blessing. He stepped back, and Andi’s mother—looking tanned and radiant from her stint in Paris—embraced them both joyfully. “In all the world, I couldn’t have picked a better husband for my daughter,” she told Justin. “Her father would be so proud.”

Smiling, Justin kissed her cheek. She stepped back, and the joyous crowd parted as the white steeds marched through, pulling the coach that carried the lovers.

Khaki, Ned, Trudeau, and all the rest of the Krewe gave mock salutes to their animator on their right, and on the left Andi’s uniformed park employees waved joyously. But Andi and Justin were oblivious to the cheers and congratulations over their married dreams, for they were lost in a new one that took them far beyond today. A dream that God had ordained.

And in that dream they were both winners.

About the Author

T
erri Blackstock is an award-winning novelist who has written for several major publishers including HarperCollins, Dell, Harlequin, and Silhouette. Published under two pseudonyms, her books have sold over 5 million copies worldwide.

With her success in secular publishing at its peak, Blackstock had what she calls “a spiritual awakening.” A Christian since the age of fourteen, she realized she had not been using her gift as God intended. It was at that point that she recommitted her life to Christ, gave up her secular career, and made the decision to write only books that would point her readers to him.

“I wanted to be able to tell the truth in my stories,” she said, “and not just be politically correct. It doesn’t matter how many readers I have if I can’t tell them what I know about the roots of their problems and the solutions that have literally saved my own life.”

Her books are about flawed Christians in crisis and God’s provisions for their mistakes and wrong choices. She claims to be extremely qualified to write such books, since she’s had years of personal experience.

A native of nowhere, since she was raised in the Air Force, Blackstock makes Mississippi her home. She and her husband are the parents of three children—a blended family which she considers one more of God’s provisions.

ENJOY THE NEXT BOOK IN THE SECOND CHANCES SERIES

Blind Trust
Chapter 1

T
he Bronco that had been riding Sherry Grayson’s bumper since she’d left work was not the sole cause of her rising anger. But since it had been inappropriate to lash out at Madeline when she’d broken the news just fifteen minutes ago, she figured the Bronco was as good a target for her rancor as any.

Deliberately slowing to fifteen miles an hour in a forty-mile-an-hour zone, she crept along, hoping the driver behind her would get the message and pass her before she gave in to her instincts and slammed her brakes to make him hit her from behind. It would serve him right, she thought. But wrecking her car wouldn’t solve her problems, any more than bursting into tears would. And she had neither the time nor the energy for that.

“Slow down,” she muttered as tremors of anxiety coursed through her. She couldn’t deal with a battle with a joyrider today. Yesterday, when life still had as much normalcy as it had ck anymore. After what she’d learned today, she knew she’d have to look back to muster the strength to plunge forward into the inevitable.

According to her roommate, Clint Jessup was back from the black hole he’d vanished into without a trace eight months ago, and he intended to see her. The destructive driver behind her was a warning that life was going to be a bit rougher for a while. But she had braved rough times before, and she had no doubt she could do it again.

Dreadfully anxious to be rid of the vehicle that seemed bent on driving right through her, she made a sharp turn onto a quieter street and breathed a shaky sigh of relief that she could drive the rest of the way in peace.

But a quick glance in the rearview mirror told her the Bronco was still behind her. Her pulse accelerated as the first light of understanding dawned on her. The Bronco was following her.

Driving fast enough to keep a car’s distance between them, Sherry strained to make out the driver. A man—no, two men—sat silhouetted against the sun descending at their backs. The driver’s shoulders were squared with determination as he drove, and the passenger sat slumped against the door in a pose of utter boredom. An instant of panic surged through her, and her chest constricted with air that couldn’t find its way out.

Making another quick turn while she held her breath, Sherry watched in her mirror as the Bronco barreled around the corner after her, the sun no longer making opaque shadows out of her pursuers. The driver’s hair flapped into his face from the hard wind at his window, and she watched a hand come up to push it back into place. It was dark hair, full and tapering back from his face, and against the light through his back window she could see the slightest hint of curl.

She made another turn as the panic coiling in the pit of her stomach became more pronounced. The sun was blazing toward her now, and without slowing her speed, she held up a hand to shade her eyes and glanced in the mirror again, hoping to glimpse his features and report him to the police. Sherry clutched the steering wheel more tightly as she waited for the bright glare to slide off the windshield and give her a clear view of his face as they rounded a curve. The open collar of the driver’s shirt flapped against his neck and a ray of sunlight caught a strip of gold draping down from his throat, illuminating it like the razor edge of a knife aimed at her. Some familiar pain stabbed her heart and she released her breath in a rush.
The gold chain … the engagement gift she had given him …

“No,” she said aloud before her imagination carried her away. It wasn’t him. It was just the knowledge that he was back that had made her heart conjure up images.

The sun descended behind the trees after its last blinding burst of orange, and suddenly the man came into full view through the mirror—the beckoning mane of soft, dark hair, the determined set of full lips on a tanned face, the chain glistening more subtly against his neck. And as her punctured heart sank to her stomach, her eyes rose to the dark, riveting eyes that refused to let her go. Clint Jessup’s eyes.

Oh, dear God, I’m not ready for this.
Physical danger she could bear, but Clint Jessup threatened something far worse.

Suddenly her driving became uninhibited, and her foot slammed against the accelerator. The sound and feel of metal sent a chill through her bones to rival the heat of the rage still consuming her.

As if he knew he’d been recognized, Clint’s teeth flashed between tight lips, and he sped up as well. His shoulders hunched forward as he clutched the steering wheel. Searching for another turnoff in hopes of getting back into the flow and security of heavy traffic, Sherry forced her eyes to stay on the road and away from the rearview mirror. But no sooner had she spotted a turnoff a mile up the deserted road than the heavy hum of his engine loomed up beside her.

Sherry kept her eyes off the vehicle trying to stop her, and remained intent on reaching the turnoff. But Clint had other plans. She heard his gears shift, heard the passenger in his car shouting at him, heard the squeal of his tires as he found a last burst of speed and screeched sideways in front of her. Stomping on her brakes, she steered to the shoulder of the road, skidding to a stop just short of hitting him.

The driver’s door of the Bronco slammed, and in seconds Clint was at her car. Before the thought of locking her door occurred to her, he was reaching for the handle, opening it, leaning inside. Sherry shoved him away and pushed out of the car, her lungs groping for air, her heart pounding. “Have you become a lunatic as well as a coward? Are you trying to kill us?”

Clint leaned against her car door to close it. The suggestion of a smile softened his lips, but his black eyes were serious as they took in the sight of her. “Hi, Sherry,” he said.

The mildness of his greeting rankled her, but somehow she couldn’t make herself get back in the car and drive away just yet. “What do you want, Clint?”

“I just wanted to see you. I tried to call, but I didn’t get very far with your roommate.”

Sherry slid her trembling fists into the pockets of her pants. “In the old days they used to knock on doors for that sort of thing, instead of running you down in the street.”

“You would have just slammed the door in my face,” Clint said. “I wanted to catch you before you got inside.”

Sherry turned away from his probing eyes and peered up the street, wishing she could turn back time a half hour and prepare herself for this encounter. “Next time you want to follow someone, Superman, you might be less conspicuous if you kept a few inches between bumpers.”

A slow, half-smile sauntered across Clint’s face, casting an angular shadow on the new, deep lines in his bronze skin. “And next time you get followed, Lois, you might avoid taking the most deserted street in the city.”

Sherry shrugged and reached past his hip to open her door. “Lesson learned. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Clint caught her shoulders and turned her to face him, his eyes narrow slashes squinting down at her. “I wanted to see you, Sherry, not teach you a lesson.”

Sherry stepped out of his hold and assessed him guardedly, fighting back the hope that told her to give him a chance. Reason left her for a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, and she mentally brushed his hair back as it eased over his face, mentally straightened the long, thin strand of gold as it looped from his neck where she had hung it months ago, mentally traced the tapering lines of his white shirt, the jeans that were worn and faded, the threadbare jogging shoes that he had never been able to part with as easily as he’d parted with her.

“Why did you move?” he asked. “I thought I’d never find you.” Sherry glanced away long enough to tighten her tenuous grip on her unstable emotions, then brought her eyes back to his, unblinking, as if the simple movement would shatter them. “I was all packed up with no place to go.”

His doleful gaze lowered to the pavement between them, and his throat convulsed. “I know I hurt you, running out like that before the wedding, but—”

“I survived,” she cut in, desperately wanting to be spared the excuses that had taken him eight months to manufacture. She already knew the reason he had left. When Madeline had called her this afternoon to tell her that Clint was back and that he had called, she’d said something about his being away working on a book he was writing. The very idea had enraged Sherry. He wasn’t a writer. He had never even mentioned a desire to write. He had been a youth minister before he’d skipped town. The flimsy, stupid excuse for his fleeing from commitment had added insult to injury.

“It was great to see you again, Clint,” she said in a saccharine voice as she reached for her door again. “Next time you see me on the street feel free to run me off the road for a nice little chat.” The door snapped open beneath her hand, but before she could step inside, Clint’s fingers clamped like iron cuffs around her arm.

Though his pressure would have swung her to face him, she deliberately kept her body turned toward the car. “I’m not finished with you, Sherry,” he said in a firm, determined voice as he set his other hand on her stiffening shoulder.

The touch shattered her facade and exposed the raw pain hidden beneath it. She clamped her teeth shut, grating out words that cut deeper with each syllable. “What do you want?”

“I want you back,” he said simply.

An almost hysterical laugh came from deep in her throat. Slowly, she turned to face him, carefully disengaging her arm from his grasp and narrowing her blue eyes to hide the pain lurking there. “It’s about eight months too late for that, Clint. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to work the freedom bug out of your system quite so soon, but—”

“It wasn’t the freedom bug, Sherry,” Clint interrupted impatiently. “You can’t believe I would have skipped out on the wedding without a really good reason.”

Sherry shook her head wearily and gazed off into the distance, the well of moisture in her eyes catching the light. “Clint, how should I put this? If you were kidnapped by savages and taken to some exotic island, and had to spend eight months swimming shark-infested waters to get back to me, it wouldn’t make any difference. It’s over. Dead. Can you understand that?”

His throat bobbed again, and he raised a finger to her chin, coaxing her face back to his in such a gentle way that she couldn’t resist looking at him. “I don’t believe you.”

Swallowing back the emotion blocking her throat, Sherry steadied her voice. “Fine, then, let’s test it.
Were
you kidnapped by savages and taken to some exotic island … ?” As she spoke, full tears sprang to her eyes, for she hadn’t realized until now how much she wished it were true.

“No,” he said. A deep, jagged breath tore from his lungs. “I can’t make you understand right now. I had to get away and—” “Write?” The word was flung as a challenge.

The lines in Clint’s face seemed etched deep with regret as he looked at the ground, then glanced toward the quiet man still sitting in the Bronco, the man Sherry had almost forgotten. The man leaned forward and nodded, as if giving him some silent signal. Clint’s eyes glossed over with despair as he brought them back to her. “Yeah,” he breathed out in a voice as dull as the sky in the wake of sunset. “I had to get away and write.”

Somehow the admission pierced her even more deeply than his disappearance had. “I’m sure the youth ministers of the world will appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made to record your amazing wellspring of knowledge. Too bad you’ve lost all your credibility now that you’ve left your youth group high and dry and dumped your
all in one moment of panic.”

“Sherry, don’t do this,” he whispered. He touched her hair so lightly that she sensed more than felt it. “I’ve been through agony, and it’s not over yet.”

Sherry ducked her head away from his hand and slipped into the car. “Just think how much richer your writing will be after all that suffering,” she said, her voice cracking. She cranked her engine, but he leaned inside the car door, still not letting her go. “It’s not over, Sherry,” he said in a deep, desperate voice. “I’m not giving up on you. You’re gonna have to do one major convincing job to make me believe that you don’t care anymore.” Sherry stared at her trembling hands clutching the steering wheel as if it alone could anchor her to reality.

“I’m still crazy about you,” he whispered, his hand slipping through the dark fall of her hair to settle on her neck. “An hour hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought of you.”

Sherry knew that somewhere within her there must be some reserve of strength. But for the life of her, she could not find it. Her eyes fluttered shut, absorbing the welling beads of moisture. She opened them again as his fingers began to knead her neck. “That’s very touching,” she whispered without inflection. Moving her head forward, she reached for his wrist and shoved his hand away from her neck. “Now if you’ll kindly move so I can shut my door …”

“I want to see you tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not?” he asked. “What are you afraid of?”

“My temper,” she said.