Monday and Tuesday passed with no word from Rob, but they were beautiful, happy days for Micah because she knew she would see him again. They would have more times together, once the trial ended.
When she entered her apartment on Wednesday evening, Patches followed her through the front door into her living room, where Micah found the red light flashing on her answering machine. She pushed the play button.
“Hi, Micah. This is your beautician, otherwise known as your best friend, Carole. It's good that you've patched things up with Rob, but don't forget you have other friends, other responsibilities. Call me sometime and, as the saying goes, ‘We'll do lunch.’”
The beep sounded, and another message began. “Hello. Glad you're using the answering machine. It's seven forty-eight, Wednesday morning.” She smiled at his preciseness. “I didn't expect you to leave for school so early. The trial should be over in a day or two. Things are looking up. I'll let you know what happens. Bye.” Then a pause. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” she whispered, placing a hand on the recorder.
The third and fourth calls were from salesmen suggesting she buy aluminum siding.
“For an apartment I rent? I don't think so,” she murmured, then rewound the tape and clicked off the machine.
“C'mon, kitty,” Micah called her furry companion to the front door. “Mrs. Poe will wonder where you've disappeared to,” she said, watching the cat scamper through the open doorway.
The clock showed a few minutes after six, so she turned on the television. The news, already in progress, showed an older, white-haired gentleman being interviewed as he stood on the courthouse steps. The face was not familiar, but the name that the reporter mentioned caught Micah's attention. Alsmore. Attorney Taylor Alsmore was the man on the screen. She turned up the volume to hear his words while he beamed about a victorious verdict in the murder trial that had concluded earlier that afternoon. Micah sat on the corner of the heavy old coffee table, never moving her eyes from the picture as Alsmore glowed and raved about justice…about simply doing his job… and about the appropriateness of jury trials. Micah's mouth dropped open in surprise. The Gendersen trial had been in the news for the past two weeks, but Micah skipped over the articles and newscasts. She had followed one trial, word for word, years ago, and had determined never to do that again. But Rob had not mentioned that this was the trial he was so busy with. A murder trial. Of course, she could have taken more of an interest, asked more questions about his work. Micah turned off the television and stood staring into the darkening screen. Law, trials, courtrooms, attorneys. Why had she fallen in love with someone who was so involved in all of that?
Through her sandwich and potato chips and later through a hurried shower, she waited for his call. But it didn't come. By ten o'clock, she was in bed with a book in her hands that was quickly laid aside at the first ring of the telephone.
“Congratulations! You won,” Micah said as soon as she heard Rob's familiar hello.
“Thanks. You never know how things are going to turn out with a jury,” he replied.
“You didn't tell me it was the Gendersen trial, a murder case.”
“I don't usually want to discuss work when I'm with you, Micah.”
She smiled, and then tucking stray hair behind her ear, she asked, “Did you see the news? Did you see Alsmore taking all the credit?”
“Alsmore is good at that. And he is the senior partner, you know.”
“But, Rob, it's not fair for him to get all the glory. How can you stand—”
“Honey, if I got upset about everything in this firm that I didn't agree with, I wouldn't be a very pleasant person to be around,” Rob replied. “Tell me how your day was.”
“My day? It was okay, but it couldn't compare to yours.”
He laughed. “I thought you didn't like courtroom drama?”
“I don't,” she answered gently, “but I'm proud of you. You should feel good about what you've done.”
“What I'd feel good about is seeing you. What are you doing?”
“I'm in bed, reading,” she responded.
Rob remained quiet for a moment, and Micah had the intuitive feeling that he had decided against saying whatever had crossed his mind.
“Tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Tomorrow is Thursday. I'm teaching two classes in the evening. How about Friday?”
“Friday? Is that the best we can do?”
“I'm afraid so. That is, unless you want to come over now for a while,” she offered.
He hesitated. “No, it's late, and I don't want to keep you from a good book.”
“It's not that good,” she answered, laughing softly.
“I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier, Micah, but I had clients waiting for me when I got back to the office.”
“You've been working too much,” she said out of what she knew to be selfish motives. She had wanted to be with him this evening and even now, to see him, talk to him, touch him. “Maybe you should have told them to come back tomorrow.”
“I wanted to.” The answer sounded firm, resolute. And Rob's voice sounded tired. “But their fifteen-year-old son had been picked up for breaking and entering. This family has three kids, all boys. The oldest one is the problem now, but the other two are headed down the same path soon.”
“Is there any way to help them?”
“I don't know, Micah. I'll do what I can with legal help, but what they need is some family counseling. And God. How could anyone expect to raise three children in today's world without God in their lives?”
Micah opened her mouth to respond but found herself speechless. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Rob offering the Lord as a solution?
“I called Brian Andrews over at Third Avenue Church. They just finished a building project over there, and they have a new gym.”
“I've heard about that,” she acknowledged quickly. Micah's heart soared with possibilities. She had always believed Rob would one day find his way back to God, but this was the best sign she'd seen yet.
“Brian is the youth pastor there. He was in that teen group I belonged to years ago. He said they have some open nights at the gym, and they're starting to organize basketball games. Maybe I can get this kid interested in something that will keep him out of trouble.”
“Did he agree to go?”
“If I go with him,” Rob answered. “And since you're busy tomorrow, I guess I'll be picking him up, by myself, at six o'clock.”
Micah chose her words carefully. “That's a start,” she said. For the teen and Rob, she considered. “Who knows? Maybe it will be fun.”
“Right.” Rob's tone was filled with skepticism. “I don't know how I get into these situations.”
“You're compassionate and very decisive,” Micah commented. “You see something that needs to be done, and you do it.”
“Right,” he growled. “And my impetuous tendencies get me into situations that I later regret.”
“You won't regret this, Rob. It could change this boy's life.” And Rob's, Micah added silently to herself. If only he'd let it. “See you Friday?”
“I'll be waiting,” she responded, and there was silence between them.
“I miss you.” The gentleness in his voice brought a lump to her throat.
“Friday?” she repeated.
“Friday,” he replied quietly. “Good night, Micah.”
“Good night,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Closing the daily devotional book close at hand, she placed it on the floor beneath her bed and turned off the light. Friday seemed as far away as Rob did at that moment.
The hours at school the next morning seemed to drag by, and Micah needed something to break up the long stretch of time standing between her and Rob.
“I'm using my lunch period and break time to go downtown and pick up some supplies I need for class this afternoon,” Micah explained to Angela while preparing to exit the building. “I'll be back in less than an hour.”
That sunny Thursday afternoon was a lovely day in late April made even lovelier by the fact that her old station wagon started on the first try. It had given her very little trouble lately. Everything looked and felt wonderfully, beautifully right for once in her life.
She drove the short distance to the art supply store in town and ran inside to pick up the craft sticks, poster board and other supplies she had ordered. Much more quickly than she had anticipated, she headed back in the direction of the school. Back to papers to grade, kids to control and more hours of waiting. The thirty extra minutes before her next class were like a breath of fresh air, but the hours until Friday seemed endless. She decided to surprise Rob with a visit.
Soon she pulled into the parking lot behind Alsmore, Barlett and Maine's office building. Rob would probably be at lunch. Her watch showed a quarter past twelve, but she would take the chance.
A trio of secretaries exited the building as Micah neared the front door. All were tall, willowy young women whom Micah eyed curiously. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. Not the soft auburn of her own curly hair, Micah noticed, but a brassy red. Did they work with Rob? She had only been in his office once, and she couldn't recall seeing any of them.
“Hello. May I help you?” asked the friendly, pert young woman at the receptionist's desk as Micah entered the cool, air-conditioned suite of offices.
“Is Rob Granston in?” Maybe she had made a mistake in coming. What had seemed a good idea a few minutes ago, now felt like an intrusion.
“Yes, I believe he's still here. Your name, please?”
“Micah Shepherd.”
The receptionist disappeared into the office Micah remembered entering the last time she had been here. Soon the woman reappeared in the doorway.
“You can go right in, Miss Shepherd.”
Micah stepped past the young lady into Rob's office, and the door clicked shut.
“Hello, Miss Shepherd,” Rob said as he rose from his chair and walked around the corner of his desk, his mouth slanting into a smile.
Her heart quickened its pace when he approached her, touching her only with his warm gaze. “Good afternoon,” she answered.
“You need to speak with an attorney?” The question was lightly stated, almost taunting, and his eyes flashed with amusement.
“With one in particular,” she replied in her most professional tone.
“And what is it you wish to speak with me about?” he asked, leaning near her and grazing her earlobe with a light, teasing kiss.
The faint aroma of his cologne filled her senses, and her desire to see him increased quickly to the need to touch. And so she did. First his shirt and then his tie, her fingers gliding along the edge, straightening it. She looked up at him through long, dark lashes. “Speaking isn't exactly what I had in mind,” she said softly, and rising on her tiptoe, she invited his kiss—a slow, tender meeting that clouded her thoughts and warmed her heart and soul. Micah's arms slid around his neck, her fingers weaving into soft, black hair, straight and fine. As Rob's hands moved against her back, pulling her close, Micah could feel the hammering of his heart against her own, and the kiss went on and on until—
A buzzer rang, shattering the moment, and the receptionist's voice came over the intercom advising Rob of a call.
Micah buried her face in his shirt, muffling a laugh. But Rob was not laughing. He muttered something undistinguishable while reaching for the telephone on the desk beside them. “Take a message, Jackie. I'll return the call later.”
“But Mr. Alsmore wants you. He needs to review the Holcomb case with you. Could you take the file and meet him in his office in fifteen minutes?”
Micah raised a hand to her mouth to cover the light laughter. She turned away from Rob while he agreed to meet with his boss, then instructed the receptionist to hold his calls. Micah stood glancing over the framed diplomas displayed on one wall of Rob's office until he finished.
“Thank you, Jackie,” Rob concluded and glanced briefly through several manila folders stacked on his desk.
“Rob…this diploma…it's from Trinity,” Micah said.
“Uh-huh,” he confirmed without looking up. “Where did I put that Holcomb file?”
“You did your undergraduate work at a Christian college? Why didn't you tell me?”
“It didn't seem important enough to mention. Here it is,” he commented, pulling out the folder he needed.
“It's important to me. I knew you were a Christian, but for how long?”
“Ten years.” Rob placed the Holcomb file on his chair. “Now, can we get back to what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted?” He moved closer to Micah again, taking her in his arms easily, naturally.
“That's a long time, Rob. And after ten years, Nick died and that was it? You just stopped going to church? Stopped believing?”
“I think you're familiar with the term ‘backslide’?”
“But, Rob—"
He placed an index finger gently against her lips to silence her. “I believed for a while, and then, one day, I didn't.” Rob lowered his hand from her mouth to clasp her hand warmly in his own. Then he lightly kissed her frown. “You said you didn't come here to talk. Remember?”
“She can't hear us, can she?” Micah asked as she looked toward the intercom. “I mean, I thought we were alone, and then she started speaking.”
“We're alone,” he responded, “until you pick up the phone or someone opens the door.”
Micah slipped away, moving only inches from him, and adjusted her rumpled skirt and blouse. “It seems so funny, being in your office, kissing like that with people just outside the door.” She motioned toward the entrance she had come through.
Rob touched her face gently as a trace of a smile crossed his lips. “It didn't seem funny to me, but maybe if we try again—”
“Someone might walk in,” she protested, but did not move away from his touch.
“Not without knocking, they won't. Common courtesy, Micah.”
“Common courtesy or a master plan devised to prevent interruptions of such displays of affection?” Micah teased. “Tell me, Counselor, are you accustomed to this type of behavior in this office?”
“Absolutely,” he responded. “It's an everyday occurrence.”
“Rob!” Micah punched him playfully in the arm. The joking had gone far enough. She had seen too many attractive women in this building.
“Worried, huh?” he said quietly, drawing her back into his warm embrace. “Is that why you came down here today? To check on me?”
“No, I…I really only meant to stop in and say hi.”
His hand touched the soft skin under her chin, tilting her gaze up to his. “Hi,” he offered in a deadly calm voice, and his darkening eyes searched her face. “Satisfied?”
Micah stared into compelling blue, fighting the urge to shake her head no. Snatches of time and a few promising kisses would never—
“I…I have to get back,” she said, stumbling through her statement. This was an office, a place of business, and there were people only a few feet away on the other side of the door. Micah felt as if they could somehow be seen through that irritating intercom. “I have to get back to school. My next class is due to start soon.”
“All right,” he conceded. Or did he? The firm hands sliding up her arms seemed to have no intention of letting her go. “Goodbye,” Rob said in an almost casual tone, but there was nothing casual in the reaction between them when their mouths met again in a kiss that was tender only in its beginning. They both needed, wanted more than a few moments together offered.
“Rob,” she breathed his name as the draining kiss came to a slow, almost painful end. “I've got to leave.”
He released her, reluctance in every movement
“Tomorrow night?” she whispered softly, needlessly.
“I'll be there. Six o'clock,” he replied as she turned from him. “Micah, before you go…my parents are having a dinner this Sunday. One o'clock. Liz and my brother and their families will be there. They'd like you to come.”
Meeting his family. She cringed at the thought. There had been no involvement, no relationship for her serious enough to warrant meeting the family since California. She blinked. It had been a very long time. “Rob…”
“I want you to come,” he added with emphasis.
A soft sigh escaped. Micah had survived an encounter with one irate, accusatory mom. Maybe it was time to take another chance. “If it's important to you,” she said.
“It is,” he responded, obviously pleased with her answer. “I'll walk you to your car.”
“No, really. That's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow.” Touching her lips to the palm of her hand, she blew a kiss across the room before she slipped through the doorway.
“No, it can't be,” Micah protested audibly with the other moviegoers in the midst of laughing at her own inaccuracy when the guilty party was revealed.
“A murder mystery,” Rob said dryly. “How did I let you talk me into this after weeks of the Gendersen trial?”
“It was good, didn't you think? I had no idea who the killer was.”
“I told you it wasn't the burglar. Too obvious,” Rob insisted as they exited the theater, leaving the aroma of buttery popcorn behind for the refreshing spring air.
“I know, I know,” Micah responded, still laughing at the surprise ending. “You told me so.”
A crooked smile or smirk, Micah couldn't decide which, curved Rob's mouth. “The chauffeur,” he said. “I said all along to keep your eye on the innocent-looking driver.” He reached down to take her hand in his own, and she was almost startled by the contact. He had not intentionally touched her all evening. Not at her apartment when he first arrived, not during dinner, not once throughout the entire movie.
Micah held tightly to his hand as they walked toward the parking lot. He released her to open the car door. She hated ending the contact, and a quick glance in his direction said as much, but if he could read the feelings in her clear green gaze, he gave no indication.
The film became the topic of conversation on the drive to her apartment—the movie, the lovely spring weather, Micah's classes, Rob's evening out with the troubled teenager he had told her about, and even some discussion about the Gendersen trial.
“So, you had a good time with the pastor, Brian Andrews, and the boy you took to play basketball with him at Third Avenue Church?”
“Yes. Ronnie is the kid's name. Really, it went much better than I thought it would. Ronnie enjoyed himself and wants to go back and take his younger brothers. Brian is picking up the boys on Monday for another game, then I'll take them there again next Thursday.”
“That sounds great. Maybe this will make a difference in Ronnie's life.”
“It might,” he answered. “I think the boy might be as sick of his lifestyle as his parents and the judicial system are. This could turn him around.” Rob parked in the familiar slot in front of Mrs. Poe's house. “You're studying me rather intently,” he commented.
“I'm keeping my eye on the chauffeur. ‘The innocent-looking driver,’ as I think you referred to him.”
“I don't have a chauffeur's license, I'm not innocent-looking,” Rob said, switching off the engine and pulling the keys from the ignition to dangle them in front of Micah. “And, I am no longer driving.”
“But you are good at spotting the guilty party. Maybe you should be a detective instead of an attorney,” she suggested.
Rob's smile faded; the slant of his mouth thinned into a straight line.
She had said something wrong, she knew it. But the words should have bothered her more than him. “What's wrong?” she asked. “I was only teasing.”
“Explain something to me, Micah. How could you possibly enjoy watching a murder mystery when the very mention of courtrooms and trials usually sends you into a panic. Were you trying to prove something to me?”
The proof had been for herself. No one else. She could lose herself in the moment of the mystery without looking back. It was the characters’ story. It was their mystery, their crimes, not hers. Just as her father's had been.
“Micah?”
“There was no judge, no jury in that movie. It was about a murder. A whodunit. Not a courtroom drama,” she answered defensively. “And I do discuss your work with you. Didn't we talk about the Gendersen trial on the way home? Haven't we—”
“You know what I'm referring to,” he interrupted. “Sometimes I can see it in your eyes. The conversation goes the wrong way and—”
“I don't like courtrooms, trials…is that so unusual?” she snapped. “One experience with them was enough, wasn't it? I was just a kid, Rob. It frightened me.”
“What frightened you?”
“Everything,” she responded, her voice unsteady. “The courtroom was huge and the accusations… there were so many things said—”
“Accusations about what?”
Her mind had gone back nine, no, ten years to the worst part of California: her memories of it.
“Micah—”
“The attorneys, the prosecutors, they were cruel and…relentless. They never let up.”
“And so you blame all attorneys for what happened?”
“No, I don't. My mother was an attorney, and I loved her, and there's you…” She looked into his piercing blue gaze. Yes, there was Rob. And there were risks and consequences and far more details that she wanted to disclose.
“I didn't know your mother was dead,” he stated when she failed to complete her sentence.
Micah frowned. “She's not. I didn't say she was.”
“You said ‘loved.’ Past tense,” he remarked.
“I did?” Micah responded. “No, she's alive… and I do love her. The question is, does she love me?”
Rob's hands rested on the steering wheel, and he looked out into the darkness of the night. “Why would you doubt your mother's love? Was she on trial, too, or was it just your dad?”
“My father.” Her voice trembled. “He stole money, embezzled it from the company he'd spent his career with.” Micah pulled the door handle to let herself out of the car. “He went to jail, Rob. Can you see how wrong I am for you? If you cared for me, you'd leave this alone.” She slammed the door shut behind her.
“Micah.” He was out of the automobile and, catching up with her in a few long strides, he gripped her shoulder. “I do care,” he said as he turned her around to face him.
“Please, Rob, let me go.” She struggled to escape his grasp, but the attempt was futile.
“I do care about you,” he said, “and nothing that has happened in the past will change that. But I want to know, Micah. I want to understand.”
“You can't understand. Unless you've lived it, you can't know what it's like.” She stopped perfectly still, and with pleading eyes she looked into the stormy depths of his gaze. “Please, Rob…”
And Rob released her, waving a hand through the black night air in an empty gesture. “You trust me with today, but not with yesterday. Is that it?”
“I didn't move thousands of miles to go on living in the shadows. If I wanted my past to be a part of my everyday life, I would have stayed in California. But I'm not there, I'm here, with you.” She paused. “And this is where I want to be…for now. Don't ask for more.”
Rob touched the soft cascade of hair that hung freely around her shoulders, and some of the warmth returned to his eyes. “But I want more…so much more.”
There was a noise, a whimper a few feet away from them and Micah turned, her gaze falling on the crumpled ball of fur near the gutter.
“Patches!” She rushed to the curb, kneeling in the grass. “Oh, Rob, it's Patches! Poor baby,” she said in a soothing voice as she reached out toward the animal. “She's Mrs. Poe's pet. My landlady.”
Rob knelt on one knee beside her as Micah stroked the cat's ears. But there was little response. He placed a hand gently against Patches's matted fur. “Looks pretty bad, Micah.”
“Poor dumb kitty. Why couldn't you stay out of the street?” she whispered as though the cat could understand her, and she stroked its forehead as she had done countless times over the past two years. Tears welled up in Micah's eyes. “Mrs. Poe is away for the weekend. We'll have to find a vet.” She gathered up the little furry bundle and held Patches close.
“That's not going to be easy this late.”
“We have to, Rob. Maybe she'll have to be put to sleep if she's suffering.” Then she thought of something. “Dr. Tackett! He lives two streets over. We can take her over there.”
“Honey—”
“Please, Rob. Maybe he can do something.”
Without saying another word, Rob opened the passenger door of his car and Micah climbed into the front seat.
“There's a towel that I use for my paintings in the back seat of my station wagon. Pull the back door open, and you'll find it,” Micah explained, and he followed her instructions. Within seconds, he was handing her the towel, expecting her to place it across her legs beneath the cat, but instead she covered Patches with it.
A short while later, they approached the veterinarian's street. “There it is. The third house on the right,” Micah said, pointing to Dr. Tackett's home.
“Yes?” the white-haired gentleman asked, opening the door after their first knock.
“Dr. Tackett, I'm Micah Shepherd. One of Mrs. Poe's tenants from Spring Blossom Avenue. This is Patches, Mrs. Poe's pet, and—”
“Well, mercy sakes, I remember Patches. Come here, kitty.” He pulled back the towel to see the bundle in Micah's arms.
“We're not sure what happened,” Rob stated after they had stepped inside the doctor's home. “We just found her.”
“Well, let's have a look-see at your little friend.”
They followed the man into a small office off to the side of the hallway they had entered, and Micah placed Patches, still wrapped in the towel, on the table. The doctor went about his work while Rob moved to stand behind Micah, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.
“This looks serious, kids. I'm not so sure she's going to pull through,” the vet said when he looked up at them. “Leave her here with me.”
Micah agreed to do that, and Rob squeezed her shoulders a little before releasing her. He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to the doctor. “Here's my name and address. You can send the bill to me at my office. We appreciate your time, Dr. Tackett.”
“But, where's Mrs. Poe? This is her pet, isn't it? She—”
“She's away for the night visiting her sister. She'll be back in the morning. I'll ask her to call you then,” Micah explained, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.
“The best thing to do is leave Patches here with me,” the doctor stated, showing them to the door.
They thanked the man again for his help and walked to Rob's car in silence to make the short trip back to Micah's apartment.
The glare of the porch light hurt Micah's eyes, and she turned away from it, jiggling her purse in search of her keys. “Here they are,” she said finally and soon her key turned in the lock. She opened the door and they stood in the entryway for a while. “I'm sorry for being such a crybaby.”
“It's okay,” he said quietly as he took her into his arms. Micah placed her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Do you want me to talk to Mrs. Poe for you?”
“No,” she replied with a sniff. “I'll tell her when she gets home.”
Rob held her close, and there was nothing Micah knew that was as comforting as being in his arms.
“Thank you for offering to pay, but that's Mrs. Poe's responsibility.”
“Forget about it. It doesn't matter,” he answered, searching her face when she raised her head to look up at him. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she responded and cleared her throat “It's just that…oh, Rob, I love that stupid cat,” she cried before burying her face in the soft material of his shirt
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you do.” He held her close while she cried, and only after she had completely quieted in his arms, did he speak again. “Will you be all right when I leave?”
“Yes,” she replied, reaching for a tissue on the end table nearby.
“I think you should get some sleep.” Rob kissed the top of her head. “You'll feel better in the morning.”
Micah looked up at him and wiped her nose with the tissue. This was not how she had thought this evening would end.
“I'll call you,” he told her and opened the door.
“Okay,” she responded. “Good night, Rob.”
“Good night” He smiled and left. Micah fastened the dead-bolt lock on her front door and switched on another light in the living room. Walking past the full-length mirror that hung in the hallway, she stopped abruptly, startled by her own reflection. The colorful skirt she'd worn tonight was now marred, the green blouse, sprinkled with cat hair and blood, and a trickle of mascara trailed down the side of her face. She pulled another tissue from the box and wiped away the smeared eye makeup.
“Silly cat,” she murmured as she walked into the kitchen. “Why did you have to play in the traffic, anyway?” Walking to the table, she saw a note sticking out from beneath the saltshaker. Realizing Carole must have used the apartment key Micah had given to her in case of emergency, she picked up the slip of paper and began to read Carole's hap hazard scribbling:
Hi!
Used your key—emergency! Date with a cute accountant I told you about and no shoes to match my new skirt. I borrowed your red ones. Thanks!
Luv ya, Carole
P.S. I brought in your mail. Who do you know in Paris?
The note fell from Micah's hand and floated down to the table while she turned to the hutch. The mail. There it was. Micah pushed a charge-card statement and some advertisements to the side and picked up the letter from France. Tears slid down her cheeks, blurring the ink as they plopped, one by one, onto the envelope.
Getting into his automobile, Rob leaned over to pick up a piece of the frayed, old towel Micah had placed over Patches. Rob held the small scrap of terry cloth in his hand and thought of the woman to whom he had just said good-night. Grass and blood stained the front of Micah's floral print skirt, stains from kneeling to comfort Patches. Tears over a cat, a cat that wasn't even hers. Rob shook his head, his fingers closing tightly around the piece of cloth. Micah's watery green eyes remained in his memory as he silently sat there. Her eyes and those crumpled, stained clothes that she had not seemed to even notice. Tossing the cloth onto the floorboard, he clasped the steering wheel firmly in his hands. He had known it before now, but he had not felt it as sharply as he did tonight when he'd knelt beside her in the grass, seeing her tenderness. He loved her. The gentle-natured, auburn-haired young woman who painted pictures and cried over other people's pets. The love was there as none had ever been before. Sharp, painful, wonderful, real. He should have told her before tonight. Should he tell her now?
Rob started the car engine and pulled away from the curb. He would find another time to tell her. There would be a better time. There had to be.