3
Hayley always had something to say. Not in this case.
Abandoned at birth? How did he deal with that?
Ignore it and pay attention. She’d sought him out. She’d been thrilled when the T-bar on his keychain had unlocked her necklace. His lack of enthusiasm disturbed her so greatly that she slogged through the brisk December night to see if he’d discuss the mystery.
A mistake.
Hurt clouded Kameron’s brown eyes and cried out to the little girl in her psyche. He carried a little boy’s anguish to match a place she secreted in her heart, where she mourned over a father she couldn’t remember.
This jewelry thing had resurrected pain in him. And she’d had a hand in it.
The dogs returned to their beds in the corner. Their temporary master now sat slumped in an over-stuffed chair, elbows on knees, and fingers buried in his hair. She resisted the urge to massage his rigid shoulders. Had he ever been able to express his torment with an emotion besides anger?
Summer barked.
Hayley jumped.
Kameron raised his head.
The impulse to reach out pulled her next to his chair. She slid her coat off her shoulders and tossed it on a chair as she knelt. “I know we just met. For all I know, instead of writing to children, you create horror stories for twisted minds. But I believe God is so involved in the lives of His children that strangers can be drawn together as soon as they meet.”
He straightened and slid her a sideways glance. Light from the kitchen reflected in his eyes. A pulse throbbed in his temple. His jaw clenched so hard she heard his teeth grind.
“Kam—”
“Who are you to come here and talk to me about God? I grew up hearing about Him until there were times I ran outside, jumped on my bike, and took to the trails to scream at the trees.” His calm tone scared her as much as if he screamed now. “God abandoned me the same way as the unknown female who birthed me and left me at Pastor Gregg’s church doorstep. Yes, I grew up without parents. How on this earth would I know anything about, let alone care, what history a couple pieces of antique jewelry have in common?”
She reared back. Shock kept tears from forming.
Kameron jumped to his feet. “It takes a lot of nerve to search me out in the middle of the night so you could snoop into my past. What do you expect, to go on a sweet mystery hunt like a couple innocent kids out of a storybook from fifty years ago?”
Hayley blinked away hot moisture. She remained where she was, kneeling between the chair and coffee table.
“If I was writing, I’d know what to do. Make the boys run through the woods or start a fight. Anything to move things along.” He paced, slowed, and stepped close to set a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up and felt her swimming eyes spill over.
“I never aced social skills. I’ve never known how to react to a female’s tears.” He extended a hand that shook. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I feel more beast than human. I’m a jerk for imputing my garbage on your pretty soul.”
She smiled despite her ragged breaths. “Impute is a good word. Pretty isn’t too bad, either.”
He handed her a box of tissues. “Would you like some water or anything else to drink?”
“What are my choices?” She blew her nose with gusto.
He opened the door under the sink and waited until she’d tossed the used tissue.
“Is there hot chocolate?”
“One of my weaknesses. Gregg bought a variety of flavors just for my indulgence, he claimed.” Kameron brought water to a boil on the stove, busied himself with mugs and measuring. “No microwave in this house. Gregg has a pacemaker so never wanted to take a chance on whatever could cause harm.”
“Ah. Is there a hidden meaning there? Maybe you think you’re taking a chance on me. I promise I’m not here to threaten your privacy or cause you harm.”
“Not threatened exactly. You’ve guessed by now I don’t interact with people much. I don’t like to talk about my past. I don’t think I’m a bad guy at heart.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were a good guy. Bad guys can’t write books for youth.”
He ignored her comment. “This is the first time I’ve seen your hair down. I would have never guessed it falls halfway down your back.”
“Not bad for talking to a woman. Water’s boiling.” Hayley sashayed to his side and picked up a spoon to stir the first cup. “Whenever you want to talk, though you say it isn’t your thing, I’m as curious about you as I am about the jewelry.”
The next morning Bette Jean and Ross Travis entered Auntie’s Antiquities together.
Hayley instructed over her shoulder, “Shut the door quick. Don’t let out all this nice, warm air.” She welcomed her friends with a smile half the size she usually had for them. It took energy to move facial muscles, or much of anything else, after praying for Kameron into the wee hours. “Coffee’s not quite ready. What brings you both in today?”
Bette Jean elbowed her husband aside. “I can pay for my own fudge, but he scampered after me today, excited as a puppy.”
“There was a time I chased after her.” Ross waggled his brows. “Now I just follow along.”
Bette Jean puckered her lips and smacked her husband’s cheek with a gloved hand. “I slowed down so you could catch me, didn’t I?”
If that didn’t draw a smile from Hayley, nothing would.
He settled his arm around Bette Jean’s ample waist and grinned like only a happy man can. “I’m going to slip into the vault and pick out some licorice. You go ahead and wrap Bette’s fudge.”
Hayley did as instructed. “What’s all the excitement about?”
“Blythe is coming home for Christmas instead of going off to some island as originally planned. She’ll be here in one week.”
“I can hardly wait. No wonder your hubby has a bounce in his step. She hasn’t been home for at least a year, right?”
“Almost. Spring break. But that news isn’t what brought me in. I want a closer look at the young man caring for Pastor Gregg’s place. Pastor didn’t say much other than he had someone trustworthy to watch after Winter and Summer.”
Hayley handed the small sack to Bette Jean. “He’s a troubled man. Quiet, an author of those other-worldly, dystopian stories that young readers eat up. Not bad looking, but I have yet to see him smile.”
Ross approached with his choices, three varied selections of licorice. “Gotta get back to the garage. A car just pulled up.”
Bette Jean didn’t follow her husband out the door. “The writer guy must attract you. You’ve fidgeted with your necklace since we got in here. What’s his name, and how has he managed to get under your skin so fast?”
“His name is Kameron Kohl. He is on my mind, especially his attitude toward God. I’ve got quite the story to tell you, but not until I know he’d be comfortable with the telling.” To leave her necklace alone, she rearranged a display of brooches. Her mother had adored collecting antique pins consisting of everything from pearls and colored glass, simple to gaudy filigree.
“He’s here.” Bette Jean’s announcement made Hayley’s heart thump. She didn’t get a chance to introduce them. Bette held out her hand and waited until Kameron slid off his shoulder bag. “I’m Ross’s better half from across the street. Welcome to our little town.”
Kameron squeezed her hand and pulled his back. One brow lifted and a glint of what could be humor showed in his eyes. “I’d never call your berg, population 549, a town. Hard to sleep the last couple nights, it’s so quiet.”
“You’ll see action come Sunday morning. Pastor Gregg has quite the following. Then again, they know he’s on vacation. And if you pay attention, traffic buzzes through here around commute time, but maybe you’ve been busy with the dogs. Or writing, I understand.”
“Can’t say I’ve paid attention. Lincoln traffic is background white noise to me.”
“Well. I need to see to that waiting customer. Pleasure to meet you, Kameron Kohl. Maybe we’ll have you over for dinner while you’re here. Have a godly day, Hayley.”
She waited to get him coffee until he’d settled and opened the laptop, and then she approached. “Do you always do that ritual to get you in the right frame of mind, your zone, or whatever?”
He watched her pour the coffee, but didn’t answer.
“You do that breathing thing with your eyes closed. Are you praying? Then the shoulder thing.”
“I guess you could call it a ritual to relax my extremities. I need to concentrate on breathing and physical calming to try to shut out the world for the mental part.”
She giggled. “A world in which I’m an obvious intruder.”
“No.” Kameron bit his lip. “It’s fine. You make great coffee.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come about writing books?” It took all she had not to laugh, but he glowered so much he’d be offended if she let loose. “Yesterday you seemed lost to the real world.”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ve always wanted to tell stories. I was never much into sports. Nor talking much.”
“You also chew on your knuckle. Does that help give you just the right word or something?”
“Oh, that’s an old habit. Better than chewing my nails.” He slanted her a look. “You could write, the way you pick up on details.”
“That’s what girls do. Notice things.” What was he thinking as he stared at her necklace? “Speaking of which, does your writing interfere with your dating life? Sorry, that was way too personal.”
“No problem. Girls have kind of ignored me most of my life. The clincher came in middle school. A time when pretty girls smiled at other boys, or were all caught up in talking about their clothes, hair, skin products. Or other boys.” He tasted his coffee, but didn’t set down the mug.
“Did you have anyone to talk to when you were going through those feelings as a kid? If I were to guess, you now pour those emotions into your characters.”
Kameron met her gaze, looked away. “You get right to it, don’t you?”
“Because I can relate. I had my own issues. You were blessed with a man of God to turn to.”
“Gregg and Teresa tried their best, but they stumbled over the right words. Unless they came from the Bible.” He drum rolled his fingers on the table. “I was a voracious reader. My friends leaped off the pages of the books, real to me. Eventually, I didn’t care what any of the school kids thought of me because I pretended to be the hero kid who had all the wild adventures. Those storybook friends acted out all my fantasies. I didn’t have to converse with them, only live their lives through imagination.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Suppose you could look at it that way. I became courageous through those made-up adventures. Books taught me about life. Anything I was curious about, I’d find an answer for.”
“I still prefer a library over the Internet.”
“I hear you. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to make up a scenario where fearless kids become role-model characters for real life. You know, so book lovers understand those middle-school feelings aren’t unique to them.”
“That’s admirable. All kids have those same emotions and struggles along the growing-up road.”
He nodded, drained his cup, and placed his hands on the laptop.
“I can take a hint. Whenever you’re ready, I’d like to hear where your adventurous, creative mind has gone regarding the secret of the photos in my locket. Maybe one of your grandparents and one of mine were high school lovers and their story needs to be found out. Who knows? We could be long lost, distant cousins.”