Brendan stared at Lindsay’s apartment building, torn between anger and feeling a total fool.
“What am I doing here, God?”
He was across the street, sitting on a bus stop bench. When he decided to go for a walk, he’d had no intention of ending up here. All he’d known was he had to get out.
Actually, he’d considered showing up on her doorstep several times over the last three weeks, but every time he headed for the door, he’d stopped. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d had the distinct feeling that he needed to wait.
Tonight, though, he’d reached the limits of his patience. He’d tried calling Lindsay one more time, and again there had been no answer. He’d left messages on her voicemail, for all the good that had done him.
Now, after three weeks of silence, he was starting to wonder if Lindsay wasn’t just another Gwen. Lots of talk about faith and honesty, but when it came down to it, that’s all it was. Talk.
Judge not.
“Give me a break. If anyone has a right to judge here, I do. You know, Lord, seems to me you keep letting me care for people who don’t deserve it.”
He stood and paced. “Is this how it works, Lord? Pow! and it’s over. No good-bye. No explanation. No nothing. What am I supposed to learn from this?”
I am the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.
The words rang in his mind as clearly as if someone had leaned over and whispered them in his ear. His reaction was swift. “Then you should have seen this coming! You should have kept me from caring so much!”
Who is this that questions my wisdom? Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? . . . Who defined the boundaries of the sea? . . . Have you ever commanded the morning to appear and caused the dawn to rise in the east? . . . You are God’s critic, but do you have the answers?
All the anger-driven energy drained out of him. He plopped back down on the bench. No. He didn’t have the answers. Not for anything. He shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the back of the bench. He couldn’t deny it. God’s words were as true for him as they’d been for Job. But he couldn’t deny his anger, either.
What do I do, God? I want to yell, at you, at myself. I want to say I’ll never trust a woman again. But I know that’s not the answer, any more than blaming you is the answer. I just wish someone would tell me what to do.
He shook his head and glanced at Lindsay’s building again. And then he stiffened, disbelief rippling along his spine.
Lindsay was leaving her building, laughing and smiling and talking.
With a man.
Brendan rose and stepped off the curb, fully intending to march across the street and confront her, when a horn blared loudly. He jumped back just in time to avoid being turned into a grease spot on the street by the six o’clock bus.
He sat back down on the bench with a thud, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
OK, God, he thought grudgingly. You win. I’ll wait. For a few hours more. But that’s it. He settled back against the bench. Then I’m going to get some answers.
God, if you don’t get me out of this in the next ten seconds, I’m going to scream.
“Did you say something, my dear?”
Call me that one more time, and I’m going to let you have it between the eyes. She met her date’s curious gaze. “Not a thing, Alex.” She spoke as sweetly as possible when the words were forced through clamped teeth. Why, oh, why did she ever let The Three Aunties talk her into this?
“It’s been three weeks, Lindsay,” Phelia had said a few days ago.
“Thanks for the reminder.” Lindsay had nearly snapped her response. As though she needed a reminder. She knew how many weeks . . . days . . . minutes . . . interminable seconds it had been since she walked away from Brendan.
Fortunately, Phelia didn’t address her rancorous tone. “If you’re not going to contact Brendan and resolve things, then it’s time you got on with your life.”
“And we have exactly what the doctor ordered.” This from Amelia, who was doing her level best to look enthusiastic. “Alex Winters, your valentine date. He’s willing to forgive you for going off with a total stranger and leaving him to stand in your hallway like a ninny.”
“Oh, goody.”
“Lindsay, please.” Phelia cast a scolding look her way. “Alex is a fine man. Besides, he’s perfect for you. Just what the doctor ordered.”
Lindsay didn’t trust her aunt’s bland expression. “Oh?”
“Absolutely. He’s a psychologist.”
“Definitely what you need.” Celie batted her eyes.
“Besides, you owe the man a date.” From Melia.
She’d resisted, but they’d worn her down. And now here she was, in a nice restaurant, staring at Alex Winters, listening as he expounded on the fact that people brought their trials on themselves, how much better off they would be if they would only get over themselves and show even the smallest kernel of intelligence. Of course, one sign of this intelligence would be for them to buy his book, Living Life the Way You Should.
If he was what the doctor ordered, she’d rather be terminal. At least there’d be an end to the torture.
Quick shame over the unkind direction of her thoughts swept her. Sorry, Lord. It’s not Alex’s fault I find him pompous and irritating. She grimaced. Oops. She’d done it again. She never should have left her apartment.
With as much sincerity as possible, Lindsay feigned a huge yawn. “Oh, gosh, sorry about that, but it’s getting to be past my bedtime.”
Alex glanced at his watch and frowned. “You go to bed by eight-thirty?”
She nodded. “Oh, yes. Always have. I find it, uh, conducive to creativity.”
He wasn’t buying it.
This is a punishment, isn’t it, Lord? For ignoring you when you’ve urged me to call Brendan. Well, I’m not calling. OK? I’m just not going to.
“Uh, besides,” she pushed on, “I need to check on Doofus. He . . . hasn’t had his dinner. And, you know, there’s just nothing worse than a hungry basset hound.”
“Indeed?”
“Oh, definitely. He’ll start howling and crying. My neighbors wouldn’t like it at all. In fact, they’d probably demand I get rid of him.” She managed a trembling lower lip at the thought. “And I just couldn’t bear that.” She gave him her best imitation of Doofus’s woebegone look.
Hey, it always worked on her.
And, wonder of wonders, it worked on Alex, too.
“Well, by all means then”—the pitying smile on his face set her teeth on edge yet again—“let’s get you home to feed the little fellow.” Alex signaled for the bill.
Ha! See there? I can handle things myself—
“And while he’s enjoying his canine repast, we can treat ourselves to a spot of coffee and a nice little chat, eh? About this rather odd fixation you have on your dog? How does that sound, my dear?”
Only like her worst nightmare.
OK, Lord, I give. Uncle. You win. I’ll call Brendan. I promise. Just, please, can you get rid of Mr. I-Can-Fix-You-if-You’ll-Just-Do-Everything-I-Say before he gets past my apartment door?
Lindsay was nearly desperate.
She’d been hoping for a traffic accident, or a hold-up, an alien abduction . . . anything to distract Alex and convince him to go home. But her prayed-for reprieve hadn’t materialized, and they were headed down the hallway to her apartment.
God? This is a test, right? You’re not really going to make me go through this—
She stopped, frozen in her tracks.
There, leaning against the wall beside her apartment door, stood Brendan. He looked as wonderful as she remembered—except for something around his eyes that looked stiff and hard.
That was new.
He looked at her for a moment, then over at Alex. His lips thinned. Apparently Brendan wasn’t any more pleased to have Alex walking behind her than she was.
“Hello, Lindsay.” The greeting sounded pleasant enough, even if there was a definite edge to the words. “I hope I’m not late.”
She blinked. “Late?”
Alex stiffened. Good grief, was he going to try to defend her from Brendan? She turned toward him, but she needn’t have worried.
He was looking at her, not Brendan. And his expression was one of complete outrage. “Really, Lindsay, all you had to do was tell me you had another engagement and I would have dropped you at the door.”
“I—”
“May I just say how thoroughly unsatisfactory this entire evening has been?” The man sounded like a petulant teenager. “I had hoped your unbelievable affront to me on Valentine’s Day was an exception, but I can see you are that careless sort of woman who believes she can use men as she wills. Well, my dear, you shall not use me a moment longer.”
The man spun on his heel and strode down the hallway and out the door.
Lindsay stood there, mouth agape.
“Nice guy. Astute. I like him.”
Brendan’s sardonic tone was the last straw. She whirled around to face him. “What are you doing here?”
His brows arched. “Fine, thanks. And how are you?”
She didn’t answer. She brushed past him to shove her key in the door. Her annoyance only increased when she saw her hands were shaking. Before she could turn the key, his hand settled over hers.
“Lindsay.”
She stilled, overwhelmed by the sudden wave of emotion. It took all her willpower not to bury her face against him and weep.
“We need to talk. That’s all I want. To talk.”
She rested her forehead against the door. God, I know I promised. But I’m not ready. I can’t do this. I can’t.
I am the Lord, the God of all the peoples of the world. Is anything too hard for me?
No. No, it wasn’t.
She straightened and looked at Brendan. “Come on in. I’ll make us some coffee.”
I’m frightened, Father.
Lindsay stood in the kitchen, gripping the countertop as though it were a life preserver. The coffee had been ready for five minutes, but she couldn’t force herself to go into the living room.
She knew she wasn’t afraid of Brendan. When she’d seen him, she’d known he was safe. And sane. She couldn’t explain it, but one look at him and she’d been filled with the certainty that he was everything he’d said he was.
No, what held her frozen in place, caught between hope and terror, was another realization that she couldn’t escape, no matter how desperately she wanted to.
I love him.
The fact kept ringing in her mind until she thought she’d go crazy with it. On impulse, she reached for the phone and quickly dialed Ophelia’s number.
Be home. Please be—
“Hello?”
She cupped her hand around the receiver and lowered her tone to a whisper. “Phelia, it’s Lindsay.”
“Lindsay? Do you have a cold? I can scarcely hear you.”
“Phelia, listen, I haven’t got much time. I . . . would you pray for me?”
Her aunt’s response was immediate. “You know I will. What’s happening?”
“Brendan is here—”
“Oh, my! Should I call the police?”
“No!” The word came out half laughing, half frantic. “No, Phelia, just listen. It’s good that he’s here. We need to talk. I—I care about him. A great deal. And I want to work things out.”
“I see. So I take it he’s Prince Charming again.” There was a smile in the question.
A sweet warmth filled Lindsay. “Yes, yes, I think he is.”
“All right then, dear. I’ll pray for you. And I’ll ask God to show you if this is the man to whom you can give your heart.”
“Thanks. And Phelia . . .”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
There was a surprised pause, and then, “I love you, too, Lindsay.”
Feeling more at peace, she hung up the phone and reached down to pick up the two mugs. OK, Lord, here we go. They would talk, bring everything out in the open. Maybe that way she could put this whole episode to rest.
Maybe that way her heart could stop aching.
She entered the room and experienced a sense of déjà vu. Brendan sat on the couch, Doofus snoozing beside him. She set one of the coffee mugs on the low table in front of Brendan, then settled on the love seat. She cradled her mug between her hands, staring at the steam drifting up. Where on earth should she begin?
Hold to the truth. . . .
The truth. What was the truth? That she was desperately unhappy? That she was sorry for her lack of trust, but unable to overcome it? That she was terrified?
Yes. All of the above.
“Brendan—”
“Look, Lindsay—”
They both broke off, and Lindsay felt a hysterical giggle in her throat. Leave it to them to start speaking at the same time.
With a tip of his head, Brendan indicated she should continue. “Please. Ladies first.”
She grimaced. “I don’t feel like much of a lady. More of an idiot.” OK, so it was honest, but what a beginning.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
Well, it was the truth. “I’m an idiot. I’ve been going crazy—”
“I haven’t exactly been having a wonderful time—”
At his growled rejoinder, regret filled her. “I know. But . . . well . . . Brendan, I went to your apartment.” Seeing his confused reaction, she rushed on. “The door was open, but you weren’t there. I . . . I wanted some answers. I mean, you weren’t the date The Three Aunts sent, so even though I was sure I could trust you, I didn’t think I could. After all, you were an imposter. But I was almost sure you didn’t know you were. I mean, you never said The Three sent you—”
“The what?—”
“—at least, I don’t think you did. So I had to find out. Because I really cared—”
“Lindsay . . .”
“—and I was looking around, and saw your paintings, and it was so exciting because they’re wonderful. You really are gifted, you know? And I was so thrilled that you’d told the truth about being an artist—”
“Lindsay . . .”
“—that I was ready to forgive you most anything, and I was sure God had brought us together, and then I found the paintings.”
Stillness settled over him, as though he were alarmed.
“The paintings?”
She nodded. “The ones of Doofus. And of—of me.”
He eased back against the couch cushion.
Say something, Brendan. Give me an explanation. One that will make the fear go away.
So, she found the paintings. Well, that at least explained a few things. It didn’t excuse her behavior, but it did explain it.
He knew the constructive thing would be to explain, to tell her the truth about that day in the park and about all that had resulted from it. To tell her about Kylie’s plan and how he’d agreed to do something he never would have done normally because he’d been captivated since he saw her at his sister’s wedding—to her brother, just to complicate things further.
But he couldn’t make the words come.
All he wanted to do was yell at her.
“You left me hanging for three weeks because you saw a stupid painting? Did it ever occur to you to just ask me about it? What happened to being honest, Lindsay? Doesn’t count when it seems scary? Is that it?”
He clenched his jaws shut, holding the tirade back. Barely.
I want to blast her, God. I want to let her have it. . . .
He didn’t, though. Because one thought kept running through his mind, over and over. It was the thought that had hit him square between the eyes when he’d seen her walking down the hallway. It was the thought that had coursed through him like fire as he fought against the urge to grab the man with her and turn him into silly putty . . .
I love her. God help me, I love her.
But he’d be darned if he’d tell her that.
The silence grew between them until Lindsay wanted to jump up and shake him. Just as she was about to give in to that urge, he sighed.
“Who are The Three?”
She started. “What?”
“The Three. You said you thought they’d sent me . . . ?”
Understanding dawned. “They’re my aunts. I told you about them.”
“The brainy triplets.”
She nodded. “They sent me an . . . unusual valentine gift this year. A date. With a man.”
“I didn’t think it was with a kumquat.”
A smile found its way through her uncertainty. “Anyway, he was supposed to show up valentine morning, at precisely 10:32.”
Brendan’s brows arched. “About the time I came with the flowers. You thought I was your aunts’ gift.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“Well, that explains it then.”
She shook her head, “No, that doesn’t explain it. Not your part, anyway. Brendan, you were just there to deliver the flowers, weren’t you?”
He paused. “Yes . . . and no.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you agree to spend the day with me? And what’s the deal with those paintings?”
There was no humor in his face now. “I suppose you think I’m some kind of nut case.”
“No, oddly enough, I don’t. Not anymore.”
“But you did. When you saw the paintings.”
She nodded.
“I see. So that’s why you pulled your little disappearing act? You saw the paintings, decided I was a stalker, and ran.”
“You’re angry.”
He stared at her. She couldn’t blame him. She’d just stated the patently obvious. “Well, it’s not like it was that unreasonable an assumption—”
“Not if you didn’t know me at all.”
At the taut words, she looked away. Score one for Brendan. “I’m sorry. I was frightened.” She squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “Brendan, I know now that I should have just come to you, asked you to tell me about the paintings. Well, I can only hope it’s not too late to do so. Please tell me about the paintings.”
Please. Please tell me something that makes sense of this love I have for you!
Brendan was torn.
He wanted to explain to Lindsay, wanted her to understand. But the anger was still there. She should have trusted him. OK, so they’d only known each other for a day. But it had been a day like no other.
It’s not fair, God. I’ve trusted her, taken her at her word. Why couldn’t she do the same for me?
Be considerate of the doubts and fears of others . . . do what helps them.
The words were as clear as a neon sign. He let out an exasperated breath. You don’t ever get tired of saying the same things over and over? He already knew the answer to that. I know, I know, you wouldn’t have to if I would just get it, right? Right.
He pulled his drifting thoughts together and studied Lindsay. She sat so silent, staring at her hands, waiting. “I told you before that I mostly paint children and animals.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. Apparently she hadn’t expected him to answer her. The relief he saw in her eyes pierced him.
“Y-yes, you told me that.”
“Because of that, I spend a lot of time at the zoo and in parks. It’s a good thing I like them so much.” He managed a brief smile, and an answering smile touched her lips.
“That’s probably why your paintings are so emotive,” she said. “I can see why you’ve enjoyed the success you have.”
The success he had? She knew about his success?
“My aunts recognized your signature, HawkEye. They told me about you.” Her tone softened. “Amelia works at the university, where they had a showing of your work a few months ago.”
Interesting. She knew about his work and she’d still avoided him. So he didn’t have to worry about her falling for him just because he had money.
No, you just have to wonder if she loves you, period.
He started again. “Anyway, I go to the park just down the block several times a week. You can imagine my surprise when I saw you there.”
Her brow crinkled. Something wasn’t making sense to her.
“I just didn’t know you lived in this area,” he tried to explain. “But about a month ago, I was at the park, sketching the kids at the playground. And I heard . . .” The memory of that sound caught him again.
Lindsay leaned forward. “You heard?”
He nodded. “Laughter. It was almost musical it was so light and uninhibited. I figured the child who belonged to that laughter would be a great subject, but when I turned, it wasn’t a child at all.” He met her eyes. “It was you. You were sitting on the ground, your dog jumping on you, children all around you laughing.”
Even he could hear the sudden ragged quality to his voice. Clear evidence that the memory still got to him. “I don’t know what it was about you. But from the first time I saw you, something inside of me clicked. It was as though someone whispered into my heart, ‘That’s her. That’s the one.’ For a moment . . . just for a moment, I believed it. I almost got up and came over to you right then and there.”
Her eyes shimmered, and he realized it was tears. A powerful need to be near her, to comfort her swept over him. He nearly stood and moved to sit beside her. He wanted to be closer, to touch her hand, to find some way to help her understand what their day together had meant to him.
But it wasn’t time for that. Might never be. So instead he stood and started pacing behind the sofa.
“I told myself I’d had too much pizza and anchovies the night before.” Stupid thing to say, but he needed to lighten things up a bit—though whether for her sake or his, he wasn’t sure. “But I couldn’t forget you.” He gave a short laugh. “I didn’t have the chance. You seemed to be there almost as often as I was, walking Doofus, stopping to let the children adore him. And then, a few weeks ago, I was sitting there just enjoying the day, and I saw you make a beeline for what looked like the only tree that had leaves left on it. And then, this waterfall of color suddenly surrounded you, and you looked so . . . enchanted. And enchanting.”
Just like she did at this very moment. The way she watched him, the way she sat, even the way she held her hands folded tight together . . . everything about her seemed filled with an air of anticipation.
“I almost came up to you then, but I couldn’t. I was too afraid you’d be like—” No. Now wasn’t the time to talk about Gwen. “Like too many others. Beautiful on the outside, but hollow where it matters the most. I couldn’t let myself believe you could possibly be someone I could trust.”
And she isn’t, is she? How can you trust someone who so clearly doesn’t trust you?
The thought jolted him into silence. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. What was he doing? Pouring out his thoughts, his feelings? Hadn’t Gwen taught him anything?
But . . . Lindsay wasn’t Gwen.
How can you be sure she’s any different?
How, indeed? He wanted to say, “By her actions.” But they hadn’t exactly been what he’d hoped. In fact . . .
He turned to face her. “Why didn’t you call me?” The abrupt question came out harsher than he’d intended. So much so that it startled Lindsay. She stiffened.
“Call you?”
He had to know. “When you found out I wasn’t the man your aunts sent, why didn’t you just call me? Ask me what was going on?”
Pink blossomed in her cheeks. “I-I don’t know. I was stunned. Unnerved.”
“But after the day we’d just spent together . . .” He felt his gaze and tone harden. “Did you really think I was the kind of man who would lie to you? Take advantage of you?”
Silence followed his reproach. She lowered her head, stared at her hands. What she didn’t do was answer him.
Disappointment became a bitter taste in his mouth. Turned his heart—and words—sour. “I was wrong.”
She lifted her eyes to his face. “Wrong?”
Stop. Talk to her. Work this through. Don’t make the same mistake she did.
He shook his head, his throat tight against the emotions pushing at him. “I’m sorry.” He turned, walked to the door of her apartment, put his hand on the knob.
He couldn’t risk this again. The pain. The loss. Better to stay alone than lose more of himself than he could afford.
He didn’t turn to look at her. “I never should have come here.” Not today. Not ever.
He heard Lindsay stand, move toward him. He glanced over his shoulder, and one hand was reaching toward him. “Brendan, please. Wait.”
“For what? If you can’t trust me, then what do we have, Lindsay?”
“I’m sorry. I should have called you. I should—”
He held his hand palm up, stopping the flow of words. She was so close to him. All he had to do was reach out, just a few inches, and he could take her hand. Pull her into his arms.
His hand fell to his side, and he turned from her, back to the door.
“If you leave now, don’t—don’t bother coming back.”
He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He could tell she didn’t mean it. Heard the regret, the pain, in her voice. The plea for him to stop.
He shook his head again. This was for the best. “I won’t bother you again.”
He turned the knob and walked into the hallway. When he closed the door, the decisive click echoed around him—a death knell on his hopes.
Tears ran down her face. Fell onto her hands, clutched in her lap. She was afraid to move. Afraid her heart would shatter into a million pieces.
He’d looked at her with such disappointment. No, it went deeper than that.
Grief.
That’s what was in his eyes. A sorrow she didn’t understand. Especially when she caught a flash of desperation in his eyes just before he turned away. It told Lindsay he didn’t want this any more than she did. He didn’t want it to end like this. To finish even before it started.
What a fool she’d been. No, she hadn’t known him long, but she should have trusted what she did know of him. She could so easily have called him, asked him to meet with her and talk it all over. But she’d been afraid.
Apparently with good reason. First obstacle he hits and he walks out? What kind of relationship could you have with a man like that? Good riddance.
She wanted to argue. To fight through the defeat that threatened to swallow her. But what good would it do? Brendan had made his decision. She wasn’t worth fighting for.
So be it.
He was gone, and there was nothing she could do about it. Even if he had taken her heart with him when he walked out the door.
Brendan stood on the sidewalk outside Lindsay’s apartment building.
He rubbed aching eyes, then turned to study the brick building for a few seconds. He strode forward, stood next to the wall—and thumped his head against it.
“Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!”
After the fourth smack, he saw stars and staggered back. He rubbed the spot where a small lump already was forming. So this is love, eh, God? One minute I’m looking at her, loving her, wanting to be near her, the next I’m running for the hills. No offense, but I’m not so sure I care for love if . . .
He shrugged, turned, and started the walk back to his own apartment.
It was going to take some time to work through things. To figure out exactly what had happened tonight. What he’d reacted to.
Why he’d walked away from the one woman he wanted in his life.
It wasn’t over. No matter what he’d said, what she’d said, it wasn’t over. But before he tried again, before he faced Lindsay, he had to understand.
Had to find a way to let God free him of the sorrow and bitterness over Gwen.
Then, no matter how hard it was, he would find a way to convince Lindsay she should speak to him again.
Or at least listen.