Her Christmas Protector. Terri Reed
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He fired up the computer and looked up Faith on Google. A list of articles came up. Mostly charity events where Faith and her grandfather were present. One photo showed Faith in a gray business suit standing beside her grandfather who sat in a wheelchair. He was old and hunched with strong features. The caption read, “The Delanges to start a foundation for overseas missions through a local church.”
Philanthropy, faith, family and money. What was she running from?
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened and Faith stepped in. He clicked off the web page.
“I don’t mean to bother you. But…well, your mother’s asleep and I don’t know what I should be doing.”
Luke hadn’t the foggiest what she should be doing now, either.
She smiled uncertainly.
Luke stood and moved around the desk. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Faith followed him. “I think this place is wonderful. So warm and cozy.”
“My parents have lived here since they were married. I don’t think Mom has bought anything new since.”
Faith stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Her finger traced a carving in the banister.
“Did that when I was ten. Dad just about blew a gasket.” He laughed slightly. “I can still remember how he lit into me, saying, ‘If you want to carve your name into a piece of wood, there’s a whole stack of firewood out back that you can carve up after you split it all.’”
“He sounds like he was a good father.”
“Yeah. Yeah, he was. Strict, but always fair. Even when we didn’t see eye to eye, I never questioned his love.”
But his father had questioned his son’s love. How many times had Luke turned his back on the advice and instruction his dad offered? Luke would give anything to have that time back, to show his dad how much he loved him.
“That’s wonderful,” she stated, wistfully.
“Did you question your parents’ love?” he asked.
Sadness entered her gaze. “My parents were killed when I was eleven.”
“That must have been tough. Who raised you?”
“My grandfather.”
“The one that had a heart attack?”
She nodded. “He passed on almost two years ago.”
“Have you been traveling since then?”
Her expression became guarded. Wary. “No.”
She moved away from him to stand beside her suitcases where he’d left them in the entryway.
As she bent to pick them up, he said, “Here. Allow me.”
Taking her bags in hand, he led her upstairs, entered the sewing room and breathed in the scent of gardenias, his mother’s favorites, perfuming the air. A dried bouquet of the white blossoms sat atop the dresser. He made a mental note to order fresh ones.
“This is lovely.” Faith walked in and surveyed the room. She gently brushed a hand along the black sewing machine resting on an old wooden table. “Your mother’s, I assume.”
“Yes, Mom loves to sew. She’s made most of her own clothes for years.” Luke could remember wanting her to go shopping like other mothers, but Dottie had always been a frugal woman who insisted her own creations were as good as those found in some over-priced dress shop.
“I like your mother. She’s nice.”
“Thanks. She likes you, too.” Luke was thankful for that. It would make leaving that much easier.
Walking to the closet door, he put his hand on the knob. “Here’s a closet. It’s yours to use and you can clear out the drawers in the dresser.”
“Thank you. You’ve been so kind.”
He acknowledged her gratefulness with a nod. “My room’s next door and the bath is across the hall.”
Faith blinked and asked, “Where does Reva sleep?”
“She has her own house to go to.” Thankfully.
“Besides caring for your mother, is there anything else I can do?”
“You can relax.” He thought back to her strange behavior on the way to the ranch and his observation that she didn’t want to be seen. “Maybe you should tell me what you’re running from?”
Her eyes got big. “I’m…I don’t know what you mean?”
“Faith, it was obvious you didn’t want anyone to see you leave with me. Why?”
She looked at her hands. They were shaking. He took them in his, noticing how slender and vulnerable she felt. “Tell me this. Are you in trouble with the law?”
She lifted her head. “No.”
He could see the truth in her gaze. “Okay. I’ll stop pushing for now. But, Faith, if you need to talk, I’m here. You can trust me.”
Faith nodded, her expression unreadable. “I’ll go check on Dottie.”
The second she left the room, Luke dropped his head on the doorjamb. Great. Now he was offering to be there for her when he knew he would be leaving soon. He shouldn’t let himself get tangled up with her. As along as she posed no threat to his mother. He wasn’t going to get involved.
He just had to stay strong, remember his goals, and not let himself get diverted from his path. Pushing away from the door, he headed out to visit the llamas and to let God know just how much he needed His strength.
After making sure Dottie was comfortably settled for the night, Faith went back to her room. She sat on the bed, elbows propped on her knees and her chin resting in her palm. The afternoon had flown by as she and Dottie talked. There hadn’t been any sign of Luke, not until dinnertime. He’d come upstairs carrying two plates heaping with a delicious-smelling rice-and-chicken casserole, which she assumed Reva had cooked.
When Dottie had asked why he wasn’t eating with them, Faith noticed he’d glanced at her before saying he was going to eat in his office while finishing up some work. She’d been able to eat very little of the meal.
Had she made him rethink hiring her? She hadn’t meant to be so obvious in the car. But the fewer people who knew where she was the longer she’d be safe. And the longer she’d be able to stay.
She finished unpacking and was about to crawl into bed when she heard the creak of floorboards outside her door.
Old fears surged, her muscles tensed. Was someone coming for her? Would someone bust through the door?
No! She was safe. It was only Luke going to his room.
Ugh! She couldn’t jump at every sound. She’d drive herself nuts for sure doing that.
When the house finally grew quiet and still, she turned off the light. As tired as she was, it would be a long while before she could banish the awareness of the cowboy down the hall.
Early morning sun streamed through the barn windows, casting long, bright rays over the horses and the stacks of hay. The smell of the animals mingled with the hay.
Luke rested his hands on the pitchfork. Every morning he came out to the barn and fed the horses. He could assign the job to one of the hands, but the chore had been his when he was younger and somehow the task helped to relieve his grief over his father’s passing. Hard physical labor helped get him through the worst of the pain.
When he’d first arrived, his father had barely been alive.