Her Small-Town Romance. Jill Kemerer
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His conversation skills could use a boost. Talking about facts and figures was easy. Random chatter was beyond him.
“Tell me more about your store,” he said. “It looked empty last night.”
“It is empty. I ordered a printing machine and an engraver. I’m still researching what furniture I want to use to display everything. The rooms need a coat of paint, too. I’m excited to get started.”
“How did you get into T-shirt designing?” Bryan enjoyed the way her face brightened when she discussed the store.
“I got a part-time job at a novelty shop right after I graduated from high school. I loved working there. My boss taught me everything—all the secrets to making quality designs. It’s the only thing I’m truly good at.”
“I know the feeling. I’m good at running my car dealerships, but this—” he stretched his arm out “—I’m best outdoors.”
“I can tell.” She smiled up at him, and he gulped. He’d known he was lighting matches over dry tinder when he’d invited her today. Her easy manner and open smile made him want to offer things he shouldn’t. Last night, Libby’s crack about God’s plan had hit a nerve. The more he’d thought about it, the more he was convinced helping Jade was God’s plan. At least for today.
He pressed forward. “Almost there.”
* * *
“I don’t like this.” Jade studied the path entrance, then closed her eyes. Impressions from twenty years ago flooded her. Clutching Charlie, her stuffed puppy. Being surrounded by trees, trying to keep up with the boys, but they ran too fast, their laughter fading. Branches and leaves had scratched at her cheeks, her hair, her clothes. Which way to turn? Where was the path?
She opened her eyes again. A wide paved lane stood before her, and a light gust of wind lifted the end of her braid.
This fear was too big. She needed more than an outdoor guide. She needed shock therapy or something.
Attitude, Jade.
Mimi would say nothing was too big for God. Until Jade turned twelve, she’d prayed every night for the Lord to cure her, but the panic remained, so she figured God’s answer was no, and she’d stopped praying about it.
“Let’s stay here a minute.” Bryan’s tall, athletic presence reassured her.
“We skipped about five steps on the therapy list.”
“You’re doing good.” His fleece-covered arm brushed her sleeve.
She physically restrained herself from clinging to him and begging him to take her away from this place. Why couldn’t she be normal? All the pep talks she’d given herself over the past weeks had been pointless. Anxiety ruled her outdoor life.
He touched her hand. “Jade?”
“Oh! What? Sorry, didn’t hear you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, you didn’t.” She shook her spinning head. The ground wasn’t as firm beneath her new boots as it had been near the pavilion. The opening of the path was close. Too close. Nausea threatened.
“Maybe this is a mistake,” Bryan said. “You don’t look so great.”
She willed her lungs to accept more air than the shallow breaths they currently allowed. “Gee, thanks.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He looked up at the sky.
She didn’t need to gaze upward to see a drop cloth of gray. If the sun would come out, maybe the scene in front of her wouldn’t appear as sinister. Actually, the view didn’t match the one in her mind. The blue path cut through scattered trees, not a thick forest like in Germany, and mallards quacked overhead. Happy sounds.
“My grandfather took me here all the time when I was younger. I know every inch of these woods. You’ll never get lost with me by your side.”
She didn’t doubt him. He exuded confidence out here. Maybe if she tethered herself to him, she could take a few steps in there without breaking out in a terrified sweat.
“I miss Granddad.” Bryan crouched and picked up an acorn. “Wish I could hike with him one more time.”
“I understand.” She fought the urge to close her eyes again. “I wish I could have coffee with Mimi again. Sounds as if you and your grandfather were close.”
“We were. Mom died when I was eight. Granddad and I spent a lot of time together after her death. Dad had his hands full with the babies—Sam and Libby. My other sister, Claire, was still little, but I’m pretty sure she considered the young ones hers, so she helped Dad. My older brother, Tommy, came with Granddad and me to hike and fish, but after a couple of years it was just the two of us.”
“Why didn’t Tommy go anymore?”
Bryan grinned. “He discovered sports.”
“You’re not into sports?”
“I played some, but I liked being outside with Granddad better.”
She relaxed a fraction and squinted, attempting to see the trees in a different light.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did something happen to frighten you?”
“You could say that.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her vest. “It was a long time ago.”
He edged closer. His tall, solid frame comforted her for some reason. Made her want to lean in, rely on him to protect her out here.
Not smart. He’d leave her. Everyone else did.
“How long ago?” Bryan flicked the acorn into a bush.
“Oh, I was little.” Did she want to talk about this? Mimi had tried to help, but every time they neared a wooded area, Jade had grown hysterical. Eventually Mimi stopped trying and told her there were some things best left to God.
“How little?” Bryan asked. “Toddler or teenager?”
“In between. I was seven.” A nervous laugh escaped, and her shoulders tensed until they reached her ears. All alone in Germany. Mom was at work. The neighbor boys had gotten a kick out of playing a prank on her, leaving her alone, wandering. Sweat broke out on her forehead. “It’s not something I talk about.”
Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Fair enough.” He motioned for her to follow him to a park bench several feet away.
Jade perched on it, facing what looked like a Christmas tree. She loved Christmas. Not all trees were bad.
Bryan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I had nightmares after my mom died.”
She knew all about nightmares, too. “Yeah, I have bad dreams—well, one bad dream. About the forest.”
“Is it night or day?”
“Night.”
“Would it be as bad if it were daytime?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“It’s so dark, it doesn’t matter if it’s night or day. I’m alone. There’s no path. Everything closes in, the leaves and branches grab me.”
His serious expression assured her he didn’t think she was silly, or if he did, he was good at hiding it.
“What are you trying to do in the dream?”
“Escape. I want out of there.”
“But there’s no way out.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you run?”
“Eventually.” The branches always tore at her face and hands, and she’d