Читать книгу For Her Son's Love - Kathryn Springer - Страница 12

The man had come back.

Somewhere above his head, the tread of heavy footsteps paced the floor, muffling the drone of a television. Darkness crowded him. The kind of darkness that closed in like a thick fog, swallowing every bit of light. Trying to swallow him. He could feel the man’s rage pulse through the house, seeping into the damp cracks in the walls that surrounded him.

Nowhere to hide. Any moment, the door would be flung open, allowing a rush of light in. Allowing the man to see him huddled in the corner.

No escape. No escape…

Andrew jackknifed in bed, sweat beading out of every pore. As his gaze bounced around the room, the stifling darkness gradually gave way to familiar shapes. The chair in the corner. The outline of the wardrobe where he’d hung up his suit the day before.

He sank back against the pillows, weary and wrung out. As if he’d fought a battle instead of simply falling asleep. He closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths until his heart stopped slamming against his chest and settled into a normal pattern. The nightmare hadn’t plagued him for more than three months. Why now?

Finish the story, Andrew. That wasn’t the end of it.

Andrew managed a smile as the words swept through him, removing the last traces of the nightmare.

You know what happened, Lord.

Silence. He chuckled. It was just like God to nudge him back into the memory so he wouldn’t be trapped in the black hole of his past. So he would remember he’d come out on the other side of that traumatic experience, his faith forged by the reality that God was. That He loved him.

Obediently, Andrew played through the rest of the silent tape. When fear had become as real as the darkness and had tried to suck the breath from his lungs, he’d put his hands together and had opened them like a book. He’d imagined turning the pages, telling himself the stories from the children’s Bible his grandmother had given him the week before. On his fifth birthday.

Has your God been able to rescue you?

Just like Daniel in the lion’s den, he’d been able to say yes.

There you go, Lord. The end of the story.

But in many ways, the beginning.

His eyes snapped open when his cell phone rang. A special ring tone that immediately caught his attention. The haze of sleep evaporated as he flipped it open.

“Hello?” His voice broke the silence, as clear and sharp as if it were the middle of the day.

“Terrance McCauslin. Miami,” a voice rasped the cryptic words in his ear.

“I’m listening.” Andrew sprang out of bed and padded to his laptop. He typed in his password.

GUARDIAN.

“Miranda, honey, thank goodness you’re back. You’d think the entire town smelled Isaac’s homemade sausage and decided to come out for breakfast this morning. Table six needs menus and table five needs a warm-up on his coffee.” Sandra fanned herself with an oven mitt and chuckled. “It’s Monday. Definitely.”

Sandra was the only person Miranda knew who could have half a dozen things go wrong the minute the diner opened and still be able to waltz serenely around the kitchen.

The deliveryman who dropped off the dairy order every morning hadn’t shown up, so Sandra had sent Miranda to the grocery store to purchase enough whipping cream to hold them over until he arrived.

She set the package down and slipped off her sweater. The one Darcy had suggested she retire. Instead, she’d fixed the button.

“Look, Mom! Isaac is letting me flip the pancakes all by myself!” Daniel called to her from his station by the grill, wrapped up like a mummy in an apron three sizes too big for him.

Miranda forced a smile. Too bad Sandra’s serenity couldn’t be bottled and sold like the whipping cream she’d bought. The conversation she’d overheard between Sandra and Andrew had kept her awake the past two nights.

Two years ago, she’d almost taken Daniel and left Chestnut Grove in the wake of the scandal at Tiny Blessings. Even though she trusted Daniel’s adoption had been perfectly legal, so had many other people who’d found out just the opposite. Barnaby Harcourt’s blackmail schemes were all the customers had talked about for months. Fortunately, when Sandra had hired her, Sandra, like everyone else, had assumed Daniel was Miranda’s son. With their brown hair and eyes, they even looked alike.

She took comfort in the fact no one knew Daniel had originally been adopted through Tiny Blessings. And even though Kelly’s husband, Ross, had begun the painstaking process of sorting through falsified birth certificates and adoption records, Miranda had decided the best thing was to stay in Chestnut Grove to keep an eye on his findings.

She’d finally started to let her guard down and now this. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose Daniel.

“I know someone who’s going to have a job here in a few years,” Sandra said, pausing to drop a kiss on the top of Daniel’s head.

If we’re still here.

Some people, Miranda knew—like Darcy—had their lives planned out for the next fifty years. Miranda had learned to accept she couldn’t be that kind of person. Experience had taught her that she couldn’t trust tomorrow. It shifted like a sandbar, leaving her scrambling for something solid.

“Look at this one,” Daniel said. “It’s not very round but Isaac says that’s okay.”

“You’re doing great, Daniel.” Miranda couldn’t help responding to the excitement in her son’s voice. She knew that flipping pancakes wasn’t the only reason Daniel had popped out of bed with a smile on his face that morning.

It was the first day of Sonshine Camp and Daniel had been thrilled when she’d told him he could spend an hour with her at the diner before leaving for the church.

True to her word, Sandra had found a ride for Daniel. Leah Cavanaugh’s daughter, Olivia, planned to attend the day camp, too. Leah had assured Miranda when she’d called the night before that it was no trouble to pick up Daniel on her way.

“It’s almost time for you to go, Daniel,” she reminded him. “You should watch out the window for Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“I think he should stay here and help me this morning,” Isaac said. “He’ll be a short-order cook in no time.”

“Can I take it out?” Daniel asked eagerly.

“Sure can. You made them,” Isaac said before Miranda could protest. “Let me slide these eggs on the plate—gotta be careful so the yolks don’t break. Now grab the tray with both hands. Steady. There you go.”

Miranda followed Daniel through the doors, catching them before they swung back and knocked him over.

In the twenty minutes she’d been gone, the diner had filled to capacity.

Oh, no. Miranda’s heart smacked against her rib cage. Andrew Noble sat in the booth by the window. In her section. Again. He was on his way to becoming a permanent fixture at the diner. Or, at least, one of their “regulars.”

She stifled a groan, still uncertain about the strange mixture of feelings the sight of him stirred in her.

He was scanning the morning edition of the Gazette, oblivious to covert glances from female customers.

“Hey, Miranda! Can I get a couple of those blueberry muffins to go?” A woman in running clothes waved her napkin to get Miranda’s attention. Unfortunately, she got Daniel’s attention, too. He turned slightly and the tray wobbled. Instead of pausing to adjust to the shift in weight, he kept moving forward, which sent the heavy stoneware plate on a downward course toward the end of the tray.

Miranda, only a few steps behind him, saw exactly what was about to happen but was powerless to stop it. The plate bumped against the edge of the tray and the food kept going. Three buttermilk pancakes and two eggs over easy went airborne. And landed on Andrew Noble’s shoes.

“Mom!” Daniel whispered the word and the terrified look on his face brought her quickly to his side. She wrapped her arm around his trembling shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay, Daniel,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

Which was the truth, although she wasn’t sure if a man like Andrew Noble would see it from that perspective. Especially when the accident involved egg yolks and Italian leather.

When she gathered her courage to look at Andrew, he was staring at them with an inscrutable look on his face. Then, he grinned.

“Ah…Daniel? I’ve decided to change my order. I’d like my eggs scrambled, please.”

Then he gave Daniel a cheerful wink.

Pure, unadulterated relief coursed through Andrew. He’d just flown in from Florida an hour ago, where he’d spent a grueling twenty-four hours stuffed in the back of an unair-conditioned van while he’d tried to pinpoint the destination of an unpredictable ex-con and a frightened six-year-old.

That particular story had had a happy ending but he hadn’t stayed to witness it. He never did. There were people who tied up the loose ends for him and smiled for the six o’clock news team. It was enough for him just to know.

At the moment, adrenaline and a Thermos of the pilot’s coffee he’d had earlier—so thick with coffee grounds he’d been tempted to ask for a fork—were the only things keeping him awake.

His plan had been to shower, change his clothes and report for duty at the Foundation. Instead, he’d sat in his car outside the Starlight Diner for fifteen minutes, debating whether or not he should go inside. He was pathetic. Torn between wanting to see Miranda and having to face the fact she might be in a committed relationship with a guy named Daniel.