A person with any other disease would seek the comfort and help of family, friends, physicians. He had finally convinced Roger of that.
He made the tea and handed it to her. She studied the cup, studied him. He held his free hand out to her and she shrank back from him. He considered telling her his background. That his grandfather had been an Assyrian Christian minister who’d migrated to America, where they could be free from persecution. Where they could worship without fear of repercussion. Where his wife and daughter would be safe. His daughter, Max’s mother, Doreena.
Max’s father was a mixed bag of European heritage, like most Americans. He could trace his father’s ancestry to the early colonists.
But he didn’t owe this woman explanations. She didn’t owe him any, either.
He was just as American as she was. His grandfather had given them the American dream. He didn’t ever take that for granted.
He continued to hold his hand out to her, not even considering why he cared. She wasn’t his problem.
But he knew that if he did leave, the helicopter would start back up and he had little doubt that the sound would push her over the edge.
She took his hand. Her fingers wrapped around his, firm and strong. He pulled her to her feet and still he held her hand. He found it strangely frail as he clasped it tight, holding on to her as she surveyed her surroundings. She didn’t let go.
“You’re okay,” he assured her.
“Am I?” she said softly, taking the tea from him. “Even with all evidence to the contrary?”
“We all have bad moments.”
She sipped the tea and walked away from him. “Really? Has anyone ever found you cowering in a corner?”
“Once,” he admitted.
She took a seat at the island that ran the length of the kitchen.
“Really?”
He sat next to her, saw her stiffen at his nearness. “Yes. Really. Once, when I was about eight. A tornado hit the outskirts of Hope.”
“You’re from Hope?”
“That’s what you’re taking from my story? I just opened up to you. I exposed my deep-seated fear of storms.”
She laughed, the sound soft. “Right. I’m sorry that you’re afraid of storms. Do you still struggle with thunder and lightning?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Tornadoes are my real fear. You can’t control them.”
“You’re a control freak, so your fear is born out of the need for control and not the storm itself.”
“Yes, I guess that must be it. Or the damage they do.”
He wanted to ask her what caused her fear, but he knew that it must be personal. She hid it from prying eyes. She covered her tears with jokes.
“Thank you for coming back...?” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Max St. James,” he offered.
She gave him a thoughtful look. “St. James. Melody’s brother?”
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go now. Will you be okay?”
She lifted her tea but didn’t take a drink. “Of course. Embarrassed but okay. And if you could do a girl a solid and not tell everyone that you found me cowering in a corner...”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He left her to her tea and her memories. He knew that he would most definitely see her again. The two of them were on a committee together. She just wasn’t aware yet. As he left the wedding chapel, he wasn’t sure how to feel about spending more time with her. The last thing he wanted to do was make more connections in Hope.
His plan had been to buy back his family ranch and make a quick exit to Dallas. But it seemed like God had other plans for him. He hoped God understood that the last thing he needed were complications.
Sierra found a chair and pulled it where she knew the sounds would be more muffled. In a moment the helicopter would take off.
“Brace yourself,” she whispered. She shuddered at the thought of being dragged into the past by memories that would feel too much like the real thing.
She knew the mechanics of the flashback. The fear would trigger a response in the brain. The images would flash and she would confuse past and present. She would relive the smells, the sounds, the horrors of the accident, of being taken captive, of watching from a distance as her only source of help flew away, unable to locate her.
Coping mechanisms. She needed her coping skills. She held the cup of warm tea, keeping the aromatic blend close to her face.
Cup in hand, she stood, knowing she couldn’t fight this fear cowering in a corner. She marched out the front door of the barn just as the massive helicopter whirred to life, the rotors spinning and the engine winding up to lift the monster vehicle off the ground.
She could see the men inside, the pilot with his headset, the passenger who stared out the glass door, making eye contact with her. From the distance he held her gaze. She remembered the color of his eyes. They were the oddest mixture of moss green, brown and gray. Dark eyes but with a light that reminded her of sunshine filtering through a forest canopy. He had short, curly hair, lean, suntanned features. He knew how to control situations. It came naturally to him. He also knew people. He’d immediately seen the fear in her expression.
She knew people, too. Her job in the army had been human intelligence. The irony had been that she wasn’t particularly good with people. She was a loner by nature. And yet she’d been very good at her job.
The man holding her gaze was not the enemy. As the helicopter circled, he waved. She waved back. She wouldn’t get lost in memories.
As the helicopter cleared the tree line, she began to breathe. She had survived. Making her way to one of the patio sets on the wide stone-tiled front porch, she sat on the wrought-iron chair, and enjoyed the scent and the sounds of country life. The horses grazing in the field, pulling at the drying winter grass. In the distance a tractor moved a big, round bale of hay.
Peace, that’s what she’d found here, in Hope. Peace was what she felt a short time later as she retrieved a cup of tea and returned to the front patio to sit and make notes on future events that would be held at the venue. She had a meeting scheduled for four o’clock. In her current state of mind, she almost hoped they would cancel.
Time slipped away as she worked, sipping on tea that had grown tepid. She glanced up when she heard a truck coming down the gravel road from the main house. It stopped and Isaac West jumped out, shoving his hat down on his head as he did. She turned and headed for the front doors of the building. He followed close behind.
“Why are you here?” she asked as she
