as she circled the crib. “Are you, like, making this? I mean, you’re just making it all by yourself?”
“Yep. With wood and tools and everything.”
“It’s so cool!”
“Thanks.” He took one look at the girl’s innocent excitement and suddenly the memory of other children in another country hit him like a flash flood. Stay in the present, bud, he told himself, fighting the flashback. He locked down the doors on his heart before his sorrow and guilt could overtake him and bolted those doors good.
He set both cups down on the nearby worktable that stood between them. “Hot chocolate with minimarshmallows. I hope that’s okay.”
“Thanks!” The kid lit up. She was easily thrilled. Anyone could see she’d been raised with care and love. And manners, because she grabbed both cups and took one to her mother. To the woman who was staring at him as if he’d sprouted antennae and turned martian green.
Great. He often had that effect on women who didn’t know him. He’d experienced this before. The more dainty and proper and upper-crust the lady, the more likely she was to be put off by the sheer size of him.
He was a big guy, and he’d been told he looked fairly fierce. He couldn’t argue with that—a recon marine was about as tough of a warrior as it was possible to be. He knew the stain of what he’d accomplished and failed to accomplish as a marine in Iraq clung to him like residue. He often wondered if it somehow put other people off.
“Thank you.” The woman—Debra—had taken a step back as if she were intimidated and took a dainty sip of the hot chocolate. Somehow she was able to avoid the marshmallow fluff that stained her daughter’s mouth. The girl had come around the worktable to stare openly at him, while the woman—Debra—was studying the crib.
So he took a moment to study her. Ben’s half sister. He couldn’t see it at first. But as she stepped into the softer daylight from the roof windows, it became more evident in the simple straight dignity of her nose, which wasn’t too small or big, and in the manner that she held her head just so while she thought. Snowflakes were melting in the silk of her hair and on the collar of her fancy fur-lined coat.
“This is lovely.” She gave him a polite smile. “You are a very talented woodworker.”
A blush heated his face. He shrugged one shoulder. “I try.”
“And modest, too. That’s a change from the men I’ve been around lately.”
“Can’t be much of a man if he isn’t humble.”
“Exactly.” She smiled; it was an honest smile.
For a moment he saw past the polite veneer and cool distance into something brighter. Maybe it was just a trick of the gray light from above or his falling blood sugar. He’d delayed his lunch hour so he could be here for Ben’s half sister. More importantly, he’d wanted to meet this woman. He was protective of his good friend.
“I imagine it was hard finding out that you have an older brother,” he heard himself saying.
“You have no idea.” She said it kindly but as if there was more to it. “I was just as shocked to learn of Ben, as Ben was to learn he was related to us. I’m still trying to adjust. It’s strange going from being the oldest to the second out of the blue.”
There was pain there, Jonah realized, a pain she quickly battled down. Okay, he had sympathy for that. He understood inner pain—it haunted him every moment of every day, and he didn’t know what to say to her.
She broke the silence, gesturing toward the crib. “Is this for Ben’s baby, Joseph?”
“No, this is for some good friends of mine, and of Ben’s, too. Ross and Kelly Van Zandt’s baby boy. He arrived a little earlier than expected.”
“Is that the same Kelly from the adoption agency? Ben mentioned her.” Debra glanced at her daughter, who was still staring at him. “Mia, where are your manners?”
“It’s okay,” he added quickly, wondering if the waiflike girl was a little scared of him. She wouldn’t be the first. “Are you wondering why I’m so big? God made me this way so I could serve His purpose.”
“What purpose?” Mia asked, wide-eyed. “Are you a Christian, too? Which church do you go to?”
She looked up at him with curiosity in her big innocent eyes, her cupid’s face wreathed with expectation. Cute kid, obviously sheltered and privileged and well cared for, just as a child should be. He battled down images of the world he’d seen—not good images, where children were not so safe and protected. He noticed the gold chain and cross at her throat. “Yes, I’m a Christian. I belong to the Chestnut Grove Community Church.”
“That pretty one with the big steeple that looks like it belongs in a storybook?”
“That’s the one.”
“Wow.”
“Yes, wow.” Debra squelched an inner groan. Irrepressible Mia felt that everyone should be saved. It was a nice sentiment, but unrealistic. She’d taken so many hard blows lately between her mom’s passing and then over the truth about her mom’s past, these days she was putting faith in God right up there on the shelf with her thoughts about Santa Claus. Nice, but not relevant to her life.
That sounded harsh, but she was a grown woman who’d gotten where she was with hard work, determination and having to face adult responsibilities without a lot of help.
Okay, there she went again when she had vowed to focus on Mia and the trip. Time for a change in subject. “Mia, come on. Let’s wait in the reception area and let Mr. Fraser get back to his work. I’m sure we’re inconveniencing him.”
“But, Mom!” Mia’s jaw dropped in utter disbelief. “Can’t you see we’re talking about God?”
“I thought you were about to pry into Mr. Fraser’s personal life and make sure he’s really a Christian, the way you did with the gas-station attendant this morning. The way you do with everyone you meet.”
To her surprise, the big, stony Mr. Fraser smiled. He wasn’t quite as fearsome when he did. The granite line of his square jaw softened and his hard mouth that could have been sculpted from stone warmed into a handsome smile. He had straight, even white teeth and a sincerity that made him striking.
She felt a frisson of interest as pure as the snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens. This man perplexed her. He was apparently part weightlifter and part legend with an artist’s soul.
“Call me Jonah,” he said. “When I hear Mr. Fraser, I think my dad is standing behind me. Besides, the little lady isn’t inconveniencing me or prying.”
“You truly are a kind man to say so,” Debra found herself saying. “Mia has better manners than that—”
“Reverend Fraser is your dad?” Mia interrupted, in direct contradiction.
What was a mother to do? Mia had a strong spirit and a stubborn streak, not unlike herself at that age. Debra caught Mr. Fraser’s—Jonah’s—gaze and watched his smile deepen until it warmed the cool depths of his eyes.
He
