her life had touched, and though Joni’s sister was devastated, Megan had been the one to bear firsthand witness to the destruction of the young woman’s body.
The boards squeaked beneath his feet as he turned to gaze out into the dark morning and rested his head against the support post. It was possible Megan had changed her routine since leaving Corpus Christi. She may still be sleeping. It was possible.
His eyes closed of their own will. Such a long trip…but he’d made it for so many good reasons. Tess and Sean could run the mission until he returned. Gerard had things to attend to here in Jolly Mill.
Tree frogs slowed their croaking and fell silent. A tractor started up in the distance and a rooster crowed at the stars…or perhaps at the vague lightening of the darkness past the tree line. There was a rustle of brush nearby and a cottontail rabbit hopped across the overgrown lawn, sniffing for an early breakfast. Gerard stepped down from the porch and felt the soft cushion of grass beneath his shoes as he returned to the car. Once inside he closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t awaken Megan—if she truly was asleep and not just waiting for him to leave. He moved the back of his seat to nearly horizontal and closed his eyes.
Morning was here, though the sky had not yet turned blue, and the sun had not yet penetrated the forest. He would allow the gray darkness to hold him in sleep for a few moments, but Megan would not be able to leave this place without speaking to him.
Megan sat frozen on the love seat as rips tore through the protective emotional screen of forgetfulness and Gerard’s deep voice echoed in her mind. A new kind of fear controlled her thoughts. Why had he come when he must know how hard she was trying to forget?
How could the founder and director of a rescue mission be so demanding? He expected too much. Anger, her constant companion, thrummed through her. How dare he traipse up here after her? This was her home, her safe place. She needed this respite.
She inhaled the scent in her pillow, as she had so many times these past two weeks to counter the scent of blood that had fixed itself in her memory. Why had she tried to convince herself that it was even possible to forget? Gerard Vance would have to realize that she couldn’t match his psychological strength. This was what she got for trying. Nightmares.
Would he ever be able to understand that? The man had a vocation that was the passion of his life, and he would ride roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. He’d made that obvious when she left.
Megan’s fingers dug into the prayer pillow as images tumbled past her carefully set barriers: that wicked blade, Joni’s wide, frightened eyes, terror giving way to pain, the echo of screams that continued to pursue Megan through the dark passages of her dreams—and now Gerard Vance following behind her, making his demands like some kind of Viking warrior.
How could she return to work in that place that bore the permanent imprint of brutality, and why was he camped outside her house?
With a sigh, she got up and tiptoed to the front door. She peered through the wooden slats at the car in her drive. The front driver’s seat was not in evidence, which meant the blond-haired giant was most likely trying to sleep in a very cramped and uncomfortable position. A rush of unwanted tenderness swept through her before she could disengage from it. Imposing in size and appearance, Gerard Vance was an intimidating man, and he was a missionary. Incongruous. She’d grown up believing that missionaries and ministers had to be warm and gentle and tender with everyone all the time.
Typical for Gerard, he flew in the face of convention. He’d thrown many a troublemaker out onto the sidewalk for one false move in the shelter, and he’d done it single-handedly. He’d been nearly as tough on her when she’d left the mission to come here. Gerard didn’t have to call for police backup very often. An ex-cop knew how to handle himself.
As she watched, he rose from the seat, as if he had some supernatural way of knowing she was watching him. He looked straight toward her as if he knew she’d be peering at him from this very place. She stepped back, impatient with herself, a grown woman running back home to escape life, hiding to avoid a conversation she didn’t want to have.
But she’d tried to face this in Corpus Christi and the continuing despair had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t go back there and didn’t have what it took to argue with him this morning. Strange how the thought of not returning to her patients felt like losing a piece of herself. Especially strange since the thought of returning terrified her so badly she couldn’t function.
She changed from her nightgown into jeans and her favorite green flannel shirt. Hearing Gerard’s voice had reminded her how much she missed her friends in Corpus Christi, but each time she thought of them her memories bore down on her with the thud of a bass drum. Were Tess and Sean still planning a wedding, or had they chucked it all and decided to elope? And Gerard…what was he doing for a full-time doctor in the clinic? Was he interviewing for prospective replacements, or was he waiting for her to return? Did he miss her?
It was impossible not to think about him—his piercing blue eyes, the short blond hair that spiked in the moist breeze from the shore, the firm chin and the gravel of his voice. Those were only the outer characteristics of a man with more of an inner-thought life than any minister or professor of philosophy she’d ever known. He had such a capacity to care for the unlovable. A woman couldn’t spend nearly two years working with a man like that and not have an impression of him left on her soul.
Gerard Vance was the kind of man who left an impression on everyone who met him, particularly those who had no homes, no livelihood, and depended on him for the very food they ate and the beds in which they slept.
Reluctantly summoning her courage, Megan stepped out onto the front porch and heard the sound of a car door closing. She looked up to see Gerard walking across the yard, wearing his typical jeans and T-shirt—today the shirt was tie-dyed blue and white. His hair appeared more blond, slightly longer, his skin more tanned than when she’d left him standing at the shelter two weeks ago.
She met his gaze and something inside her weakened as birdsong echoed from the treetops. At night, the whippoorwill called across the forest; in the morning, bluebirds and cardinals often fluttered from the front porch when she stepped out on her way to work. Now she knew how they felt.
Lines of weariness framed Gerard’s blue eyes. Something had changed. As she waited for him to reach her, she felt a new kind of tension.
Gerard allowed himself a few seconds to feast on the sight of Megan’s face. He realized in that short span how bleak the attitude at the mission had grown without her. His life too, come to think of it. The aftermath of the murder, of course, still lingered over the three-story, 25,000-square-foot building and among the employees and volunteers, but he knew the patients missed Megan’s unwavering and nonjudgmental compassion, her laughter, her ability to stop a child’s tears midstream with a gentle touch.
“Spending a lot of time outdoors lately?” Her voice, usually strong but gentle, with a musical lilt, strained with a transparent attempt to sound casual.
One of the first things that had attracted Gerard to Megan was her voice—since their first introduction was over the phone. The second attraction had been her straightforward honesty. She also had a sense of humor that arose at some of the most inconvenient times, but that helped her cope with the stress of her job. He even liked that about her.
He stepped onto the porch and heard that same creak of wood beneath his feet that had probably startled her earlier. “I’ve spent a lot of time walking and praying the past two weeks.”
“On the streets, no doubt.” She stepped backward as if to keep him from getting too
