He lifted open the top, slid out one of the drawers, brushed a fingertip against the velvet lining inside.
“It’s beautiful.” Sara leaned forward to examine the surface. “Is it rosewood?”
“Yes,” he said, surprised by her knowledge. “I had to order the wood specially. I thought we’d never get it done in time.” The laugh burst from him, harsh and painful. “Actually, I guess we didn’t.”
“What do you mean?” Sara sounded slightly breathless.
“Mom had barely put her seeds in this when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. By planting time she was too sick to come out here anymore.” He snapped the lid closed and thrust the box inside the bin. “She was so sure God would heal her. She said over and over, ‘Trust in God, Kyle. He’ll never let you down.’” Fury burned inside, a white-hot rage that could not be doused. “Well, He did. He let me down twice. And I will never trust Him again.”
He rose and made his way to the door, not caring about his awkwardness. All he wanted was to get away, to hide out until he found a way to deal with his anger.
“Do whatever you want in here, Sara. You’re welcome to it. Just don’t ask me to help you.” With that, Kyle stepped outside. He stood there, eyes closed as he inhaled the fresh, crisp air into his lungs and blew out frustration.
You’re starting over, he reminded himself. Forget the past.
Behind him he heard Sara close the greenhouse door with a quiet click. Desperate to be alone, he headed for the stairs to the house. He almost cheered when behind him a horn tooted and broke the strained silence. Kyle glanced over one shoulder at Sara.
“It’s Laurel,” she said. One hand went to the zipper of the red coat.
“Keep it. You might need it.” He held her gaze, nodding when her eyes asked him if he was sure.
“Thank you.” She hesitated then lifted her chin. “And thank you for letting us use the greenhouse. Enjoy your cinnamon buns.”
“Thanks.” He watched her walk to Laurel’s van. She opened the door then turned to face him.
“God bless you, Kyle,” she said in the softest voice. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“That’s not necess—” Kyle’s words fell on emptiness. Sara was gone, the van driving away.
Kyle stomped into the house, fuming. He didn’t want her here, checking on him, blessing him. He wanted to be alone, to become totally self-sufficient.
Yet as he sampled the sticky sweetness of the cinnamon buns, Kyle almost welcomed the thought of someone else, someone whose presence would stop him from being engulfed by bitterness at what he’d lost.
He stopped himself. His plan for the future did not include staying here or becoming dependent. It certainly could not include getting mesmerized by a pair of silvery-gray eyes. He would never allow himself to be that vulnerable again.
For now, Kyle was home. He’d take the rest of his life one step at a time.
But if Sara did come back, he’d try to find out more about her, like what had made her stare so longingly at his dad’s laptop when she’d seen it lying on the desk.
And why she seemed so certain God would bless him.
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