The bride’s magazine slipped from her fingers. Brett stooped to pick it up. “Then what’s wrong, honey?”
“This miserable weather.”
“We have no control over that” He lapsed into his lofty seminary voice. “The storms and winds come from God’s storehouse. Oppose the weather and we oppose God.”
“You’re preaching again, Brett,” she cautioned.
“That’s what. I’m training for, my darling.”
“But you’re not in the pulpit now, and I don’t want you to sound that way ever. It’s your openness and honesty that first attracted me to you, Brett. You’re too genuine to play a role.”
“Heather, all my life I’ve wanted to be a preacher. I’m a third-generation—”
“I want you to be what you want to be. But be yourself, Brett. Lost men and women are depending on you. They’ll like you better and trust you more if you don’t sound preachy.”
“Do you have someone lost in mind?” he asked.
She nodded. “A woman I’ve never met.”
“I’m not up to a guessing game. Who?”
“My birth mother. She may not know that. God loves her.”
“We just have to trust that she will,” he said confidently.
Heather fell silent. Faith and simplicity were easy choices for Brett. He really did credit the winds and storms to God’s storehouse. She leaned against him as his arm tightened around her.
“You look so upset, Heather. What’s troubling you?”
“It’s the guest list for our wedding. I want to invite someone and I’m afraid to tell you—and even more afraid to tell Mom and Dad.”
He winked. “Let me guess. That older flight attendant who gives you such a bad time when you work together?”
“No, but we’re doing much better now. Or maybe I’m doing better on the job.”
“Not your old boyfriend? We agreed not to invite him.”
“He’s coming anyway. His family and mine are old friends.”
“You want to invite someone you don’t know to our wedding? Then you’d better tell me.”
Her voice trembled. “I don’t think you’re going to like what. I say—but. I want my birth mother there.”
The storm had moved inside. The way Brett looked down at her now, there was no way that his maple-sugar eyes could melt anything. He was obviously displeased with her decision.
“You can’t be serious. What if she rejects you again?”
“That’s cruel.”
“She was cruel to leave you.”
“But. I won’t know why she left unless I try to find her.”
He turned to face her and placed his hands firmly on her shoulders. “You said your birth mother. What about your father?”
“Have you forgotten? He died before I was born.”
“Do you know that for certain? Maybe he just ducked out. Some men are not willing to take responsibility.”
“It’s not like that, Brett. When I was adopted, Mom and Dad were told that he died in Cyprus on a peacekeeping mission.”
“The army?”
“The navy, I think. I—” she faltered. “I don’t really know. I used to ask questions, but. I could see that it hurt. Dad. Dad was afraid of losing me if I found my birth mother.”
Brett looked more perturbed than Heather had ever seen him. His usually cheery face was taut with worry, perhaps even a touch of anger. “Heather, I thought we agreed that we would be honest with each other, that we would make major decisions together.”
“I was afraid to tell you.”
“So why is it so important now to find someone that—”
“That never cared about me?” Her voice cracked. “We don’t know that. We don’t know why she didn’t want me.”
He touched her cheek. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”
She groped for words. “Oh, Brett, you can’t protect me from everything. There might be reasons why they gave me away. Reasons why you and I shouldn’t have children.”
“I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “You know that. We’ve talked about it. Seminary first. And then a family.”
“And what if I get pregnant before you graduate? My birth mother was only seventeen.”
“Seventeen? But you’re almost twenty—and very mature.”
“That didn’t answer my question, Brett.”
“If the babies come before I finish seminary—before you have a chance to finish college—then we’ll welcome them. I can’t imagine a greater joy than you being the mother of my children.”
She was grateful to him. He was trying to stop the battle building between them, trying to protect her from the unknown. “That doesn’t change anything. I still want to find my mother,” she said again. “I must find her.” She looked up and met his gaze. “I want to start our marriage with the record clean, with the questions about my birth parents answered. Whatever it takes, whatever the outcome, I want to find the woman who bore me. I want to know about the father I’ve never seen.”
“But. Nan and Todd—they’ve been good to you. They love you.”
“I know that. They’ll always be Mom and Dad. My parents. But there’s a part of me that still feels a void inside.”
He drew her into his arms. “I thought. I made you happy.”
She reached up on tiptoe and kissed him—a light, feathery kiss. “You do. I love you. But. I’d be so much more complete if I knew who I was.”
“You’re Heather Reynard. You’re going to be Heather Martin. That’s enough for me. Isn’t it enough for you, honey?”
She shook her head. “Please help me find my mother.”
He led her to the sofa and sat beside her, his head in his hands. “What if we haven’t found her when August rolls around?”
Only the sounds of the storm filled the room. Outside the torrential rain washed away the sight of the moon from the sky. Lightning flashed across the horizon. Thunder roared in the distance. Rain splashed the windows, pelted the tiled roof, and ran in widening rivulets down the hillside.
“I asked you a question,” he said gently. “Tell me.”
“Does helping me depend on it, Brett?”
“No,” he said huskily. “It’s your life. Your past. I can live with things the way they are. I don’t think you can.”
“Neither do we,” Todd Reynard said from the doorway.
“Oh, Daddy. I didn’t mean for you to hear.”
“And I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Your mother sent me down. She was worried that your young man here would be foolish enough to try driving home in this storm. She has his room ready.”
Todd Reynard ran his hand nervously through his hair, causing a tuft of it to stand up wildly. He was a solidly built, pleasant-faced man of average height, with eyes that usually danced when he talked with Heather.
“What should I tell your mother?”