Not that he believed in that kind of goodness anymore.
Goodness? No. God? Yes. Peace? Yes. That’s what he believed in.
After too many years as a soldier and then as a corporate pilot flying head honchos anywhere in the world they needed to go, he just wanted a home. Peace and quiet. To be content and enjoy his life. Just him and Leo.
He drove the nail in sure and deep with one whack of the hammer. Pinned his elbow on the board and drove in a second nail. A third.
“That was my sister.” She came up from behind him, her steps hushed in the soft grass. Ice cubes rattled as she set down glass and pitcher, both topped with sliced lemons.
Thoughtful.
“I’ve got to run in and help her with the coffee shop. She’s shorthanded. Do you need anything else? I’ll leave the back door unlocked. Just help yourself.”
“Sure, okay.” He didn’t look at her as he drove another nail home. “I’ll lock up when I finish.”
“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”
“I’ve got to ask you something.” He nailed the next board into place. “This has really been bothering me. I’ve had some neighbor disasters, too.”
“You’re worried about me?”
“Are you a partying kind of girl? I’m praying that you’re a quiet sort of woman who doesn’t play music all hours of the night. I need my beauty sleep.”
“Funny.” She slung her slim black purse over her shoulder. “Give my regards to your biker friends.”
Her wink made him chuckle, and it warmed him down to his bones. One thing about Kirby—he liked her sense of humor.
But that was all.
She swept away from him, like grace and spring and peace all rolled up into one perfect human being. He wasn’t looking for a wife. Not by a long shot. But she was fine.
Very fine, indeed.
Chapter Four
Her house was dark—not surprising considering the late hour. The green glow from the clock on the stove, showing 3:15, cast enough illumination to guide her around the corner of the island. She padded on bare feet to the cupboard and reached for her favorite oversize mug by feel.
As she flicked on the cold water faucet, she swore she could smell the faint hint of Sam’s woodsy scent, and it was pleasant. The image of him working on her backyard fence shot into her mind. The afternoon sun had burnished his broad back and his arm muscles had flexed while he drove the nails home.
Fixing her fence for a glass of iced tea. What kind of man did that?
A man who named his ferocious-looking dog Leo, that’s who. A man whose aunt sang his praises as if he were perfect in every way.
You’ve thought about him enough today, okay? Kirby popped open the microwave door, and the interior light burned like a beacon in the darkness as she placed the cup inside. She loved the embossed image of a wet, rumpled cartoon cat in a puddle that said Nothing Is Ever Simple.
That was her life slogan. She shut the door, hit the two-minute button and listened to the machine whir. Sam. There she was, thinking about him again. And what was wrong with that? Everything.
Especially having a conversation about him with herself at three in the morning.
The light from the microwave showed her tidy sink and counter. After coming home from helping out at the coffee shop and having dinner with her sisters, she’d expected to find Sam’s glass and tray left on the counter. But no, he’d rinsed the dishes, put them in the dishwasher. All by himself.
Okay, that was a bonus requirement. One that wasn’t on her list. Maybe she should add it. Right under “man of faith,” she would add “does dishes.” Not a bad attribute for her future Mr. Right to have.
And as if that wasn’t enough, the fence repair was perfect. Through the night shadows around her back porch light she could just make out the unbroken row of boards that proved Sam Gardner completed even small jobs with care.
All those jokes he’d made about being a biker or in a rock band made her smile, even in the lonely night. He was probably a pretty good plumber. And he was here to stay.
She could see his house perfectly through the spreading branches of the lilac trees outside her kitchen window. His windows were dark, his house silent.
Pure blessed quiet.
Thank You, Father, for sending me this wonderful neighbor. She appreciated the stillness, but of course tonight had to be the night she couldn’t sleep. She hated insomnia. Too much on her mind—the practical worries of life like mortgage payments and school loan payments and remembering she needed to give notice at the hospital where she did shift work.
She told herself it was better to worry about all of her responsibilities than what was truly troubling her.
She wouldn’t think about the accident. Or about the dreams that had troubled her more frequently after the medevac crash last month.
The microwave binged, and Kirby retrieved the steaming cup. She dug a bag of her favorite sweet chamomile tea from the third drawer next to the stove. The paper around the bag crinkled in the quiet, and down the hall came the muffled sound of the little dog yipping in her sleep. Maybe Jessie was chasing birds in the backyard in her little doggy dreams.
The phone rang, loud and harsh in the peaceful kitchen. The tea bag tumbled from her fingers. Startled, she sprinted across the short distance to the other end of the kitchen. The caller ID told her that it was business.
Being on call was a nurse’s life.
She snatched up the receiver before the phone could ring a third time.
Stars were everywhere, sending out enough glow to light them up like a beacon, but the rendezvous was a go. Sam never backed down from a mission. It was a challenge, that was all. He was one of the best pilots he knew, and tonight he had to be at his best. He flew so low the whack of treetops against their belly made his navigator nervous.
Flying nap of the earth kept him sharp. On his toes. The intel had been good. Good enough, at least, to keep him several clicks south of trouble. He liked to stay away from enemy soldiers who might happen to be armed with missile launchers. Launched missiles weren’t so good for his helicopter.
It looked like easy flying tonight, and his navigator said so. Mark. They’d gone through boot camp together. Buddies to the end.
“You’re as crazy as ever, Gardner, but tonight looks like a cakewalk. Wait—”
Then the sky lit up. Fire and a deafening crack of metal exploding—
Sam jerked awake, disoriented, the dream still rolling in his mind, frame after frame of fire and death and fighting for calm.
He wasn’t falling out of the sky in hostile territory. He was safe in his new bed in his new room. Even the sheets were new. The memories faded, but the experience of it didn’t. No, that fateful night and its far-reaching effects stayed with him. Still.
He swiped his hand over his face and encountered damp. He had sweat bullets and his hair was drenched. It was the move—any change brought up the dreams—but it was more than that. Much more.
A dog snore broke the silence, followed by the scrape, scrape of dog paws on the floor. Leo was dreaming again, digging and running. Sam knew how fine it was to have good dreams, so he was careful not to wake his dog as he felt his way out of the room and into the kitchen.
He still went over the what ifs in his mind. There had been no warning, nothing. Mechanical failures happened. It was a fact. He believed as a Christian that all things happened for a reason.
It