Love Inspired March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: North Country Family\Small-Town Midwife\Protecting the Widow's Heart (3 page)

“We'll be there soon,” he assured her.

Cassie glanced his way, her head tipped to one side. “Do you ever have doubts about anything, Rick?”

The question made him blink as memories from a host of very bad days from his past made him wince.

“You have no idea,” he muttered as guilt rolled in.

Cassie studied him, a tiny frown marring her beauty. After that she remained silent until they reached Lives. Rick didn't mind. Her question had sobered him.

“We're home,” he said as he turned off the motor.

“Finally.” Bryan quickly unfolded himself from the backseat.

“A tall guy like you, you'll be glad Laurel has a van.” Rick watched him stretch. Something about the kid didn't seem right. When Bryan headed for the house, Rick called him back.

“Your bag?” he reminded.

“What, no bell boys?” Bryan attempted a laugh but it fell short. He swiped a hand across his face to remove a sheen of sweat, which was odd given the frosty temperature.

Rick also noticed that Bryan's hand shook when he reached for the suitcase handle. The boy seemed confused as he struggled to maneuver his way to the door. Several times he veered off the pathway into the snow. Concerned by Bryan's unsteadiness, Rick moved to assist him. He arrived just in time to catch Bryan as he slumped.

“Cassie!” Rick yelled. She was there in a second with Laurel.

“Bryan's just been diagnosed with diabetes,” Laurel said.

“Get him inside and lay him on the floor,” Cassie ordered after a quick look. “Laurel, we'll need some orange juice or something sweet.”

Totally out of his depth, Rick appreciated Cassie's orders. He carried Bryan inside then propped up the boy's head as Cassie dribbled some orange juice in his mouth.

“What's wrong with him?” he asked.

“I'm guessing his blood sugar's too low.” Concern darkened Cassie's eyes as she monitored the boy's pulse and checked his pupils. “Bryan, when did you last test?” she asked loudly when his eyelids fluttered.

“Didn't.” His head lolled into unconsciousness.

Cassie hissed out a sigh of frustration. She looked at Rick. “Can you go through his suitcase and find a small case? It would have test strips, syringes and a vial in it.”

Rick did as she asked. When he found the container, he unzipped it and held it open in his palm so she could easily get what she needed.

“Thanks.” With precise movements Cassie pricked Bryan's finger and swiped it over a test strip, which she then stuck into the small monitor. She grimaced at the reading, measured out the correct dose from the vial and injected it into Bryan's stomach. After a quick glance at Noah who stood watching, she offered him a smile then returned to monitoring her patient.

Rick noted the tender hand Cassie swept across Bryan's forehead and the kindhearted words she spoke. To anyone watching, Bryan might have been her own child.

“Why didn't he inject himself?” he asked, keeping his voice hushed.

“The doctor's report says he's struggling to accept his illness.” Laurel stood beside Noah, watching.

“A lot of kids do,” Cassie explained. “They think that if they ignore it, it will go away.” She looked at Rick, grim certainty in her eyes. “It won't go away. Bryan's got to learn to handle his diabetes or it will kill him.”

“Then we'll help him do that,” Rick assured her.

Cassie gave him a funny look before she turned her attention to Bryan once more.

“Okay, he's coming around. Laurel, could you bring a wet cloth? Can you help him sit, Rick?”

“Sure.” He slid his arm around Bryan's back and eased him upright. “Take it easy, big guy.” When Bryan's bleary gaze met his, he teased, “Is this any way to begin your first day here? Forgetting to take your medication?”

“I didn't forget,” Bryan said, slurring his words a bit, but fully aware.

“You must have forgotten,” Rick told him in a serious tone. “Because deliberately not taking it sounds dumb, and I don't think you're dumb.” He sounded more confident than he felt, and he prayed that God would use his words to help Bryan. “Diabetes is not a death sentence.”

“It feels like one to me.” Bryan accepted Rick's hand to pull himself upright. He wavered a bit before plopping on a kitchen chair.

“Diabetes isn't the end of your life, Bryan.” Rick sat across from him. “In fact, it could be the start of a new life for you, a new beginning here at Lives Under Construction.”

Bryan glanced at Laurel and Cassie as if to ask if Rick was serious. But after a moment his gaze returned to Rick, who caught a flicker of curiosity under the boy's tough attitude.

“New start?” the boy demanded. “How?”

“Well, think about it. Nobody here knows you or what you did before you came here. You've got a chance to begin a new year with a clean slate.” One glance at Cassie's serious face told Rick he had to make his words count. “Managing your diabetes can be your first step to making your future into whatever you want.”

“You make it sound easy,” Bryan muttered.

“Oh, no, I didn't say that. But nobody but you can decide your future, Bryan.” Rick paused to let that sink in. “You have to choose if you'll waste the opportunity you've been given at a new life, or accept the challenge and use this time to figure out how to build yourself a better world.”

Bryan snorted. “I never heard anyone claim going to juvie was getting a break.”

“Well, then, let me be the first to offer you a new perspective. Besides, this is not juvenile detention. It's where lives are under construction, on the way to being changed.” Rick held his breath, waiting for the boy to decide.

Bryan studied him for a long time, his eyes searching. Rick could tell that he was at least thinking about what he'd heard.

“You should rest for a while, Bryan,” Cassie said.

“Yeah. I feel tired. The plane was bumpy. The guy guarding me got sick.” He pushed to his feet and followed Laurel to the room he'd been assigned.

Rick rubbed a hand across his face, silently praising God for His help.

“How did you know to do that?”

Rick blinked. Cassie stood in front of him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Do what?”

“Talk to him like that, get him to face his issues and see them from a new perspective.” She frowned. “You convinced Bryan he could start over. I think maybe you got through to him. How?”

Shifting under her intense stare, Rick knew there was more to her question than simple curiosity. He glanced around, saw Noah seated in a corner with the luggage, earbuds back in place.

“I prayed for the right words, Cassie. If they hit home it was because God used them, as He used you,” he added.

“Me?” she said, almost rearing back in surprise.

“You treated Bryan as if he were Noah,” he said softly. “You cared for him with love and tenderness. He felt that. All I did was try to help him see that not everything in his life is bad. There is good in the world if he'll only drop his defenses and accept it.”

“But the words you used—” Her voice trailed away.

“Lives Under Construction
is
a new beginning for Bryan,” Rick reminded her. “He's away from whatever circumstances got him into this situation. He
can
start over, if he wants to. It's the same for you and Noah, isn't it? It doesn't really matter what brought you here. What matters is what you do with this opportunity.”

She studied him until they heard the sound of footsteps in the hall.

“Rick, you're home,” a warm voice said. A slim, obviously pregnant woman embraced him, then turned to Cassie. “I'm Sara Loness,” she said stretching out a hand. “I'm the head cook. Welcome to Lives.”

“Thank you. I'm Cassie Crockett.” Cassie shook Sara's hand then nudged Noah who finally rose. “This is my son, Noah.”

After Sara greeted Noah, Rick explained what had just happened.

“Poor Bryan. I'll make sure supper doesn't have a lot of sugar,” Sara assured him.

“And you should probably keep those away from him,” Rick said, eyeing the platter of cinnamon buns on the counter. “But not from me.”

“Why is it some people can eat whatever they want and never gain an ounce?” Sara smiled at Cassie. “I made extras,” she said to Rick as she set plates and forks on the table.

“Thanks.” Rick nudged Noah to the table then held Cassie's chair. Rick took note of the fact that Cassie startled a bit when his hand accidentally brushed her shoulder.

“I thought I saw a skating rink outside,” Cassie said, her voice betraying nothing.

“Sara's husband, Kyle, made it. He's just coming in.” Rick waited until his friend entered the kitchen. Then he introduced Cassie and her son. “Kyle's the activities director at Lives. He and I are teaching the kids hockey. It fosters cooperation, patience, a whole host of things.” Rick suddenly felt restless under Cassie's scrutiny, as if he was being assessed for something, though he couldn't imagine what.

“Want to join us?” Kyle asked Noah.

“I n-never p-played hockey,” Noah muttered.

“Between Rick and Kyle, who are the biggest hockey addicts in the world, you'll soon learn,” Sara teased. “Do you like milk with your cinnamon buns?” Noah's eager nod made her laugh. “So does Kyle. What about your mom?”

“Sh-she's on a d-diet so s-she won't g-get f-fat.” Noah actually grinned when the others burst into laughter.

“Noah Crockett! I am not.” Cassie flushed a rich red.

“Bad mistake, Noah, my man,” Rick told him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Let me give you some advice. Never mention the words
fat
or
diet
in the presence of a woman.” He leaned over and whispered very loudly, “It makes them grumpy.”

Cassie and Sara shared a look.

“Here come the rest of the boys,” Sara said. “They were at a sledding party.”

When the current residents trooped into the kitchen, Sara introduced Cassie and Noah. “These fine fellows are Barry, Rod and Peter,” she said. “Michael and Daniel won't arrive until tomorrow and Bryan is upstairs with Laurel,” she explained to the boys. “He's not feeling well. I suppose you're not hungry in the slightest after the sledding party.”

As one they began to protest.

Sara grinned. “Yeah, dumb question. After you wash you can join us.”

As they rushed to comply, Kyle left to answer the phone. Rick noted Noah hadn't engaged any of the other boys, simply nodding at the introduction and returning to his music.

Rick knew why. That stutter was going to cause problems.

The first time he'd spoken to Noah he'd felt a familiar nudge in his heart. Experience told him that was God's prodding and it meant he was to help Noah. But how?

A moment later he had his answer.

When Sara disappeared inside the walk-in cooler leaving them alone, Rick decided to sound out Cassie while her son was still involved in his music, before the others returned.

“Noah told me his dad killed himself,” he murmured. “That must have been very hard for you.”

Her whole body dropped as if he'd settled a weight on her shoulders. Silence stretched between them. Finally Cassie spoke.

“Very hard, but harder on Noah, I think.”

“If there's anything I can do to help,” he offered.

It was obvious Cassie struggled to accept his offer. But after a long moment, she nodded.

“There might be.”

“Just name it,” he said.

“Would you be able to talk to Noah the same way you talked to Bryan?” Cassie asked in a hushed voice. “He's been hurting, trying to understand why his father would do that. I can't seem to reach him. But you might, the way you did with Bryan.”

Rick's heart swelled with compassion for this mother's hurting heart.

“Please?” she whispered.

“I don't know that it will make any difference, Cassie, but I promise I'll do whatever I can to help Noah,” Rick said, just before the other boys burst into the kitchen. He leaned closer. “The offer is open to you, too, if you want.”

She shut down—there was no other way to express it. “Thank you, but I don't talk about the past. I appreciate whatever you can do for Noah, though.”

It was a warning.
Back off.
And yet as he sipped the coffee Sara had served him, Rick knew he was going to have a hard time doing that. Her husband's suicide had affected her whether she admitted it or not. He had a hunch that refusing to discuss it was doing just as much damage to her spirit as it was to Noah's.

Don't get involved,
his brain chided again.

She's hurting,
his soul answered.
Am I not here to help others? How else can I make amends for my past?

His brain was ready with a retort.

Is it only amends you want to make? Aren't you also trying to impress her?

His conscience reminded him that he needed to keep his motives clear, to focus on his mission.

He lifted his head and found a pair of beautiful brown eyes watching him.

Staying focused on his goal definitely wasn't going to be easy.

Chapter Three

“W
hat's wrong, Rick?” Lucy Clow demanded on Saturday morning.

The diminutive septuagenarian, retired missionary and acting church secretary laid a model airplane kit on his desk.

“What's that?” he asked instead of answering.

“Vacation Bible School crafts for next summer, if you approve. I bought a ton of airplane kits online.” Wispy tendrils of Lucy's snow-white hair straggled across her furrowed brow.

“Cool. Thanks for thinking ahead.” Rick loved this woman's heart for God's work. “You've been poking at your hair again,”

“Forget my hair.” The way Lucy clapped her hands on her hips made it clear he wouldn't escape her question. “Tell me what's eating you.”

“Noah Crockett.” Rick leaned back in his chair. “He's closed himself off. I promised his mother I'd help him, but I'm not making much progress.”

“With his mother?” Lucy laughed at his expression and sat on a nearby chair. “There's nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, Rick.”

“You know I can't get involved that way with a woman, Lucy. I've told you about my vow to God.”

“I know what you promised God. I'm just not sure He asked for or even wanted your promise.” Lucy frowned at him. “You keep beating yourself up over the past when God's already forgiven you. How is that any different from Noah acting out and staying aloof?”

“Noah hasn't hurt hundreds of people with his greed. I have. I thought I was too smart to get caught in a Ponzi scheme. That guy took all the money I handed over and instead of investing it, he used it to pay off his old clients.” He groaned at his colossal ego. “Who else but an arrogant, materialistic creep would write a know-it-all book on how to beat the system and then lose his clients' money as well as his own to a slick-talking salesman?”

“God forgave you, Rick,” Lucy murmured. “Forgive yourself.”

“I can't.” He sipped his now-cold coffee. “Not when that stupid book keeps selling and there's not a thing I can do to stop it.”

“I noticed the royalty check when I deposited the offering last week,” Lucy murmured. “I suppose that's what brought your guilt rushing back.”

“It's never left,” he muttered. “If only they'd stop selling that book.” His hands fisted at his helplessness. “I feel that there are still people who are losing everything because of me.”

“I guess you could always write another book against those practices.”

“I can't.” He shook his head then raked his fingers through his hair. “The agreement I signed doesn't allow me to contradict anything I wrote or reveal myself as the author.”

“It's in God's hands, Rick.” Lucy's quiet voice brimmed with comfort. “Leave it there.”

“I'm trying. Anyway, it's not me we're talking about. It's Noah.” He sighed. “Under that ‘Who cares' attitude is a simmering cauldron of anger. I promised Cassie I'd help him, but he won't confide in me. He keeps burying himself in his music.”

“I was practicing the piano for Sunday service while he was waiting for you yesterday,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “He sat in the back and pretended to ignore me, but I heard him hum along. A couple of times he even sang a line. The kid has a pretty good voice.”

Rick froze as an idea bloomed.

“You look funny.” Lucy reached into her pocket. “I've got some pills for indigestion—”

“Lucy!” Rick hooted with laughter. “You, my dear secretary, are a genius.”

“I tell Hector that all the time.” She frowned at him. “But why am I a genius today?”

“Music.” He kissed her cheek. “I'm going to start a kids' choir, Lucy, and I'm going to ask Noah to join. Will you play for us?”

“Me?” Lucy wrinkled her nose. She held out her fingers, bent with the ravages of arthritis. “I can't play that fast kids' stuff very well, Rick, but I guess I could help until you find someone else.”

“Bless you.” Rick grabbed his coat and gloves. “I'm going out to Lives to ask Laurel and Cassie if the boys can join. Then we'll put out the word all over town.” He pulled open the door of his office then turned back and hugged the tiny woman. “You're a peach, Luce.”

He was almost out the door when Lucy muttered, “I'd rather be a genius.”

“You're both,” he called.

As he gunned his snowmobile and headed out of town toward Lives, his heart raced with excitement. As he went, he prayed,
Let this choir be a blessing, Lord. Let Your word through music touch the kids' hearts and souls with healing. Especially Noah's. And Cassie's, too.

Invigorated, he began formulating a list of songs that might help Noah face his anger. Once at Lives, Rick jumped off his machine and rapped on the door. When no one answered immediately he rapped harder. Finally the door opened a crack, revealing Cassie's tousled head and bleary-eyed face.

It wasn't lost on him that his heart beat a bit faster at the sight of her. But he ignored that fact as best he could.

“Hi.” Rick blinked, checked his watch and winced. “I'm guessing you weren't up yet?”

“It's Saturday, Rick. Barely past nine. And it's New Year's Eve. We're all sleeping in.” She smothered a yawn and opened the door wide. “But I'm up now. Come in.”

“Sorry. I didn't think of the time,” he apologized, his brain busy admiring the robe she wore. Delicately crocheted, it began in pale aqua at the bottom and grew progressively darker, drawing the eye up to where it turned a rich emerald tone in the lacy collar framing her face. “You look lovely.”

“Nice of you to say, Rick, but I had my first shift at the hospital and worked till four this morning. I don't think ‘lovely' applies.” Cassie turned to get the coffee container out of the fridge.

“I do.” He saw her pause a moment before she continued setting the perc. She flicked a switch and a moment later the rich fragrant aroma filled the room. “I'm really sorry I woke you.”

“It must be important.” She perched on a stool in the corner. “Do you want me to get Laurel?”

“Not yet. Though I do want to get her permission, and yours,” he added.

“For what?” she asked around another yawn.

“For Noah and the boys to join a choir, a
kids'
choir,” he emphasized.

Cassie tilted her head to one side. “Noah used to sing in a choir at home—” She stopped. “If he's interested I'm all for it.”

“Hi, Rick.” Laurel leaned against the door frame, glancing from him to Cassie. “All for what?”

“My kids' choir,” he told her, noticing how tired she looked. “I wanted to ask your permission for the Lives boys to join, but we can talk later.”

“Good because at the moment my brain is mush. I stayed up too late working on my taxes. Teddy Stonechild has me convinced I'm doing something wrong.” She blinked sleepily. “If you'll excuse me I'm going to return to my dream life on a tropical beach. Good night—I mean morning.” She waved a hand and left.

“Teddy was here?” Rick asked as Cassie poured coffee for both of them.

“Last night. Cream?” She held up the jug.

“Thanks.” Rick nodded when she'd added the right amount. “I didn't realize he was back.”

“Back? He doesn't live in Churchill?” This time Cassie sat directly across from him.

“His real home is in Vancouver. But he visits Churchill a lot.” Rick savored the delicious brew. “Your coffee is fantastic. Much better than the slough water I had at the church.”

“Do you live there?”

“Almost.” He chuckled. “The church has a small manse. It's cozy.” He refocused.

“Teddy's an interesting character. What else do you know?” she said.

“Kyle told me Teddy came as a client for his dad's tour business years ago and has kept coming ever since. I believe Teddy owns a hotel business that his son now runs.”

Cassie nodded, then tilted her head to one side. “So what's the inspiration behind this choir of yours?”

Rick hesitated to broach the subject on his mind. “I've talked to Noah a couple of times.”

Cassie perked up. “And?”

“I think he wants to open up but doesn't know where to start,” he said. “Is there anything you can share with me that would help me understand what he's going through?”

“Like what?” Rick could see Cassie's barriers go up again, and he knew he had to tread very lightly.

“Maybe if I knew some details about what happened, I could make him feel that he could confide in me.”

“I don't discuss my past, Rick.” Her lips pinched firmly together. “I just want to forget.”

“I understand.” Rick could almost feel the pain emanating from Cassie, and he was caught off guard by how much he wanted to ease it. “Losing your husband must have been very difficult. I'm not trying to pry. But can't you tell me something? For Noah's sake?”

Cassie sat silent for several minutes, motionless, her gaze locked on something Rick couldn't see. Finally she took a sip of her coffee. Cradling the mug between her palms she gave a huge sigh.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything you think will help Noah.” Rick waited, silently praying until finally she spoke again in a cool, matter-of-fact voice.

“My husband's name was Eric. I married him thirteen years ago, when I was eighteen. He was twenty-seven. He died two years ago. He drove on an icy street at high speed. Deliberately. He hit a tree and died.”

Rick fought to keep his reaction to Cassie's horrific story as neutral as possible, for her sake. Now he understood her discomfort on the icy ride to Lives from the train.

“Do you mind telling me why Eric did it?” he asked gently.

“He was an accountant. He served on our church board and agreed to be board treasurer, to oversee a fund-raising campaign to build a new church.” Cassie looked at him, her brown eyes guarded. “Eric was supposed to invest the building fund in something the board had chosen.”

Cassie's voice broke and she paused to regain her composure. When she did, she said, “But Eric had other plans for the money. Plans I never knew much about.” She frowned. “The congregation was excited about getting a facility that would give them room to expand their programs. Eric received a lot of phone calls from people wanting to know when there would be enough money to start building.”

Compassion filled Rick. The way she avoided looking at him told him he was causing her pain by asking her about the past. Yet he needed information in order to help.

“Was that when Noah's stutter began?” he asked. “After his father died?”

Cassie shook her head, her eyes pleading with him not to make her say any more.

“I only want to help him, Cassie. Whatever you tell me is in strictest confidence, but I need to know,” he said. Without thinking, he slid his hand across the table, over hers.

For a few moments Rick was certain she would tell him to forget it, that she didn't want to talk anymore. But she looked at him for a long time, and Rick held her gaze. Gradually her shoulders relaxed and her brown eyes lost their dark anger. She slowly pulled her hand away and exhaled.

“Tell me,” he murmured.

“Noah's stutter started quite a while after his dad died, after everyone in the church turned on us when they discovered the money was gone,” she said tiredly. “I became their scapegoat and Noah, too. The kids at school tormented him, called him the son of a thief.” Tears formed on her thick golden lashes. “Noah was a total innocent. We both were. But when I tried to explain, no one would listen. To them we were as guilty as Eric. Noah's friends dumped him, parroting the nasty ugliness of what their parents said. That's when he began to stutter.”

“Cassie, I'm so sorry.” Rick hated the tears streaming down her lovely face. Holding her was folly, but how could he not offer her comfort?

He stood and moved to sit next to her, taking her in his arms slowly, gently, in case it wasn't what she wanted. He felt the tension break in her as she wept against his shoulder.

“They were Christians, Rick. They were supposed to love us.”

“Yes, they were.” How he wished he could ease this load from her. It broke his heart that her husband had caused so much grief and then abandoned her to face the consequences, that God's children had wreaked so much havoc on her son. “I'm sorry they didn't love you as Christ taught, Cassie. People are more important than lost money.”

“Oh, they got their money.” Cassie pulled out of his arms, dashing away her tears. Her voice grew harsh. “I sold the house and gave the money to the church to cover the loss.”

She'd sold her home? Rick couldn't imagine what that decision had cost her, a single mom responsible for housing her child.

“I didn't do it because I felt guilty,” Cassie said, her tone short. “I did it because I wanted them to stop torturing my son. But they didn't. They thought it wasn't enough, that I should cover the two years of interest they'd lost.”

“But surely when you explained—”

“I stopped explaining,” Cassie said, her voice passionless. “They displayed nothing but hatred for us. Before he ended it all, Eric tried to make it right. He sank every bit of our savings into trying to rebuild their fund. But he couldn't do it. So when he was gone, I found out there was no cushion for Noah and me, no life insurance, nothing but my part-time nursing salary to support us.”

“Your parents couldn't help?”

“My mother died when I was nine. Ever since then my father has been...busy.” Cassie's voice dropped. “He blamed me, too, for not knowing what Eric was doing. So I stopped trying to defend myself.”

Rick could see how much it cost Cassie to say this. He longed to pull her back into his arms, but for a moment, he questioned his motives. Did he want to offer her more comfort or did he simply love the feel of her in his arms? He wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that question.