Eighteen

Kyle was released from the hospital the next day.

A week later Izabelle was still ignoring me. I'd called and sent texts that went unanswered. Katie said she'd get over it, but I wasn't as sure and it hurt because I knew Izzy was right. I lied. I kept secrets, and I betrayed our friendship.

I felt like a failure. Not just as a friend but as a follower of Christ. When I accepted Jesus as my Savior, I expected to be freed from sin but I still struggled. Glancing at my watch, I saw I still had time on my lunch break. I opened my Bible to Romans 7:9 and read.

...For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing...

There was comfort in knowing that even the great apostle Paul, who had brought many to Christ, struggled with sin. I understood he was not condoning sin, rather describing the battle believers face when they struggle to stop sinning and do the Lord's work.

Please, Lord, forgive me for lying to Izabelle. Heal her pain and help her to forgive me. Give me strength and wisdom to serve you well.

At the end of the day, I think my prayer was all that sustained me. My head ached and I was tired. The hours crawled. I finally finished my paperwork and headed home.

I'd worked extra hours the last few days to make up for the time I'd taken off to be with Kyle after his surgery. I was exhausted. I thought it was the long hours or stress about Izabelle, but as the day wore on I continued to feel achy and sluggish.

Too tired to make dinner I decided a shower might help, but it just made me sleepy. I rarely got sick.  Apparently, I was going to make up for it because when I took my temperature it read 102.  I fell onto my bed and buried my head into my pillow.

I slept the night and woke up the next day, but fell quickly back to sleep. The next time I opened my eyes, I was sure I was dreaming because Kyle was sitting beside me on the bed. He wore jeans, boots, and a maroon button-down shirt. His jaw was set as he folded a wet cloth on my head.

"You look like a handsome Prince." My voice sounded as croaky as a frog.

He chuckled, feeling my forehead. "You're still burning up."

"I mean it. You're like something from a fairytale." I stared at him in awe.

"You're starting to worry me, sweetheart. You don't want to get dehydrated."

"You shouldn't be here. I'm probably contagious."

He rearranged the pillow beneath my head so I was sitting up a bit. "Here, drink this," he said, ignoring my comment about getting him sick.

My dry lips fastened on the straw. "Hmm. It's good. What is it?"

"A mixture of juices—orange, apple, grape. They gave it to me in the hospital."

"Thank you." I felt awful and looked even worse. "Why are you here?"

He set the plastic cup on the nightstand. "Katie called."

"I don't want to ruin your day."

"It's seven at night. I'd have come sooner if I'd known you needed me."

It was hard to believe I'd slept the entire day. "You don't have to stay."

"Where else would I be?" He brushed a few strands of hair from my cheek with his fingertips. "I brought some soup and if you feel like eating."

"I love you." I closed my eyes, enjoying how it felt to be taken care of.

I slept and when I woke up again Kyle was still in the recliner beside my bed. We watched several reruns and he fixed me a bowl of chicken noodle soup and juice. I doubted I'd ever get to the point where doing nothing with him wasn't the most wonderful part of my day.

"I'm sorry for being a lousy date. This can't be fun for you."

"You still have no clue how I feel about you." He stared at me, emotions flickering in the depths of his eyes. "I love every moment with you, but I want to take you on a real date."

"Sure you don't want a girl who's brushed her hair and showered in the last twenty-four hours?"

He laughed. "Only you, sweetheart."

"I'd like that. A lot."

His handsome face lit up. "I told you how often I thought of you while I was in Afghanistan." He traced my bottom lip with his thumb. "If I'd had a bad day, picturing your face centered me."

"Tell me again," I whispered."

"I thought about us doing ordinary things like talking about our days over coffee, going out for dinner, Sunday church together." He looked suddenly uncertain. "You know, boring stuff."

"It sounds amazing. I thought about you too.  I wondered what you were doing and if you were safe.  I was afraid to imagine us together in the future because it hurt too much."

His smile slipped. "Why did it hurt?"

"Because I didn't think that I could ever have you."

"If only you'd known, Lucy. I was yours since that day I drove you home from school."

"I had no idea, and all those years I thought I'd only be with you in my dreams." I reached out and brushed the side of his face with my palm.

"You dreamed about me?" I saw the glimmer of interest in his eyes.

"I looked forward to every dream."

"Me too. Promise you won't laugh?" he asked seriously.

"Did you dream about something wild and crazy?" I asked him playfully, feeling a little better since I'd eaten.

"Sort of," he said with a smile in his voice. "I used to have this recurring dream.  You're decked out like a schoolteacher from the 1800s. I'm dressed like an outlaw with a cowboy hat, guns, and jingling spurs—Hey, you said you wouldn't laugh."

"I'm not laughing—much. I didn't actually say I wouldn't laugh."

Kyle tickled my side and I squealed. "Keep going, I want to hear the rest of your story.  What do we do dressed like an outlaw and a schoolteacher? Attend the church dance and fall in love?"

"No, but I like your version better."

"Tell me, please," I cajoled eager to hear his dreams.

"We steal a couple of horses. When we're riding away you fall, and I turn to get you but you disappear. I can't find you anywhere, and I'm afraid. I always wake up after that." His eyes found mine. "What do you think that means?"

"That you've always wanted a horse?" I teased. "Can you ride?"

"Yes, to the first question. No, to the second. I've never actually tried."

I thought about the dream. "It could mean you're afraid of losing someone you care about."

"I think it's you, sweetheart."

"You think you'll lose me?" I asked in surprise because I knew that would not happen.

"The night I left you has always haunted me. I'm not sure what the horse hustling means." He glanced down and gripped his thighs. "I thought I was too old for you then and stealing something I had no right to take. Maybe that."

I'd never felt as warm, safe, and loved as I did now. "You never took anything, only gave, and I thank the Lord for bringing us together."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "God's working everything out for our good."

"I believe He is."

***

By the time Saturday rolled around I was feeling better, and Kyle was ready to face my dad. My dad's approval meant a lot to him. I understood that, and I prayed our dinner went well.

I still was nervous. Changing three times, I finally settled on a simple pale pink dress that had a scoop neck, puff sleeves, and flared skirt that stopped a couple of inches from the knee.

I slid on my brown leather cowboy boots and spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to flat iron my waves into submission. Finally, my hair fell into a smooth sheet down my back.  As always I went light on the make-up, brushing on light pink eye shadow, mascara, blush, and peach lip gloss.

The doorbell rang and my heart tripped a beat, but when I opened the door I was surprised to see Dad, not Kyle, on my doorstep.

"Dad," I greeted him with a smile. "I thought we were meeting at The Pit."

"That was the plan, but I wanted to talk to you first.  I can drive." He looked grim.

"Oh, ok. Kyle is picking me up, but we can all ride together."

He didn't look pleased with the arrangements, and I wondered if it had something to do with what he wanted to talk to me about. "If this is about Kyle—"

"It's not." He put a hand on my shoulder. "I saw your friend Izabelle last night at Shooters." He looked as if expected me to say something, and when I didn't he asked, "She didn't tell you?"

"We had an argument. Izabelle isn't speaking to me."

He frowned.  "She mentioned that, but she'd had a lot to drink. I didn't give it much thought."

Unease slithered through me. Izabelle must have been in bad shape for him to mention it, and that was unusual for her. Sure, she went out and drank, but I'd rarely seen her lose control. I couldn't help but think that I was to blame for her sending her over the edge.

"Some guy was getting too friendly. One thing led to another. The situation blew up. I stepped in and I took her home."

I blinked, puzzled. "You arrested Izabelle?"

Dad's brows shot up, and surprise flickered in his eyes. "No. I told the loser she was with to get lost, and I gave her a ride."

A sigh of relief fell from my lips. "I'll talk to her, Dad.  She doesn't usually drink that much."

"Good to know because if I hadn't been she'd have gone home with him, and she was in no condition to make that decision." A hint of something, perhaps jealousy colored his statement.

Before I could analyze it, he continued.

"Lucy, you have to be careful when you're out.  You've got to keep a clear head and never let anyone hand you drinks." Dad gave me a look I'd seen a few times when I'd gotten in trouble and he was about to lay down the law.

"I know, Dad.  So does Izabelle.  She's had a difficult time lately." Despite our issues, I did not want my dad to think badly of her.

"Just be careful," he replied and we started talking about other things, but I couldn't get what he'd told me about Izabelle out of my head.

Dad was in the kitchen making a cup of coffee when Kyle arrived a few minutes later. My heart flipped when I saw him dressed in jeans and boots with a blue plaid button-down shirt. He reminded me of a cowboy minus the hat.

He looked like he'd spent the last few months on the beach in a survival reality show instead of in the hospital. I knew his left leg had several deep, angry scars and he still walked with a slight limp, but it was hardly noticeable.

His hot gaze raked over me and his slow smile of appreciation did strange things to my insides.  When Kyle hauled me into his arms and lowered his mouth to mine, I let out a small gasp of pleasure.

My dad cleared his throat and reached for the place on his waist where he usually kept his gun.