A Family for Thanksgiving (Love Inspired) Page 3

  Tanner walked toward the barn door. “Ignore her. It works for me.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Clay was leaning over Tanner’s shoulder as he pulled up picture after picture of High Plains, shredded by a tornado. Hundred-year-old trees stripped bare, building and cars reduced to shattered jumbles of rubble.

  Why hadn’t Jesse or Maya told him about this?

  Because they think I don’t care.

  Maya had mentioned in her letter that the cleanup was continuing after the storm and that she and Greg were planning to hold a wedding reception in the Old Town Hall when repairs were finished, hopefully by Christmas. She’d also written to expect an invitation.

  Clay had no idea the damage to High Plains had been so severe. He couldn’t believe he had to find out what had happened to his hometown from strangers when he’d spoken to Jesse on the phone only weeks after the event.

  Clay had to acknowledge that he hadn’t exactly stayed on the line to chitchat with Jesse after learning about Marie’s death. Had Maya assumed Jesse filled Clay in on the details of the storm? She must have, or she would have tried contacting him again.

  With a sinking heart, he realized his silence all these months probably convinced her he didn’t care.

  Next, Tanner brought up a national news story about the storm’s aftermath. As shots of the devastation flashed by in a slide show, Clay stared at them in shock. He recognized the ruins as buildings in the downtown area. The town he knew was all but gone. Wiped out in a day.

  Suddenly, a familiar face flashed onto the screen. A second later another picture of a broken building replaced it.

  Clay gripped Tanner’s shoulder. “Stop. Go back.”

  Tanner did as he asked. Clay leaned closer to the monitor. Nicki stood in front of a pile of rubble with her arm around an old woman clinging to a broken umbrella. Nicki’s face glistened with tears.

  His heart ached for the look of loss in her eyes, but she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Time hadn’t changed that.

  He read the caption under the photo: “High Plains residents console each other near the ruins of their historic Old Town Hall.”

  Clay closed his eyes as a feeling of helplessness swallowed him whole. He should be there. Jesse, Maya, Nicki, the whole community had suffered a terrible loss, and he hadn’t done a thing to help.

  “Is that someone you know?” Tanner’s voice broke into Clay’s thoughts.

  “Yeah.” Someone he used to know. Someone he’d left behind a long time ago. What a stupid, stupid mistake that had been.

  Shame, anger and guilt had driven Clay out of town. His juvenile pride had kept him away. All this time. All this wasted time.

  The next page Tanner brought up was dated the previous month. It was a story about the rebuilding efforts in High Plains. According to the article, the first overwhelming response of volunteers had dwindled leaving much of the town still struggling to recover.

  With startling clarity Clay saw what he needed to do, saw for the first time in his life the path God wanted him to follow.

  He patted Tanner’s shoulder. “Thanks for showing me this.”

  Turing around, Clay strode out of the inner office and crossed the lobby to where his boss stood beside the wide stone fireplace visiting with Mr. and Mrs. Dewey.

  “Hollister, I’m leaving. Send my last paycheck to my sister. You’ve got her address.”

  The man’s craggy features settled into a scowl. “Leaving? Where’re you going?”

  Clay was already halfway out the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Somewhere I should have gone a long time ago. Home.”

  One second Nicki was walking down the sidewalk across from the construction site at the Old Town Hall and the next second her world tipped sideways.

  Stumbling to a halt, she blinked and looked again. The mirage didn’t vanish. The heavy thud of her heart stole her breath, leaving her numb with shock.

  Clay Logan stood not fifty feet away, his hands shoved in the pockets of a brown sheepskin-lined jacket as he hunched against the cutting wind. It was only the second day of November, but the deep chill in the air was a reminder that winter wasn’t far away.

  What was Clay doing here? How long had he been back in town? How long was he staying?

  He hadn’t seen her. She was thankful for that small favor as she struggled to regain her composure. He was surveying a bare patch of earth ringed with old concrete footings. It was all that remained of the large gazebo that once stood in the middle of the town’s park.

  Was he as saddened by its loss as she had been?

  So much of the tornado-ravaged town was in the process of being rebuilt, homes, businesses, the historic Old Town Hall. Fixing the gazebo wasn’t even on the list of things the overwhelmed city council had planned.

  Besides, another gazebo would never be the same.

  As if aware that someone was watching him, Clay turned to look in her direction. His shoulders stiffened. For a long instant they stared at each other without moving. Then, he touched the brim of his black cowboy hat to acknowledge her.

  She wished she were closer, wished she could see the expression in his eyes.

  Was the love still there?

  Of course it wasn’t. What a foolish thing to wonder. They’d been starry-eyed teenagers the last time they’d seen each other.

  Don’t just stand here. Walk away. Pretend it doesn’t matter that he’s back, she told herself.

  She wouldn’t let it matter. She’d wasted enough years of her life hoping for his return. Forcing herself to take a step, she flinched when she realized he was already moving toward her, closing the distance.

  Turning around and running in the opposite direction suddenly seemed like a good idea. But running away was Clay’s specialty, not hers.

  The thought stiffened her spine. She shifted her large green-and-orange striped tote to her other shoulder and waited. As he approached, she saw that the years had changed his good looks from boyish charm into chiseled masculinity.

  Dark stubble covered his square chin and the planes of his cheeks. Crow’s-feet at the corners of his deep blue eyes added character to his face, but the soft grin that pulled at one corner of his mouth was still the same one she remembered.

  A swirl of butterflies filled her midsection. The sight of that slow smile aimed in her direction used to melt her heart like butter in a hot pan.

  Stop. What am I doing?

  Nicki gathered her scattered wits. Roguish grin or not, she wasn’t about to fall back into some bygone, teenage hero-worship mode. She had far too much sense for that.

  Time to start acting like it.

  “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Clay Logan. I almost didn’t recognize you. What’s it been, five years?” She was proud that her tone carried just the right touch of indifference. If only he didn’t notice the white-knuckled grip she had on the strap of her bag.

  His smile disappeared. “It’s been seven years, Nicki.”

  “That long?” She tsked as she shook her head. “Time sure flies, doesn’t it?”

  She swept one hand toward the park indicating the broken trees and rubble piles that hadn’t yet been removed. “As you can see, things have changed a lot since you were here.”

  “I guess they have,” he replied, a sad quality in his voice. His gaze never left her.

  Tipping her head to one side, she narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t really expect things would be the same as when you left, did you?”

  He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “No, but I wasn’t prepared for exactly how different things would be.”

  At that moment, he looked lost and uncertain. Sympathy overrode her ire. She’d had four months to become accustomed to the scarred face of High Plains. He must be seeing it for the first time. It had to be painful.

  She said, “The tornado really made a mess of things. The downtown area was hit pretty hard. The General Store is gone, as are most of the
homes south of Garrison Street between First and Second.”

  Still holding his hat, he used it to point toward the line of broken trees in the park that ran between the High Plains river and the town’s Main Street. “It’s hard to believe only one person was killed.”

  “Yes. God was with us. The carriage house beside the church and the Old Town Hall both took direct hits. Volunteers from the community are rebuilding the hall, as you can see. The hope is that it’ll be done in time to hold the Founders’ Day celebration on Christmas Day.”

  “Looks like they’re making good progress.”

  “With the outside, yes, but the inside is still bare studs.”

  “What about you? Did you lose much?”

  Waving a hand to dismiss her minor losses, she said, “A broken window. That was all.” And the photo of the two of them that she’d tossed in the trash that night.

  Hitching her bag higher, she flashed a bright smile. “I need to get going. It was good seeing you again, Clay.”

  Stepping around him, she was surprised when he reached out and took hold of her elbow. “Nicki, I’m sorry.”

  Don’t do this, Clay. Not after all this time. I waited so long for you.

  Keeping the smile on her face cost her dearly. Her cheek muscles ached with the effort. “What are you sorry about?”

  He studied her with a puzzled frown. “For taking off like that.”

  Was he really expecting her to just forgive him? To say the last seven years didn’t matter? She had some pride. There was no way she’d let him see how much he’d hurt her.

  “It’s water under the bridge, Clay. We were just kids. It wasn’t like we were soul mates or something.”

  He didn’t reply, but he released her. His hand dropped to his side. “I’m glad you didn’t hold it against me.”

  Her mind screamed at her to leave before he saw though the veil she’d pulled over her turbulent emotions, but she couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of him. The urge to fling herself into his arms and hug him was overwhelming. Why did he still have such an effect on her?

  Forcing herself to take a step back, she quickly said, “I hope you enjoy your visit. I know Maya and Jesse must be excited that you’re home.”

  A hint of his grin reappeared as he settled his Stetson on his head. “Maya might be happy. Jesse? I’m thinking not so much.”

  Chapter Two

  Clay called himself every kind of fool in the book as he faced Nicki. He’d spent the last seven years wondering if she’d forgiven him for running out on her.

  Turns out, she’d barely given it a thought.

  She was the reason he’d come back. Her picture, the one of her with tears in her eyes, had solidified a yearning he’d never truly understood. His heart ached at the sight of her while she acted as if it meant nothing—as if there’d never been anything between them.

  Maybe there hadn’t been. Maybe his imagination had taken a simple high school infatuation and worked it into something special because he thought he’d never see her again.

  During the past five days on the road south, he’d had plenty of time to think about what he was doing, but it wasn’t until he rolled into town that he began to question the wisdom of leaving a job and coming back to an uncertain welcome.

  Was this really the path God wanted him to take?

  Faith, the idea of trusting God to guide him, was too new. He’d been a loner for years, trusting only himself, trying not to care too much about anyone or anything. Until now.

  Raking a hand through her curly blond hair, Nicki took a step back as if she intended to walk away, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “If you’re worried about Jesse’s reaction, I assume that means the two of you haven’t reconciled.”

  It was the look of compassion in her eyes and the tone of her voice more than her words that gave him a sliver of hope. She remembered.

  Nicki had been his sounding board during his last year of high school. She knew that he and his brother didn’t see eye to eye on anything. She’d been a good friend. He let her down—the way he’d let everyone down.

  “I’m not sure Jesse and I’ll ever reconcile. He blames me for Mom and Dad’s death.”

  “Not as much as you blame yourself.”

  She’d always been good at reading him. Clay swallowed hard as old emotions threatened to swamp him. It had been his fault. Nothing would change that fact.

  “You can shop all day for another guilty party, but you won’t find one. It was my idea to climb up and spray-paint graffiti on the Alma water tower that night, a stupid, dangerous stunt if there ever was one. I was the one who got arrested. I was one who called Dad to come bail me out.”

  He swallowed hard against the pain of those memories. “If I hadn’t done it, Dad and Mom wouldn’t have been in the car when that semi crossed the center line. We’d still have parents, and Jesse and Maya wouldn’t hate my guts.”

  “They don’t hate you, Clay. You’re their brother.”

  “Okay, maybe Maya doesn’t, she always was the peacekeeper in the family. But Jesse hates me.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “I’ve talked to him on the phone once since I left. He told me his wife had been killed, then he told me not to come home. It was pretty clear. I’m not welcome.”

  She looked down, as if at a loss for words. Clay studied her face. He’d dreamed of her so often that he thought he knew her every feature by heart. He remembered the face of a girl. The woman standing in front of him had a quiet strength about her that was new. She’d matured, grown more beautiful—if that was possible.

  The blustery wind put color in her cheeks. A cluster of curls from her shoulder-length hair blew across her full lips. She used one hand to drag her hair back and tuck it behind her ear. It was a gesture she used to use just before she gave him one of her shy, sweet smiles. Seeing it brought a flood of memories.

  The two of them studying before the big algebra test, finding the courage to ask her to the dance, walking with her in the moonlight.

  Now that he was with her again he knew those memories would never be enough. He wanted new ones. He wanted to get to know this new woman all over again.

  When she looked up he saw deep indecision written clearly on her features. “I really do need to get going, Clay.”

  He didn’t want to see her go, but didn’t know how to stop her from leaving. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him. He was good at leaving, not at staying.

  God, I believe You brought me home for a reason. Show me what it is.

  He nodded and smiled politely. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  He’d make sure of it.

  A ghost of a smile curled the corner of her lips. “It’s a small town.”

  “Smaller than it used to be.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s the sad truth.”

  Sorry for his insensitive remark, he quickly added, “The people here know how to survive. My granddad told me the place was nearly wiped off the map just a few years after it was founded.”

  “Yes. I know the story. It’s been repeated a lot lately.”

  He followed her gaze across the road to where the shell of the rebuilt Old Town Hall stood out like a sore thumb, all glaring new plywood and silver sheets of insulation. It was clear the town had copied the size and style of the old structure.

  Glancing westward, he saw the church had survived intact. The sturdy, square white building was another relic of High Plains history. Its row of arched windows had looked upon the town’s growth from a simple frontier mill town to a bustling city of more than three thousand residents.

  Clay said, “I understand their need to replace that special part of their heritage.”

  “Our heritage,” she said quietly. “It’s your home, too.”

  His eyes locked with hers. Time stood still. It would only be home if he could find a way to earn back her friendship and her trust along with that of his brother and sister.

  From down
the street, someone called Nicki’s name breaking the connection between them. He looked over her shoulder to see her mother coming toward them. Glenis Appleton was pushing a dark blue stroller with a bright-eyed toddler in it. Since the tyke looked like it had been swallowed alive by a hooded pink coat, Clay assumed it was a little girl.

  Slightly breathless, Glenis stopped beside Nicki. “We finished early so we thought we’d met you halfway.”

  Stooping to the child’s level, Nicki asked, “Did you have fun at Nana’s quilting class?”

  The little girl kicked her feet and jabbered with excitement.

  Grinning, Glenis said, “She slept through the whole thing.”

  Nicki rose. “Thanks for taking her this afternoon. Mom, you remember Clay Logan, don’t you?”

  To say Nicki’s mother looked stunned was putting it mildly.

  Clay raised two fingers to touch the brim of his hat. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mrs. Appleton.”

  As Glenis glanced between Clay and Nicki, her expression hardened. “I didn’t know you were back in town, Clay.”

  “I just got in.”

  “I see.” Her gaze switched to Nicki. “You should get Kasey out of this cold wind.”

  “You’re right.” Nicki accepted the stroller handles from her mother.

  Her daughter eyed Clay seriously for a few seconds, then her round little face broke into a wide grin. She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Hi. Hi.”

  Squatting in front of child, Clay reached in and flicked her nose. “Hi, yourself, sugar face.”

  Nicki pulled the stroller back a pace. “Come on, honey, let’s get you home. Clay, it was nice seeing you again. Have a good visit.”

  Clay rose slowly and stood on the sidewalk staring after them as they walked away. His hopes, like the gazebo where he’d once kissed Nicki, had been reduced to ruins in a matter of seconds.

  She had a child. He was too late.

  Over the years Clay had considered the possibility that Nicki would find someone else. Sometimes, he even hoped that she’d found someone to love her as she deserved to be loved. But to see it—to know for certain she loved another man—cut deeper than he had imagined possible.