Heaven's Touch. Jillian Hart

napkin of flatware on the coffee table along with the carton of milk.

      When he leaned forward to grab the napkin, her eyes rounded. His shirt—he’d forgotten all about his back, since his leg hurt worse than a first-degree burn.

      Rachel went to her knees. “Oh, what did you do? Your shirt is singed and there’s this big hole. Were you on fire?”

      “Yep, but it was nothing you need to worry about.” He forked in a mound of buttery potato, so creamy and rich, and kept talking with his mouth full. Man, he was hungry. “Disaster finds me.”

      “As long as it doesn’t find you anymore. Do you need a salve or something? A bandage?”

      She looked dismayed, and over something so minor. It was nice to know how much she cared. The dark circles beneath her eyes seemed even darker, if that were possible, and she radiated exhaustion.

      The last thing she needed to do was waste any more effort on him, when she was what really mattered. Rachel and Amy and Paige were all the family he had in this world. “You look ready to drop, little sister. Go to bed, get some sleep and have good dreams. Will you do that for me?”

      “I am bushed, but you’re on crutches.”

      “I’m capable. I’ll be fine. Trust me.” He waited while her internal debate played across her face. Rachel was so easy to read. Always good-hearted and caring. It was a knack he wished he had, but he did his best to return what she’d already given to him. “Do I have to haul you over my shoulder and carry you down the hall?”

      “Nope. I’ll go, if you’re sure you don’t need me.”

      “You’re driving me crazy.” He said the words kindly, because he’d come to appreciate true goodness in the world, for it was rare. Her thoughtfulness said everything. She’d gone to all this trouble for him.

      Yeah, he was pretty fond of her, too. “You didn’t happen to have any pie in the kitchen?”

      “I’ll never tell. You’ll have to raid the fridge to find out.” Her eyes twinkled, eyes so like Mom’s. She looked more like Mom as time went by, and seeing that hurt.

      Rachel waved as she breezed down the hallway.

      “Good night, Rache.”

      “Good night, big brother. Oh! Should I take your bag to your room, since I’m headed in that direction?”

      “Nah, don’t bother. I can stow it.”

      “Of course you can—what was I thinking?” She rolled her eyes, and she looked as if she were biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at him. “I forget that you’re tough.”

      Not tough enough. If he were made of titanium, then maybe he would be. But the sense of failure and regret surrounded him. His parents’ deaths. The lost and angry boy he’d become. The teenager on a self-destructive course. The people he’d hurt—his sisters, his aunt and uncle.

      And Cadence. She’d looked beautiful tonight, strong and confident. Probably wildly successful in her life—but he could see in her the Montana country girl she used to be.

      He was proud of her. She’d made something great of her life. See? She had been loads better off without him. He’d made the right decision long ago—for his own reasons, sure, but still. It had been right for her, too. He’d been able to get out of this quicksand town, and she’d realized her dreams of Olympic gold. Yeah, he’d watched her win on TV. He’d been stationed in Japan at the time, and he’d violated direct orders to watch her perfect dive.

      Why was running into Cadence tonight part of God’s plan for him? His heart wrenched. What use was it in seeing what he could have had? In seeing the man he should have been?

      Failure wrapped around him and he pushed the plate away. He sat in the dark and silence for a long while.

      Chapter Three

      It was gonna be a hot one. Sweat was already gathering between her shoulder blades as the morning sun, barely over the rim of the Bridger Mountains, beat down on her back.

      Cadence balanced her cup of chai tea in her left hand and rummaged around in the bottom of her bag. She moved aside her rolled towels, her change of clothes, a paperback book, a lifeguard’s whistle and her wallet.

      Loose change chimed and chinked together on the bottom of the bag as she felt her way to the fuzzy ball attached to her key ring—there it was. She tugged and yanked, and the key ring came free. One day she was going to have to get better organized—or clean out the bottom of her bag. But not today. The little soft stuffed sunshine with a black smiley face dangling from the key ring grinned up at her as she sorted through the keys.

      One day I’ll have enough time to be organized and together. But for now, she was just doing her best.

      She unlocked the door and let it click shut behind her. Late, late, late. Swimmers were going to start showing up any minute. She hurried through the echoing building, flicking on lights. Her flip-flops snapped against the concrete floor and her steps reverberated in the high ceiling overhead.

      For now, she loved her life. She loved starting her days here, opening up the public pool. The sharp scent of chlorinated water was oddly comforting to her, and the smell relaxed her more than a big cup of steaming chamomile tea at night ever could. The aroma always brought up the best memories of when she’d been training and competing.

      And now teaching and coaching. There were a lot of bad memories, too, but they were easy to set aside when she was here, the only one in this huge building. The water seemed to be waiting for her, and the morning sun streamed through the upper windows in the cathedral ceiling to sparkle and dance on the pool’s surface.

      Stop dallying, Cadence! You’re late, late, late!

      She dumped her stuff on the office counter, slipped out of her comfy T-shirt and stowed her things in a private locker in the back.

      The quiet slosh of the water against the tile sides and the echo of it in the rafters drew her, as it always did. No matter where life had taken her or the hardships she’d been privileged to face, this place was her home, and she didn’t know what she’d do without her swimming.

      Thank You, Father, she prayed as she touched the humble gold cross at her throat, for this passion in my life. Without her swimming and the sanctuary of places like this, where would she be? Living a desperate life like her sister? Abusing drugs and alcohol like her brother?

      Her future might not have turned out as rosy as she’d planned, but she was grateful for this morning and for this path she was walking.

      The somber black hands on the big clock above the office stretched toward five-thirty. Yikes. She had a few minutes to get the lights on and the ropes up. The regulars would forgive her for being a few minutes late, but she wouldn’t.

      Moving fast, she stepped out of her nylon shorts and, without needing to think about it, raised her arms and cut into the cool water. Ah, a piece of heaven on earth, she thought as the wonderful glide of the water slicked her swimsuit to her skin and she sliced to the surface.

      Scissor kicking, she let the water sluice down her face as she reached out and grabbed the rope by feel. As she did every morning, she uncoiled it, let the bobbins laze on the water. Swimming all out, she worked fast to uncoil the next rope, took each hook firmly in her hands and leaned back, letting the water carry her.

      A few powerful kicks and she was floating in the middle of the Olympic-sized pool. A few more and she was nearly across, working to keep the ropes tangle free and straightening out. At the far end of the pool she latched them up, working quickly as the clock stroked to 5:27.

      At the front door there was a rattle that ricocheted like a bullet through the high rafters—and it kept coming.

      Who was that impatient? Her regulars knew one knock would bring her running if she were a little behind, like this morning. But someone was very persistent. Okay,