Blind-Date Bride. Jillian Hart

nothing was permanent. He knew from on-the-job training that life could change in a blink; he didn’t count on much lasting these days. He took one day at a time.

      He pulled a can out of the refrigerator and popped the top. The lemony ice tea ran down his throat like comfort. He’d worked hard tonight. It felt good to mosey over into the living room, put his boots up on the coffee table and sit in the dark.

      He was too wound up from his work to go up to bed; he wasn’t in the mood for TV. He took another long swig of tea and tried to blot out the ugliness of the night. He couldn’t forget the broken-down excuse for a house near the railroad tracks, children’s chunky plastic toys scattered around the filthy floor where a gun had been discharged. He couldn’t forget the father who was too high to realize where his toddler had wandered off to. They had found him playing on the tracks. It was a blessing no trains had ambled through. Social Services had been called, and now he would have another file of heartache on his desk.

      The man who’d been arrested was the brother-in-law to the backdoor burglar, as fate would have it. Or, he believed more strongly, God.

      Max set down his can with a clink in the stillness. It was the quietest time of night, when no traffic rolled by and it felt as if even the shadows slept. His feet hit the floor and he launched himself out of the chair, haunted by the image of Brianna when he’d first laid eyes on her. She had big violet eyes and the sweetest face. His chest tightened. He wanted to think it was only curiosity and nothing else that drove him upstairs past Marcus’s room, where he opened the door a crack—yep, the kid was asleep. He wandered into the second bedroom and saw his computer glowing in the corner.

      Sure, maybe it was more than a little curiosity, he conceded as he logged in and found the local newspaper’s Web site. He typed in his password, remembering when he’d first approached Brianna’s table and how she’d smiled up at him. He punched a few keys and hit Search, waiting, recalling how hard he’d been hoping that the nice-looking blonde could possibly be his blind date. And praying equally as hard she wasn’t.

      And why? Going out to meet Alice hadn’t been his idea. After six months of pressure, he’d finally caved. That was all there was to it. He wasn’t a blind-date kind of guy. He’d gone to shut his buddies up, that was it.

      Okay, maybe there was still a little bit of hope alive in him somewhere that he would find the right woman. That there would be that click, and life could turn for the better.

      The screen changed, offering him several links to articles. He hit the last headline and waited. Several grainy black-and-white images crowded the screen with a long front-page article on the holdup. Two kitchen workers and a cook dead, and a waitress taken by medevac to Seattle’s Harborview Hospital. Brianna.

      With his heart thundering, he scrolled down the screen and skimmed the article. He wanted to see the specifics of the case again in black-and-white. His eyes caught the phrase “…waitress in critical condition. Charles Lintle, the restaurant’s dishwasher, said Miss McKaslin ran to the aid of her fallen coworker without regard for her own safety. That she was injured while trying to save a life seems doubly cruel….”

      Max squeezed his eyes shut, unable to read more. A sick feeling filled his gut. Sympathy left him trembling. This was why he believed in his work, and why he gave his job all he had. He did his best to catch the bad guys before they could hurt more innocent people. But it was never enough, never fast enough.

      He breathed air into his strangling lungs and bowed his head for a quick prayer of gratitude. However badly she was hurt, Brianna had recovered. At least physically. He thanked the Lord for that. The image of her shivering in the parking lot looking alone and vulnerable lingered, getting him right in the soul.

      When he opened his eyes, he read no more. He got off-line, shut off the monitor and wandered through the darkness down the hall. His room was dark, too. Cold inside, he flipped on the lamp and reached for the top book on a big stack on the nightstand. The comforting feel of his Bible felt good in his hands. It had been a long day.

      The mattress faintly squeaked as he sat on the edge and opened the guide to the marked page. If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Thy hand will lead me, and Thy right hand will lay hold of me.

      He took comfort in the truth that God was watching over them all, that no sorrow went unnoticed, and no valor.

      Brianna stayed on his mind as he sat in the dark, listening to the hours pass.

      She woke from the nightmare right before she screamed Juanita’s name. Bathed in sweat, her stomach knotted up with horror and hopeless failure. With her blood thick in her veins, she sat up in bed, blinking, fighting to reorient herself. Gradually the echoing explosions of gunfire faded, the scent of bleach and cooked food evaporated and the vision of injury and death lessened. She groped for the bedside lamp, knocking over knickknacks on the nightstand, and finally found the switch. A small pool of light flashed on, chasing away some of the darkness. A lot of shadows remained.

      The shadows were huge tonight, like living monsters ready to hurl her back into the past. A place she never wanted to revisit. She swallowed against the metallic taste of fear on her tongue and pulled her Bible into her arms. She closed her eyes and recited the Lord’s Prayer until her pulse returned to normal and the memories no longer threatened.

      But would they ever go away entirely? She prayed they would, but tonight they clung stubbornly to her soul. Maybe having her car stolen had shaken her more than she’d thought. It had been just a car, a possession, a thing that could not be injured or die, nothing that her insurance couldn’t replace, but the crime had shaken her all over again. A reminder that in an instant, life could change.

      Just breathe, she ordered. She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath, trying to feel it all the way to her toes, and then slowly released it. In came the good air, out went the bad feelings. Her counselor insisted it helped, but when she stopped, twenty breaths later, she was mostly light-headed. The fears lurked like danger in the dark.

      She was perfectly safe. Her second-story bedroom window was hard to climb into, and the locks on the doors were good ones. She was stronger than the fear, stronger than the men who had broken into the restaurant and who haunted her still.

      Okay, she was still trembling. That was not good. No way was she going to be able to go back to sleep like this. She didn’t dare look at the clock, in case her mind would start zeroing in on the time. Another thing to make it harder to relax, let go and fall into vulnerable sleep.

      Reading often helped, but she wasn’t going to pick up her inspirational romance book. No, because she would start reading about the hero in the book and that would remind her of Max. Remembering how kind he had been, giving her his coat and sitting her in his truck made the emptiness in her room expand.

      No, she would turn to a love she did have. She flipped open her Bible to the bookmark and found her place on the page. The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

      It was a great comfort to know that God never intended for that robbery to happen. But that His good would triumph, and she had to hold on. The nightmares would fade in time and so would the pain. God’s gift of life and love were ahead of her. She had faith.

      Thank goodness, her pulse had returned to normal, although now she was wide awake. The shadows remained, so she slipped out of bed, careful not to squeak the floorboards and wake up Brandi in the next room. She woke up her laptop and logged on. She could do a little library research. That was dry enough to definitely put her in a sleepy mood.

      But did she go directly to the university’s library site like she was supposed to? No. She noticed a new e-mail in her Inbox. Reading mail was always much better than finding reference books on phonics versus word recognition teaching methods.

      The e-mail was from her half brother Luke. She clicked on it, eager to read the letter entitled “Howdy!”

      Hey, Bree,

      I was in town today