A Soldier’s Return

For four years, Ruthie Chandler avoided the man who broke their engagement—and her heart. But when her antiques shop mistakenly sells his ailing grandmother’s doll, she comes face-to-face with the man she never forgot. Teaming up with Gray Bristow on this important mission won’t be easy, but Ruthie suspects it’s exactly what the disillusioned veteran needs. The doll is the key to Gray’s family’s past—and possibly his future. And it may be what finally brings the ex-soldier home to faith…and to Ruthie.

Southern Blessings: Three friends find hope and love in Virginia

He owed her an explanation.

He needed to justify—to her as well as to himself—what he had done.

She reached for his hand, then seemed to think better of it. “Tell me, Gray.”

Her tone was kind. Soft. Caring. Infinitely patient.

She tugged her sleeves down to cover her hands.

“Go inside,” he said just as gently. “You’re cold.”

He had heard that when people got frostbite, the thawing hurt more than the actual freezing. All the more reason to stay frozen where he was. If it hurt this bad now, what might his heart feel like if he let the warmth back in?

“I’d rather stay out here with you.”

He pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He resisted the temptation to leave his arms around her, but it was as if that brief contact had pried open a long-shut door to something inside him that he felt shouldn’t be examined.

Because if he did, he’d start questioning whether he’d done the right thing four years ago.

Unexpected Reunion

Carolyn Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk

We went through fire and water,

but you brought us to a place of abundance.

—Psalms 66:12

Why have I found such favor in your eyes…?

—Ruth 2:10

This book is dedicated to the memory of

my dear friend and fellow author Charlotte Lobb (a.k.a. Charlotte Carter), who loved, challenged, and treasured all those who were fortunate enough to know her, whether in person or through her stories.

Acknowledgments

To Day Leclaire, with gratitude and affection,

for 23 years of friendship, brainstorming,

learning, and laughter.

And much appreciation to Yuko Kimura-Koenig

for checking my use of Japanese words.

Any mistakes are all mine.

And thanks to my editor, Melissa Endlich,

for loving my idea for the Southern Blessings series and welcoming me into the Love Inspired fold.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Chapter One

It wouldn’t have been so hard to go through boxes of the elderly Bristows’ belongings if they hadn’t included the Japanese kissing dolls that used to sit on top of the piano where their grandson Gray Bristow had taught her to plunk out “Chopsticks.”

Ruthie Chandler touched the small porcelain faces together so the two pairs of puckered lips met once again. The boy doll’s premolded hair still showed evidence of having been darkened with a black marker to look like Gray. The girl doll’s locks carried the remnants of a red marker and her face sported brown hand-drawn freckles like Ruthie’s. Some gentle cleaning should easily remove the marks—if not the memories—from the smooth white finish. She expected the charming, nostalgic set to sell quickly and move on to a new home where it would foster new memories.

Ruthie set the pieces aside and wished it was as easy to set aside the bittersweet memories they stirred in her.

In the adjoining shop, Savannah must have noticed something on her face or in her demeanor. The pretty blonde moved past the wedding dress on display and joined her, where she peered over her shoulder at the pair of dolls in her hand. She didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t need to.

Her friend had been with her at Wednesday night Bible study the evening she’d received the Dear Jane letter from Gray four years ago, so Savannah must have recognized the shell-shocked expression that apparently had crept back onto her face. Ruthie mindlessly rubbed her thumb against her left ring finger where the white-gold engagement ring used to sit. Back then her world had been filled with hope for a future with the man who’d been the Boaz to her Ruth.

A sentimental romantic, Ruthie had loved the part of scripture where the biblical Ruth asked the kindly Boaz, “Why have I found such favor in your eyes...?” and the happy ending where the couple blessed her mother-in-law, Naomi, with a grandson named Obed. She had imagined the baby she and Gray might have someday—a child with her then-fiancé’s dark hair and almond-shaped eyes, which hinted at his grandmother Naoko’s Japanese heritage. A child he would protect. A child she would teach to savor the memories of its growing-up years. A child they would raise in the church and who would love God.

Unfortunately, her then-fiancé’s emails from Afghanistan had become short and to the point...which she had told herself was for reasons of military security. But that hadn’t explained their platonic tone. The messages she’d received during the three months prior to the breakup could have been written to his sister. Something had happened just before that Thanksgiving...something Gray had alluded to but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell her.

Savannah had offered to make her wedding dress, one she claimed would be as beautiful as the bride. It would have been beautiful, no doubt. But it hadn’t come to pass.

Her friend’s compliment had made her blush at the time. Not by a long stretch would she call herself beautiful. Not with her fine red hair, freckles and lanky figure. Back then, she had begun to wonder, however, if Gray had become disenchanted with the image in the photo she’d sent him. Now she just tried not to think about it.

“The Bristows must have been busy with their spring cleaning,” Savannah said, and gestured toward the stack of boxes. “You’ll have plenty of nice things to sell at the sidewalk sale. Hopefully, the weather will be warmer than today.” The pretty blonde’s limp always seemed worse during cool weather.

This portion of the historic Carytown district in Richmond, Virginia, was often referred to as the “Mile of Style.” Tucked away in the 1930s-era Cary Court Park & Shop, like a quiet cove in a bustling harbor, a cluster of tiny businesses gathered under the name Abundance. Inside, three stores—Ruthie’s Gleanings, Savannah’s Connecting Threads and Milk & Honey, a café run by Paisley, another former college roommate—shared the same roof and exterior walls and were separated only by decorative waist-high room dividers that encouraged browsers to wander from one shop to the next. Although business was slow this Tuesday afternoon in late April, the upcoming annual sidewalk sale would draw shoppers from all over Virginia with its upscale trendy and vintage offerings.

Ruthie shook away the nostalgic cobwebs that clung to the corners of her heart and turned her attention back to the Bristows. “Ever since Pop brought Sobo home and put her in the hospital bed in their spare room, she’s been directing him on clearing out the clutter in there. I wish she would just rest and focus on healing.”

After Ruthie’s mother had died suddenly in a work-related accident eleven years ago and she’d had no place to go, Naoko Bristow had taken her in and gained legal guardianship for her final two years of high school. But they hadn’t stopped there. Though she’d known them only from church, they had treated her as if she were their own flesh-and-blood granddaughter, insisting she call them by their grandparent names: Sobo, the Japanese word for grandmother, and Pop, a Southern endearment for grandfather. The elderly pair had even sent her off to college and set her up in their Fan District rental house with two roommates. An added bonus to gaining these adoring grandparents had been meeting and falling in love with their grandson.

The couple had been there with her at church the night she’d learned Gray didn’t want her anymore. They had handed her the letter, in fact. And on hearing the message inside the Afghanistan-postmarked envelope, they’d grieved right along with her...grieved as much for his broken faith as for the broken engagement.

“Right,” Savannah said. “Tell that to the tiny dynamo who forgot she’s in her seventies and climbed a trellis to prune roses.”

If it weren’t for the broken hip that had resulted from the fall, Ruthie would have applauded Naoko’s youthful energy. Instead, the incident served as a reminder that time eventually catches up to even the most active of people.

“The doctor said her body also thinks it’s younger than it is, so her recovery time should be quick.”

“Thank God for that.” Savannah picked up the girl doll, stared at the red hair and freckles and gazed back at Ruthie. “You’re going to keep these, aren’t you?”

“And torture myself? I don’t think so.” Every time she saw them, she would no doubt remember Gray’s large, warm hands covering hers while he guided her fingers over the piano keyboard. Remember the way he had peeked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching...but she was always watching, and they’d both shyly look away. She’d remember the way her heart went rat-a-tat-tat at his nearness on the mahogany bench. Between sneaking glances at Gray, her gaze had often drifted to the tiny porcelain dolls he had jokingly—or not so jokingly—customized to look like them, and which had prompted the human counterparts to steal kisses when Pop and Sobo weren’t looking.

Outside, a sudden movement broke her reverie. A dark silver-gray sedan that looked like the civilian version of a police car spun into the lot and double-parked in front of Abundance. The car door swung open, and a black-haired man emerged from the driver’s side.

Savannah’s eyes widened in surprise. “Speaking of torture, it looks like you have a visitor. Gray Bristow, if I’m not mistaken.” She sidled closer to Ruthie as if to shield her. He would never hurt her physically, but Savannah had been with her at the Wednesday night Bible study when Ruthie received his letter and knew the heartbreak he had caused her. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No, I can handle it.” Maybe. Somehow. Dear God, please give me the strength to handle the obstacles that cross my path.

Her friend eased back to her own shop, casting wary glances over her shoulder while Ruthie struggled to gather her wits enough to face the man who still sneaked into her dreams at night.

Almost guiltily, Ruthie stuffed the kissing dolls back into one of the boxes she hadn’t finished unpacking. Pretending to busy herself with polishing an antique beveled-glass jewelry casket, she watched him yank open the door and blink off the effects of the bright sun as he stepped inside.

The first thing she’d always noticed about Gray, physically, was his erect military bearing. He moved like a man on a mission. Three and a half of the four years after she’d received his breakup letter, the army had either kept him overseas or sent him to a distant stateside assignment. The past six months since his return to Richmond and civilian life, she had carefully choreographed her visits to his grandparents to avoid encountering Gray. She suspected he had done the same.

He had changed a lot since she’d last seen him. The casual blue T-shirt strained at biceps strengthened during his time in the army, and he actually seemed a little taller, which could have been merely an illusion from his don’t-mess-with-me attitude. But the biggest change she noticed was in his face. Pain—and maybe fear?—lurked in his handsome features.

He took off his sunglasses and pushed a hand through his wind-ruffled hair. When his gaze landed on Ruthie, she caught a flash of an expression she couldn’t identify before his handsome features turned grim. He walked toward her, his movements effortless and silent.

Ruthie turned to face him. She wished that they could erase what had gone wrong between them and start over. She wanted him to believe again. In the God he’d begun to doubt while in Afghanistan. And in a future together with her.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Certainly not judging by the look on his face. If his expression showed her so bluntly “it’s not going to happen,” then what might hers be revealing to him? She’d always been told her emotions were like clear glass...anyone could read right through them, and she prayed a futile prayer that he would not see how much she’d missed him. How much she still hurt from his rejection.

What a fool she was to ever believe that she’d gotten over him. She lifted her chin. The smart thing to do would be to simply stand there and treat him like an ordinary customer, but everything in her being urged her to beg him to take her back...on any terms.

“It’s Sobo,” he said, ignoring the formality of a hello and getting straight to the point. His voice sounded strained, as if he had run the entire way here. “She’s been taken to the emergency room, and it’s serious.”

Ruthie caught fear rippling in his coffee-brown eyes, and her heart went out to him, while her mind flashed through a thousand possibilities. “Did she hurt herself again?” she asked. “How did she get out of bed?”

“I’m not sure of all the details,” he said. “I called Pop from work to check on him and Sobo, and the rescue squad was already loading her into the ambulance. I’ve already spread the word to the rest of the family.” He shifted where he stood, the nervous action revealing his unspoken desire to go to his grandparents and stand by them during this difficult time. “There’s a blood clot in her leg. A complication from the hip fracture. The danger is that it could break loose and travel to her lung.” He reached for her hand to urge her along. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital. Pop shouldn’t be alone in the waiting room. He needs us.”

Ruthie started toward the door with him, then turned back to get her purse from behind the counter. She reached to move a room divider to close off the shop to customers, but a moment of panicked indecision swept over her. Her gaze landed on an eavesdropping Savannah.

“Go!” said Savannah with a sweeping motion of her hands. “Paisley and I will take care of your customers.”

Relieved, Ruthie thanked her and raced out the door with Gray.

* * *

He’d hoped—since he no longer prayed—that he wouldn’t feel a thing for Ruthie when they met again. Stupid of him to think it for even one short minute. Everything he’d ever felt for her came rushing back the instant he caught sight of those big greenish-brown eyes and those wild freckles. Twenty-nine. There were twenty-nine freckles, and he’d taken delight in counting each and every one, before he’d learned the greater delight of kissing them.

How she’d laughed. But then, that was Ruthie. She always laughed. How could he have forgotten? Fine. He hadn’t forgotten, any more than he’d forgotten her generosity, her business acumen, her... He scowled. The bottomless faith she possessed that kept him from ever taking her for his wife.

They had been good together—like a key in a lock. But then that fateful day in Afghanistan had happened, shaking and even breaking the faith he’d lived by all his life. As a result, he’d lost an important part that had made them fit together so perfectly. Ever the optimist, she had believed they could work through the problem, but he hadn’t wanted to lead her on when he knew that his foundering belief made them incompatible. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her—to hurt either of them—with the hope that their differences could be overcome.

In order to protect her from his own traitorously weak will, he had turned away from her. Refused to answer her letters that asked questions for which he himself did not know the answers.

To be honest, it had been hard to lock away his feelings for Ruthie. To shove his emotions aside and move on, putting one foot in front of the other.

But that was then. He was a different person now, with different beliefs. His time in the army had taken him through some harsh experiences, led him to make some difficult decisions, but it had also taught him to get the assignment done, no matter what was going on inside his head and heart. Being around Ruthie meant he needed to barricade his heart. Not so much for himself as to protect her.

The inconvenient truth was that he still loved her. And for that reason, he could not let her know how much she still meant to him.

On the way to the hospital, Gray tried not to think about the woman in the passenger seat, so he used the short ride to fill her in on the details. Pop had left Naoko in the ground-floor bedroom for only a short time to prepare her favorite meal of udon noodles. When he returned with the lunch tray a short while later, Naoko’s leg had become painful and swollen. Her doctor had warned them of potentially fatal complications after the hip surgery, so Pop had promptly called the rescue squad. A follow-up call revealed that they’d arrived at the hospital and Naoko had been whisked off for tests to see if the clot was starting to move. The worst-case possibility was that it could travel to her lungs and kill her.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were told she was being moved to a room to stay overnight. After she was settled in, someone would give them the room number. He led Ruthie to a quiet corner of the waiting room to wait for Pop to come tell them that Sobo was going to be fine. That was the hope anyway.

Gray leaned back in the waiting room chair and covered his eyes with the crook of his arm. He had no idea what had prompted him to swing by Abundance and pick up Ruthie. At the time, he had told himself it was because her presence would be a comfort to Pop. Gray could have just as easily told her the news and let her find her own way to the hospital, but some inner urge had propelled him to the store Ruthie had opened shortly after their breakup...compelled him to draw her close during this time of need.

Until now he’d been doing so well keeping his distance. Pretending he and Ruthie didn’t mean anything to each other anymore. Now, with this one short exposure to the pretty redhead with the soft-spoken demeanor and gentle encouragement, the years and distance melted away. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he needed her as much as Pop did. Maybe more. The realization made him uncomfortable. For now, he’d stick with the excuse he’d given her on the car ride over here...that Sobo and Pop would want to see her after Sobo came out of the emergency room.

A few minutes later, he felt more than heard Ruthie get up from the couch beside him and pace the floor. Before that she’d been staring at her lap, her lips moving in silent prayer. He doubted her heartfelt pleas would do Sobo any good, but if the lifelong ritual brought Ruthie comfort, that was all that mattered.

“Pop’s been gone a long time.” Concern laced her smooth voice. “I thought all they had to do was wheel Sobo to the in-patient floor and Pop would come tell us her room number. They could have moved her to Tokyo and back by now.”

He dropped his arm and sat upright. “They probably have to hook her up to drips and get her settled first. That always takes time.”

Ruthie stopped pacing and returned to the seat beside him. “I’m glad you came for me,” she said without looking at him. “Sobo and Pop mean a lot to me.”

He studied her while she toyed with an old-fashioned amethyst ring on her right hand. Her left hand remained bare, leading him to wonder who she might be dating now. Although his grandparents occasionally mentioned her in passing, they always steered clear of information that might be too personal...or too painful.

“I know,” he said softly. “And you mean a lot to them.”

With her hazel gaze fixed on him, her steady assessment seemed to be more in response to what he didn’t say than what actually came out of his mouth. To be fair to her, though, he wouldn’t tell her the rest...that she also meant a lot to him.

Even if it was the truth.

He wished he could believe again. It would be so much simpler if he did. But after being abandoned by God during his time of greatest need—an event that had resulted in the death of a young man who’d counted on him and God for protection—Gray saw no point in pretending. And he refused to lie to Ruthie by letting her think he still believed. Why couldn’t he be like other guys? Just tell a girl what she wanted to hear and reap the benefits of her affection. He could have easily continued on with their marriage plans and let her comfort him through the grief he’d endured in that hellish place called Afghanistan. But that wouldn’t have been fair to her. And his daddy hadn’t raised him that way.

Gray had been barely five years old when his father had pulled him aside prior to deployment to Saudi Arabia, explaining that during his absence Gray was to serve as the man of the family. “Your job is to take care of the people you love,” he’d said with great seriousness. “Look after your mother and sister, even when you’d rather play with your race cars.”

His father was retired from the army now and working in a civilian job, but Gray still carried the responsibility—the duty—to protect the ones he loved. Though he may have failed on occasion, it wasn’t from lack of trying. His mouth tightened. There was one person he would never fail. No matter what it took, he’d protect her to the very best of his ability.

He’d never dreamed, though, that taking care of Ruthie would mean having to give her up.

* * *

In Naoko’s room, Ruthie greeted Gray’s parents and his sister, Catie, with hugs, then took a seat on the deep windowsill to leave room for the others. Gray sidled around to Ruthie’s side of the bed and stood beside her. It was weird how his calm presence made her feel that all would turn out well.

Naoko’s pulmonologist came in, listened to her lungs and proceeded to fill the family in on her condition.

“It’s not unusual for patients to develop a thrombus after a hip fracture.” The blond-haired doctor’s shirt gapped at the neck, around which a tie had been tightened to take up the slack. He appeared to be just out of medical school, but he sounded very knowledgeable as he explained the risk from the clot that had developed near Naoko’s surgery site. “A thrombus is a fancy word for blood clot. If it travels to the lungs, then it’s called a pulmonary embolism, which is what we’re concerned about right now.”

Gray leaned forward and touched his grandmother’s hand. “I thought the heparin she’s been taking since surgery was supposed to prevent it.”

“That was the hope, but it looks like she’ll need something stronger to dissolve the clot. There are some side effects from the stronger medication, but surgery to remove the thrombus is even riskier. So we’re going to keep her for several days to watch and wait for it to dissolve.”

Ruthie’s heart sank. She could read between those lines. It would be touch and go for the next few days until she was out of harm’s way.

“No worries,” Naoko said, her voice tired from the strain of her ordeal. Her skin, normally a warm amber color, now held a grayish cast. Her fingers closed around her grandson’s hand, and she pointed at the ceiling. “I am in God’s hands. He will get me through.”

Ruthie gave a silent prayer of thanks that Naoko was still with them. She had no doubt God had been with her all along. Her condition could have become much worse. Naoko wasn’t out of the woods yet, but she would receive the benefit of the prayers of her and the family—most of the family—and the church.

She wondered whether Naoko’s words were intended to assure the family or herself. Their effect on Gray, however, was clear. A muscle twitched along his temple, and he extended his hand to the doctor.

“Thank you for all you’ve done so far, Doctor.”

They followed him into the hall and lingered together after the doctor left. Ruthie wanted to reassure Gray that, as Naoko had said, she was in God’s hands. “Everyone who knows Sobo—and many who don’t—will be praying for her,” she said, laying a hand on his thick arm. “She’s a strong woman, and God’s healing touch will help her recover.”

Gray turned his gaze away from her. “I’d rather count on the skill of the doctor and the medicine she’s receiving. That’s what will save her.”

Ruthie reacted as if she’d been punched in the gut. In a manner of speaking, she had been. Church had been an important part of their upbringing, both hers and Gray’s. Whenever healing occurred, it was understood that although physicians and medications were valuable tools in the process, true healing ultimately came from God. He was the one who gave the doctors wisdom and enabled the medicines to work. To deny God’s role in Sobo’s recovery sounded to her ears as if Gray was offering his loved one up to the whims of chance and limited earthly abilities.

“Then I suppose we have all the bases covered,” she said, letting him know without arguing the point that although he dismissed all but what he could see with his own eyes, she and the rest of the family would continue to put their faith in prayer.

He must certainly know, without her saying so, that God was the great healer. What he didn’t know was that for the past four years she had prayed every day for God to heal Gray’s shaken faith. Once her prayers were answered and Gray opened his heart enough to let God back in, she would ask God to make room in there for her, as well.

Chapter Two

“Thanks for your help yesterday, Paisley. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Savannah pitching in to keep Gleanings open while I was at the hospital.” Ruthie took a seat at the counter in Milk & Honey and gently pushed aside a ceramic Peter Rabbit to make room for her elbows.

Paisley moved behind the counter and flipped the switch to backlight what she called her higgledy-piggledy wall...shelves divided into cubes and filled with various sorts of teapots, spoon collections, antique cups, honeypots, snow globes and porcelain crumpet baskets. A British transplant, Paisley loved sharing bits of her homeland with customers.

In the seating area behind Ruthie, tables were given the illusion of privacy by separating them with low shelves strategically filled with packets of flavored teas, jars of jam, notecards, knickknacks, tea cozies and anything British to entice diners to take home a little memento of their Milk & Honey experience. Over to the side of the store, tucked away in locked display cases, were the real treasures—silver tea sets, rare water pitchers and ornate sugar bowls. The more unusual the better, and if the piece had an interesting story behind it, better still.

On the opposite side of the dining counter, Paisley lit the fire under a cast-iron skillet and set a glass of orange juice in front of Ruthie.

“No problem. I was happy to help,” Paisley replied. Her accent always sounded so elegant and cultured. It was a huge draw for the customers. She refilled the coffee cup of an older gentleman sporting a white handlebar mustache and handed Ruthie a sheet featuring this week’s specials. “We sold a few of Mr. Bristow’s gewgaws yesterday, and a lovely Asian lady was quite excited about a quaint little Japanese doll she found.”

The kissing dolls. Ruthie hadn’t planned to keep them, but neither had she anticipated their sale would hit her so hard in the solar plexus.

“That’s great,” she said, her voice not quite matching Paisley’s enthusiasm. “Was it Chou from the Tokyo Market down the street? Sobo loves to shop there.”

“No, I’ve seen this lady a couple of times before, so I assume she’s local, but I don’t know who she is. Speaking of Mrs. Bristow, what’s the latest on her status?”

Ruthie gave her a full update with the unfortunate news that the redness and swelling on Naoko’s leg showed no improvement.

“She’ll be fine,” her friend reassured. Taking advantage of the momentary lull, she poured herself a cup of tea and flashed a guilty grin before she snitched one of the biscotti from the tin. “The whole church is praying for her. And besides, she’s a tough lady. Remember the time when we were in university, and she climbed up on the roof of our house to replace some shingles?”

“Pop was furious when he found out. He kept going on about her falling and possibly getting a concussion.” Ruthie took a sip of her freshly squeezed juice. “Come to think of it, that was his same concern when she fell off the rose trellis a couple of days ago. He kept telling her, ‘Thank God you didn’t crack your head.’”

“It’s sweet, actually. He’s madly protective of her.”

The acorn didn’t fall very far from the Bristow tree. In that regard Gray was a lot like his grandfather. Ruthie mentally kicked herself for letting her attention drift back to the man who still held the pieces of her broken heart in his strong hands.

She must have cracked her own head to think that she could pray her former fiancé back to God and to herself. But if God didn’t give up on lost sheep, then she certainly wouldn’t give up on Gray.

She focused on the specials menu, then looked over at Mustache Man at the end of the counter, who was digging into a hearty English breakfast. “What he’s having looks good. Is that French toast?”

“Eggy bread? No.”

Ruthie had never heard the refined Paisley snort before. This was a first.

“It’s fried bread. I’ll do a nice British fry-up for you, complete with egg, bacon, sausage, tomato and a dab of beans.” She turned to the skillet and talked over her shoulder. “Now fess up. You’ve deliberately avoided telling me how you fared with Gray yesterday.”

So much for taking her mind off him. Ruthie shrugged. “There’s nothing to say. I’m not really sure what that was about, though. After these past six months avoiding each other, he suddenly wanted me at the hospital with him. Constantly.”

It had been nice to be close to him after all this time apart, but also stressful because there had been so much left unsaid between them.

She fought to keep her voice strong, to look at Paisley directly when all she wanted was to bury her head in her arms and cry like a baby. But she was stronger than that now. She could do this. With effort she could convince Paisley and her friends that she no longer felt anything for Gray. Convincing her own heart was another matter.

“But after he drove me home,” she continued, “he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”

“Perhaps he wanted to kiss you goodbye and was just avoiding temptation.” Paisley pulled a batch of scones from the oven, topped one with clotted cream and jam, set it on a scalloped-edge plate and carried it to a pair of women laughing at a corner table.

Ruthie choked back a laugh at her friend’s comment. Big talk coming from a friend who studiously shied away from male attention. But then, Paisley had her reasons.

The minute they were alone again, Ruthie suggested, “Or maybe he didn’t want to lead me on. Not that I’d be interested, of course.”

“Of course.” For some reason, the Brits did sarcasm far better than Americans. It had to be the accent. Paisley deftly changed the subject. “I heard Gray is planning corporate security systems now. What do you say we have him put one in here?”

“What do you say we let him continue to avoid me?”

“He didn’t avoid you yesterday.”

“The same could be said of your police officer friend.”

Paisley set the fry-up in front of her and shot her a blue-eyed dagger. “Don’t try to make something out of nothing.”

Ruthie poked her fork at the delicious looking but heavy breakfast. “What do you put on fried bread?”

“Your teeth.”

The front door chimed, and Paisley turned back to the smoking fry pan. She switched on the vent to draw out some of the smoke. A second later red-and-yellow flames danced along the surface of the overheated oil.

“Oh, my!” Paisley turned in a circle, apparently in search of something to put out the fire.

Ruthie scooted off her stool and ran behind the counter to help. The customer from the end of the counter followed on her heels.

“Get the baking soda!” Paisley cried.

The man snatched a can of something from the prep table.

“No, not that!” Ruthie lunged to grab the can out of his hand, but before she could reach it, he threw the contents on the flames.

Whoof! The pan flared up in a miniature fireball, and baking powder poofed everywhere.

In a panic, Ruthie debated what to do first...tend to Paisley, whose blunt-cut brunette bangs now frizzled like tiny electrified wires, get the customer with the melting handlebar mustache out of the kitchen before he did further damage or try to extinguish the pan before it caught something else on fire. Before she could make a move, someone pushed past her, turned off the gas flames and deftly slid a lid over the hot pan.

Gray, their fast-thinking rescuer, turned on the water, doused clean dish towels with cold water, offered them to the threesome and suggested they hold the cooling cloths to their faces to take away the sting of the heat.

Paisley touched a hand to her cheek. “I don’t think I’m burned. Just a little warm.”

After a quick check of the customer revealed a slight redness near his lip where his mustache wax had melted, Gray turned to Ruthie. He grabbed her by the upper arms and studied her intensely. First her face, then down to her hands, which he turned over to check for burns. She’d been farther away from the fire when it flashed, so she hadn’t felt the effects of the heat. Yet even after he’d finished giving her the once-over, he held on. She wondered if he realized how tightly he gripped her upturned hands.

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern drawing a vertical line on his forehead.

“I’m fine,” she said in a shaky voice, “but Paisley looks weird.”

Along with her bangs, Paisley’s eyebrow hairs had faded from dark brunette to pale brown and corkscrewed in all directions. Her cheeks and nose glowed a faint pink, but it wasn’t clear whether the color came from a burn or stress.

Savannah dashed over from Connecting Threads, her blond hair bouncing on her shoulders.

“I heard a loud whoosh clear across the store,” she said, “and when I looked over here, it seemed as though the whole place had gone up like a dried-out Christmas tree.”

While Savannah bustled from one friend to the other and then the older man, double-checking them for heretofore unnoticed signs of injury, Gray quietly herded the ensemble out of the kitchen.

“It’s a miracle no one was hurt,” Savannah declared. “God must have been watching over y’all.”

Gray fixed his gaze on Ruthie, his expression making it clear he would not be joining in the choruses of “praise God.”

“We need to talk,” he said.

* * *

While her friends cleaned up the kitchen, Ruthie followed Gray back to the Gleanings area. Several new finds awaited price tags, and boxes from the Bristow house still sat near the checkout counter where she had left them yesterday afternoon. There were not yet any customers at this early hour of the morning.

A terrible thought raced through her heart. “Sobo. Did the clot—?”

“She’s the same,” he said, moving his hands as if to erase whatever worry she might have. “It’s not about her.”

Relief flooded through her. But the troubled expression on Gray’s face killed the momentary reprieve. Were they finally going to confront the awkward elephant that had stood between them for the past four years? Worse, was he going to tell her he’d moved on and found someone else?

“It’s about Pop.”

Ruthie touched a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“No, not Pop, but his stuff. You haven’t already sold the things he brought in yesterday, have you?”

His dark brow furrowed together, and he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets in a sign that Ruthie had come to know meant something was bothering him. Apparently, this was about more than just a few collectible doodads.

“I don’t think so.” She looked inside the half dozen open boxes sitting on and beside the counter. “These haven’t been inventoried yet, but it looks like everything’s still here.”

She paused, remembering what Paisley had said about selling the kissing dolls. Had he come back for them? Did they hold the same meaning for him that they did for her?

“Oh, wait. There was one thing, a pair of knickknacks that used to sit on the piano.”

She watched him, but his intense gaze never flickered. He didn’t remember? Her heart sank a little.

He shook his head. “One of the boxes was full of military stuff from Pop’s service in Korea. Awards and medals, pictures, journals. Some keepsakes. He had set that box aside to put away but brought it to you by mistake.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s here somewhere.”

They started with the stack beside the counter. Few of the contents matched the kinds of things Ruthie sold at Gleanings. She usually focused on antique or unusual one-of-a-kind items bought from estate sales and moving sales, but these would be sold on consignment for the Bristows. The idea had been to spare Pop the trouble of organizing a yard sale when he needed to take care of Sobo. He’d initially pushed aside the stored items in the spare bedroom to make room for Sobo’s rented hospital bed. But his wife’s Japanese decorating taste won out, and soon the room looked as sparse and clean as the rest of the house.

They went through the three stacked boxes of odds and ends first, then moved a fourth from the small pedestal table Pop had brought and set it on the counter. The tabletop’s inlaid design of golden-colored grain beckoned her to trace her fingers around the bent heads of barley.

She clearly remembered sitting at this table on the Bristows’ screened porch, playing Jenga with Gray and his younger sister while a warm summer breeze blew over the trio. Gray had stared intently at the stacked wooden blocks, determined to remove a piece without collapsing the precarious tower. Ruthie had laughed at his seriousness over the silly game, but he’d just refocused his concentration. With a hint of mischief guiding her actions, she’d touched her bare toes to the twisted barley pedestal and given it a nudge so slight the crashing of the tower could have easily been blamed on the breeze.

When his foot came down on hers, she’d suspected she’d been caught. Instead, he’d conceded defeat and promptly invited her to the Byrd Theatre for a 99-cent second-run movie. It was their first date, and he’d held her hand during the entire time the Wurlitzer organ played before the movie started. Ruthie had no memory of the movie, but she could still remember the exact feel of her hand in his, the calluses on his palm scratching her skin. Remembered wishing they hadn’t bought popcorn each time he let go to reach into the carton for a handful of the buttery stuff.

It had been part of the best time of her life. The laughter. The fun. Sharing new experiences together. The discovery that, no matter what activity they engaged in, it was always better when they did it together. And most of all, there was the easy camaraderie. The feeling that they could say or do anything without self-consciousness or censoring.

The rest of the family seemed to approve of their nearly constant togetherness. Since Gray’s parents lived only a few blocks away, it had been easy for him to slip away frequently and come to visit her under the guise of checking on his grandparents. And on occasion, Ruthie would walk over to visit his younger sister, but spend as much or more time with Gray.

But now...well, she measured every word she spoke and guarded every glance she sent his way. It was an uncomfortable balancing act between keeping a circumspect distance and wanting to slip back into that easy way of relating they used to have.

“I knew you shook the table,” he said, breaking into her moment of reverie. He gave her a nostalgic grin edged with regret.

Or maybe she was just hoping for a twinge of regret.

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I liked your determination to win.”

“Even if my methods were a little hinky?”

He put his hand on hers, bridging the present with the past. “I’m sorry for hurting you. For telling you something so intense in a letter instead of...”

“Instead of by Skype?” she finished for him. The comment had been intended to refer to the thousands of miles separating them at the time, but it came out sounding bitter.

Something between an apology and a grimace crossed his face. “Yeah, I guess even that would have been more personal. More face-to-face.”

He looked away and removed his hand from hers, taking the warmth with it.

“And I guess it was pretty cowardly of me to keep dodging you after I came back home, but I convinced myself it was to protect you from an awkward meeting at my grandparents’.” He returned his attention to her, meeting her gaze directly. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry for the way I handled things.”

Sure, it had been unpleasant, but what breakup wasn’t? Even if they’d been in the same room, it wouldn’t have hurt any less. Despite her own pain, she knew whatever had caused him to change his mind about God and a future with her must have been hurting him much, much more.

She shook her head. “No apology necessary,” she said. “That’s all in the past now.”

We’re in the past, she almost added.

“You may not be a Bristow by marriage,” he continued, “but according to my grandparents, you’re still family. We’re going to see each other at family events, so we need to be able to put the awkwardness aside. For Pop and Sobo’s sake, if not our own.”

Ruthie nodded and offered him a wistful smile. “Yeah, it’s been hard juggling holidays and drop-by visits for the times you’re not there.”

“So I’m not the only coward,” he teased. He pulled a cardboard box closer to him and lifted a flap. “Maybe we should meet for lunch sometime. Clear the air about the past and set up ground rules for the future.”

“Rules of engagement, you mean.”

He flinched as if she’d hit him.

She’d intended it in the military sense, of course, but it was only after seeing his reaction that she realized her words could be taken a different way.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” he said with a forced smile. “Maybe we could call them rules of disengagement.”

The joke wasn’t funny, so she didn’t laugh.

The door opened, and a stylish young mother with a baby in a stroller entered the building. The woman spotted the Gleanings sign over the counter and headed toward the shop to browse.

“Feel free to look around,” Ruthie told her. “And let me know if you have any questions.”

Gray’s expression quickly changed to one of relief. “Here it is. Pop’s Korean War stuff.”

“That’s great.” Ruthie bent to look at the assortment of papers, medals, photos and sentimental trinkets. “We get history hunters in here all the time. Pop would be heartbroken if we’d sold all those memories.”

He closed the box flaps. “Thanks. For this,” he said, gesturing toward the mementos. “For everything.”

At her questioning glance, he added, “For being there for Pop and Sobo while I was away.”

“Your parents were there for them,” she said, deflecting his praise. “They looked after them.”

“Yes, but you gave Sobo and Pop someone other than me to focus on. You made a difficult time in their lives a little more tolerable.”

She shook off his thanks. “They’ve been there for me more than I was for them. I don’t know what I would have done—where I would have gone—if they hadn’t stepped in when I needed help most.”

Gray’s expression took on a faraway look. Was he thinking of God—who he’d said wasn’t there when he’d needed help most?

He tucked the box of Pop’s treasures under one arm and laid some bills on the counter. Then he moved the small, round table closer to the door. “I’ll take the table, too. Is this enough to cover it?”

“Way too much. You could buy a new one for less.” She wondered if the table had stirred memories for him as it had for her.

He must have read her mind. “There’s a bare spot in the corner of my kitchen. This should fit just about right.” With the box still tucked under his arm, he picked up the table with the other hand and moved toward the door. He stopped and turned back to her. “Don’t tell Pop and Sobo I bought it, or they’ll try to pay me back.”

“Let me give you a hand.”

Either the box or the table alone would have been manageable, but the weight of both was clearly an effort for him. She came from around the counter, but he hefted the table closer.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

With a resigned sigh, Ruthie stood back and watched him struggle through the door, determined to carry his burden alone.

* * *

The fire at Milk & Honey was nearly forgotten when the lunch crowd poured in. By that afternoon, Savannah had sold a vintage dress to a teen for her upcoming prom, and Nikki, who helped run the shop next door and who they hoped would be a future partner at Abundance someday, had taken apart an antique typewriter to repair and restore.

Whenever Ruthie thought about how Abundance and the individual shops within it came to be, she thanked God for bringing together the original three talented friends who, each in her own way, loved to find interesting articles and offer them for sale, and then adding a fourth to the mix. She sometimes laughingly called Savannah and Paisley her “Craigslist friends,” since it had been an online ad seeking roommates that had brought them together in the first place. Then, after moving into their Abundance shops, they’d been blessed to meet Nikki, who worked next door.

The college years had been lean for the three friends, so they’d sought to decorate the rented house with flea market and thrift-store finds. Ruthie started them off with unusual pieces of antique furniture hidden under ugly coats of paint or dulled varnish, which she refinished and made to look like new. Savannah found lovely old tablecloths, bedspreads and dresses that showed small signs of wear and fashioned them into beautiful curtains fit for a showroom. And Paisley, with her penchant for food and hospitality, supplied fancy plates and introduced the group to the likes of tea infusers, egg-poaching cups and soup tureens.

Visitors were always astonished to see how stylish they’d made the place look with little or no money. Soon friends, family and acquaintances were asking the threesome to find specific items, and before long their individual hobbies had grown into businesses that helped pay for their college expenses. This was a blessing, especially since Ruthie wanted to pay her own way and avoid drawing further on the Bristows’ kindness after all they’d done for her over the years.

After graduation, the three friends decided to combine their businesses under a single roof they called Abundance. The exception was Nikki, who worked next door at the Carytown shoe repair shop, called Restore My Sole. When the ancient owner, Jericho Jones, discovered her talent for fixing things, he began accepting repair jobs for small items and gave the tasks to her to complete. And when the space next door became available for rent just before the others’ college graduation, Nikki became an unofficial fourth member of the Abundance friendship. Nikki’s loyalty to Jericho kept her working for him, but they used the connecting door between the stores whenever the Abundance shop owners needed their friend’s skills to restore acquired treasures prior to sale.

Between waiting on customers, Ruthie tackled the remaining boxes from the Bristows and kept an eye open for any other war memorabilia that might have made their way into the wrong place. To her delight, and especially Savannah’s, one of the boxes contained several ladies’ hats that appeared to be from the early sixties.

“I need your help pricing them,” Ruthie said after she’d taken the find over to Connecting Threads.

Her friend turned them over and checked for a label. She gasped. “These were made by the Hat Factory down in Shockoe Slip. Back in their heyday, before the factory went out of business, it was the local place for ladies to buy hats. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding buyers for these.”

Judging by the way Savannah practically drooled over them, Ruthie wouldn’t be surprised if her friend bought one herself.

Savannah’s fingers followed the loose band of a particularly pretty go-to-church hat, and she twisted her lips into a slight frown. “The puggaree is loose. I’ll fix it for you so no one will have any reason to turn this beauty down.” Savannah perched the hat on her head and peered into the floor mirror. With a hand on her hip and a point of the toe, she struck a saucy pose. “Mrs. Bristow sure had good taste.”

Ruthie agreed. “Pop said that shortly after he brought her here from Tokyo, she studied fashion magazines and bought American clothes to try to fit in.” Naoko had even adopted her husband’s faith as her own and now hated to miss a single Sunday at church. “She still looks stylin’, even when she’s just puttering around the house.”

“You’d never guess she’s pushing eighty.”

Savannah set the hat with the loose band on top of her sewing pile, then helped Ruthie tag the remaining hats with prices that should be high enough to reflect their value but not high enough to scare off potential customers.

Ruthie thanked her and took the hats back to Gleanings, where she displayed them on the Peg-Board wall behind her counter. Then she pulled out the box she’d been sorting just before Gray’s unexpected arrival yesterday. Tucked between an early transistor radio and a pair of binoculars was the pair of kissing dolls...right where she’d left them.

She frowned, remembering the conversation she’d had with Paisley this morning. How could Paisley have sold the dolls if they were still here?

* * *

Three times in two days. This was more than Gray had seen Ruthie over the past four years. And it was taking a toll on him.

Sleep had eluded him last night while he worried about Naoko. When he did sleep, his dreams had been filled with images of Ruthie. The way her hands fluttered like a butterfly without a road map whenever she talked. That soft reddish-brown hair that begged him to touch it. And the hazel eyes that telegraphed every emotion that crossed her heart.

He found her at the rear of the shop, her back turned to him while she focused her attention on straightening a three-foot-wide metal disc on the wall, and he took advantage of her distraction to study her.

She wore slim khaki pants topped by a pale green shirt that made her hair seem more red than brown. Her movements were more confident now than four years ago, possibly the result of proving herself to be an accomplished businesswoman. Ruthie had always been a hard worker. And her devotion had obviously paid off, judging by the shoppers milling around him who exclaimed to their friends over the items they discovered.

It must have been hard for her, losing her mother in the middle of her teen years. Though Ruthie had never said anything against her stepfather, Gray had picked up from his grandparents’ conversations that when the new widower spent a Saturday packing the house to move him and his biological daughter back to New Jersey, the man had turned to Ruthie and asked, “Where are you going to live?”

At church the following day, Naoko had noticed Ruthie’s tears after silent prayer time. Until that day, their relationship had consisted mostly of friendly hellos. His grandmother couldn’t stand to see anyone hurting, so she’d pulled Ruthie aside and learned that the girl’s only blood relatives—a chronically ill aunt and a cousin with a drug problem—could not take her in. With nowhere else to turn, her only other option was foster care.

In less than twenty-four hours, his grandparents had moved her into their house and applied to become Ruthie’s legal guardians. How could someone hurt her like that? And then it hit him. He had hurt her like that. He had rejected her, just like her family. The thought threatened to rip him apart. Of course, he’d done it to protect her. Somehow he doubted she saw it that way.

Ruthie stepped away from hanging the oversize replica of an antique coin and appeared to notice him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled and turned to greet him. Gray smiled back, hoping his guilt didn’t bleed through his expression. When her gaze fully met his, the smile dissipated. Or maybe she caught some hint of what he’d been feeling.

“I just spoke with Sobo,” she said, as if clearing off that reason for his sudden reappearance. “She’s not crazy about the hospital food.”

“Maybe it needs soy sauce,” he joked. “It’s good she feels well enough to want to eat.”

Ruthie nodded agreement and waited. He sensed her unspoken question. Why have you come back?

“There was a doll,” he said, getting to the point. “It had been in the box with Pop’s military stuff.” He drew a deep breath, hoping they might find it in one of the cartons they hadn’t searched earlier today. “Sobo needs it. Pop said it has special meaning for her.”

Ruthie relaxed her guarded stance, pulled her ponytail loose, then refashioned it. “Good news. It wasn’t sold after all.” With a tilt of her head, she added, “I wasn’t aware it meant so much to her. She always said she didn’t like ranzatsu.”

Her easy pronunciation of the Japanese word for clutter drew a spontaneous grin from him. Relieved she still had the doll in her possession, he hoped this would be the last time he would need to come back for a while. Although they had called a truce and would no longer need to avoid each other at family gatherings, he thought it best to ease back into contact with her. And preferably with his grandparents around to act as a buffer.

“Well, clutter is the last thing she’d call this doll. It’s the only thing she has left from her childhood.”

“No problem. They’re right over here.”

They? He followed her to the counter where most of the boxes had been emptied and set aside for later use. Pop had mentioned only one doll.

“Did the table fit?” She set a small cardboard box on the counter and reached inside.

“Like it was designed for the house.” It looked great in the corner of his kitchen, but he still wondered at the impulse that had driven him to buy it. Now he’d think of Ruthie every morning at breakfast...and remember the look of mischief on her face and the touch of her bare toes against his foot.

She handed him a pair of porcelain dolls, their lips puckered for a kiss.

He turned them over in his hands and stared at them, remembering the time early in their relationship when their own actions mimicked the dolls’. Drawing his and Ruthie’s features on them had provided the perfect opener for their first kiss. And many more after that.

“What happened to the freckles?”

She flashed him another of her sassy grins. “Foundation makeup. It covers a lot of flaws.”

He knew she was joking, but the comment drew his attention to her face. The cute little specks were still there, but much lighter now, and he couldn’t help wondering if there were still twenty-nine. Somehow he doubted she’d let him count them. Perhaps spending less time in the sun had allowed them to fade. He hoped she wasn’t trying to cover them with makeup.

She ducked her head and looked away under his scrutiny. He hadn’t meant to bring out her shyness, but he couldn’t let her put herself down, even if only in jest.

“I don’t consider freckles flaws,” he said, and idly ran a thumb over the girl doll’s puckered face.

Mirroring his gesture, Ruthie lifted a hand to her face, then immediately slid her hand into her slacks pocket.

“Right. They’re kiss prints,” she said, automatically parroting back the words he used to tell her.

She looked uncomfortable, as if realizing she’d opened a door that led someplace they weren’t supposed to go. “I’m sure Sobo will be glad to get this set back,” she said, abruptly changing the subject.

Gray shook his head. “This isn’t the doll I’m looking for. The one I’m talking about is the size of a Barbie and has real hair and a red kimono.”

Ruthie sagged against the counter. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, no?” He clutched the porcelain dolls tighter. “What does ‘oh, no’ mean?”

“That must have been the doll that was sold. I thought Paisley meant these.”

She looked sick, and that was the way Gray felt right now.

“You sold it?”

She gave a slow nod and pinched her lip between small white teeth. “Yesterday, while we were at the hospital. Paisley said an Asian woman bought it. I hadn’t inventoried all of the boxes at that point, so I assumed she was talking about the kissing dolls.”

With a knot in the pit of his stomach, Gray considered the possibilities. Pop had said Naoko treasured that doll, and he didn’t want her to come home from the hospital to find that her most valued possession had been sold. He pushed the kissing dolls into Ruthie’s hands. “Sobo has to have it,” he insisted. “Call the customer and get it back.”

“I don’t know who bought it.” Her voice sounded precariously close to cracking. “It was a cash sale.”

He closed his eyes and wiped a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the problem. “Sobo doesn’t care much about...things,” he said. He almost said worldly things, which was the way she always phrased it, but something made him leave that part out. “This is the one item she treasures, and if there’s any way to get it back for her, I’m going to do it.”

“I know.” Ruthie wrung her hands, then retightened her ponytail. “I feel just terrible about it. Sobo has been so good to me. If there was any way I could find her doll...”

“There is,” he said, taking the kissing dolls from her and placing them on the counter. He dropped his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him. “We’ll put our heads together. Between the two of us, we should be able to cover all possible bases. From this point on, you and I will be joined at the hip until Sobo’s doll is found.”

Chapter Three

At the Bristows’ house that evening, Pop took Ruthie and Gray to the downstairs guest room to show them the progress he’d made clearing out excess odds and ends accumulated over the years. Ruthie used the short delay to try to decide the best way to break the news to him.

Since sleeping upstairs was out of the question for a while, an adjustable twin bed had been pushed against the far wall for Sobo during her recovery from hip surgery. A recliner had been moved in here from the den, presumably where Pop would sleep, and Ruthie was touched by the devotion he held for his wife.

Her dream was that someday she would have someone who would love her that much, even after fifty years together. She glanced over at Gray, who ran his hand over a glass-front display case.

“You did a great job clearing out this room, Pop,” he said. “Sobo will be very happy.”

Indeed he had. The clean design of the room reflected Naoko’s Japanese heritage and minimalism. Simple shades for the windows, a small wool rug beside the bed, a nightstand and a dresser adorned with painted branches of cherry blossoms.

Pop smiled and puffed out his chest. The action made him seem more like a young boy than a white-haired man in his early eighties. “No ranzatsu in here,” he said. “That case will eventually go in the den, where we’ll display my army things and her doll. Memories of when we met. But for now they’ll stay in here.” He grew oddly quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “She needs to see them.”

Although Ruthie had been close to the Bristows for eleven years and had asked Sobo on various occasions about their romantic beginnings, she still didn’t know how the pair had met. The elderly woman had deflected her questions with a bow of her head and started talking about one of the household projects she always had going. Ruthie made a mental note to ask Pop about it at a more appropriate time.

He laid a hand on Gray’s shoulder and squeezed. “Give me a hand to move it over here, where she’ll be able to see everything from the bed.”

After the men maneuvered the furniture into position came the moment she and Gray had been dreading. Breaking the news to Pop.

“About the doll,” Gray began. “It’s, uh, temporarily misplaced. It may be a while before we can get it back to you.”

Ruthie had never known him to tap-dance around a subject the way he had just now.

“A while? Your grandmother will need it here when she comes home from the hospital. In a few days, God willing.” A worried frown lined his brow. “And what do you mean by temporarily misplaced?”

Ruthie looped her hand through the crook of Pop’s arm and they all walked to the kitchen. “I appreciate Gray for not laying blame at my feet,” she said, “but the truth is that the doll was mistakenly sold from my shop. It’s my fault for not setting your boxes aside until I finished taking inventory of them.” She hated to disappoint him and avoided looking at the wounded expression in Pop’s pale blue eyes while she filled him in on how the doll came to be sold.

He patted her arm. “If anyone is to blame, it’s my own silly self for taking the wrong box to your store. How could you have known any different?”

“I promise you, I will do everything in my power to get it back.”

Gray reached into a drawer near the sink and withdrew a pad of paper and a pen, then set them in front of Ruthie. “We should create a strategy list. Make sure we cover all the bases.”

Ruthie started by listing what they’d already done to try to find the doll’s purchaser. “One. Go through my customer list and start making calls to see if one of them might be our mystery lady. Two. Ask the neighboring business owners if they recognize the description Paisley gave of her.”

Pop sat beside her at the table and touched a finger to the paper. “Did you pray?”

She smiled at the gentle reminder. “Of course. It should have gone at the top of the list—that’s the first thing I did.”

“Me, too.”

He hugged her and cut a glance at Gray, who paced the floor like a military strategist planning a covert operation.

“Let’s pull the security tapes from your store,” he said, pausing in midstride. “That should give us a picture of the customer who bought the doll.”

Ruthie slumped in her chair. “That’s a great idea, but unfortunately, Abundance doesn’t have a security camera.” At the pained look on Gray’s face, she quickly added, “Yet,” but it was Pop who decided to belabor the point.

“You should have a camera in the store. And an alarm system connected to a dispatcher.” He leaned toward her, concern underscoring his words. “I meant to tell you this earlier—there was a report on News at Noon today about a prowler on Strawberry Street. I want you and your friends to be protected in case someone should take a notion to break in.”

“Strawberry Street is a good distance away, so I’m sure we won’t have to worry about that person bothering the shop.” The reports of someone lurking around homes and small stores had actually been closer to the house on Floyd Avenue that she still rented from the Bristows, but she wasn’t about to bring that up. “Even so, I’ll mention to Savannah and Paisley that we should beef up our security.”

An idea occurred to her.

“Maybe Restore My Sole or one of the other shops near Abundance has a surveillance video of the parking lot. We might be able to get an image of the customer or, better yet, the number from her license plate.”

“If she drove,” Gray pointed out.

He was right. Many of their customers came from nearby residential areas such as Ellwood Avenue, which ran parallel to Cary Street behind their shop and was within easy walking distance. Or they were local employees who strolled over during their breaks or after work.

“I’ll come by tomorrow after work to check out any videos your neighbors may have.” He paused as if considering what he was about to say next. “And I’ll do a walk-through of Abundance to determine what kind of security system will work best for your setup.”

A lot had changed between them, but the one thing that remained the same about Gray was his fierce protectiveness. They might not be a couple anymore, but she knew that wouldn’t stop him from doing everything in his power to keep her safe.

“You really don’t need to go to the trouble,” she assured him. “I’m sure we’ll be fine until I make an appointment for someone to install an alarm.”

Gray’s engineering degree had been put to use securing facilities and equipment during his time in the army. Since his return home, he’d parlayed that experience into a thriving business designing and installing security systems for businesses and government offices. Asking him to outfit her little shop with a security camera and alarm would be like using a howitzer to kill a fly.

He ripped the list off the pad of paper and stuffed it in her hand. She moved to pull away, but he held her in his grip.

“Don’t delay,” he warned. “Wishing and hoping are not enough to keep you safe.”

Once again, his protective side was showing. The odds of the prowler making an unwanted appearance at the Abundance shops were slim, but when Gray was in defender mode, arguing with him was pointless.

And though he didn’t say it, his meaning came through loud and clear.

Prayers aren’t enough, either.

* * *

That night in bed, Ruthie’s prayers weren’t enough to take her thoughts off Gray and his steadfast resistance to all things related to faith and the Bible. Like a cold-case investigator who keeps searching for clues in years-old evidence, she reached into her nightstand drawer and withdrew the letter that he’d sent her from Afghanistan. The paper, now tattered, held a place in her Bible in the book of Ruth.

That Wednesday night at church, she’d been excited when Sobo had handed her the old-fashioned letter from her sweetheart and her family and friends had watched expectantly as she’d read it. Something had felt wrong in the first sentence when he’d told her, “I’m sending this letter by way of my grandparents so you won’t be alone when you read what I have to say.”

Even now, four years later, a rock still formed in the pit of her stomach whenever she read those troubling words. But just as she had done back then, she forced herself to continue.

Something happened that has caused me to question my beliefs. I won’t burden you by sharing the things I’ve seen, but suffice it to say that God—if there is such a being—let me down when I needed Him most. While I’ve been wrestling with this bad blow over the past few months, you’ve been steadfastly sending encouraging letters and emails. You must have sensed I was going through a tough time, so you tried to cheer me up and urged me to lean on God. I love you, and I loved receiving each and every one of your notes, but they only served to illustrate how far apart we’ve grown.

She teared up at the knowledge that whatever had caused Gray to lose his faith was something he would not—perhaps could not—discuss with her or anyone else. Pop, a veteran of the Korean War, had urged her to give Gray time. Give him time to sort through the unspeakable experiences he’d endured.

But how much time would it take? For his sake, she prayed he would find answers to the questions that troubled him.

She forced herself to read that paragraph again, knowing the answer to Gray’s trouble lay in his belief that God had abandoned him at a time when he needed Him most.

Just as it had done that fateful night, the sound of blood pounded in her ears, nearly deafening her, and she became aware that her breathing was fast and shallow. Steeling herself to the pain that still stabbed every time she read his words, she sucked in a deep breath and blinked back the moisture that clouded her vision.

Although I’m not sure how I feel about God right now, I do believe there’s something to the warning in the Bible about being yoked together with unbelievers. I love you and know how much you love the Lord, but I can’t pretend to believe so I can be with you. It’s not fair to either of us.

Like a passerby at a horrible traffic accident, all she could do was continue to stare at the page in front of her and read what came next.

It may hurt now, and believe me when I say it hurts me more than I can express, but it’s best for both of us if I release you from our engagement so you can find someone else. Someone whose faith is as strong as your own.

You’re a good person, Ruthie, and you deserve someone who won’t hold you back. I’ll understand if you hate me for this, but I will always care for you, even though we can’t be together. I wish you much love and happiness.

Gray

A fist clenched around Ruthie’s throat, and once again the room threatened to close in on her. She refolded the letter and returned it to the drawer, as if that simple action might take away the fresh pain that hit her every time she read it.

Hate was something she could never feel for Gray. Anguish, confusion, yes. Although she didn’t fully comprehend the reason behind his change of heart, she’d never doubted his motives to do what he considered best for both of them.

Too numb to cry again, she leaned back against the pillow and pressed her hands to her forehead. Because of her faith, she had lost favor with Gray—the man she’d believed, and still did believe, that God intended for her.

With the Bible resting on her lap, she returned the letter to mark the pages of the book of Ruth.

“Please bring him back, Lord,” she said. “To You and to me.”

* * *

The following evening after the shops closed, Gray pocketed the parking lot surveillance tape he’d collected from the neighboring classic-auto supply store and walked through the Abundance building to search for possible security problems. His civilian career involved planning high-end security systems for large businesses and government agencies, which might have been the reason Ruthie had tried to decline his offer to set up a system here. But he suspected her reluctance was less about the size of the job, a departure from his usual contracts, and more about him.

After he was done with this, he’d cut out of here and go watch the tape. With a little luck, maybe it would offer up not only an image of the woman who’d bought his grandmother’s doll but also a clear view of her car’s license tag.

Ruthie and her friends buzzed around Milk & Honey in preparation for an evening neighborhood event.

Nikki walked by with an armload of food and plopped a plate of finger sandwiches in his hands. “Mind giving me a hand with this? We’ll just set them on the table out back.”

He followed her outside, where a few Ellwood Avenue neighbors from across the alley had begun gathering. A cheerful yellow cloth covered the imperfections of a beat-up picnic table. A couple of pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade sat at one end, so he set the plate of sandwiches at the opposite end with the meat pies, cookies and banana pudding.

“Oh, good. You’re staying for our Sunset Blessings gathering.” Paisley stuck an empty paper plate in his hands. “Help yourself. There’s plenty of food.”

Blessings? He’d already managed to bow out of attending the church prayer group last night after visiting Naoko with Pop and Ruthie. And he had no desire to attend a neighborhood kumbaya meeting, even if it did involve delicious-looking food.

“I don’t— I mean...”

Ruthie seemed to sense his discomfort and attempted to reassure him. “Sunset Blessings is just an opportunity for us to be grateful at the end of the day for all we have and to share our abundance with others. Paisley started it by saving leftover goodies from Milk & Honey for people in need. It eventually grew to include our residential and business neighbors. Now everybody brings a little something, and folks enjoy not having to cook a couple of nights a week.”

That was when he noticed the “people in need.” A scruffy-looking pair of men and a girl who appeared to be in her teens joined the group with hellos and nods. The girl set a plastic cup with white flowers on the table, and the men waited for the ladies to help themselves to the food before filling their own plates.

They seemed harmless enough, but Gray decided it might be a good idea to stick around and see who else showed up. Though he commended Paisley and the others for sharing their bounty with those less fortunate, he couldn’t help worrying that the free offerings might draw vagrants and other disreputable types.

Paisley cleared her throat and raised a hand for attention. Once all had quieted, she bowed her head and spoke in a clear tone. “Lord, thank You for this food. Please bless it, bless our neighbors and bless Daisy on her upcoming job interview. Amen.”

Gray stared at the ground during the blessing, thinking not about what she said but about how she sounded so conversational, as if she and God were close friends. A moment of sadness speared his chest. Once upon a time, he’d had that sort of relationship. A relationship where he’d felt confident his prayers were heard and would be answered.

He raised his head, and the others applauded the job-seeking girl, who blushed under all the attention.

Ruthie leaned in and touched his arm. “Daisy’s mother is no longer in the picture, and her father, Mark, was laid off last year and can only get occasional day jobs. They’ve been living in his car, but he insists Daisy finish high school. She’s hoping to start working the day after graduation so she can afford an apartment for both of them.”

He nodded, sympathizing with their predicament. “That must have been a tough decision. Choosing between her education and sleeping in a car or dropping out of school to work so they can sleep in a real bed.”

She indicated the older middle-aged man with a scraggly goatee who accompanied the father-daughter pair. “That’s Yard Dog. No one knows his real name. Paisley’s very fond of him, and we think he’s the reason she started this Sunset Blessings tradition.”

As unofficial host of the group, Paisley started a round of introductions. “And this is Gray Bristow, Ruthie’s—” Her eyes opened wide and she nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. “Her, um...”

“Family friend,” Ruthie supplied.

To anyone else her smile looked easy and relaxed. But Gray saw the tense lines at the corners of her mouth. People continued eating and chatting without a clue about the undercurrents between them.

What was he doing here? The more time he spent with Ruthie, the more time he wanted to spend with her. He had told himself the reason he stuck around this evening was to protect her from any unsavory types who might be drawn to the free food. But he was here because, deep down inside, he was drawn to Ruthie and all the goodness that was wrapped up in the total package. In truth, he was the one he should be protecting her from.

What he loved most about her was her unwavering faith...in God, in people, in the underdog. But if they were together again, his own lack of faith would weaken hers. Would weaken the fabric of who she was.

He should keep his distance. For her sake, if not his own. After they found Naoko’s doll, that was exactly what he would do. Stay a safe distance away. But right now she stood so close he could smell her shampoo. She smelled sweet, like apples, and reminded him of the fall weekends she and Naoko had spent preserving fruit from the tree in their backyard. As a young boy, he had always tried to avoid the hot, laborious canning duty that usually turned into a family event. But after Ruthie’s arrival, he had often “dropped by” and ended up spending the entire day helping out just so he could be in her company.

He finished off the food on his plate. No time like the present. But before he could say his goodbyes, a mounted police officer rode up and joined the group. Judging by the way everyone greeted him, he was a regular at the Sunset Blessings festivities.

Ruthie filled him in. “That’s Officer Worth. He rides by here after his shift almost every day to—” she made quote marks with her fingers “—keep an eye on things. We all think he has his eye on Paisley, but she acts more interested in his horse than in him.”

Sure enough, Nikki offered the officer a plate of food, and Paisley offered the horse an apple that she had already cut up for it.

Gray noticed the looks that passed between Ruthie and her friends. They were the same looks the others had exchanged each time he came to the shop.

Worth dismounted, but before he dug into the food, he cautioned everyone to be alert to any suspicious activity. Apparently, the prowler Pop had told them about last night had been spotted within a block of their shops.

“The break-ins occurred almost a mile away,” he said, “so the sightings in this neighborhood may have been a result of overactive imaginations. But better safe than sorry. Be sure to call and report any suspicious activity.”

Despite his words of assurance, a ripple of concern ran through the crowd.

A short while later, they began packing up, and leftovers were placed in plastic carryout containers conveniently left there by Paisley. Yard Dog and Mark gratefully accepted some of the extras.

Savannah waved to Daisy. “Don’t go yet. I want to show you this fabulous dress I found for your interview.”

Ruthie accompanied them inside, and Gray followed a few minutes later. By the time he joined them at Connecting Threads, Daisy had gone into the small bathroom located beyond the Milk & Honey kitchen and Savannah had retreated to the sewing machine at the back of her shop to thread the machine and make a small alteration to the dress.

He hated to come off as if he was judging the girl, but he finally gave in and voiced his concern. “Do you think it’s a good idea to let her go back there unsupervised? Your offices and the safe—”

Ruthie lifted a hand to stop his protest. “Daisy is a regular girl caught up in a difficult situation. I don’t think she’ll touch anything she wasn’t invited to.”

It was times like this when Gray worried that Ruthie had too much faith in others. Especially this particular underdog.

“Besides, the safe is locked,” she added, calming his concerns for the moment. “Sometimes I think you worry too much.”

Of course he worried. He’d experienced things most people had only seen on TV. To others, the bad things that could happen in life were merely a hypothetical possibility. To him, they were reality.

“We may be just ‘family friends,’” he said, referring to her description of their current relationship, “but I still care about you—and your friends—and don’t want anything bad to happen to any of you.”

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