Page 27 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 27

“I S IT LOADED ?” L YDIA TURNED the gun to check.

Abraham’s heart jumped to his throat. With a quick and controlled movement, he pushed her arm down and pulled the gun from her hand. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to look down the barrel of a gun?”

Her face paled. “Well, yes, but I got so nervous, I forgot.”

Lord, help them. There were too many safety rules for anyone to forget just because they had a bout of nerves.

He flipped back the barrel, removed the bullets, and shoved them into his pocket, then flipped and locked the barrel back into place. “Rule one: never look down the barrel of a gun, even if you think it’s empty.”

“What if someone is pointing it at me? I don’t think I’ll have much choice then.”

“If someone is aiming a gun at you, either do what they say or run for cover. A moving target is harder to hit than a still one. Of course, the best course of action is to never be on the wrong end. Which brings us to rule number two: never point the muzzle at something you don’t intend to shoot.”

“You mean, like my face.”

“Exactly. If the derringer were to accidentally go off, you’d want the bullet to go in a direction where it can’t possibly shoot anyone. This means you should always know where you’re pointing and what’s beyond it. Bullets have the potential to pass through your target, so be aware of what else it might hit. Colonel Plane has those sandbags stacked four deep and ten tall to stop any bullets from passing through to the other side of the carriage house. That’s the only place we are going to aim this gun, loaded or not. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now give me your hand.”

She stuck it out, and he adjusted her position until the derringer would be directed at the sandbags. Once sure her aim would be correct, he carefully wrapped her thumb and three bottom fingers around the grip. When her pointer finger automatically went to the trigger, he pulled it off.

“Keep your finger off until you have your sights on your target and you’ve made the decision to shoot. Not one moment before. Otherwise you may shoot before you intend to.”

She nodded. “There’s a lot to keep in mind.”

That wasn’t even half of what he intended to teach her about handling a gun. She still needed to support the base of the grip with her other hand, learn how to aim, be able to hold steady while pulling the trigger, and maintain control of the weapon during the recoil. And eventually he’d have to get up the nerve to actually load the gun and let her shoot it.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. His earlier visions of teaching her to become the best markswoman in the country in one lesson had been foolish.

“It’s a deadly weapon, Lydia. You can’t forget any of these rules without jeopardizing your life or someone else’s.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve only fired a gun once. It was enough to realize I was a danger to myself and others.” She lowered the weapon so that it pointed down, but failed to notice the muzzle was directed at her foot instead of the ground.

And her finger was once again resting on the trigger.

Abraham released a prayer of thanksgiving that he’d had the foresight to remove the bullets before allowing her to keep the derringer in her hand. “It appears that is still true. You’re about to put a hole in your boot.” He retrieved the gun, reloaded it, and knelt to return it to the holster at his ankle.

“What? You’re not going to teach me anymore?”

“I think our time would be better spent determining other ways to protect you.”

Her shoulders drooped. “You don’t think you could teach me if you were behind me and helping me to hold the gun? Maybe use your arms to support and guide mine?”

He looked up at her and rested an elbow over his knee. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels. If you can’t control a gun on your own, you shouldn’t be holding one.”

“Maybe you could try one more time?”

The pleading in her voice was tempting, but …

“Did you fake struggling in hopes that I’d come up behind you like in one of your stories?”

“I wish I could say yes, but, unfortunately, I’m just that bad.”

He’d laugh if the situation weren’t so serious. He rose to his feet. “We’re done using a gun. I’m not risking your life in an attempt to teach you how to protect it.”

She sighed. “Truthfully I have no desire to learn anyway.”

“You just desire to be in my arms, is that it?”

By the immediate flame to her face, the jest proved as true as her inability to shoot. He focused on adjusting his pant cuff over the weapon to hide his own struggle with that revelation. He didn’t mind holding her. He rather enjoyed it—far more than an officer should with the woman he was supposed to be protecting. She no longer served as a suspect in his mind, but that didn’t change her standing in Lawson’s. Any sort of relationship with her was unprofessional.

But if this trap proved effective, then their relationship wouldn’t be restricted to professional etiquette. Friendship would be theirs to explore. Except Lydia wasn’t the sort of woman he could confine to friendship. Either something more lay in their future or he would have to walk away at the end of this case. The trouble was determining which course he should take.

He cleared his throat. “So how would you write this scene if it were in your next book?”

“You’re trying to trap me. There will be no more novels, romance or otherwise.”

“But if there were, if God were to call you to write just romances, how would you write this scene?”

Her head tilted as she contemplated. “After today’s experience, it might be fun to play with the expected. I suppose the lesson could go wrong. The hero could be accidentally shot, requiring the heroine to nurse him back to health.”

“I’m not a fan of being shot.”

“This is a fictional story. I have no intention of shooting you. Besides, you’ve already put that threat out of reach.”

He dared a step closer. “How about if the hero asked the heroine to join him for a stroll instead? What then?”

She blinked. “Ummm …”

Was it his imagination, or had the speed of her breathing increased?

“I’d probably have some witty banter or some revelation about the character’s past or dreams for their future.”

“And what dreams do you have for the future?” He reached out and brushed her knuckles with his fingertips.

Her rapid retreat and darted glance outside warned he’d misread the situation.

He stepped back. “I’m sorry. Forgive my forwardness.”

She chuckled but kept her face averted. “No apology needed. Friends share things like dreams for the future.”

Awkward silence fell between them. Lydia’s attention remained on the view of the animals waiting outside for the shooting lesson to be over. Her finger tapped against her arm, indicating she mulled over thoughts. How he wished he could be privy to them.

Or maybe he didn’t. He’d greatly overstepped. She might very well be planning to grab a horseshoe off the wall and chuck it at his head. He deserved it. What sort of cad was he?

He was about to suggest they return to the house when she finally spoke.

“I find the dreams I had for the future are shifting dramatically.” Her arms crossed over her chest in a protective stance that declared her insecurity. “Before this, I dreamed of being a lifelong author; one who could support herself if necessary or share her wealth with a husband who didn’t mind that she bucked society’s expectations of a proper lady. That fantasy has suffered a fatal blow, and I’m floundering to know what else there might be to hope for.” Her eyes found his. “In the immediate moment, I desire to be able to protect myself while you’re gone. I confess, I feel safer when you’re around. Detective Lawson is nice enough, but I don’t know. He’s not you. I don’t trust him the same way I do you.”

That was encouraging, but he’d not assume it was because she felt the same draw to him that he felt toward her. “Why not? He’s the real detective on the case, with decades of experience. I’m only an assisting officer, not even a real detective yet. If anyone is to outwit Billy Poe, Lawson is the most likely candidate.”

“I disagree. How long has he been working on this case? It’s only been since you’ve come on that he’s made any real progress.”

“I’m not sure that you can count what we’ve learned as progress.”

“You’re down to two suspects: Mr. Clemens and Marcus.”

“True, but there is still a chance that neither man is Poe.”

She shuddered and stepped closer to him, though not near enough for him to touch her again. “I’d rather it be just two suspects. It’s terrifying to have no idea who your enemy is. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go out on my own again without fear causing me to look over my shoulder.”

“You shouldn’t have been going out alone before. You’ve only had the illusion of safety. No matter where you go, there are broken men who would like nothing more than to make a beautiful woman like you theirs for a short time.”

“I know. You are a good friend to worry for me.”

Friend.

Was she putting him in his place? His timing left something to be desired, after all. Romantically pursuing a woman in the midst of a crisis was in poor taste. If Abraham wanted to see if they had a future together, he needed to stop flirting. He could wait until after the case. A slow pursuit would be difficult, but he couldn’t walk away without at least trying.

“Should we bring the animals back inside, then return to the house?” She offered her arm and waited with expectation.

At least she wasn’t afraid to have him by her side. He gladly accepted and guided her toward the door. “I’ll escort you inside and then take care of them myself.”

“That’s probably a wise decision. I imagine Detective Lawson will be returning soon, and I don’t think he’d be happy to see us alone together. Not with knowing how you’re my beau and all.” She bumped his side and offered him a shy smile.

Was she teasing or flirting? Why couldn’t the woman be more straightforward in what she wanted?

Well, if she opened the door, he wasn’t going to ignore the opportunity.

“Speaking of beaux …” Please don’t let me make a muck of this, Lord. “I’ve read several of your novels, but I can’t seem to figure what it is that you desire in a man.”

She shrugged as they passed outside into the glow of a setting sun. “The heroes in my books aren’t written for me. They’re written for the heroines of the stories. Each couple has their own unique qualities necessary to make the match true and lasting. I’ve not written a hero who matches exactly what I want.”

“Oh. Then what sort of hero would you design for yourself?” Nervous perspiration formed under his arms, and he prayed the lingering stench from Ross’s death would cover the potential smell.

A small smile curved her lips like she knew what he was about but wasn’t willing to let on. “I suppose I want a man who loves Christ, loves his family, and loves me.”

“That’s all? You’re not waiting for someone who rescues you from a burning building by swimming across a flooded river?”

Her squeaky laugh escaped. “I suppose that would be admirable, but not a requirement. Sometimes it’s just fun to write the ridiculous and see how far I can take it before readers denounce my stories as utter rubbish.”

The smile in her voice revealed how much her writing was a part of her. She derived absolute joy from it. No wonder she’d sobbed in his arms at the death of her future novels. If only she’d stuck to romances instead of adding mysteries. Then again, they might never have crossed paths had she remained strictly on the acceptable feminine publishing path.

Lydia stopped walking and angled them toward the back hedges, where the sun sank. A painter’s palette spilled across the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple. The view was far from perfect, but it must have been enough. Her voice took on a dreamy lilt as she continued speaking.

“No. What I desire above all things is real love, and real love comes from the ordinary. Only, to those two people, the ordinary becomes something extraordinary. Little touches, walking through the trials of life together, fighting for each other as needed. That’s what I want. An ordinary man who becomes extraordinary simply because I love him.”

An ordinary man. Right. Because that is what sold romance novels by the thousands. The woman must be lying to herself. She didn’t want someone ordinary. She wanted a hero disguised as ordinary.

“And how exactly does one move from the ordinary to extraordinary in your eyes?”

She arched a brow. “You mean, aside from what I’ve already stated?”

“Little touches and walking through the trials of life together aren’t exactly specific.”

“Then allow me to be more specific.” Impishness edged the corner of her mouth upward as she turned back to the fading sunset. “To move from the ordinary to the extraordinary, my future beau must remove a monkey from my hair, speak difficult truths into my life even when unwanted, sleep on my friend’s sofa to guard my family, and read my dime novels even though he thinks them twaddle.”

He gaped at her profile. Had she just … Did that mean … Future beau? Though he tried, not one coherent thought could muddle itself together. When words did form, they jumped out before he could think them through. “Are you saying that you love me?”

His chest constricted in anticipation of the answer, though what answer he wanted, he couldn’t be sure. It was too soon for something like love, but the chance at it? That was something to hope for.

“I’m not sure.”

Now was not the time to be coy with him. He grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “But you are saying you find me extraordinary. Or am I misunderstanding you?”

Her head dipped demurely.

Gently he lifted her chin and held her gaze, imploring an honest answer.

“I do indeed find you extraordinary.”

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“But—”

At her additional word, he sucked in another breath and waited for the rejection to come.

“Despite what my books say, I’m not one to rush into love. We’ve barely known each other two weeks, and we only agreed to friendship yesterday. I think it would be irresponsible for me to say I love you so quickly.”

That was an answer he could respect. Like her, he didn’t wish to rush into love, but the fact they both agreed the potential existed made him bold. Either they had a future or they didn’t, but wavering between the two would drive him mad.

“As you said, love is proved by walking through life together. That requires time. Time we’ve barely begun to share.” He swallowed hard against the nervousness threatening to cut off his next words. “May I have the honor of spending more time with you and seeing if our walk together is a lingering one? Once this case is over, of course.”

“Are you saying we should skip straight into a courtship?”

“As long as your answer is yes. If it’s no, then that’s not what I’m saying.”

She laughed, then sobered. “Whirlwind romances only belong in books. What happens if we discover we don’t suit each other?”

The very thought of it sent an unexpected pain through his chest. “Then we go our separate ways, wishing each other well. I’ll be honest, Lydia. I’m not sure I’m capable of just being friends with you.”

“To make such a declaration, you really must have hit your head when you fell after our bet. You make it sound as if we’re either destined for a happily-ever-after or a heart-wrenching goodbye.”

She did have a way of making things sound more dramatic than they were. But in truth, that is what they faced. “As you’ve stated, our friendship is very new. We could end it now and finish this case merely as acquaintances, saving us both from an unpleasant goodbye. Or we could explore the possibility that whirlwind romances do exist.”

Feigned shock widened her eyes. “Don’t you know that possibilities are what make every story exciting?”

By the growing anticipation tingling through him, he did indeed, even if he hadn’t been able to put it into words before now.

The playfulness fell away. “Would you mind giving me a minute to pace and pray? I’ve learned the hard way that I do not turn to God or listen to Him enough.”

The fact she wanted to seek God in prayer chastised him for not suggesting that himself. Rushing her into an answer was foolish and unwise. “Take all the time you need. I don’t need an answer tonight.”

“You might not, but I do. I confess, I’m already smitten, and to walk any farther would make goodbye all the more painful.”

The admission gave him hope, and he stepped back a few paces. “I’ll be right here, praying myself.”

While they prayed, he kept his eyes on Lydia, lest Poe make an attempt to kidnap her while Abraham was unprepared. She paced beneath a tree beside the house, her undecipherable mutterings reaching him. This woman was not a passive participant in life. Whatever she did, she did it wholeheartedly. What would it be like to be wholeheartedly loved by her? And to love her wholeheartedly back? They still had much to learn about each other, but this ability to envision a future with her was new and enticing. No other woman had inspired such an intense desire to pursue a forever life together. And now all he could do was pray that a future with her was God’s intention. For if God called them to go their separate ways, it would hurt like no other experience thus far in Abraham’s life.

As the darker shades of evening pushed out the remaining light of sunset, stars appeared along with a low-hanging moon. Nearly full, it lit the grounds enough to see Lydia’s pinched lips as she approached him. Gas bubbles—not butterflies—formed in his stomach.

She stopped in front of him. “As a lover of stories, I’d like to explore the idea of a happily-ever-after future with you.”

Though he wanted to whoop, he found her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’d like to go on that adventure with you.”

Maybe they didn’t have to wait until after Billy Poe was arrested. Right now, the idea of kissing her tantalized him.

Her thoughts must have run alongside his. “Do you know that aside from this morning, I’ve never kissed a man?”

“That does not count as a kiss.”

“Whyever not? Our lips touched. Isn’t that the basic definition of a kiss?” A hint of sauciness played in her tone, but there was also hope undergirding her words that he would contradict that definition.

“Maybe in the strictest sense, but a real kiss races your heart and steals your breath.”

Doubt clouded her face. “I’m sure you have a lot of experience with that. Many women must have counted you extraordinary over the years.”

Oh no. He wasn’t about to be trapped that way. Jealousy never served to aid a relationship. “I won’t lie. You’re not the first woman I’ve kissed, but I have a feeling you will be the last.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” She leaned in, and he took that as an invitation.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

Their lips met, and he intended to teach her exactly what a knock-you-off-your-feet kiss entailed.

“You two might want to reconsider that!” Miss Plane’s voice shattered the moment. “Detective Lawson just returned!”

Lydia and Abraham pulled back from a kiss that barely lasted longer than the first.

Lydia let out a puff of breath that bounced a curl lying on her forehead. “I suppose that is my just deserts for all the times I interrupted her and Broderick.”

As much as Abraham wanted to curse Miss Plane for her timing, the truth was, a kiss of the nature he desired to give was best served much later in a courtship. “It’s wise we wait. Until Billy Poe is caught, we really shouldn’t be courting, much less kissing. And I haven’t even asked your father for permission.”

She chuckled. “Yes. Well, I’ll pray for you on that one. He’s quite good at scaring off potential suitors.”

“Not this one. You’re worth the fright.”

Her pleased sigh carried a dreamy quality. “That was the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard said.”

“Don’t get used to it. I more often get it wrong than right.” The sigh he released wasn’t so pleased. “Speaking of getting things wrong … for now, we must stick to simply being friends. No flirting, no touching, and especially no kissing.”

“I don’t like it when you’re right.” She stepped away. “It’s probably best that you’re going home. I’m afraid I’ve lost my senses and need some time to regather them.”

“Be safe tonight, Lydia. It doesn’t sit well with me that you’re unprotected.”

The confident grin he was slowly growing to anticipate appeared. “Just because I don’t have a gun doesn’t mean I’m unprotected. Theresa and I have long had a plan for deterring and protecting against intruders. If Billy Poe tries to enter our room tonight, he’ll be unconscious before he can get three steps inside.”

“All the same, I’ll be praying for your safety.”

“And I, yours. You’re in as much danger as I. Especially if Billy Poe saw any of the last few minutes.”

She wasn’t wrong, and he dreaded that almost as much as leaving her.