Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2) Read online

  Loneliness suddenly seeped around her, cloaking her with its heavy chill. Cheryl wrapped her arms around herself and shut her eyes.

  You’re fine. You do fine on your own.

  She inhaled, pushing down emotions that should’ve died years before, and opened her eyes. A glance toward the fire pit, where Ethan and Brandi had walked, told her that Brock was watching her.

  Figure that one. After all these years, there was Brock the Jock, King of the Slopes, calculating the best way to score.

  Like Ethan would stand for it. He never did. Such a double standard her brother had kept. He didn’t think twice about playing the girls, but when it came to her and his friends… She’d made it through high school a virgin largely because none of the guys in their town wanted to face Ethan if they messed with his sister.

  Every girl should have a big brother. If only he’d followed her to college.

  Brock continued to stare. What was he thinking? Maybe he figured Ethan wouldn’t care anymore.

  Cheryl sat for a moment longer, doing some calculating of her own. Flings weren’t out of her playbook anymore. As a girl, innocent and hoping for that Cleaver kind of life somewhere down the road, she’d been entirely opposed to the shallowness of a short-lived blaze. Now, as a woman with her eyes wide open, she’d stepped into a handful of fizzling romances with full understanding.

  True, she’d felt used and worthless afterward. Every time. But still…being wanted, even just for a while, was something.

  Some women just weren’t the June Cleaver kind.

  Flipping the visor down, Cheryl checked the mirror. Not stunning, not like she would be if she’d planned this. But pretty. At least she always had that. Men often couldn’t care less about education or accomplishments, but beauty? That always mattered.

  Ready or not…

  Brock kept his distance, though he said hi. Like he was taking a backseat.

  Ethan stepped forward, his arm anchored on the other woman’s waist. “Cheryl, this is Brandi, my fiancée.”

  Most people would paint up a brilliant smile and gush. Cheryl was not most people. She pushed out a hand, as if this were a professional engagement. “How nice to meet you.”

  Brandi accepted the gesture, looked into Cheryl’s eyes, paused, and then moved in for a hug. “I’m so delighted to meet you. Ethan has often talked about his successful younger sister. I can’t wait for us to become friends.”

  Cheryl was pretty sure she’d just been professionally analyzed. With her back stiff, she patted the woman’s shoulder and then stepped away.

  A stinging sensation alerted her to a mosquito drilling into her neck. Cheryl smacked it. Things she didn’t miss about this life…bugs, and the ever-present feeling that she was always on the fringe of everything.

  She stood straighter. “Ethan failed to mention you until last night, so I know nothing about you.”

  A hacking sound disturbed the air behind her as Brock cleared his throat. “I think we’ve got a good bit of heat going here. We can start on the hot dogs.”

  Ethan jumped at the distraction, skewering dogs and distributing pretend meat on a stick. When he pushed one at Cheryl, she waved him off. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Not hungry? We haven’t eaten since noon.”

  “I grabbed something before we left Nana’s.” A lie. But those things were not good for you, no matter how delicious they tasted.

  “You love this.”

  Loved. Past tense. “Let it go, E. I don’t want one.” She swatted another mosquito attacking her shoulder.

  Brandi took the roasting stick and set it down. “I have some salad fixings in my apartment, if you’d rather, Cheryl.”

  She’d rather the hot dog. “That’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

  “It’s no trouble. I live in the lodge, just below the dining hall there, so I’ll be right back.”

  Ethan set his stick down on the rocked fire ring and followed Brandi. “I’ll help. Sorry, Cheryl.”

  They took off, leaving Cheryl alone with Brock, who’d stood at a distance during the exchange. She glanced at him, and he shook his head.

  “That wasn’t exactly the introduction Brandi was hoping for.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She was really nervous about meeting you. Think you could thaw out for your brother’s sake?”

  Cheryl raised an eyebrow. This was his tactic? Good luck, buddy.

  With a small shake of his head, he snorted. “So you went away to school, became some chip-on-her-shoulder lawyer, and now you can’t find it in your heart to be nice for your brother. I’d say you moved backward in life, Sherbert.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  He smirked.

  Another pesky sting jabbed her arm. She slapped it. Hard.

  “Here.” Brock leaned toward the ground near an Adirondack chair and stood up with a spray bottle in his hand. “Don’t be stingy with it. We’re by the water here.”

  Cheryl took the unlabeled spray and inspected it. “This stuff could kill you. I’m not putting it on my skin.”

  Brock laughed. “Know what could really kill you? A mosquito.”

  She pinned him with a glare.

  “Not kidding. Take a guess at what the most deadly creature on the planet is.”

  Not going for it, pal.

  “Hey, E,” Brock called up the path, “name the creature responsible for more human deaths than any other on God’s green earth.”

  Cheryl glanced up the road. Ethan and Brandi strode side by side, Ethan carrying a plastic container, and Brandi with two bottles of dressing in her fists.

  “The mosquito,” Ethan called back.

  Cheryl crossed her arms. “Liars.”

  Brock lifted a shoulder. “Google it.”

  She looked from Ethan to Brock to Brandi.

  The other woman reached Cheryl’s side, holding out the bottles for Cheryl to choose. “They’re not lying.”

  Cheryl looked at her options. Ranch and Thousand Island. Both loaded with fatty calories. She twisted her mouth and took the ranch.

  “Just use the spray, Sherbert. I promise you’ll thank me later.”

  Ugh. Brock hadn’t changed at all. Pushy and relentless.

  “What’d I tell you about my name?”

  He laughed.

  Not what she’d expected from Brock Kelly. Could be a long night.

  ~*~

  She applied the repellent. Shocking.

  Brock told himself not to smirk, but his expression didn’t obey. What a little punk Cheryl had become. What happened to the shy girl he’d known back in high school?

  “So, this wedding…” Cheryl lifted a condescending look to her brother.

  Ethan didn’t let her rankle him. He planted an arm around Brandi’s waist, drew her close, and met Cheryl’s stare dead on. “Here. Next weekend.”

  “Is there a reason you’re so rushed?”

  Brandi’s skin turned crimson.

  “Crimony, Sherbert.” Brock crossed his arms. Yes. He just called her Sherbert. Again. “Did you lose all your people skills?”

  Ethan rubbed his neck. “Look, this is my fault. I should have told you.” He looked at Cheryl with a pleading expression. “We’ve been engaged for months. I just so badly wanted you to be here, and—”

  “And you thought baiting me with Nana was better than telling me the truth?”

  The air held with a frozen moment of tension.

  “I don’t know how to reach you anymore, Cheryl. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  With a sad shake of his head, he moved away from the group. Brandi followed, glancing at Brock with a helpless expression.

  What a disaster. Probably would have been better if Ethan had let Cheryl miss the big event.

  So sad.

  Ethan and Brandi wandered down the road. Brock watched as her arm slid around Ethan’s waist and he tipped down to press a kiss into her hair. They didn’t deserve this.

  “W
ow.” Brock moved his attention from the couple to Cheryl. “You are something.”

  She turned ice daggers on him. “Forget this. I’m gone.”

  “Yeah? Plan on walking?”

  After glancing up to the car Ethan had brought her in, she patted her jeans pockets. Couldn’t get anywhere without keys. She looked back at Brock.

  He shook his head. “Nope. You made your little ice castle—you can just sit here and wait until Ethan’s ready to go home. Could be a while, since this is the first night off Brandi’s had in a week. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  Cheryl glared, drew a long breath, and then plopped onto a chair. Like a twelve-year-old.

  Brock went back to his hot dog, because what else was he supposed to do with an ice queen sitting at his fire? Man, she was some kind of bitter. Where’d that come from?

  He glanced back at her and caught that look. The one he’d seen the night before, the one Brandi had also noticed. Hollowness shadowed her glassy eyes, and Brock’s resentment crumbled.

  “You really don’t eat hot dogs anymore?” He forced a friendlier tone than he’d yet managed that night.

  Cheryl shrugged.

  “Come on. You used to put down just as many as we did.” He moved to sit in the chair next to hers. “What happened?”

  “They’re not good for you. I won’t pollute my body with something that isn’t real food.”

  “Ah…do you not understand? Whatever enters the body from the outside is not what defiles a person. It goes into the stomach and out, into the sewer, not into the heart.”

  Cheryl tilted her face to him. “What?”

  “Jesus’s words. Not mine.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think it means you should worry about what you allow into your heart and out of your mouth more than what you put into your stomach.”

  Her jaw worked as her expression turned cold again. “I don’t remember you being a Bible quoter.”

  “True enough. I don’t remember you being an ice princess.” He tossed the roaster, minus his hot dog, toward the fire pit and scooted back into his chair. “Tell you what—I’ll tell if you will.”

  “Tell what?”

  “What happened. Why I’m not the same.”

  She snorted. “Not sure that’s a fair deal.”

  So there was a story. Not that he doubted. “We’ll see.”

  Her eyes lifted to him. “I guess I am curious. Shouldn’t you be king of the slopes somewhere?”

  Brock chuckled. “Well, it is May, you know.”

  “Off-season never stopped you from training.”

  “True.” He sat so that he could lean against his knees. “I was for a while. Maybe you already knew that. Even made it to the Olympics. Then, a few years back, I took a trip on sort of a dare from my dad. Went to Mexico. It changed my life.”

  “A dare changed your life?”

  “No—an orphanage.”

  Cheryl raised an eyebrow, a look that said she wasn’t buying it. “You visited an orphanage, decided you liked kids, and opened a camp where people could dump their children for a week? Very noble.”

  Brock held her gaze, silently challenging her. She’d find out on her own, and in the meantime, she could think what she wanted.

  “Well? Does that sum it up?”

  “Your turn.”

  “What?”

  Settling against the backrest, he propped his hands behind his neck. “I’ve shared part of my story. It’s your turn.”

  “Your story wasn’t that interesting.”

  He tilted his head. “Is yours?”

  Her eyes darted away, and that shadow fell over her features again. Somehow that made Brock’s heart squeeze.

  Cheryl sat in silence, staring at the fire as the evening gathered in a soft gray around them. When she finally spoke, it was with a quiet tone.

  “This isn’t a tourist dump, is it?”

  “No.”

  Her chin dipped toward her chest. “What is it?”

  Brock examined her, wishing she was readable, but not knowing why. “We bring in foster kids—kids that need a place to go short term for whatever reason.”

  “How long do they stay?”

  “Usually for a week—foster families take vacations and can’t take the kids with them, so they come here. Respite care. Placement issues. Sometimes, though, kids have other things come up, so it depends on the situation.”

  She processed, picking at her nails. “That’s…unexpected.”

  “Right? Never thought I’d get here, did you?”

  Though her eyes held a smidge of guilt, she looked at him directly. “No. I didn’t.”

  Brock held her gaze, letting a small grin tug on his lips. She didn’t duck away, and her blunt honesty drew him.

  “Your turn,” he nearly whispered.

  She looked away.

  “That was the deal, kid.” He reached over and shook her shoulder. “What happened to the nice, shy girl we used to know?”

  “Life.”

  “That’s not very telling.” Actually, it was—it could be. Life could really hand out the blows.

  She turned back to him, a pasted smile on her face. “You know what? I haven’t had a hot dog in years.”

  She stood and moved for the roasting stick he’d pitched earlier and began to fumble with the package of Ball Parks. Her hands trembled, and Brock’s heart dropped.

  Whatever had happened, it had to have been awful.

  ~9~

  Planting her fists on her hips, Cheryl scowled at Nana. “Why didn’t Ethan take them with him?” She brushed the grainy moisture from her face. She’d forgotten how sweaty and gritty she’d become after a morning in the bakery. Didn’t miss it either.

  “They weren’t done.” Nana finished placing the last of the six-dozen rolls into a box.

  “He could have waited.”

  Nana leaned against the counter and smiled at Cheryl. “But he didn’t.”

  “Well, he can take them out to the ranch later. I don’t need to run to Brock Kelly’s just to deliver rolls.”

  “We always deliver to Brock, and he’s got a group of kids to feed tonight.” Nana straightened and patted Cheryl’s cheek. “Off you go. Play nice.”

  “No, wait.” The excuses were running thin, but this last one would be the winner. “What if you have another episode?”

  Nana grinned. “Ethan heads out to the camp five days a week, and he leaves me here while he’s gone. Don’t worry, love. I’ve got people looking after me.”

  And so Cheryl’s presence was…pointless. Busted, E. The charade was up.

  “Go on, girl.” Nana pushed the stack of bakery boxes into Cheryl’s arms. “And I mean it about being nice. Brock’s a good man.”

  Cheryl let the insinuation hang. Not worth arguing about. Growling under her breath, she held her gaze on Nana for longer than necessary and then spun toward the door. It took less than five minutes to pile the boxes of fresh-out-of-the-oven rolls into the backseat of her car. She moved to the driver’s door, but an itch on her shoulder gave her pause.

  She had at least fifteen welts covering her arms. Mosquito bites. Turns out Brock had been telling the truth—she’d Googled deadliest animal on the planet. Yep. The mosquito. Followed by man. Interesting, if not appalling, and apparently not a pair of useless facts. Shutting the door she’d held partially open, she crossed Main Street—which doubled as the highway—to the Outdoor Adventures shop. Surely they’d have a strong repellent.

  Her side trip took ten minutes, because old Harvey recognized her and thought they should catch up. Keeping her answers vague and short, Cheryl let him think she was glad to be back and then made an exit with the excuse that “Nana really needs this errand done right away.” Armed with the strongest bug spray Harvey stocked, she set her little rental toward Kelly’s Ranch.

  The grounds were quiet as Cheryl pulled in. Where were all these children who had apparently revamped Brock
’s priorities?

  It took a bit of a circus act to arrange the six boxes first onto the hood of her car and then in her hands, which made her glad no one was around, no matter how mysterious the emptiness of the place was. Making her way into the lodge was a whole other show. She hooked a finger around the pull on the main doors, tugged until she could slide a foot into the passage, and then shimmied herself, plus boxes, through the passage that seemed eager to shut.

  “Hello?” she called into the dining hall.

  Nothing.

  “Delivery here. Fresh bread.” She continued moving toward the doors at the back of the large room. Surely they led to the kitchen. She paused at the swinging doors, taking another look around. Nobody home.

  Whatever. She’d leave the bread and go back to town.

  Using her backside, she pushed into the swinging doors.

  The kitchen sat empty. Stainless steel counters stretched across the work area, spotless as they gleamed under the florescent lights. She moved to the closest end and unloaded her awkward delivery. Boxes secure on the counter, Cheryl paused to inhale the doughy goodness. So tempting…

  “Whatcha got there?”

  A scream escaped from Cheryl’s throat before she could swallow it.

  Brock laughed, moving toward her from the back door Cheryl hadn’t noticed.

  “Jumpy?”

  “Brock, you jerk.” Fists curled at her side, Cheryl silently told her pulse to calm down.

  “Jerk?” He continued to chuckle. “I live here, remember? You’re the one breaking and entering.”

  “Am not. No one answered, and Nana insisted that you needed these rolls now.”

  “That was quite a performance, getting that stack of boxes in here all on your own.”

  Punk. “Nice. Thanks for the help.”

  “And miss the show? Never.” Brock stepped closer. Grinning, he gripped her shoulders and leaned around her to inhale. “Hot out of the oven? That’s a nice changeup.”

  “Don’t they always come fresh?”

  He snorted. “No.”

  Nana. The little stinker. Cheryl ground her teeth. Heat crawled up her neck, which was irritating. “Okay, well this has been fun. Bye.”