the storm itself.”
“Yes, I guess that must be it. Or the damage they do.”
He wanted to ask her what caused her fear, but he knew that it must be personal. She hid it from prying eyes. She covered her tears with jokes.
“Thank you for coming back...?” She gave him a meaningful look.
“Max St. James,” he offered.
She gave him a thoughtful look. “St. James. Melody’s brother?”
“Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to go now. Will you be okay?”
She lifted her tea but didn’t take a drink. “Of course. Embarrassed but okay. And if you could do a girl a solid and not tell everyone that you found me cowering in a corner...”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
He left her to her tea and her memories. He knew that he would most definitely see her again. The two of them were on a committee together. She just wasn’t aware yet. As he left the wedding chapel, he wasn’t sure how to feel about spending more time with her. The last thing he wanted to do was make more connections in Hope.
His plan had been to buy back his family ranch and make a quick exit to Dallas. But it seemed like God had other plans for him. He hoped God understood that the last thing he needed were complications.
Sierra found a chair and pulled it where she knew the sounds would be more muffled. In a moment the helicopter would take off.
“Brace yourself,” she whispered. She shuddered at the thought of being dragged into the past by memories that would feel too much like the real thing.
She knew the mechanics of the flashback. The fear would trigger a response in the brain. The images would flash and she would confuse past and present. She would relive the smells, the sounds, the horrors of the accident, of being taken captive, of watching from a distance as her only source of help flew away, unable to locate her.
Coping mechanisms. She needed her coping skills. She held the cup of warm tea, keeping the aromatic blend close to her face.
Cup in hand, she stood, knowing she couldn’t fight this fear cowering in a corner. She marched out the front door of the barn just as the massive helicopter whirred to life, the rotors spinning and the engine winding up to lift the monster vehicle off the ground.
She could see the men inside, the pilot with his headset, the passenger who stared out the glass door, making eye contact with her. From the distance he held her gaze. She remembered the color of his eyes. They were the oddest mixture of moss green, brown and gray. Dark eyes but with a light that reminded her of sunshine filtering through a forest canopy. He had short, curly hair, lean, suntanned features. He knew how to control situations. It came naturally to him. He also knew people. He’d immediately seen the fear in her expression.
She knew people, too. Her job in the army had been human intelligence. The irony had been that she wasn’t particularly good with people. She was a loner by nature. And yet she’d been very good at her job.
The man holding her gaze was not the enemy. As the helicopter circled, he waved. She waved back. She wouldn’t get lost in memories.
As the helicopter cleared the tree line, she began to breathe. She had survived. Making her way to one of the patio sets on the wide stone-tiled front porch, she sat on the wrought-iron chair, and enjoyed the scent and the sounds of country life. The horses grazing in the field, pulling at the drying winter grass. In the distance a tractor moved a big, round bale of hay.
Peace, that’s what she’d found here, in Hope. Peace was what she felt a short time later as she retrieved a cup of tea and returned to the front patio to sit and make notes on future events that would be held at the venue. She had a meeting scheduled for four o’clock. In her current state of mind, she almost hoped they would cancel.
Time slipped away as she worked, sipping on tea that had grown tepid. She glanced up when she heard a truck coming down the gravel road from the main house. It stopped and Isaac West jumped out, shoving his hat down on his head as he did. She turned and headed for the front doors of the building. He followed close behind.
“Why are you here?” she asked as she headed to her office.
He caught up with her. “What? I don’t look like the kind of guy who just shows up.”
“Not generally.”
“I am the kind of guy wo can be here for a friend.”
“Go. Away.” She took a seat behind her desk and picked up a file. “St. James/Barton Wedding” she’d written across the front. Max’s sister.
Melody St. James was twenty-five, had been dating Andrew Barton for five years and had her wedding planned to the last detail. That made Sierra’s life strangely complicated. When a young woman had been dreaming of her special day for years, it was difficult to help her match reality to her fantasy wedding.
It dawned on her then why Isaac had appeared at just the right moment to bother her. “He sent you, didn’t he?”
“He?”
“Max St. James. That’s how you arrived at just the right time. Of all the interfering...”
Isaac cleared his throat. “Did you get off to a bad start with my old friend?”
She ignored the question.
“I don’t need to be checked on. I’m very capable of taking care of myself.”
Isaac kicked back in the chair opposite her and had the nerve to put his booted feet on the corner of the oak desk that happened to be her pride and joy. It was an antique, passed down through generations. Not generations of her family, but a family.
“Get your feet off my desk,” she growled.
He quickly moved his feet to the floor. “Are you okay?” he asked, showing his serious side.
“I’m fine.”
He studied her. “It wasn’t a bad thing he did, caring enough to call and have someone check on you.”
“He doesn’t know me. It was intrusive. I’m not sure why he felt he had a responsibility to call in a welfare check on me.”
Isaac’s expression went from serious to amused and she was thankful. Amused, she could deal with.
“You’re so prickly sometimes.”
“I’m not.” She opened the wedding file. “I’m fine and I have work to do.”
“Right.”
She looked up, seeing the skeptical expression of a man she considered a friend. “I survived it. There, that’s honesty for you. I can admit that it took me by surprise. It’s been at least a year since I’ve had a flashback. But I’m still standing and that’s a win.”
“That’s always a win.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated.
“I never said you weren’t,” Isaac said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.
Sierra sat back in her chair. She rubbed her hands down her face and sat silent for a moment, face buried, trying to think of something that would put his mind at ease. “I heard the helicopter, but I held it together. I was nice to a child. I made sure she was safe.”
“If you were nice to a child, that’s a definite win.”
“You know I’m not fond of them. And this one—” She shuddered. “She’d been outside and she had that outdoor kid smell. You know the one.”
“Yeah, I know.” He leaned back, deceptively relaxed.