Garrett's Gift Read online

  Her joke seemed to relieve the tension, and he took a couple of hesitant steps closer.

  Micara climbed the few steps to the front door and turned around.

  Garrett stopped just shy of the porch.

  She gave him a squint-eyed glare and opened her mouth to persuade him further, and caught a mouth full of chocolate brown hair when a gush of wind blew in out of nowhere.

  Garrett bounded up the steps. He used his fingertips to brush away the wayward strands of hair and tuck it behind her ears. He allowed his hand to linger against her cheek for a moment.

  Micara was overcome by that gentle touch. He’d shown affection before, but this time there wasn’t hollowness in his eyes. This time, real affection shone from their depths. Not exactly happiness. Garrett still needed to work out some of his deep-seated issues. But she saw absolute contentment smooth his facial features. At this precise moment, his focus seemed fixed on her to the exclusion of anything and everything else.

  She reached for the knob and opened the door. Entering the house, the smell of cedar and muffins greeted her. No better smell existed in the world.

  “Micara, is that you?” Her mother dried her hands on a towel and gave a bright smile. She still wore her scrubs and work shoes instead of slippers and more comfortable clothes, so she must have arrived home from working a shift at the hospital moments ago. Showering and changing was always priority number one. “I see you have company. I’m Lisa, Micara’s mother.”

  “Garrett Hearth. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Mom slung the hand towel over her shoulder and extended her hand. She was bubbly and overly friendly and doing a terrific job of making him welcome.

  Garrett was reserved as usual but held his own.

  One down, one to go. Micara sent her mother a smile. “Garrett is a teacher at the high school. We met at the last town meeting.”

  “Yes, you told me. Nice to meet you in person.”

  The two shook hands.

  “Where’s MeMaw?”

  Mom glanced over her shoulder and jerked her head in the direction of the back rooms. “She’s workin’ on her quilt, the one for the church raffle. You can go on back.”

  “Thanks. I want her to meet Garrett.”

  Not giving him time to object, she grabbed his forearm and pulled him down the hallway toward a large room that her grandmother used as a sewing room. Micara spent many hours curled up on the settee, either talking with MeMaw or reading while her grandmother sewed on her many projects. As a child, she’d spent part of every summer vacation with MeMaw. When Micara was seventeen and she and her mother had moved in with the older woman, it had been a dream come true. All her best memories centered on Sweet Home. She rapped on the door and pushed it open. “MeMaw?”

  Her grandmother’s back was to the door, her head bent close to the quilting frame. A bright lamp illuminated the area in front of her. She didn’t look up from her work.

  Racks of red-and-white cheerleading uniforms hung in one corner. Little girls’ beaded socks were spread out on a table top. MeMaw brought in a comfortable living making school spirit clothing for Sweet Home students. She also sold her quilts, nap mat covers and matching pillows, and some christening outfits—even custom wedding dresses, by request.

  “You give this woman a needle and thread, and she’ll work miracles.” Micara raised her voice and winked at Garrett.

  That captured her grandmother’s attention. “Micara, who are you talking to? Oh, hello.”

  “MeMaw, this is Garrett Hearth. I invited him in to meet you and Mom.”

  The older woman stuck her needle in a tomato pincushion and stood. “Call me Mary. So you’re one of the Hearth kids?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Behind her, stacks of fabric climbed the wall. A pegboard held a rainbow of colorful spools of thread organized by shade from darkest to lightest.

  “I attended school with your father. He was a couple of years younger than me, good man. I’m sorry you lost him so early in life. I prayed a lot for your family.”

  Garrett’s swallowed hard. “I appreciate that. He was loved by a lot of people. Mom, too.”

  A moment of silent remembrance passed before her grandmother continued. “My older sister, Cara, babysat your mother. She thought she was big stuff whenever she was in charge. She’s probably up there in Heaven right now, bossing your mother around and taking good care of her.”

  Micara smiled at MeMaw’s sweet story. She always knew what to say to comfort someone in a mournful situation.

  “But it comes as no surprise how many people loved them. They lived in Sweet Home their entire lives. Your parents loved this town and everyone in it.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at Garrett. “I wonder…did you know that if you go down PR 147 ’til you get to the large oak tree on the side of the road—right before the barbed wire fence ends and a wooden fence begins—that you’ll find their initials carved into the trunk?”

  Garrett’s eyes glazed over. He must not have known about the initials.

  “That’s the back side of this property, but it was the front before they moved the house to the other side. Every July fourth, my family hosted a town picnic. All the young folk would dance in the big barn. Your parents met at one of those July fourth dances and carved their initials in the tree. No one in our family could bear to tear it down, so we just built the fence around it. We put that tree on the inside, so everyone would know we didn’t want it cut down. Like most treasures in this town, it still stands.” She paused long enough to return to her chair and motioned for them to take a seat too. “For a little while longer anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Micara had never heard this story.

  “The Browns—you know them, they own the property on the other side of the road—are selling their land. They saw the developer’s plans and told me they were going to pave and widen the road. If that happens, whether or not we sell, we most likely will lose the oak tree. They can widen the road without our permission.” MeMaw paused for a moment as if carefully choosing her next words. “I thought about seeing if the tree could be taken up by the roots and re-planted closer to the house. It’s so large and so old, I don’t know if that would be possible. Until then, I’ll just keep on prayin’. Ain’t nothing I can do without prayer anyway.” Then she smiled and sighed. “Sorry to get so deep. I’m an old softy.”

  “I had no idea about any of this. Thank you for telling me about it.” Garrett’s voice sounded hoarse, shaken. A strange expression shadowed his face again. He stood and smiled at MeMaw. “I hate to run, but I need to get home. I need to write up some lesson plans for next week. It was nice to meet you. Goodnight.”

  Micara could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. She prayed that connections were being made that would make his decision to sell even more problematic. Peeling back the layers of truth was often painful, but that is exactly what he had to experience before he could make his choice.

  Her grandmother had talked about praying for the Hearth family. But tonight, with the stories she told, MeMaw was the answer to Micara’s desperate prayer.

  9

  Sunday morning dawned, bright and cloudless. Garrett lay in the middle of his bed with the sheet pooled around his waist. Sleep still held him partially in its grip. His first thought as he came awake was that his feet felt like blocks of ice. With a quick movement, he grabbed the corners of the sheet, popped it up, and let the air underneath settle it into place. His cell phone lay on top of his to-be-read book pile on the nightstand. He grabbed it and checked the time. Too early for a single man to be up when there was nowhere to go and no one to see.

  But there was someone he wanted to see.

  A sinking feeling clawed at his stomach. His budding relationship with Micara was too much to hope for, and he didn’t want to dream. Wishing and dreaming terrified him because love and happiness could disappear in an instant. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.


  He picked up the top book in his pile and ran his hand over the cover. John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row. He had finished reading it for the third time several nights ago. The first time had been in college as an assignment. If ever there was a story of hopelessness, this was it. And he understood completely. The people in the novel dared to dream. But if he allowed himself to dream, he wanted to be sure it would not be ripped out of his hands this time. He wanted to believe in what Micara had said, but trusting God again was hard.

  After Micara’s grandmother told him about his parents, he doubted his decision to sell his land. Changing his mind about this would mean coming to terms with everything in his life. Was he ready?

  Ridiculous to think God was at work in his life and had brought him and Micara together…wasn’t it? The doubts he was having…where were those coming from? But he knew the answers to those questions—and they were both Micara. She had a role in all of this. He just hadn’t figured it out yet.

  He tossed the book onto the bed where it landed on the sheet without a sound. He let out a loud sigh, rubbed his face and groaned out loud. He needed to go somewhere…anywhere.

  He hauled himself out of bed and prepared to leave, his mind still mulling over everything that had happened in the past few days. Skipping breakfast, he headed to the old oak tree. Maybe being close to it would help him make the decision about the land.

  Kneeling under the tree, his father’s words came back to him. You gotta have God if you want your relationship to last. He’d said that when Garrett made the decision to ask Jayanne to marry him.

  Trees know that better than anything. They always grow straight for the goal, and they grow bigger and live longer than anything else.

  Was that what he needed? God?

  The sound of tires bumping along the road caught Garrett’s attention, and he smelled the disturbed dirt as a car pulled to the side of the road. This road was a dead end. It led to nowhere. He turned his head to see who was out in the middle of nowhere with him.

  Micara, of course. She must be here to see him. What other reason could she have to come all this way?

  She wore her hair up when she worked outdoors. Today it was free, and the wind tossed it around her face. The dark tresses caught the sunlight, the resulting sparkle reflected in her bright eyes. Micara’s beautiful spirit shining through. She was light and goodness.

  The allure of Micara Lee was growing stronger. After Jayanne, no woman had ever truly touched his heart. He’d dated and even had a couple semi-serious relationships but walked away from each of them unscathed. He doubted that would be the case with sweet Micara. She was different. She was special.

  And Garrett was falling for her—hard.

  He didn’t know how to stop it even though he wasn’t good enough for her.

  Her flowing skirt danced in the wind. Bracelets adorned one wrist. This was Sunday, so she must be dressed for church. Her beautiful heart shone through, making her skin luminous and her countenance brighter than the Texas sun. Knowing her was changing him…for the better. She made him consider that life could begin again as it did for her at seventeen.

  She knelt beside him on the ground, not seeming a bit worried about getting her skirt or her bare legs dirty. She didn’t say a word, but those big, brown eyes smiled right into his heart.

  “My parents spent their last years on earth trying to reach me.” He opened his mouth, and the words spilled out. “They never lived to see me as a happy, accomplished person.”

  She smiled. “They’re still working on it, and they will get that chance. They may not be here physically, but they’re alive in your heart. The ones we love are never more than a prayer away.”

  He turned back to the tree and traced the block letters with his fingertip. When his parents met and fell in love, they took a chance that everything would work out. The initials should have caused him pain, but they didn’t. Instead, he read them as a sign that his parents were thinking about him. Their roughly scrawled initials were a symbol of young love and that there could be love in his future. He couldn’t deny how he felt about Micara. They were new and maybe a little shaky right now, but even this massive oak started out with a seed, like all other trees. Given the right conditions, it would grow without limits. Straight up toward Heaven.

  Trees know that better than anything. They always grow straight for the goal, and they grow bigger and live longer than anything else. His father’s words echoed again in Garrett’s mind.

  What would happen to his and Micara’s budding relationship if he sold his property? Could it be uprooted and replanted, or would it die?

  “Micara, you know about plants and trees. If they widen the road, can this tree be moved?”

  Her chin dropped, and he knew her answer before she gave it. “A tree this large and old would be almost impossible to relocate. Once you dig into the root system, the chances of it living…well, they’re slim to none.” She patted his arm and then looked over the initials carved about four and half feet from the bottom. “But you could always cut out the middle section of the trunk and put it in a garden to preserve the carving.”

  He nodded and then lifted his forehead straight up at the sky through the branches of the tree. This situation was just like the so-called progress Micara warned residents about. Once something that mattered was gone, getting it back was nigh on impossible. Sure, it might be moved or framed or otherwise preserved in some way, but …it was never quite the same.

  Micara stood and dusted off her skirt and legs. She missed several places but didn’t seem to notice or care. “I’m on my way to church. I’d love it if you’d come.”

  He peered up at her. The sun behind her cast a glowing haze. He stared for a moment in silence. He hadn’t stepped foot in a church since he’d injured his knee, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no. His tight lips gave way to a partial smile. That was all the encouragement she needed. She grabbed the hand he used to shade his eyes and pulled. He remained grounded. She pulled harder and managed, to his great surprise, to scoot his bottom a couple of inches.

  “Whoa, girl! I don’t need a grass stain on my jeans.”

  “Then get up, you big lug.”

  He liked this playfulness between them. He didn’t know if he deserved it, but he sure could get used to it.

  ~*~

  The large brick-and-metal structure boasted a packed parking lot, but Garrett and Micara were the only people outside the church. Their visit to the tree had put them a few minutes behind. They neared the front doors, and music from what sounded like a live band drifted out to meet them.

  Garrett’s feet felt mired in mud. Did he want to do this? He glanced at Micara, and one bright smile swept away his doubt. He reached for the door, but it swung open.

  A young man smiled and offered them programs. They were late, but not too late. The band was playing, but no one was singing yet. Folks meandered around, shaking hands and giving hugs. The aroma of coffee from a pot on the back table filtered through the air. A variety of donuts and a selection of creamers and sugars were positioned next to the coffee.

  Lots of familiar faces—and within moments, many of them rushed to Garrett’s side, welcoming him back as if he’d only been on a short vacation. No one said a word about his long absence. He appreciated their tact. Now was not the time to go there. Maybe not ever. He just wanted to be accepted.

  Micara led him to a seat on the far side. Thankfully, she didn’t sit front and center.

  “Where’s your family?” He searched the rows for her mother and grandmother.

  “They prefer the traditional, early service over the later, contemporary one.”

  Once seated, he scanned the crowd for people he knew. A few rows up, he spotted his brother, Gabriel. Slade wasn’t with him.

  Doubts pounded in his mind yet again. He tried to shake them off.

  After a few minutes, the lead singer stepped up to the microphone, and the congregation stood to begin the music service.

&nbs
p; So different from the way he remembered it. When he’d last attended, music had consisted of a lady with a piano and a humble choir. Projection screens hadn’t been on the walls then, either. And the wooden pews he remembered had been exchanged for free-standing chairs. The changes made for a friendly, casual environment. He felt new, yet comfortable.

  The pastor led them in prayer after the worship service; then everyone took their seats. The message that morning struck a chord—something Garrett remembered well from his church-going days. No matter what the preacher spoke about, it always seemed to be aimed at him and whatever was going on in his life. Today was no exception.

  The lesson dealt with trusting God to be the ultimate Leader, no matter what a person’s plans for his life might be. The pastor related the story of Joseph, one of the biggest dreamers of the Bible. Now there was a man who had big plans for his future. No matter what horrible misfortunes befell Joseph, God still came through. Nothing could stop God’s plan. That much Garrett understood.

  But what if the desire of a man’s heart wasn’t God’s plan? The preacher covered that, too. Many passages in the Bible expressed trust without guarantees. Life was full of disappointment. Garrett knew about that.

  Micara reached over and patted his hand. Ahhh…he was tense enough for her to see. His back was rigid and ramrod straight. The muscles in his neck flexed. He gritted his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt. And her hand…her warm and comforting hand brought him back from the hyper-focused state that held him captive. Micara’s touch made it melt away.

  Back from that deep place where he took everything the preacher said and applied it to his own worst memories, he became aware that Micara wasn’t patting his hand solely for comfort.

  The congregation was in prayer.

  His head lowered, but his eyes remained open, his gaze fixed on her hand. “Amen.” He mumbled the word after Micara, though he hadn’t heard a word of the prayer.

  “Before we dismiss for the day, I’m turning the floor over to Micara Lee. She’ll give us an update on the next town meeting.” The pastor unhooked his microphone and descended the steps to join the congregation.