“Mmmhmm.”
“Is he a firefighter?”
“No. Just one of our bartenders. But he’s…well, he’s really brave. He even beat up a guy who tried to, um, well, who was here after hours harassing me.” She folded her arms. “We’re sort of dating.”
Wow. And maybe RJ was Sydney Bristow after all because she didn’t even flinch, not a hint of the knife that separated her ribs, piercing her heart.
“He’s a real live hero. I think he was in the military, but he won’t talk about it. Has a few scars—one on his neck. I saw it before his beard started coming in.”
With her words, everything inside RJ stilled.
Oh, oh…
Because York had a scar on his neck, starting at below his ear.
It was him. And, again, she knew it. She looked at Mack—York!—and watched as he bore down, scrubbing the soot from the cement, a fierce set to his mouth.
Yes. So York Newgate, action hero. A hundred and ten percent into his work…
“But that life is over. Mack is here, starting over.” She folded her arms now and smiled at RJ.
Starting over.
Huh.
Either he was undercover or he really didn’t know her.
The problem was, however, if she could find him, so could Damien Gustov. And the York she knew would never bring trouble to the front door of people he cared about.
Unless…and the thought hit her as she turned back to Raven.
Maybe he wasn’t the York she knew. Something didn’t smell right, and it wasn’t just the chemicals seeping up from the cement. “We all need fresh starts sometimes, don’t we? I think I’ll stick around for a while too.” She smiled at Raven.
Because oh, RJ was so getting to the bottom of this.
6
He could do this.
Mack stood on the sidewalk in front of the church, his heart a fist in his chest, not sure why the sight of the building—just a nondescript log structure with a bell tower and a cross on the roof—caused his breath to turn to fire in his lungs.
Just a church.
Certainly he’d been to church before.
“You comin’, Mack?” Raven stopped a few feet away from him, turning and squinting in the sunlight. She wore a jean skirt, a T-shirt, her boots, and a thin jacket. The wind caught her hair, drawing it across her face. She drew her hair back and grinned at him, her eyes warm.
This is what normal people did. Went to church. Hopefully with a cute girl.
And besides, Jethro had invited him. It seemed like the polite thing for a houseguest to do.
He could do this. This could work. He could reinvent himself and become Mack Jones.
He liked Mack. Mack was a good builder—he hadn’t realized that he had building chops, but as he’d talked through the renovations with a local contractor Jethro had hired, he understood all the steps—from the framing to the electrical—as if he’d heard it before.
So maybe he’d been a carpenter.
Like Jesus.
The thought lifted his mouth and gave him the gusto to take Raven’s outstretched hand and follow her into the building.
He let it go at the top of the stairs because he was already giving her way too many wrong signals.
Try as he might, he couldn’t get past her age. Or the fact that…well, shoot.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the other girl.
The one who kept showing up at the building site, offering to help.
Sydney. With the dark brown hair and blue eyes and yeah, there was clearly nothing wrong with him. The red-blooded male inside him was still functioning.
Mack didn’t know why—he liked Raven well enough. She was sweet and had made him a part of this town, calling him her hero and introducing him to everyone she knew.
He’d practically been MVP at yesterday’s softball practice. And he didn’t flinch once when the bat cracked the ball.
See, he was practically a new man.
And maybe if he could get Sydney out of his head, there might be room for Raven.
Problem was, after five days, Sydney had even found his dreams.
She was there, with him on the train. Speaking to him in that foreign language. Looking at him with those blue eyes as if he could save the world.
And heaven help him, in the dream he thought so too.
Last night, when he’d fallen, she’d reached out a hand to catch him.
It woke him up, left him feeling as if she’d actually been there, holding on to him, as if the dream wasn’t a nightmare but an honest-to-goodness memory.
Had he killed someone and pushed them off a train? He shuddered with the thought.
See, this was why he needed to get her away from him. The what-ifs were gnawing at him, keeping him from stepping into a life he wanted.
This small town, normal life. A home, a family, a church…
He wanted the safe and ordinary life of Mack Jones.
“Hey, Mack, great to see you. Excellent practice yesterday.” Caleb stood in the doorway of the church sanctuary and shook his hand as he walked in. Jethro had come early for some meeting and now stood way, way down in front, waving.
Oh boy.
Mack followed Raven down the aisle. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, rays of divine light casting into gleaming wooden pews. A carpeted runner ran down the aisle, but the rest of the flooring was hardwood, except for the stage, draped in red carpet, with a plain wooden cross hanging on the back wall behind the altar.
The fist in his chest tightened.
Maybe he’d had a bad experience in church.
Or maybe his inner man, the one who remembered what Mack couldn’t, knew he shouldn’t be here.
He slipped into the pew, and someone behind him tapped his shoulder. He turned. Jimbo, chief of police. “Glad to see you’re sticking around.” He didn’t smile, and Mack wasn’t sure what he meant by that. But he nodded.
Mack sat next to Raven, Jethro on the other side of him, and tried to squelch the urge to bolt.
Especially when Caleb got up on stage and welcomed him, personally, to church. He also welcomed a few other newcomers, asking them to stand.
Mack looked around and for a second froze at the sight of Sydney, seated in the back, being nudged to her feet by the woman next to her.
She was new to town? He’d thought she was a regular church attender.
And that thought added another fist to his gut.
It got weirder when he realized he knew the songs—everybody knew “Amazing Grace,” probably, but when the strains of what Caleb called an “oldie but goodie” flashed on the screen in front, the song practically leapt from his bones.
* * *
How deep the Father’s love for us…how vast beyond all measure…that He should give His only Son to make a wretch His treasure.
* * *
Mack reached out for the edge of the pew and wrapped his hand around it, his grip whitening as he mouthed the words.
* * *
Why should I gain from His reward?…But this I know with all my heart, His wounds have paid my ransom.
* * *
And now, crazily, his eyes filled, his heart thundering.
He was losing his mind.
The hymn ended, and his knees nearly gave out as they sat. He stared at Caleb giving announcements, hearing a different voice. No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him…