Peace by Shelley Shepard Gray Page A

felt her heartbeat slow, and with it, a new sense of calm eased into her.
    Reminding her that with God, all things were possible.
    That was enough for her.
    So, even though everything that was right and true warned her against getting too close, she pushed the chair close enough to reach out and clasp his hand in hers. As she’d imagined, his palm was callused and his fingertips rough.
    But still, it felt good to hold on to a small part of him.
    He opened his eyes halfway and gazed at her. “Why are you holding my hand?”
    â€œEveryone needs some hand-holding every once in a while, Chris.”
    â€œEven guys like me?” His voice was acerbic, almost teasing. But she knew better now.
    She couldn’t help herself, she squeezed his hand slightly. “Especially men like you.”
    He closed his eyes then, and she exhaled a sigh of relief. Before she knew it, he would be asleep again, then she could sneak back out and leave him in peace.
    And attempt to figure out how she was going to tell her mother that she wouldn’t be stopping by that day.
    â€œBeth?”
    â€œHmm?”
    â€œTalk to me, would you?”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œYou. I want to know all about you.”
    â€œI’m not terribly interesting. What you see is what I am.”
    â€œWhat’s that like, Beth?” he rasped. “What’s it like to be the same person on the inside that the rest of the world sees? What’s it like to be so perfect?”
    He was wrong, of course. Most of the world saw her as a confident woman who was happy to take care of other people’s children. Who never minded that her mother had been stricken with a terrible disease far too early in life.
    The truth was she was a woman who was rapidly becoming an old maid but didn’t have any earthly idea how to change that.
    But she could never admit that. Not to herself and certainly not to him.
    â€œYou know everything you need to know about me, Chris. I’m a simple Amish woman.”
    â€œBut that’s where you’re wrong, Beth. You’re the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”
    â€œI doubt that.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t. It’s true. So, come on. Talk to me. Don’t make me guess and wonder what you’re really like.”
    It was as if he already knew. “Chris—”
    â€œPlease, honey?”
    â€œHoney?” she echoed, certain she hadn’t heard him right.
    He turned his head toward the wall. “Sorry. I’ve been calling you that in my head. It just slipped out. Do you mind it?”
    To be honest, she didn’t really know. It sounded both alluring and unfamiliar at the same time. She didn’t think she was supposed to like an endearment like that.
    She didn’t want to.
    But already, she ached to hear him whisper it again.
    Her heart felt like it was skipping a beat as she weighed the consequences.
    Scratch that. As she pretended to make a decision. Really, from the moment she’d let him inside . . . she knew she had made her choice.
    â€œI don’t mind it,” she whispered. “I don’t mind you calling me a sweet name right now.”
    Actually, she wished he’d call her all sorts of things. The tender words made her heart patter faster and her insides turn soft. They made her feel like she wasn’t an old maid—forgotten and overlooked.
    Actually, she wished she was brave enough to whisper something sweet and soft right back.

Chapter 7
    It’s as hard to forget good times as much as bad. I know, because I’ve really tried.
    C HRISTOPHER H ART
    As Chris gazed at Beth through half-closed lids, he knew only one thing could be happening: He had to be in the middle of some fever-induced, hazy dream.
    He knew the dream well. He’d experienced different variations of it at least a hundred times.
    In it, he would feel at peace. He’d feel strangely comforted and hopeful, because he was safe and