Lost & Found Love Read online

  “Except I’m about to give you some truths I don’t often share.” Tabby sucked in a shaky breath. “Please, sit down. I need you to understand, so maybe we can find some way through this.”

  Joe came back and dropped down at her side. Wrists balanced loosely on his knees and hands hanging, he tilted his head to look at her. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  Tabby drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. After taking another deep breath to calm herself, she began. “My…father…was a rigid, religious man. I grew up in a small church that believed in a very literal interpretation of the Bible. The man was the head of the household in all things. Spare the rod, spoil the child, and all of that. Ever since I can remember, we were in church on Wednesday evening and, it seemed to me, all day on Sunday between morning services, Sunday school, and the evening preaching. Women and girls wore dresses. We were not to cut our hair. If that were all there was to it, Joseph, I could’ve dealt with it and moved on with life.”

  She touched his cheek and saw such tenderness in his expression that it made her ache. “Do you like what you’ve seen so far of my painting of you?” she whispered.

  “The sketches are incredible,” he acknowledged.

  Tabby shifted and worried her lower lip. “You saw the other painting, right?”

  “The one that looked like Dante’s vision of hell.” Joe stared at her intently in the waning light. “The one you tore up.”

  “Yes. Joseph, I don’t paint pretty pictures. Every artist has an eye—I guess you’d call it. For writers, it would be their voice. What you saw on the easel that first day? That’s my voice. It’s been my voice my entire life, and my father made me pay the price for that every day I lived there. “

  Joe took her hand in his again. She couldn’t mask its trembling. “Tabby, I believe we are all given gifts, like your art and my singing, and it’s up to each of us to choose how we use those gifts. What I believe is wrong is to deny what God gives us. If your muse inspires those paintings, then there must be a reason for it.”

  Tabby felt like a door had opened in front of her, but it was so hard to take that first step. She stared into the warmth of his blue, blue eyes and wondered if she was about to lose something precious before she’d even held it in her hand. “I can’t change my art,” she whispered. “It’s part of me, and I have to get it out on canvas.”

  “Is that why I heard you crying that one night?” Joe asked.

  She nodded, realizing now she hadn’t fooled him. “Yes,” she replied, then rushed on. “As long as I can remember, I’ve had the most fantastic images in my head and the overpowering urge to get them on paper. What I didn’t understand then was how regimented everybody seemed to be about what was appropriate for children to draw.”

  “This sounds a little like that Harry Chapin song.”

  Tabby tilted her head. “What song is that?”

  “‘Flowers are Red.’” Joseph hummed the tune, but Tabby had never heard it and shook her head. He sang the refrain. “Flowers are red young man/ Green leaves are green/ There's no need to see flowers any other way/ Than the way they always have been seen….”

  He stopped and laughed a little self-consciously. “It’s a story of a little boy who goes to school. He draws with all sorts of colors all over his paper, but because his colors don’t fit everyone’s expectations, he’s punished and forced to conform. Eventually, he stops seeing things in his own unique way.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “Is that what everyone tried to do to you?”

  She nodded. He understood. For the first time in her life, she felt like someone actually got what it was that drove her.

  But the fact remained. He was a minister. People had expectations of him.

  “It’s okay, Tabby,” he reassured her.

  “I didn’t understand what was wrong to begin with. Between the school thinking I was some sort of psychotic mess and my father believing I must be in league with the devil to draw such dark images, I began to feel I was defective.” She took a deep breath. “My father thought I was evil. He brought the preacher and all the deacons to pray the demons from me. It started when I was six.”

  His arm tightened around her shoulders. “When did it stop?”

  She ducked her head. “When I was twelve. When I hit puberty. I think they just decided I belonged to the devil, or maybe I finally convinced them they’d succeeded in purging my demons. I had become adept at hiding what I considered to be my ‘real’ art. I did the standard landscapes and pottery projects at school, like everybody else.”

  “Just like that little boy?” Joseph turned his head, a slight, understanding smile on his face as he gazed at her.

  “Pretty much. So the minister and the deacons quit coming by each week, but that didn’t stop my father from dragging me to church. No one would sit near me. None of the other children were allowed to play with me or even talk to me. I guess their parents thought I would corrupt them or contaminate them in some way. How stupid is that? I should be ostracized because I paint what comes from my heart?”

  She lifted her chin and stared at him defiantly. “It’s hypocritical, Joseph. I won’t set foot in a church. Not any church, not even if you’re the man in the pulpit. So you can see why I don’t date ministers. You have a certain code you must live by. People have expectations not only of you but of anyone you’re linked to. I understand that, but I can’t live up to those expectations. I won’t live up to them.”

  Joseph twined his fingers with hers, lifted her hand to his mouth, and kissed the back of it. “I can understand how traumatizing what you went through must have been. You want people to see you for you: a person who, while certainly an artist, is not only an artist. Your art is a part of you, but you are not only your art. Would that about sum it up?”

  Again she nodded. He gently squeezed her hand.

  “May I not also ask the same of you in return?” His voice was quiet, his tone gentle.

  His softly spoken question hung in the air between them. At once, Tabby realized that in his own, quiet way, Joseph had brought her own logic to bear on his situation.

  She let her head fall forward, and closed her eyes briefly. “Why me?” she finally whispered.

  His chuckle was a breath on the night air. “I’m not sure I have a choice in this, Tabby. It’s simply what I feel. I am in awe of your talent. I enjoy your company.” He twisted so he could tuck a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “You are beautiful, and I just want to get to know you better. Look at me, Tabby. See me with that keen artist’s eye of yours and know that what I feel will only lift you up, not judge you or confine you in any way.”

  She trembled. He had opened a doorway that all she needed to do was step into. Could someone accept her as she was, without trying to change her? The lure of that, the temptation, was overwhelming. Her mother had accepted her unconditionally, some of her art professors had, but no one else. Now Joseph offered it with open arms.

  And she could no longer resist. He pulled her into his lap. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his cheek. Peace filled her. Tabby leaned back, and her gaze met his warm blue eyes.

  “I have nothing to hide from you, darling,” he murmured. “Let me in. Give us a chance.” He touched his lips to hers, one hand softly cupping her cheek as he explored. Tabby trembled at the feelings that gently probing kiss aroused. He didn’t take, he invited, offering her an amazing gift of himself.

  Her belly tightened in wonder and fear. In addition to the heat she saw in his eyes, was the stubbornness in his chin. This was a man who would neither give her up nor allow her to be taken from him. The door had opened wide, and all she could see was warmth and welcome.

  “Joseph, you barely know me.”

  “I know enough.”

  This time when they kissed, the gentleness was gone. Passion replaced it. As his tongue traced the outline of her lips, Tabby moaned softly. His kiss was more than she had e
ver imagined, and it made her insides flutter.

  He smoothed her hair and brushed along the length of her jean-covered thigh. Her heart raced, and her breath erupted in shallow gasps at the heat and heaviness his touch produced. Tabby’s fingers slipped beneath the open collar of his polo shirt to touch the heated skin beneath. This time it was Joe who groaned.

  They stretched out on the warmth of the granite boulder. Tabby burned where they touched, not at all sure she was ready for the feelings Joseph had awakened. The rigid pressure of his erection pressed against her leg, and she began to shake. What if he didn’t like what he saw? What if he figured out she had no idea what she was doing? She had barely even kissed anyone.

  As if he sensed her fears, Joe leaned over her in the darkness and gently kissed her one more time. “I won’t push, Tabby. I should take you home before we can’t stop,” he murmured. “You have school in the morning.”

  His concern warmed her and frustrated her at the same time. Just how did that happen?

  Chapter 5

  Memories of Joseph’s kisses still lingered the next morning as Tabby warily entered the main building of Mountain Meadow’s middle and high school campus. She sent up a silent prayer that the middle and high school classes would turn out to be better than the elementary classes. While her colleagues were more liberal in their views, Tabby discovered some parents had already called to have their children removed from her classes.

  Was this all because she’d arrived at school the first day in her bicycling pants? There had to be something else going on, but if there were, she wished she knew what it was so that she could fix it.

  She had a wonderful chance here to start over.

  At least one familiar and friendly face greeted her. Tyler was in her third period class, a mixture of sixth and seventh graders. She started them off with her own version of pre-testing by having them complete pencil sketches of several geometric figures, then a line drawing of a still life. It gave her an idea of how developed their fine motor skills were for the first unit she planned to teach. She was pleased to see Tyler had a good eye for both line and perspective. He needed work in learning how to shade and finish a sketch.

  “Good job, Tyler,” she praised as she walked by.

  “Thanks, Miss MacVie.”

  She heard another kid murmur, “Brown noser,” before Tyler whispered back, “Kiss my a—”

  “Tyler…” she interrupted quietly.

  “Sorry, Miss MacVie.”

  At the end of the day, Tabby wasn’t sure whether things truly had gone better, or if she was still basking in the afterglow of her evening with Joseph. She had thought about him several times during the day. Even now, her hand shook slightly when she thought of his kisses, and how he’d patiently drawn her out. It was that, even more than the kisses, that made her blush. He’d been a perfect gentleman bringing her home. He’d held her hand in the car. After they pulled into his drive, he walked her to her door, kissed her on the cheek, and told her good night. His actions were as polite and circumspect as anyone might want from the town’s most eligible minister. However, Tabby had felt the heat of his gaze, heard his whisper against her ear that he couldn’t wait to see her again. And the way he made her feel wasn’t circumspect at all.

  As she tidied up the room for the day, her principal knocked at the door. He was a tall, spare man who had years with the school system and laughter lines around his eyes and mouth. Tabby admired the rapport he had with the students.

  “Good afternoon, Miss MacVie. How was your first day on our campus?”

  Tabby flushed. “I was pleased with how things went overall. I hope you were too.”

  He smiled. “I have no complaints.” He picked up one of the drawings that her high school students had completed and arched a thick brow at her. “Pre-testing in art? I like it.” He drew up a chair and sat down as he flipped through the sketches. “Tell me some of what you’ve learned about your students.”

  Tabby’s fingers knotted nervously in her lap. She did not come from a background that allowed her to talk to men, any men, with confidence, so it was always a struggle. “I have a lot of students who have some excellent technical skills. They have a wonderful eye for perspective and basic line drawing, but are not well grounded in shading and filling in nuances that make a sketch come to life.”

  “How will you address that?” he inquired.

  “I plan to set up objects in arrangements that use strong artificial light from one direction. That will provide excellent contrasts between light and dark to teach them to see the light and shadows. Then I’ll demonstrate some specific shading techniques for them to try.”

  Dr. James set the sketches down and smiled at her. “You have some sound ideas, Miss MacVie.”

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced sideways at her. “I suppose you know I’m not in here just to make conversation.”

  Tabby swallowed, clenching her fists in her lap. “I guessed as much,” she whispered.

  Dr. James leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and clasping his hands. “We are a small school system in a small community. People sometimes have a difficult time adjusting to anything or anyone they perceive as different. Unfortunately, you have already gained that reputation. I would hate to see it affect your work. Please understand, as long as your work within the walls of this school is above reproach, you have my complete support. In my opinion, who you choose to entertain or date is your business. The students are my only concern.”

  Tabby met Dr. James’s steady gaze. “Thank you, sir.”

  He squeezed her shoulder briefly, then left the room.

  Apparently, the cycling pants weren’t the problem. People were already talking about her and Joseph. Tabby frowned and bit her lip as she looked out the window into the courtyard. Had Joseph already heard any of these rumors? It seemed they would have to talk about that.

  Her first concern, though, had to be her job. She knew she’d made a bad impression at the elementary school, but perhaps she could change that tomorrow. After packing her belongings and tidying her desk, she headed home. A big black Tahoe was parked out front when Tabby pulled into the drive. In the shadows of the porch, she saw someone curled on the swing.

  Blond-haired and petite. For a heart-stopping moment, the woman reminded her so much of her mother Tabby nearly fainted thinking she was seeing ghosts. But she was cautious this time around and stopped several feet away from Jenny Richardson.

  “Your cat was keeping me company until right before your car turned the corner, then she disappeared.”

  Tabby stared at Jenny before blurting, “Wh-why are you here?”

  Jenny ran her hands over her stomach with a faint grimace. “To apologize. I read the letter from Mama. It’s hard to readjust my feelings about her in such a short time after thinking about her in a certain way over the last twenty-three years, so I hope you can understand that. However, I also realized I was pushing those feelings about her on to you, and you’re the most blameless in all this mess.”

  Tabby thought about how often her mother had tried to protect her from Tommy, clutched the porch railing, and transferred her gaze to the front yard as she muttered, “Maybe not as blameless as you might think.”

  Jenny shifted her position as if trying to ease the ache in her back. Tabby looked at her sister again, noting the curiosity, but also the fatigue in her older sister’s face. How different her life might have been had someone as assertive as Jenny been there to help Mama and her.

  “When’s the baby due?” Tabby asked.

  “Not long.” Jenny smiled wanly. “Not soon enough.”

  Tabby cast around for something to say to ease the awkwardness she felt. “Mama used to say when women carried low like you they were having a boy. Are you?”

  Jenny’s expression changed to one of surprise. She patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, Tabby. Mama used to say that, huh? She’d be right in this case.
I’ve known all along we’re having a son. I just didn’t tell Evan. We were both going to be surprised, but the ultrasound tech accidentally left a picture in the file that left no doubt about little Peter’s identity. Don’t say anything to Evan, though. Okay?”

  Tabby nodded. Silence stretched between them, not the comfortable silence of long acquaintance, but the faintly awkward one of strangers unsure of where to take the conversation.

  “Are you always this talkative?” Jenny asked in some amusement.

  Tabby blushed. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not very good at conversation. I’m sure you gathered from Mama’s letter that my upbringing was…different.”

  “Would you like to talk about it?”

  Tabby shook her head. “I don’t mean to offend you, but I’m not ready for that.”

  “Would you at least tell me why Mama said I should call the police if Tommy MacVie showed up in town?”

  “He’s threatened to kill me if he ever finds me.”

  Tabby said it matter-of-factly because she truly believed that was his intention. Too much bad blood lay between them. For years she hadn’t understood. Not until that letter, when Mama admitted Tommy wasn’t her father. By then, all Tabby had felt was relief.

  Jenny’s shock, though, was obvious, but there was something else too. Her sister rubbed her forehead, as though her head ached. Tabby glanced her way, trying not to make it obvious. Her sister looked like she’d gained weight in just the couple days since she’d seen her so briefly.

  “Do you feel all right, Jenny?” Tabby asked.

  Her sister sighed. “Just wanting this pregnancy over with.”

  Tabby looked Jenny over more closely, remembering their neighbor who’d gotten so sick when Tabby was a teenager. The ambulance had had to rush her to the hospital. Tabby narrowed her gaze on her sister’s face, then moved to her hands and feet.

  “I know you’re a doctor and everything, but Jenny, you’ve changed in just a couple days. Your hands and feet are swollen. Your face looks puffy. You’re complaining of a headache. We had a neighbor like that, and she was really sick. Like an ambulance came and picked her up sick.”