A Passion Redeemed

  He loosed his hold and backed away. His tone was pleading. "Charity, please do us both a favor and go home."

  Hope surged and she grabbed his shirt, wrenching him close until their lips met. He moaned and finished the job, devouring her mouth with his own. She pressed in, clutching him with all her might. "You love me, I knew it!"

  He launched back to his side of the car, his breathing out of control. "So help me, I will hurt you if you come at me again."

  She sat up with fire in her eyes. "You've already ripped out my heart, Mitch, what more can you do?"

  He stared at her and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.

  She returned his petulant gaze. "I'm the woman you should be marrying, why can't you just admit it?"

  His tone hardened. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm marrying Kathleen. Stay away from me."

  She crossed her arms. "Stay away? At the theater, you said 'don't be a stranger.'"

  He glared. "It's a bloomin' figure of speech, code for 'stay out of my life'!"

  Her chin jutted up. "Well, I can't. I've tried, and yes, I've prayed about it too. I know it deep down in my bones, Mitchwe belong together." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "After that week in Boston, when my family thought we were married, I felt as if we were. Tell me you didn't feel it too."

  He ground his teeth. "I don't feel anything but profound frustration and anger, two things that seem to go hand-inhand with you."

  "You're lying. I know you still think about me. . . our engagement, our kisses-"

  He swore under his breath and started the car, veering away from the curb. "You're the one who's lying, Charity, again. It's a pattern with you. You lied and ruined my life two years ago, lied to win my heart, and then lied to become my wife. Now you tell me you've turned over a new leaf, given yourself to God." He shot her a hard look, raking her with his eyes. "Then you have the gall to sneak into my car and try and seduce me-"

  "No! I didn't come to seduce you, I swear! I came to talk, and that's the truth."

  He gunned down Ambrose Lane and squealed to a stop, keeping the engine running. He gave her a cold stare. "The truth. As if you have any earthly idea what that even is. Lies or truth, it's all the same to you, isn't it, Charity? As long as you get what you want."

  Fear thickened in her mouth and she put a hand to her throat. "No, Mitch. Maybe before, but I've changed, I promise. My faith in God has changed me."

  "Yeah, I see how you've changed. Hiding in my car, lying in wait like some tart ready to throw yourself at me, with no regard for my fiancee, me, or God. Your so-called faith is nothing more than stubble and chaff. Always has been, little girl. Psalm 83. Read it sometime."

  Her voice shook. "Please, just one more chance, Mitch. You have to believe me."

  "Sorry. Lying seems to be a fatal flaw in your personality. Get out."

  She blinked, anger fueling her desperation. She lifted her chin. "Well, I may be a liar and a tart, but you're a liar and a fake. Lying to yourself that you'll ever be happy with Kathleen, pretending you love her when I'll wager it's me in your thoughts at night."

  Her words barbed him with the truth, and heat stung the back of his neck.

  She appeared to sense their effect and moved closer, gently touching his arm. Her face seemed so innocent in the lamplight, her eyes so wide with hope. "You love me and want me, Mitch, I know it. That's why you're really angry, isn't it?"

  Heat engulfed him. He wanted to push her away, but he was afraid to touch her, afraid he'd give in. To the feel of her skin, the curve of her body, the taste of her lips.

  God, help me.

  He thought of Kathleen, and anger swept through him like a cleansing fire, burning away the lust from his soul. He stared at the woman before him and knew what he had to do. His heart was bleeding, but he had no choice. She would never let go, never let him be. Always gauging love by her standard of lust rather than God's measure of obedience. He longed to hold her and teach her, but she would never receive. His heart squeezed in his chest. Hers was a lesson only pain would impart.

  He switched the ignition off and turned in the seat, hand gripped to the steering wheel and his jaw hardened for battle.

  She lifted her face to his. Longing shimmered in her eyes. "Marry me, Mitch. I love you and I know you love me. We belong together."

  Tension quivered his cheek, but his will was as steady and unyielding as the steel beneath his hand. His voice was cold and calm. "No, Charity, it's over. Your lies have destroyed any chance we may have had. I don't want to hurt you, truly I don't. But you need to understand that any love I felt has been damaged beyond hope. I'm in love with Kathleen now."

  Even in the dark, he could see the color drain from her face. Her lips trembled open and tears welled in her eyes. She touched a quivering hand to his arm. "You can't mean that. You love me and you want me. I saw it in your eyes and felt it in your kiss."

  He was not a man prone to reining in his emotions. A lifetime of explosive temper and unbridled passions had marked him as such. But he knew if change were to come, the moment would be now, when his life-and Charity's-hung in the balance. From the moment he'd met her, she had read him so easily, his reaction to her, his attraction. And she had used it against him time after time, measuring his love by the desire she provoked.

  He had no choice but to end it all now. And so, in his mind's eye, he shut her out with a veneer of indifference so cold that he felt her shiver. His face was a mask of iron and his will a wall she would never scale. Slowly, deliberately, he removed her hand from his arm. "Love you?" His smile was not kind. "As always, you're confusing love with lust. You know, all take and no give? All heat and no heart? And, yes, I suppose in the past I have lusted after you, or at least my body has. But not anymore."

  "No! I felt it! You love me!"

  He raked her with a cool gaze. "Not love, Charity, lust ... as surely as if you had peddled your charms on Mountgomery Street."

  The breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes bled tears as she clutched at her sides. "Why are you doing this?"

  "To make you understand once and for all, little girl-the price of your 'love' is more than I'm willing to pay."

  She flinched as if he had slapped her. She shrank back, shock and fury glistening in her eyes. "You snake, how dare you treat me like this, no better than a common-"

  He arched a brow while his lips clamped into a hard smile. "Whore?"

  She caught her breath, the force of the word pressing her hard against the door. Wetness pooled in her eyes and began to spill, slicing through his heart.

  He forced himself to go on. "I told you once that what you sell, only the wrong men would buy. You came here tonight to sell your body for my love. But you've sold your soul instead. Sorry, I need a wife with both." He leaned and slammed a fist hard against her door handle. She cowered against the seat as the door wheeled open. "Go home, little girl, and leave me alone."

  She shuddered and wiped her face with her sleeve, avoiding his eyes. "My purse ... it's in the back."

  He reached over to fist it in his hands and flung it in her lap.

  The set of her jaw was hard and cold, chiseled in ice. "I despise you," she whispered.

  Her words burned like acid. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

  She clutched her purse and struggled with the door, her fingers shaking. She swung out from the car and managed to stand, teetering the slightest bit. He saw her shoulders straighten as she engaged that familiar lift of her head. Without a backward glance, she left the door wide open and moved to the porch, her back as rigid as the nerves in his neck.

  In a ragged beat of his heart, she slipped inside, leaving him alone with a gloom in his soul darker than anything he'd ever known. He touched his hand to the ignition, then collapsed on the wheel, putting his hand to his eyes.

  He'd had no choice. Not against her will of iron. No recourse but shame. And God willing, conviction. Tears stung his lids. God help her. He squeezed his eyes shut. God help him
.

  "Charity, please, come home with me." Emma stood in the door of the back room, purse in hand and her face strained with worry.

  Charity glanced up, her tone lifeless. "No, Emma, I want to stay awhile and work on these books. Tell Grandmother not to wait supper."

  Emma took a tentative step forward, wringing her coat in her hands. "You can't work late every night, Charity. You're not eating well and you're losing weight. You can't keep up with a thriving business if you don't take care of yourself."

  She flipped a page over in the ledger and forced a smile. "You know, Emma, you become more of a mother every day. Go home. I'll be fine."

  Her friend moved to the table and sat down, her fingers pinched tight on her wrap. "No, you're not fine. I don't know what's happened, but you've shut us all out. We're all sick with worry. You spend all your waking hours here, never talking to us, laughing with us. It's like you're dead inside. You can't go on like this, Charity. Talk to me, please!"

  Charity sighed and sagged back in the chair. She put the pen down and closed her eyes to massage the bridge of her nose. "Okay, Emma, what do you want to talk about?"

  "You. Why you've lost the spark in your eye, the bounce in your step. And why I've lost the only real friend I have ever had."

  Charity opened her eyes, stunned to see tears in Emma's. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She leaned forward and pressed a hand to her arm. "You haven't lost me, Emma. I'm right here. Maybe in a bit of a funk, but always your friend."

  "No, you're not here, that's just it. You go through the motions, but you're gone, empty inside. I want to know why, Charity, why you're closing out the people who love you the most."

  Charity looked down at the table, her eyes drifting into a dead stare. She saw Mitch's face, rigid and cold, heard his voice, filled with disdain. She closed her eyes and felt the hard grip of his disgust for the way that he saw her. A whore. Not worth his respect, his love, his commitment. Only his lust. Pain slashed through her and she shivered. And all this time she'd thought he loved her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears spilled down her face. She felt Emma's arms wrap around her, and she leaned into her embrace, sobs wrenching from her lips. Emma's voice was soft in her ear. "This is about Mitch, isn't it?"

  Charity heaved against her chest and nodded.

  Emma stroked her hair. "Did something happen?"

  She nodded again. Her voice carried on a broken sob. "H-he ... d-doesn't love me. He's never 1-loved me."

  Emma pulled away with shock in her eyes. "No, I don't believe that. I know better."

  Charity sniffed and blew her nose on a handkerchief. "It's true. He as much as told me."

  "When?"

  "Last week."

  "The night you left and didn't tell us where you were going? You went to see Mitch?"

  Charity looked away, her chin trembling. "I hid in his car and waited for him."

  Emma moaned. "But why? To seduce him? You promised Brady. You promised God."

  Charity put her hand to her eyes. Her voice was barely audible. "I know, but I didn't go to seduce him, Emma, I'm telling the truth. I just went to talk. But things got out of hand and ..." Her voice cracked on a sob. "Mitch was right. I am a liar ... and a whore."

  Emma gasped. "He said that?"

  She nodded, the shame thick in her throat.

  "But that's not true. We all lie ..."

  "Don't defend me, Emma, I don't deserve it. I do lie, whenever it suits my purpose. And I have used my ... affections ... to get what I want. First with Rigan, then with Mitch." She faded off into another hard stare. "Let's face it, I'm a miserable human being."

  "We're all miserable, Charity, that's why we need God's love and forgiveness."

  "No! I especially don't deserve that. I turned on him, Emma. I told him I'd live for him, and then I went my own way. I lied-to him, to Brady, and to Mitch." A brittle laugh escaped her lips. "The fatal flaw in my personality, I'm afraid, as Mitch so brutally pointed out."

  "You're being too hard. You forgave your father and Faith. It's time to forgive yourself."

  Charity sighed and reached for her ledger. "I will, Emma, in time. But right now I'd like to get into these books. You better go. Grandmother will be worried."

  "Can we pray first, before I go? Please?"

  Charity shook her head, then looked away. "I'm not ready, Emma, but I will, I promise."

  "Don't wait too long, Charity. You need God's love and grace. We all do."

  Charity nodded. "See you tonight. Bolt the door, will you?"

  She waited until she heard the click of the lock, then sighed and refocused on the books at hand. In the last week, she'd found that the store and the books were the only things that kept her mind from straying. At least days and early evenings. Nighttime was another matter. Those were the hours when her broken heart would fester with the realization she was in love with a man who would never love her back.

  She dipped her pen in the inkwell and entered another figure, pushing the thought from her mind. The felt fedoras were selling nicely. She would have to reorder. She calculated the column and bit her lip. All of her inventories, as a matter of fact, were dwindling faster than she could tally. They'd have to hire another clerk soon, maybe two.

  She looked up and cocked her head, listening. "Emma? Did you forget something?" Charity rose and walked to the curtain, pushing it aside to glance at the door. The shop was still and dark, lit only by the soft wash of the streetlamp. She moved to the front door to jostle the knob. Securely locked. She exhaled and returned to the back room, sweeping the curtain aside.

  A cry lodged in her throat as someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around, plundering her mouth with his. Nausea curdled in her stomach as her eyes went wide.

  Rigan!

  He laughed and pushed her toward the table, a wicked grin distorting his face. "Burning the midnight oil, my dear? That's what I like to see in an employee."

  She butted up against a chair. Her heart hammered in her throat. "How did you get in?"

  He leaned close and hiked a boot up on the table, effectively blocking her in. The flash of white teeth chilled her. "Why, I have my own personal key, of course."

  "You're not welcome here. It's no longer Mrs. Shaw's store, it's mine. Leave at once or I'll call the police."

  His laughter echoed off the walls of the tiny back room. "And tell them what? That I broke into my own store?"

  Shards of ice prickled her spine. "This is my store, mine and Mr. Horace Hargrove's."

  Rigan traced a finger along the curve of her jaw, and she shivered. "You know, I've always liked Mr. Hargrove. Did you know that his wife used to teach my mother in school before she married Horace? It's true. Horace always liked me, you know. Of course, he was quite dismayed when he learned you broke our engagement. So you can imagine his relief when I told him it was back on again."

  "What?"

  His finger stroked along her collarbone. "Yes, he was bowled over too. So naturally when I told him I wanted to surprise you with the store as a wedding gift, well, he just couldn't resist. So there you have it-he sold it to me, lock, stock, and Charity."

  She had trouble breathing. "You're lying."

  "No, I assure you I'm not." He reached into his vest and pulled out a folded paper. He flipped it open, displaying his deed of trust.

  She sagged against the table while the blood drained from her cheeks.

  He smiled and returned the paper to his pocket. "So you see, darling, you now work for me. But don't worry. I have no qualms whatsoever about letting my wife work."

  Revulsion clotted in her throat. She tried to move away. He jerked her back to the table, shoving her on top. "But before we get married and you begin paying your debt on the store, there is another wage I'm afraid you owe."

  Fear glazed in her stomach. "Rigan, can we talk about this tomorrow, perhaps at dinner? I'm very tired tonight and need to go home."

  He laughed, feathering her cheek with his
thumb. "No, darling, I'm afraid this needs to be settled right here and now. As your future husband, I have a responsibility to keep you hon est. After all, if you told Mitch Dennehy that I raped you, well, naturally I have an obligation to make it right."

  She screamed and lunged to the other side. He gripped her ankle and jerked her back, slamming her hard on the table. An unholy grin spread across his face as he pinned her arms and straddled her. "Go ahead and scream, darling, no one can hear. It's just you and me ... and a debt long overdue."

  He crushed his mouth against hers and strangled her cry, cutting the breath from her throat. She gasped for air and lashed against him, but he only laughed and locked her in his hold. His lips plunged again and again, brutalizing her mouth. She coughed from lack of air. Her vision dimmed to a sickening blur. His hands gripped her shoulders and jerked, ripping her blouse down her arms. She gagged on the bile in her throat.

  Whore.

  Liar.

  She moaned and darkness swept her away.

  The wages of sin is death.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. Comprehension strangled like a fist to her throat. She gasped for air, eyes unblinking as she stared at the stained ceiling of the back room, laced with cobwebs and jaundiced with age. She attempted to draw a full breath and felt a stab of pain. Shock droned in her brain, merging with her own shallow breathing to create a surreal symphony, violated only by the creak of the door as it banged in the wind.

  She felt a chill and realized she still lay flat on the table, legs bare and clothing torn. Her limbs felt like deadweight as she tried to rise, her body stiff from the force of the wood beneath her. All at once, the memory flushed the bile from her throat and she heaved, spewing her revulsion onto the pitted floor. She gagged until nothing remained but the shame in her throat. If only she could dispel that as easily.

  But she could not. She doubled over, clenching her sides.

  Shame. Her face was branded by it. The painful legacy of Psalm 83, prophesied by Mitch that night in the car.