Second Chance - 03 - Blind Trust by Terri Blackstock
“That’s not what that means,” Wes said.
“Yes, it is, Wes, and you know it.”
Silence held between them, thick and uncomfortable, and finally, Wes came back to the chair and sank back down. “It’s hard, Sherry. Maybe if Mom was still alive, if I could see the two of them make peace, maybe it would be easier. But she’s not here, and she never had the satisfaction of seeing his repentance.”
“But you have, Wes.” She slid partially up in bed, intent on making her point. “Remember when Laney was nothing more to you than Amy’s birth mother? Remember when she found out Patrice was dead, and that Amy was being raised without a mother? She said, ‘Amy has a mother, so she doesn’t have to grow up without one.'”
“Yeah, so?”
“It’s the same with us. We have family, Wes. We have a father. Your kids have a grandpa—and he’s the only one they have. Let him be a part of your life. It won’t take anything away from you, Wes. It’ll only make your lives richer.”
Wes’s eyes were wet as he rubbed his hands down his face. “I’ll think about it, Sherry. That’s the best I can do.”
“That’s enough for now.”
Later, Sherry got up and walked down to the waiting room where so many of her friends had gathered. She saw Madeline and Sam, Wes and Laney and the kids, her father, and even Erin, the pilot.
She hugged them all, giving a special, lingering hug to her friend and roommate. “If a person has to get kidnapped, Madeline, you’re the one to do it with.”
Madeline laughed. “Actually, it was kind of fun.”
“Fun?”
“Well, not the dangerous part. But we met some nice people.”
Everyone broke into laughter, and Sherry shot Clint an amused look.
“So I guess you’ll be getting married and moving out of my house, now? Leaving me high and dry without a roommate?” Madeline asked.
“I’ll miss you,” Sherry said with a grin.
“I don’t do well alone, you know. I like having people around. I’ll probably resort to talking to myself …”
“You can get another roommate.”
“Who?”
Erin, the pilot, stepped forward then, her eyes narrowed as she thought over the possibilities. “Are you really looking for a roommate?”
“Yes, I really am,” Madeline said. “Do you know anybody?”
“Well, as a matter of fact … I have a roommate—a flight attendant who’s almost never home—and we just got notice that our apartments is being converted into a condo, and neither of us wants to buy. If you could handle two roommates …”
“Are you kidding? We’d have a ball! I’d love it!”
“Well, neither of us is home that much, but you should probably know that I won’t be flying any more covert operations. Commercial flights only.”
“Let’s do it,” Madeline said. “I’ll take you right over and show you the house, and if you like it, I’ll help you move as soon as Sherry moves out …”
Sherry gaped at her. “Are you trying to rush me out?”
“Yes!” Madeline said. “You and Clint need to start your new lives, anyway. And they have to find a place to live!”
She watched, laughing, as the two women left with Sam, both of them talking ninety-to-nothing.
When they were gone, she turned back to the others left in the room. Wes and Laney sat awkwardly in one corner—the baby sat in Wes’s lap, smiling at all the activity, and Amy leaned against her mother. Across the room, Eric Grayson sat alone, rather awkwardly. He got up, and took a deep breath. “Well, I guess we’ll all sleep well tonight. I’ll go on home now.”
Sherry shot a look to Wes, silently pleading with him to make peace with his father now. Wes sat unmoving, and his gaze drifted to his sneakers.
“I’ll see you all later,” Eric said, pressing a kiss on his daughter’s cheek. Then he started out of the waiting room.
“Dad?” It was Wes’s voice, slightly hoarse, and Eric turned back. His face betrayed how moved he’d been that Wes had called him that.
“Yes, son?”
“How’d you like to come have a bite somewhere with us? We haven’t eaten yet and … well, my kids really need to get to know their grandpa.” His eyes misted as he spoke.
Eric stared at him for a moment as his face reddened, and Sherry could see how he struggled with the emotion taking hold of his face. “I’d love to do that,” he said.
Laney’s smile was huge as she got to her feet and handed Eric his grandson. “Can you say ‘Grandpa’?” she asked the baby. He grunted something and smiled at the man who looked so much like his father.
Sherry and Clint walked them all to the elevator, said their good-byes, then stood watching the doors as they closed. “I can’t believe that,” she whispered.
“Me, either,” Clint said. “It was a miracle.”
“God is so good.”
Clint turned her around. “Do you really believe that? A couple of days ago you had lost your faith … you said it was self-betrayal. Do you still believe that, Sherry?”
“No,” she said. “I was angry, and lashing out. Thank goodness God is still faithful even when we’re faithless.”
In the throes of sleep in her hospital room later that night, Sherry struggled with the colliding images ranting through her mind like faces in a haunted house. Paul’s face and the cold, cruel glint of his gun; the dead boy on the bluff; the fire that had been meant to consume her and Clint; the navy hooded jackets; the pain of betrayal that was not really betrayal. But on the heels of the horror came an unyielding Bronco to chase her down and rescue her from her grief. And the horror was gone.
She opened her eyes and Clint—still sitting in the chair beside her bed—smiled down at her. It wasn’t all a dream. He was here, and no matter what had transpired before this moment, now was what mattered.
“I love you, Clint,” she whispered.
“I love you too, baby,” he said, stroking her hand. “Go back to sleep.”
“You won’t leave?”
“Not until you push me away,” he said.
“Then you’ll be here a long time, Superman.”
“That’s my plan,” Clint said with a smile as he leaned over to kiss her. “That’s been my plan all along.”
And, finally, Sherry knew that faith that she had almost abandoned. No longer would it be a flimsy bit of selfbetrayal. It would become the backbone of her secure world. A world she had fought for and won. The cornerstone of their little square of paradise.
About the Author
Terri Blackstock is an award-winning novelist who has written for several major publishers including HarperCollins, Dell, Harlequin, and Silhouette. Published under two pseudonyms, her books have sold over 5 million copies worldwide.
With her success in secular publishing at its peak, Blackstock had what she calls “a spiritual awakening.” A Christian since the age of fourteen, she realized she had not been using her gift as God intended. It was at that point that she recommitted her life to Christ, gave up her secular career, and made the decision to write only books that would point her readers to him.
“I wanted to be able to tell the truth in my stories,” she said, “and not just be politically correct. It doesn’t matter how many readers I have if I can’t tell them what I know about the roots of their problems and the solutions that have literally saved my own life.”
Her books are about flawed Christians in crisis and God’s provisions for their mistakes and wrong choices. She claims to be extremely qualified to write such books, since she’s had years of personal experience.
A native of nowhere, since she was raised in the Air Force, Blackstock makes Mississippi her home. She and her husband are the parents of three children—a blended family which she considers one more of God’s provisions.
ENJOY THE NEXT BOOK IN THE SECOND CHANCES SERIES
Broken Wings
Chapter 1
If not for a minor car accident that
The persistent ringing of the doorbell penetrated Erin’s thin, shallow sleep, and she opened her eyes and sat up. Through the haze of grogginess, she realized she had fallen asleep on the couch, wearing her faded jeans and an old sweatshirt. There had been too many ghosts to sleep in the bed. The couch kept her from falling too deeply into sleep from which there was no escape once the dreams started.
The doorbell rang again, and Erin stood up and looked around, prepared to destroy any evidence that she’d slept on the couch. People were already beginning to question her mental state. But then, she was beginning to question it, too.
Pushing back her sleep-tousled hair, she stumbled to the door and opened it. The man she had seen waiting outside Frank’s office last night stood before her, clad in an ivory sweater that deepened the rough tan on his seasoned face. “Yes?” she asked.
“Miss Russell?”
“Yes,” she said again, irritated.
“I’m Addison Lowe. I was in Mr. Redlo’s office last night … “
“I remember, Mr. Lowe,” she cut in, crossing her arms with a decided lack of tolerance. “I hope you found my conversation with my boss interesting.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I had an appointment.”
“Regardless,” she said, still blocking the door with her body, “you listened to a private conversation that was none of your business.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Russell,” he said.
“Wrong about your listening? You don’t expect me to believe—”
“No,” he said. “Wrong about it being any of my business. It’s very much my business. It’s my job to know when a pilot’s stability is waning, though I generally find out after it’s too late.”
All the murky grogginess in Erin’s head vanished, and molten fire rose up in her eyes. “I beg your pardon.”
Addison reached for his wallet, handed her a card. “I’m with the National Transportation Safety Board, and I came from Washington to investigate the crash.”
“The National Transportation … “ The words faded off into nothingness before they were completely uttered, and a foreboding sense of panic descended. Had she really admitted to being afraid to fly in the presence of a NTSB official? Had he heard everything? She tried not to look as defensive as she felt. “What … what do you want from me?” she asked.
“I understand you were Mick Hammon’s first officer,” he said. “I thought maybe you could answer some questions for me.”
She glared up at him, weighing one consequence against another. He didn’t exactly look menacing. In fact, those dark green eyes sparkled with soul. The normal impulse would be to like him at first sight. But Erin didn’t want to like him. Not if he was the one sifting through the remains of Mick Hammon’s crash. On the other hand, she asked herself, what choice did she really have?
Sighing loudly, she stepped back from the door to let him in. She was still an employee of Southeast Airlines, after all, and when it came to an investigation, the NTSB might as well be the FBI. She looked around for signs of her emotional state that could quickly be discarded, cluttered clues that she was at her rope’s end. “You might have called first,” she said, gathering a pile of wadded Kleenex from the coffee table and rushing into the kitchen to throw it away.
“I tried,” he said. “The phone was off the hook.”
Erin swung around, saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. His green eyes probed mercilessly, seeing far too many things that she wasn’t prepared to reveal. Guilty, she glanced at the telephone, lying on its side on the counter. “I guess I forgot to hang it up last night.”
“No problem,” he said. There was an almost amused twinkle in his eyes, but beneath that twinkle lay something else. Something like … concern. “I leave mine lying around all the time. Just forget to hang it up.”
“All right.” She stared coldly at him, resentful of the way he was trying to corner her about something that was none of his business. “I took it off the hook on purpose. I was in a bad mood.” Impertinently, she held out her wrists. “Go ahead. Cuff me and haul me in.”
The deep laughter that erupted from his throat took her by surprise, and her anger began to diminish by degrees. For the first time she noticed the strong texture of his short black hair, the thick lines of his brows, and the startling contrast of those laughing, smoky emerald eyes. The corners of her rigid mouth softened, and she smiled when he rubbed his mouth, as if the gesture could wipe away his condemning grin.
“Sorry,” he said, his laughter dying. “I don’t mean to drill you. If you want to leave the phone off the hook, it’s your prerogative.”
“I appreciate that,” she said dryly.
“I’m also sorry I woke you,” he added.
She looked down at her wrinkled sweatshirt, at the jeans she’d slept in. Self-consciously, she raised a hand to her tangled hair. “I … I wasn’t asleep. I had just gotten up.”
“Had you?” he asked skeptically. The look of amusement vanished from his eyes, replaced by that annoying look of concern. Erin wished that just once in the past two weeks she could have looked in someone’s eyes and not seen concern. “Well, whatever … I realize I haven’t come at the best time. But I really need to talk to you before I can go on with my report.”
Erin turned to the coffee pot, groped for the can of grains, and mechanically began filling the percolator. “I don’t know why you have to talk to me. I wasn’t there.”
Addison shifted his weight to one hip and leaned on the counter. Subtly, the scent of woodsy aftershave drifted to her senses. “No, you weren’t there, but you were usually Hammon’s copilot, and, I hear, his closest friend at the airline. I need a lot of background on him if I’m going to come to a fair conclusion about the crash. You can give it to me.”
His words served as sparks to ignite her tinder-dry emotions, and Erin swiveled and glared at him across the small kitchen. “Fair conclusion? Are you kidding me? You just want more evidence to nail him. Why not? He isn’t here to defend himself, is he? You can say just about anything you want to about him.”
“Erin, I’m looking for accurate—”
“You can call me Miss Russell.”
“I got your name from your file,” he said, all warmth gone from his voice. He quietly assumed an authoritative tone. “And I’ll call you whatever you like, Miss Russell. As for your hysterical accusation, I am not trying to ‘nail’ anyone. I’m trying to do my job and make certain that the cause of that crash is known so that it doesn’t happen again.”
Silence continued between them for a series of eternities as the smell of perking coffee intruded on vexed senses. Finally, Erin turned back to it, poured two cups, then grudgingly added the cream and sugar he politely requested. A frown cut deep into her forehead as she handed him a mug then set a spoon in her own and stirred the dark liquid. “I don’t … I don’t want to talk about Mick with you. Or the crash. Or anything else.”
Addison sipped the coffee and leveled those poignant eyes on her again.
“You have to,” he said quietly. “If you don’t, I’ll have you subpoenaed, and you’ll have to talk about it in front of a board of my superiors. Believe me, you don’t want to do that.”
She gulped her coffee, scalding her tongue. Frustrated, she set it back down too hard. It slos
“I’ll wait,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Take your time.”
Seething, Erin pushed past him and slammed the door as she went into her bedroom.
Broken Wings
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Last Light
Terri Blackstock
Today, the world as you know it will end.
No need to turn off the lights.
Your car suddenly stalls and won’t restart.
You can’t call for help because your cell phone is dead.
Everyone around you is having the same problem …
and it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
Your city is in a blackout. Communication is cut off.
Hospital equipment won’t operate.
And airplanes are falling from the sky.
Is it a terrorist attack … or something far worse?
In the face of a crisis that sweeps an entire high-tech planet back to the age before electricity, Deni Branning’s career ambitions have vanished. She’s not about to let her dream of marriage go as well.