Over Her Head (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 489) Read online

  “You’re making two weeks sound like a short time,” she said, recognizing a con job when she saw one.

  “I know, but think about this. Not only would I appreciate your coming along, the Lord will too.”

  “Did you ask Him?” She sent him a half-hearted grin. “Do you promise to never darken my door again with another request?”

  A lengthy silence filled the room, and the look of guilt settled over his face. “I. . .I don’t want to promise never. But how’s this? I’ll really try to never ask you for a favor like this again.”

  “That makes me feel much better.”

  His chuckle joined hers. And though she hadn’t agreed, they both knew she’d go.

  ❧

  Mark climbed down the ladder, then examined the ceiling. It looked good to him, but he was also aware of Lana’s high expectations. Good to him and good to her could mean two different things. “What do you think?” he asked as he rested his brush across the edge of the paint can.

  Lana turned toward him, and when he saw her face, an amused grin tugged at his mouth.

  “What?” she asked. Her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted at a questioning angle.

  “The ceiling.” He looked upward, admiring his work. “What do you think?”

  She gave her head a quick shake. “Not that. What’s the silly smile for?”

  “One thing at a time,” he said, closing the distance between them. He guided her head upward. “The ceiling? Good or bad?”

  “The ceiling looks great.” She tugged her chin to its normal position. “Now, why the grin?”

  He touched her cheek. “The war paint. It looks great on you. . .but then, most things do.”

  The feel of her soft, warm skin sent a sweet sensation down his arm, and his pulse did an unexpected jog.

  “War paint?” She fingered her cheek and backed away through the dining-room doorway.

  Mark watched her go, grinning at the splotch of hunter green latex on her cheek. He moved the ladder and eyed the can of paint the color he’d admired on Lana’s face. She had a long way to go to finish the walls. He needed to wash his brush and join her on that project.

  In a moment, Lana returned, the paint splotch missing. Where it had been, only a rosy tinge remained, evidence of her vigorous scrubbing.

  “Too bad,” he said. “You look good in green.”

  “So will you. . .when I pour this can over your head.” She sent him a teasing smile.

  “Before I tackle the walls with you, how about a break?”

  She glanced at her hands, now clean from her face scrubbing. “I suppose. . .before I’m speckled again.”

  Mark wiped the rim of his paint can with a rag, then tapped the lid onto the can with a rubber mallet. Lana did the same with the green latex, then straightened and headed for the kitchen.

  “Want a sandwich?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Sure,” he said, surveying his painting clothes before he settled into a wooden kitchen chair.

  After swinging open the refrigerator door, Lana pulled open the meat drawer and lifted out ham slices and a wrapper of cheese.

  “Can I help?” Mark asked, standing up. Lana handed him the packages, which he placed on the table, and as she pulled out lettuce and condiments, Mark got down two plates from the cabinet.

  Lana poured iced tea into glasses, tore open a bag of chips, and settled at the table across from Mark.

  He concentrated on building a sandwich, and after the blessing, he took a bite, enjoying the blend of meat and cheese. . . but even more Lana’s company. He wondered if she felt the same. Her face looked content and relaxed, and lately Mark sensed they had both grown comfortable with each other.

  “Thanks for helping me with this project,” Lana said. “Ceilings are so difficult for me.”

  “I’m enjoying the challenge.” Mark dropped a few potato chips onto his plate. “And you’ve certainly gone the extra miles for me and the teens.”

  She sat a moment in silence, her lips pursed in thought. “Odd you mention me and the kids. I’ve been giving that some thought myself.”

  “What? Going the extra mile?” And she truly had when he considered bowling, horseback riding, the meeting, and now her silent agreement to be a camp chaperone. The whole transition amazed him, and he definitely saw God’s hand working the miracle.

  “That too, but. . .no, it’s more than that.” Her gaze lowered, and she stared at her plate a moment before looking up. “I’m really enjoying the kids at the church. Maybe the difference is that it’s not my job. I’m not responsible for hammering knowledge into their heads. At the pizza meeting the other night, did you hear them?”

  “Sure. . .but what do you mean exactly?” The comment stirred individual responses in his head—Gary, Susan, and the new boy Don.

  Her eyes widened. “They were thinking.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sure, you prodded a little, but they were expressing ideas on their own. And even better, they showed interest and asked meaningful questions. Why can’t I teach like that?”

  “Don’t get down on yourself,” Mark said, letting his hand slide across the table to capture hers. “We were dealing with a topic close to their hearts—the Lord and their relationships to Him and to each other. I wasn’t trying to get them to put a comma in the right place or remember who was at the Alamo and what happened there.”

  “I suppose,” she said, a thoughtful frown settling on her face. “I was so pleased when Don jumped in with his comments, and then I felt terrible when the kids laughed at him.”

  “Not at him. With him. There’s a big difference, and laughter is a wonderful medicine. Do you realize how much healing takes place when we can laugh at our own failings and problems?”

  She nodded, and a faint grin curved her lips. “Lately, I’ve had to admit some of my own ridiculous idiosyncrasies.”

  He squeezed her hand and longed to carry it to his lips and kiss the soft, smooth flesh that left him feeling addled. “They’re not ridiculous. Not at all. Those qualities are what makes you you. They make you dear to my heart. They make me smile.”

  “So. . .you’re laughing at me,” she said, a lovely glow brightening her face.

  “Laughing at humanity. What about my foolishness?” He winced waiting for her list.

  “You aren’t foolish at all.”

  Her response startled him. “Sure I am. What about making jokes all the time. . .even when I should give a serious answer? What about manipulating? Not the first time, but after that, I allowed things to progress, hoping to motivate you to come along with me and the teens. . .against your will.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mark.” She leaned forward and rested her palm against his fingers. “I thought about that the other day. You know how bullheaded I am.”

  Teasing, he nodded with an extra measure of enthusiasm. Again he was taunting when he should have been serious.

  “Don’t overdo it,” she said, shaking her head at his silliness. “I started thinking about my response to stimuli. If I’m so set on doing things my own way, then why am I allowing myself to be manipulated?” She lifted her thoughtful face and locked her gaze with his.

  Mark considered what she’d said. Was she saying she chose to be maneuvered? Did she want someone to take charge and control her? He couldn’t quite believe that. “Maybe you don’t have the patience to fight off people’s exploitation.” Hating to admit the truth, he meant himself.

  She chuckled. “Patience. Now that’s another problem. No, I wonder if deep in my heart I know what is right and really want to be more thoughtful and generous. Maybe it’s just difficult to change the way I’ve functioned for so long. Sort of a pride issue. Do you understand?”

  “You mean you have to keep proving to the world that you’re tough and you can do it your own way?” He eyed her, wondering if he’d hit anywhere near what she was thinking.

  “Right. Something like that. God wants me to be humble and hear His will.” She t
urned her attention to the sandwich, lifted it to her mouth, and took a bite.

  Feeling almost as if she were talking about him, Mark let the conversation fade and concentrated on his lunch. Yet curious, he wondered if she were telling him she felt she had changed. Change seemed to sneak up on people. It did on him. . .that day at college registration he’d learned when God wanted to improve him, He didn’t sound the trumpets. Things just changed.

  Lana rose, slipping the final chip from her plate into her mouth and carried her dish to the sink.

  After Mark finished his sandwich, he brushed the crumbs from the table to his plate, then followed her. Standing behind her at the sink, he let his gaze explore her petite frame, her slender arms busy beneath the tap, rinsing the dishes with a soapy sponge. He eyed an unruly strand of hair that wanted to be noticed, and on a whim, he lifted his finger and pushed it behind her ear. . .like she did so often.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, surprised yet smiling.

  He longed to turn her around, to hold her in his arms and feel her slender body against his, but a warning harnessed his behavior. Let God’s work continue in both of them. When the time seemed right, Mark would know in his heart—and most important, he would know God’s will.

  Instead of reacting as his heart desired, he lowered the dishes into the sink and backed away, wrapped in the scent of herbal shampoo and lemony dish soap. A prayer fluttered through his mind. Keep my direction steady, heavenly Father, and guide me in the way that You want me to go. In Jesus’ precious name.

  A sense of wholeness settled over him, and he followed Lana back to the dining room, readying to paint the walls while God coated his spirit with joy and insight.

  ❧

  A warm summer breeze filtered across Lana’s arms and ruffled her hair. She lifted her fingers and pulled them through her short locks, catching a glimpse of herself in a storefront window. Her heart skipped a beat, eyeing Mark beside her, his broad shoulders and impressive height dwarfing her in the reflection.

  Lately, she’d felt smaller than usual, but not just physically. The expanse of Mark’s heart had knocked her down a peg. The knock had been her own doing. Mark’s generosity and kindness would never allow him to belittle her, but she measured herself against him as a person and found herself humbled by the experience. No, she’d not become perfect, but she sensed an improvement for which she felt grateful.

  “I hope we have nice weather like this at camp,” Mark said. He’d gained a healthy looking tan while playing basketball and volleyball with the teens in the church yard after school, getting to know them better.

  “Me too,” Lana said. “I suppose we have to be prepared for everything.”

  Mark chuckled. “Not snow. But rain and cool evenings. Bring a sweatshirt and a poncho if you have one.”

  His helpful advice left Lana with less confidence about two weeks at camp, but she’d promised herself to focus on the bright side. “I have one.”

  She paused beside him at one of the few streetlights in town. While she waited, Mark’s hand brushed hers, and to her delight, he wove his fingers through hers, giving her a hopeful glance.

  Lana didn’t hesitate, but tightened her grip to let him know she approved. She avoided looking at him for fear her emotions would show on her face. Instead, she kept her focus on the shop windows.

  “Hungry?” Mark asked.

  “Not really,” she said, knowing the relationship she longed for couldn’t be satisfied with food.

  “How about some lemonade or maybe a dessert?”

  “Lemonade sounds good,” she said.

  “Let’s try the Holly Hotel,” he suggested.

  “Good idea. They might not be busy this time of day.”

  They crossed the street, and Lana ascended the steep steps, then waited while Mark opened the door to the historic hotel where Carrie Nation, the suffragette, had taken her axe to the hotel bar. Once inside, Lana admired the carved wainscoting and enjoyed the air-conditioning that cooled her arms. In a few minutes, the hostess seated them near the front windows covered with lace curtains that filtered the view of the street.

  Lana declined dessert and sipped her lemonade while Mark dug into a slice of cheesecake with cherry sauce. She watched the red syrup escape the fork, and he licked his tongue across his lips, giving her a warm chuckle.

  “I’m like a little kid. I can’t stay away from the candy jar.”

  In her heart, Mark seemed far from a kid. He was all the man Lana wanted, even with his boyish behavior. She remained silent, enjoying the antique surroundings and the pleasant cool air while she watched him finish the dessert.

  He pushed the plate aside and took a drink of iced tea. “I’ve been wanting to get your input,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows, “about some of the team activities I could use. I have a couple ideas, but I thought you might have some others since you spend so much time with teenagers.”

  She shook her head. “I work in a classroom, and most of their activities are individual. They have group projects once in awhile, like a report or panel discussion, but that wouldn’t work in a camp setting.”

  He remained silent, his eyes focused on the white linen tablecloth. “I’ll need an ice breaker on our first night. Something fun, but an activity that needs cooperation.”

  “How about a scavenger hunt?” she suggested, remembering the parties she’d attended in her youth.

  “No neighbors here. Don’t they have to knock on doors and ask for things?”

  “You could list items they can find in the woods. Better yet, make it like a road rally where they have to decipher puzzles to figure out where to look for the next clue.”

  “I’ve never been on one,” he said. “Guess I’ve missed something.”

  She chuckled. “Nothing life shattering. Let’s see. A clue could be hidden near the canoes. Then you need to set up clues to lead them to the canoe. You might have five questions that need answers, and each answer begins with one of the letters that will spell out the location of the next clue.”

  “That sounds confusing. Give me an example.”

  She sighed. “Okay, let’s take the canoe idea. First question. What thing a day keeps the doctor away?”

  “Apple.”

  “Right,” she said. “That gives you the letter A. Now where are Christians on Sunday morning?”

  “Church,” he said.

  “Now you have the A and C. They know they’re looking for the first letter of each word. After five questions, they’ll have all the letters spelling canoe, and they shift them around until they know where to look.”

  “I get it. So what do they find at the canoe?”

  “At the canoe, you’ll have another puzzle for each team to solve. Each team figures out the solutions at different times, so usually one team is already gone before another one arrives. Road rallies are fun.”

  “And what do they get at the end?”

  “You’ll have a prize for the winning group. A special treat or reward of some kind.”

  “I like it. Could I count on you to organize that one for me?”

  He gave her one of his sweet smiles she couldn’t resist, and he knew it.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said.

  “Thanks.” He sipped the iced tea, his finger brushing away the condensation. “My goal is to teach them to trust and have faith in each other but also to learn that they can trust the Lord, confident His direction is unfailing.”

  His direction is unfailing. Lana considered Mark’s words, knowing that she really needed to listen to God’s instruction. She knew she was falling in love with Mark, but even if he loved her in return, could she offer him the support he needed or be the partner that God commanded her to be?

  Eight

  Lana glanced out the rear window of Mark’s car and saw the large bus bounding behind them. They’d left the main highway, and now the washboard road rattled Mark’s newer model car like a pair of maracas. For once her small statur
e seemed a blessing since she’d noticed Mark’s head occasionally smack the roof of the car when he hit the bigger potholes.

  Lana felt her fast-food lunch flipping around in her stomach. “You’d think they’d grate this cow path, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

  “They probably don’t want campers to get too hopeful,” Mark said, rubbing the top of his head from the previous bump.

  “Too hopeful about what?” Though she asked the question, fear settled into her well-shaken stomach.

  “Not to expect too much luxury,” he answered.

  “But what about necessity? A car’s axle is not what I’d call a luxury.”

  “Good point,” he said as he hit another jarring hole. “Camps have low budgets, I suppose. Church camps are funded by congregations’ generosity.”

  Lana shifted in her seat. “Let’s pray that the First Church of Holly will become a generous donor.”

  He grinned and gripped the vibrating steering wheel.

  Looking behind her, Lana spied the sway and bounce of the bus and felt grateful she’d been able to ride with Mark. Two parents had volunteered for bus duty, and Mark had said one car was needed for an emergency. Emergencies were now on Lana’s thankful list.

  “There it is,” Mark said, pointing through the windshield off to the right.

  Lana strained to see a group of smaller log cabins nestled in a wide semicircle beside a larger building. “That must be the office,” she said.

  “Office, cafeteria, game room, and meeting rooms, I imagine. I’ve been to a few camps in my day. They’re all about the same.”

  But as they drew closer, Lana cringed. From a distance, the rustic cabins had looked truly rustic, which made her nervous. When they pulled into the camp grounds and stopped, “from a distance” had become the best view of her two-week accommodations.

  She stepped from the car and watched the teens spill from the bus, carrying sleeping bags and duffel bags. The driver opened the rear and unloaded suitcases, boxes, and overnight bags.

  While they gathered their belongings, Mark spoke to the camp director, and soon everyone had gathered to receive their cabin assignments. As the director called names and assigned a cabin, the campers moved to the side.