Sierra Jensen Collection, Vol 2 Page 10

  Sierra paused before making her promise back to him. She took this seriously, whether he did or not. Was she willing to keep praying for him no matter where he lived, no matter whom he married, no matter what he did, no matter if she ever saw him again in her life? And would she be true to that promise knowing that the emotional connection she had felt with Paul was apparently one-sided?

  “Okay,” Sierra agreed, still holding his gaze. “I’ll keep praying for you.”

  SIERRA TOSSED AND TURNED in her bed. She had barely slept all night. She and Tawni had talked until after midnight, trying to figure out the evening. Tawni admitted she and Jeremy had rigged the meeting, but they had hoped it would allow Paul and Sierra a chance to open their hearts to each other and see what would happen.

  As Sierra saw it, she was glad she hadn’t opened her heart because Paul had made it clear he wasn’t interested in her. Certainly not in the same way she had become so preoccupied with thoughts of him.

  That realization had hurt something within Sierra, something she hadn’t even known existed—a deep well of emotions from which she would have been only too willing to draw, if only Paul had asked. But he hadn’t.

  So, instead of those intense, womanly emotions having a chance to spring up, Sierra had capped them. She was fiercely embarrassed by having misread Paul’s previous signals: his pithy letters, the way he seemed to have gazed into her eyes more than once, as if searching for his own reflection there, even his humorous “Ribbit” at the Highland House. None of these communications were intended to say anything especially personal.

  Paul hadn’t given her any more hints of his interest during their final hour together. He had finished his coffee; she had finished her tea. He paid the bill, and then they went outside into the spring drizzle. They stood close but silent in the glow of the antique streetlight under the café’s blue-striped canopy.

  Sierra noticed the geraniums and said absentmindedly, “Those are Martha Washingtons. The geraniums, I mean. They’re my mom’s favorite.”

  Paul had nodded pleasantly.

  Sierra felt miserably ridiculous taking about stupid flowers. Here she had thought a whole world was open to her and Paul, when in actuality, there was nothing.

  Tawni arrived and got in the car with them, jabbering about the great deal she had found on her favorite lipstick. They had driven home.

  Paul walked them both to the door, and Tawni wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug.

  “Have a great time in Scotland,” she said. “I’m so glad I got to meet you before you left.”

  “I hope it’s a wonderful year for you,” Sierra agreed, managing one more smile for him. “Good-bye, Paul.”

  “Good-bye,” Paul said. “God bless.”

  With a final look into Sierra’s eyes under the porch light, Paul turned and took long-legged strides to his car. He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. That was it. He was gone. Out of her life forever.

  As Sierra and Tawni hashed it all out in their beds with the lights turned low, Sierra surmised a neat and convenient spiritual conclusion as to why their paths had crossed. She told Tawni what she had said to Paul, that they were brought together for a season and because of that, she had learned how to pray consistently for someone. More than that—to do spiritual battle for him. Sierra insisted, quite unemotionally, that it was a lesson well worth learning.

  Tawni apologized, saying she never would have imagined things would go the way they did. In her mind, Tawni had believed all kinds of potential existed for a long-distance relationship between Sierra and Paul. It had worked for Tawni and Jeremy; why shouldn’t it work for Sierra and Paul? It just hadn’t.

  The illuminated clock face read 5:27. Quietly rising, Sierra tucked her feet into her bunny slippers and grabbed her Bible and journal. She padded softly to the library downstairs and began to pray for Paul, asking God to protect him as he was preparing to leave in a few hours for Scotland.

  Then, opening her Bible, Sierra noticed a bookmark she had picked up at the Christian bookstore the last time she had stopped by. It said: “He puts a little heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less.”

  “That’s what it is,” Sierra wrote in her journal. “I want God’s kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth as it is in heaven. I desire God’s best. At least I think I do—I want to. So, in my heart, I hold all these treasures. They’re bits of heaven, and I won’t settle for less. I don’t know exactly how this applies to Paul, but I want God’s best for him, and I hated seeing him settle for so much less.”

  She took a deep breath and continued writing. “That season is over. The season for wondering if he felt anything for me the way I felt so deeply for him. He’s gone. I release this whole relationship to You, Father. Please don’t let me ever settle for anything less than Your best.”

  Now she was the one who felt like the prodigal. She had given in to runaway dreams with Paul, and they had taken her nowhere. She was back in her heavenly Father’s arms now—a safe place to be. Isn’t that what it said on the Highland House sign? She tried hard to remember and then wrote the words in her journal: “A safe place for a fresh start.” Sierra read the phrase again and then added, “…in my heavenly Father’s arms.”

  Sierra felt strangely calm and at peace all day at work. Randy stopped by and told her how much fun he had had serving dinner at the Highland House the night before. She thanked him again for filling in for Uncle Mac.

  “No need to thank me. I had a great time. Let’s go back there together sometime,” Randy suggested. “I’d like to keep helping out.”

  “I would too,” Sierra agreed.

  “Do you want me to pick you up for the concert tonight?”

  Once again Sierra had forgotten she had made social plans. She was really tired, but she had been looking forward to hearing this group. “Sure. Do you want to see if Vicki and Mike want to ride with us?”

  “I already asked Mike. He said they’re going out to eat first, so I told him we would meet them in front of the auditorium. A bunch of other people from school are going.”

  “Sounds like it will be great,” Sierra said, feeling a little revived after her emotionally draining night. “I’ll see you at my house later.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there at six-thirty.”

  Sierra wasn’t ready when he arrived. She had given in to a little snooze after coming home from work. Mom woke her, saying that Randy was downstairs eating dinner with them, and he said they were supposed to go to a concert.

  Springing from her bed and rattling off the details to Mom as she quickly changed into a clean T-shirt, Sierra pulled herself together. Fifteen minutes later, she and Randy were on their way to the concert. The inside of his truck smelled of cut grass and mud. She was glad she had worn old jeans in case she picked up some grass stains from the seat.

  The parking lot was jam-packed, and they had to park, as Randy said, “in Outer Mongolia.”

  “I told Mike we would meet them at the front door,” Randy said as they hurried to the front of the arena.

  They searched the thinning crowd for Mike and Vicki but didn’t see them.

  “I’ll go inside,” Randy said. “You want to wait here a few more minutes in case they’re late?”

  “How will I find you?” Sierra asked, sticking her hand in her back jeans pocket, making sure she still had her ticket.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, taking off without further instructions.

  Sierra felt a slight sense of loss as he hurried away. She noticed he was dressed nicer than usual. He had even brought her a tiny clump of wild violets, which she had hastily tossed on the kitchen counter as they were blasting out the door. She wondered if he was trying to compete with Paul’s bouquet for Granna Mae, but Randy’s explanation had been that he saw them while mowing a lawn and didn’t have the heart to mow them down.

  Watching, waiting, tapping her foot, Sierra began to feel nervous as the final few concertgoers hurried in
the front door. Surely it had already started, and she was missing it. It wouldn’t be that difficult to find Randy inside. Vicki and Mike had to be in there already.

  She turned in her ticket and slid through the door. Muffled cheers rose from behind the closed auditorium doors.

  So, what do I do? Stand around out here or go inside?

  She opted for going in. The auditorium was packed.

  People stood, applauding, and Sierra knew she had already missed the first song. Now she was irritated. True, it was her fault they were late, but why had Randy left her? She would never find him now. Slipping into an empty aisle seat next to a row of strangers, Sierra decided she could enjoy the concert and watch for Randy at the same time from this vantage point. If nothing else, she would have time “alone” to think, to finish processing her thoughts about Paul before locking them away forever.

  A spotlight hit the center stage. The band started playing as the lead vocalist leaned into the microphone, filling the auditorium with her distinct voice. Sierra immediately knew she was going to like this group. Their music could soothe her soul and keep her company as she privately sorted out her life. This was exactly what she needed tonight.

  AS SIERRA LISTENED to the next upbeat song, she felt as if all the pieces were falling into place. The lyrics of peace and hope toned down her spiritual evaluations over Paul and soothed her emotions. She began to relax.

  She watched for Randy but didn’t see him. She knew he would understand why she had come inside. Randy was always understanding—understanding and patient. And he was kind and considerate of her as well. As a matter of fact, Randy was pretty terrific.

  Thinking back on how he had handled the kids at the Highland House, Sierra found herself smiling. Randy was right. The two of them did make a great team. He willingly put up with her teasing—like that day at Lotsa Tacos when she grabbed his money.

  Sierra realized he was the kind of guy she got along with best: someone who let her be herself, yet didn’t let her dominate.

  The song came to a velvety close as the soloist drew out the last note like a single breath. The auditorium exploded in applause.

  Sierra looked around and had a curious thought. Was she the only girl who had ever misread a guy’s signals the way she had misread Paul’s? Of course not! She knew she wasn’t. Being with so many other girls her age gave her a different sort of comfort than what she’d experienced trying to talk about Paul on a logical level with Tawni. Coming tonight had been a good choice, even if she had gotten separated from Randy. Settling into the moment, Sierra started enjoying the concert much more than she thought she would.

  For the next hour Sierra swayed and smiled with the music. As the final song rolled over the crowd, the lyrics caught Sierra by the heart. Several lines were about holding on to the true friends in your life. The last few lines sliced into Sierra’s heart.

  Think of all the dreamy times

  You wished upon a star

  Who was there by your side

  When the wishing star

  Fell from the sky?

  True friends are good friends

  And hard to find, it seems

  I found a true friend

  When I stopped looking

  In my dreams.

  Sierra stepped into the aisle as the applause rose around her. Everything inside her told her to run out of there and find Randy. Maybe she was a little slow at this dating thing—“a late bloomer,” as Tawni once called her. Maybe she didn’t know a good thing when it was right in front of her nose. Randy had been there for her all along, bringing her a rose before his big date with Vicki, volunteering to fill in for Uncle Mac, and even thinking of Sierra when he pulled up that endangered clump of wild violets.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before? Amy was right all along. Sierra had been too absorbed in her dream of Paul to pay attention to the true friendship she already had with Randy.

  Dashing into the lobby, Sierra scanned the area, hoping Randy might be there looking for her. She didn’t see him. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a lone figure standing outside the front of the auditorium, right where he had left her.

  That couldn’t be Randy! Could it?

  Sierra pushed open the glass door and ran into the cool evening air. “Randy! Over here, Randy!”

  He turned, and when he saw her, a look of relief spread across his face. Jogging toward each other, they met halfway, both spouting explanations at the same time.

  Impulsively and wholeheartedly, Sierra threw her arms around Randy and hugged him. When she pulled away, Randy looked wonderfully surprised.

  “You okay?” he asked, apparently trying to read her expression.

  Sierra started to laugh, and with the laughter came unexpected tears cascading down her cheeks. She couldn’t speak.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Randy didn’t seem to know what to do with her. He stood awkwardly to the side, tilting his head and waiting for her to say something.

  “Randy,” she said, finally finding her voice, “I…” She brushed away her tears and felt all fresh and new inside. “I wanted to thank you for being my friend and for just being who you are. I think you’re a wonderful person.”

  Randy looked at her as his crooked grin spread across his face. “Did you just figure that out?”

  Sierra laughed again. She knew she didn’t have to explain anything to him, nor would he ask her to. This is where she wanted to be. Right here, right now, with her buddy Randy.

  “Do you want to go back inside?” he asked.

  Sierra nodded and brushed away the last tears clinging to her eyelashes.

  They turned to go, and Randy wrapped his big, rough hand around Sierra’s and gave it a warm squeeze. She returned the squeeze, feeling a little bit of heaven in her heart.

  Then, closing her eyes, Sierra made a wish that she would never settle for anything less than God’s best for her.

  SIERRA JENSEN TUGGED on her baseball cap’s brim and wiggled her fingers to tighten her grip on the bat. Her long blond hair poked through the back of the cap in a wild, curly ponytail.

  “Hey, batter, batter, batter, swing!”

  Shooting a glance toward her friend Amy Degrassi, the heckler in the outfield, Sierra lowered her chin and eyed the pitcher.

  “Come on, Dad,” she called out. “Give me all you’ve got. I can hit anything you can send over this plate.”

  Sierra could tell her dad was enjoying this perfect, sunny Oregon Sunday. It was Father’s Day, and he was surrounded by his family and a dozen neighbors and friends. Mount Tabor Park brimmed with families firing up barbecues, tossing Frisbees, and pushing toddlers on the swings. Only the Jensen group, with enough players to form two teams, occupied the baseball diamond.

  “Come on, Lovey!” Sierra’s Granna Mae called from her folding lawn chair planted behind the backstop. “Show me what you’re made of!”

  “I’ll show you what I’m made of,” Sierra muttered, adjusting her position. “I’m made of steel.”

  All eyes were on her. Mr. Jensen let loose with a slow-pitched, underhanded curve ball. Sierra swung and missed.

  “Stee-rike one!” Randy Jenkins yelled, rising from his crouched catcher’s position behind Sierra.

  “You don’t have to tell the whole world,” Sierra snapped playfully at him.

  Randy tossed the softball back to Sierra’s dad and wiped his glistening brow. He wore his baseball cap backward and sported his familiar crooked grin.

  “That’s my job, missy. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  Sierra liked the way Randy could handle her teasing and dish it right back. Ever since they had attended a concert together a few weeks ago, Randy had come over or called her every day. She loved the attention.

  His family had joined hers for this picnic celebration, and Randy’s dad hollered from his spot on third base. “Let’s go, Sierra! Bring me home, Slugger!”

  With a glance at the player on third, Howard Jensen pitched the
ball right over the plate. Again Sierra swung too late.

  “Hey, I wasn’t ready!” she squawked. “That shouldn’t count.”

  “Stee-rike two!” Randy bellowed.

  Sierra shot him a fierce look and choked up on the bat. With a slight sway, she watched her dad catch the ball, grind it into his mitt, and wind up.

  “Hey, batter, batter, batter, swing!” Amy chanted from the outfield.

  “Hit a homer, Lovey!” Granna Mae called.

  “Right here. That’s it,” Randy muttered. “Send that baby right into my mitt, Mr. J.”

  Sierra ignored them all. She didn’t blink as the ball came toward her. In perfect motion, she swung. The bat connected with the softball, and a beautiful SMACK sound filled her ears. Dropping the bat, she took off running for first base, not daring to look where the ball was flying. Tagging first base, she charged on to second with a quick glance at home plate, where Mr. Jenkins had arrived safely and was now cheering her on to victory. A quick tap at second, and her feet flew toward third base.

  “Come on home, Sierra! You’ve got it! Come on!” Randy’s dad yelled, waving his arms. Randy stood in front of him, one foot on home base, mitt in place, eyes fixed on the outfield.

  Visions of glory danced in her head as Sierra gulped a quick breath and pushed herself off third base. She loved this adrenaline rush. If she made it home, their team would win, and she could thoroughly harass her eldest brother, Wesley, who had predicted that his team would win, especially since their dad was on the pitcher’s mound.

  Sierra pushed her leg muscles forward, her heart pounding. Only a few more feet. She felt her baseball cap coming off as she charged to her goal. Randy positioned himself like a brick wall beside home base. His arms reached up into the air.

  She blasted toward him, screaming, “Move!”

  With a final spurt, Sierra slid toward the base just as Randy jumped, reaching with his mitt. Her left leg skidded in the dirt, and her right foot caught Randy’s, pulling him down with her in a tangled heap.