Terri Reed - A Sheltering Heart

She opened the door expecting to see Derek and found only Craig and Joyce standing in the hall.

Disappointment spiraled through Gwen and she forced the silly emotion down. She had no business caring one way or another about Derek’s whereabouts.

Still the anxious flutter of nerves warned her that she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she wanted to be. Not good. Not good at all.

Gwen forced a smile and stepped into the hall. “Hi, guys. Where are the other two?”

“Ned and Derek went on ahead to secure a table,” Joyce explained as they headed down the stairs.

“Boy, I’m starved.” Craig held open the door for the ladies. Gwen smiled at him as she left the hostel, liking his gentlemanly manners.

Joyce had changed into a pair of linen pants and a bright pink tank top that showed off her creamy complexion. Her dark hair curled in appealing ringlets. Craig had shaved, his young face looking even more boyish. His jeans and polo shirt could have used an iron.

They walked two blocks to a quaint restaurant called Monica’s. The entryway boasted dark mahogany wood and antique furnishings. Waiters with white aprons hustled about. Tantalizing aromas hung in the air and Gwen’s stomach rumbled.

At a white linen-covered table near the back Derek waved them over. He looked good, with his freshly washed hair and clean-shaven face, though there was nothing boyish about Derek. His broad shoulders filled out his silk blue shirt. He looked solid and sturdy. The type who liked to be in control.

Gwen hung back slightly, unsure where to sit.

Derek stood and pulled out a chair for Joyce and then turned to her. “Here you go.” He pulled out the chair next to where he’d been sitting.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she sat. Awareness tingled over her arms. She shivered.

He folded himself back into his chair. “Cold?”

She shook her head and picked up the menu. Traditional British Cuisine the top read. “This is an interesting place. How did you find it?”

Derek picked up his own menu. “Damon suggested it.”

“Get a load of this food,” Craig commented.

The one-page menu didn’t offer a great deal of choice but each dish listed was described in captivating detail, complete with its particular historical background. Gwen put her menu down. She swallowed a lump of dread. Nothing on the menu was traditional for her.

“Ooo. Calf’s liver and beetroot. Yum,” Joyce said with a wince that indicated she thought the dish anything but appealing.

A young woman approached their table. Her short spiked hair was tipped blue and one earring dangled from her right earlobe. “Ready to order?” she asked, her accent making it clear she was a local.

Each member of the team ordered something different from the traditional menu.

Then it was Gwen’s turn. She could feel the attention on her. “Do you have just fish and chips?”

The waitress sighed. “Yes.”

“Oh, come on. Try the Arbroath Smokie with me,” Derek said, his green eyes steady on her. “It’s haddock, smoked over an open fire. You’d like it.”

She frowned at the description. “No, I wouldn’t.”

To the waitress, she stated firmly, “The fish and chips, please.”

Better to go with something she’d had before than risk ordering something that she couldn’t eat and wasting the food.

Once the girl left, the conversation flowed easily enough. First with mundane get-to-know-you type things. Education, home towns and hobbies. Gwen participated a little, giving short evasive answers that made her sound an awful lot like Ned. She almost giggled, but managed to rein her amusement in.

But the small talk was wearing.

Soon the conversation turned to politics and became more animated as they discussed state issues and abuse of natural resources in the Pacific Northwest. Their food arrived and the conversation died down as they all concentrated on their meals.

“Here, try this,” Derek said as he offered her a forkful of his haddock.

She wrinkled her nose. “No. Too fishy.” Using the excuse of the fish, she backed away from the intimacy of his offering her food from his plate.

“How can you say that without tasting it?”

“I can smell it.”

“Be adventurous. Just taste it.”

“I am adventurous. You stop being so pushy.” She glared at him, but found it hard to be mad when his green eyes sparkled with amusement as he ate the bite intended for her.

When they left the restaurant, Joyce said she wanted to see some sights. Craig and Ned said they’d go, as well.

“Count me in,” Derek said. “Gwen?”

She shook her head. “I need to sleep.”

“Thought you said you were adventurous?”

There was challenge in his tone and she chafed against the need to prove to him that she could be adventurous. “We all should rest for the trip.”

“We can rest on the plane,” Derek replied. “We won’t stay out too late. Come on. How often do you get to just play?”

She felt torn between what she thought she should do and what she really wanted to do. She wanted to go, to be a part of the group, and see London at night.

To play.

But wouldn’t the more responsible, practical course be to turn in?

Of course, this could be a perfect opportunity to talk to Derek about how the group provides healing in so many ways beyond just the physical. So much was riding on this mission. She wanted to make Doc Harper proud and fulfill his wishes. She wanted to be a good leader.

“All right. Let’s go.”

The group set out. Ned, Craig and Joyce led the way while Derek walked along with Gwen. She and Derek lagged slightly behind the others. She found herself relaxing and enjoying his lively humor as she took in the sights—the spectacular Tower Bridge spanning the Thames, the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben.

His stories of growing up on Bainbridge Island, where his parents still resided enthralled her. It sounded so Leave it to Beaver-ish. So far removed from her own experiences as a homeless teen.

“Someone in the office said you’re a world-class marathon runner.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had some success.”

She waited, expecting him to expound on his successes. He didn’t. She liked that. She forced herself to remember why she hadn’t returned to the hostel. “The place we are going in Africa is very far removed from the rest of the world. You hear so much about AIDS in Africa, but malaria cases are more rampant worldwide. For many, Hands of Healing is the only hope of medical care they have.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the importance of why we’re going,” he stated softly.

No, she supposed she didn’t. He was his father’s son after all, but then why did Dr. Harper feel it necessary to ask her to promise to try to make Derek see that the healing they brought went beyond the physical? Shouldn’t Derek already know that?

“Tell me more about you,” he said.

“Not much to tell. Born in Portland, Oregon. Went to med school at OSHU in Portland. Pretty boring really,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t push for more details.

She didn’t share the pain of her childhood with anyone, let alone a man who had a perfect upbringing with loving parents. He wouldn’t understand.

The group stopped in front of a large cathedral. The spire rose heavenward and was lit from within. The big stone structure made Gwen feel small and insignificant against the history and power of faith that the building represented.

“We should get back before we all turn into pumpkins,” Joyce announced on a yawn.

Everyone agreed and returned to the hostel. As late as it was, Gwen didn’t feel exhausted or tired. She could have stayed out all night and been fine. The time spent with Derek and the others had been unexpectedly fun.