To Love Again

By Darryl Matter

Christian fiction: Sam Garrison was a hard-drinking brawler before he became a Christian. When Barbara, the woman he loved, dumped him for another man, Sam wasn't sure he'd ever love anyone again. Then he discovers that Barbara has been abandoned by her boyfriend. Can Sam love her again or find love elsewhere--that is if Barbara's ex-boyfriend, a psychopathic fire-bug, doesn't kill them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darryl Matter
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005820909

Darryl Matter

Hello,I'm an ancient, long-retired college professor who likes to write stories. My educational background is somewhat varied. I first earned a B.S. Degree in Mechanical Engineering with a Management Option. The industrial management and psychology classes interested me in human behavior, and I eventually earned a Ph.D. in Human Development. In addition to writing stories, my interests include reading and stamp collecting.I grew up in a rural Kansas community, and I now live with my wife in a retirement community. I appreciate each of my readers, and I thank you for reading my stories. Furthermore, I encourage each of you to write something of interest to you and then publish it--to share with the world.Being the antique person that I am, the tech-side of publishing doesn't come easily to me and I appreciate the support staff at Smashwords.Again thank you for your interest in my stories.Sincerely,Darryl Matter

Book preview

To Love Again

Christian Fiction by Darryl Matter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2021 by Darryl Matter

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

To Love Again

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

* * * * *

Prologue

Lisa McCormick trembled with terror, her eyes wide with fright as she watched from her window, watched the screaming, drunken mob descend upon her neighbor's house. Moments later, she saw them drag her friends, fellow missionaries, from that house and proceed to hack them to pieces with machetes. Someone brought up a can of gasoline, and once the mob had ransacked the house, they set it on fire.

The small building they'd used as a school house was visible just beyond her neighbor's house. As she watched, helpless to do anything about the carnage, Lisa saw that the school house was in flames.

It seemed incredible to Lisa that her life should be ending this way. She'd come to Montomba, Africa, just four years ago, came here to teach in the small mission school after she'd earned her Master's Degree in psychology, and now was about to pay for that venture with her very life.

She and the two other missionaries who had started the school were fearful that this would happen. Ever since General Enotro and his drug lord-financed rebels had overthrown the elected government a few weeks ago and made plans to rename the country, there had been terrifying reports of looting and violence throughout the land, especially against Christians. Once the revolution was complete and his hold on the country secure, the general had vowed to kill all of the foreigners remaining in his country. He'd enlisted the impoverished rural villagers to carry out his evil desires, fueled them with liquor, and incited them to do his bidding. Lisa knew there was no reasoning with them, no stopping them.

Although the three missionaries knew that their very lives were in danger, there was absolutely nothing they could do to protect themselves. The telephone and electric services throughout the country had been destroyed during the revolution, leaving them no way to communicate with the outside world. No gasoline was available for their vehicles even if they'd dared to travel, what with the reports of bandits on the roads and in the surrounding hills, and there was no place for them to hide. None of the villagers to whom they'd ministered could protect them for fear of their own lives.

The mob was coming her way now, surrounding her house to make sure that she could not escape. An even colder chill swept over Lisa as she recognized two of her former students in the forefront of the band of drink-crazed natives. She could expect absolutely no mercy from them. Please God, Lisa prayed, as tears of anguish welled up in her eyes, let me die quickly.

CRASH! BANG! SMASH! The front door to Lisa's small house was easily broken down. Two husky men dragged her outside and into the yard, beating her with their fists and tearing at her clothes as they did so. THUD! A rifle butt smashed into her chest, knocking her down. Then, while the man with the rifle held her down on the ground with the rifle butt pressed firmly against her neck, threatening to crush her windpipe if she made one move to resist, the other assailant raised his blood-stained machete above her ankle, ready to hack off her foot.

Just as the thug raised his machete, however, a battered Jeep roared out of nowhere and skidded to a stop in front of her house. The man in the passenger seat immediately sized up the situation and opened fire with his assault rifle. BAM! BAM! BAM! . . . BAM! BAM! BAM! Lisa's assailants died instantly, but not before the heavy machete slashed deep into her ankle.

Through the searing pain in her ankle, Lisa sensed a big man spring from the rear of the Jeep and sprint toward her. While his buddys in the passenger seat and behind the steering wheel blazed away at the approaching mob, killing a number of them and sending others running for their lives, the burly man carried her to the vehicle, seemingly oblivious to the bullets flying in their direction, and placed her beside him on the back seat.

As the driver quickly spun the Jeep around and roared off in the direction from which they had come, the man tended to her badly injured ankle, trying as best he could to stop the massive bleeding, using the supplies in the first-aid kit they'd found in the Jeep. She'd already lost a lot of blood. He hoped they could get her to a hospital in time to save her life--and her foot.

As Lisa slowly regained her senses, she managed to gasp through her pain, Who . . . Who . . . are . . . Who are you?

Do you remember a friend of yours from college by the name of Christina Garrison? the big man asked in response, his voice calmly reassuring.

Oh, y-yes?

Well, Lisa, I'm her big brother. You probably don't remember me, but I'm Sam Garrison.

They'd only met once briefly while she was in college. Sam had been attracted to her then, and Christina had encouraged him more than once to ask Lisa out, but he'd been dating a woman by the name of Barbara Cooper at the time. He'd thought he was in love with Barbara, thought she was in love with him, too, but then she'd dumped him--dumped him hard for another man. Oh, yeah, Sam remembered Lisa well, remembered her flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes. It was just that after Barbara dumped him, Sam hadn't wanted anything to do with girls. Still didn't.

You . . . You . . . were . . . in . . . in . . . the . . . the service. It hurt to talk.

Yeah.

A . . . Mil . . . Oh! Ooohhh! Lisa gasped with pain.

Sam put his arm around her. Held her close to him. A Military Policeman? Yeah, I was for a short time. Later, I worked in Military Intelligence.

I . . . I . . . 'member . . . you . . . an' . . . I . . . I'm . . . so . . . glad . . . you . . . came . . . to . . . help . . . me, Lisa whimpered, gritting her teeth against the pain as she talked. His arm around her was so comforting. It was as if an angel band had come for her, and she knew that everything was going to be all right.

Yeah, me, too. I wish I could do better by your ankle, but we'll do our best to get you to a hospital in Uganda where they can patch you up and then we'll get you back to the United States where they can put you back together. That's what we're trying to do with Christina.

Where . . . Where is . . . Ch . . . ? Talk was getting more and more difficult for Lisa. She hoped Sam could understand what she was asking.

Where's Christina? Sam finished her question.

Y . . . Yes?

She's in a hosptal in Uganda, Sam replied. She's hurt pretty bad.

I . . . I'm . . . so . . .sorry. Wh . . . What hap . . . ?

A tribal conflict broke out where we were a few days ago, Sam explained. It was bad. A lot of people were killed. We got caught in the crossfire. Christina got hit in the head with a chunk of shrapnel. It knocked a big hole in her skull. Just about killed her. We got her to the hospital in Uganda and the doctors there are trying to get her stabilized and keep her alive until we can get her back to the States. It was while we were there that Christina heard what was happening in Montomba, remembered you were there, and figured you might need some help, so I got two of my friends to come with me and we borrowed this Jeep from a Uganda army base. Sam chuckled. That last statement was almost true. The truth was, they'd stolen the Jeep. Well, the Uganda army could have it back when they were through with it.

Lisa slumped against Sam and he held her against him, comforting her as best he could, as the Jeep bounced over what had become little more than a rutted mountain trail. Before long, though, they reached a Uganda border checkpoint manned by three well-armed men in uniform.

If they give us any trouble, kill 'em all, Sam growled, as they approached the guards. There was no time to waste. They'd fight their way through that checkpoint if necessary.

The three men in the Jeep readied weapons, but the Uganda border guards took one look at them and the Jeep and waved them through, probably not knowing just how lucky they were for not having caused trouble for the occupants of that vehicle. Half an hour later, Sam carried Lisa into the hospital, weak and hurting badly, but still very much alive.

Chapter 1

Five years later

Lisa McCormick nervously paced about her room, pausing only momentarily to look out the window at the darkening city, now being illuminated by street lights, several colorful neon signs, and still-occupied office buildings. Usually, the bright city lights thrilled her, but not tonight. Another glance at her watch reassured her that Sam's plane was due to be landing any minute now. He'd call her once it was on the ground. Maybe then she could relax.

She wasn't quite sure why she was becoming so nervous when Sam was out of town on one of his business trips, as he called them. Maybe the reason was that Lisa knew those trips often took him to dangerous trouble spots around the world. Oh, he'd assured her that he wasn't doing the really dangerous work he once did for military intelligence, but that didn't completely allay her worry. She'd seen for herself just how quickly a seemingly peaceful countryside in a third-world country could turn murderous.

Christina worried about Sam, too. Lisa knew that. It wasn't just Sam's travels that concerned both women, but also the activities Sam engaged in from his office here in the hotel where they all lived, activities that nobody talked about. Few people knew what Sam actually did behind the closed doors to his office, but both Lisa and Christina knew enough to know that those activities could get him killed.

When Sam was away, Lisa and Christina usually ate dinner together each night in the hotel dining room. Sometimes they made a special effort to do other things together, too. The companionship helped both women focus on something besides Sam's absence.

Tonight, though, it was Lisa's turn to worry by herself. Christina was out of town, attending a convention. She'd be back tomorrow.

As she waited impatiently for Sam's call that evening, Lisa reflected again on just how much Sam really meant to her. He'd put himself and two of his buddies in extreme danger to get her out of Africa, and he'd taken exceptional care of her since that time, at tremendous financial expense to himself. Furthermore, Sam not only had encouraged her to enroll in and eventually complete a doctoral program in counseling psychology, but he'd financed that educational program for her, as well. For those wonderful acts of kindness, and the money he'd happily spent with her, she would be eternally grateful, of course, but there was more. Much more. The truth was, she'd admired Sam from the moment she'd met him back when she and Christina were in college together. He'd seemed so caring and--

Jin-gle! Jin-gle! The melodious jin-gle! of Lisa's ringing phone interrupted her thoughts.

Hello?

Hi, Lisa. It was Sam's voice. At last!

Oh, Sam! Lisa exclaimed, breathing a sigh of relief as she responded. Thank goodness, you're home!

Yeah. I'm at the airport. Had a good flight, too. Just got off the plane.

I'd really like to see you, Sam. Can we have a cup of coffee together when you get here?

Umm. Lisa caught the hesitation. Lisa, I've got to make a stop on my way, so it'll be later tonight before I'm home. Will you still be up?

Of course, she'd still be up. Yes, Sam, I'll be up. Call me whatever time you get free. Okay?

Okay, then, I'll give you a call when I'm on my way.

Sam sounded tired. Maybe she shouldn't have insisted on seeing him then. It wasn't, Lisa thought, as if she had any special reason to see him that night. At least, there wasn't a special reason that she could admit to herself just then, let alone admit to anyone else. She just wanted to see Sam.

* * * * *

Sam Garrison paused outside the disreputable bar in the impoverished and dilapidated neighborhood and looked around. It was a little too cold that night for many people to be loitering on the street, but a boisterous group of teens was beginning to gather on the corner where they'd set a trash barrel on fire for warmth. They were clapping their hands together and stamping their feet in an effort to keep warm. Sam would guess that the drug pushers would be out soon. Things could turn violent at the drop of a hat in a neighborhood like this.

A red and black neon sign in the darkened window of the nondescript bar beckoned him inside. He didn't especially like going inside that bar, but if his source was correct, that's where Barbara Cooper now was spending her nights. Had been for the past several weeks, he'd been told. Maybe longer. Sam hoped he was early enough that she wouldn't already have had too much to drink. He didn't want to have to talk to a drunk.

It wasn't that Sam was a stranger to disreputable bars. Before he became a Christian, he'd downed whiskey, gambled, and brawled his way through sleazy bars from Indonesia to Africa to Argentina and back again to the United States. Now, he didn't even have a desire to drink or gamble. God had taken those desires away from him.

It seemed like Sam's very demeanor had excited a brawl whenever he walked into most bars. Maybe that was because he looked like a cop, and at six-six and two hundred sixty pounds with a barrel-like chest and massive shoulders, he became a target for any thug who had a gripe against cops, and that included most thugs. Not that Sam had minded the brawls. Bring 'em on! He could hold his own against any street punk.

Tonight, though, Sam was on a rescue mission. With another furtive glance around the neighborhood at the aging apartment buildings, the graffiti, and the teens gathering on the corner, Sam breathed a short prayer to ask God for help, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped inside.

The bar smelled of spilled beer and disinfectant. Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. Sam could only shake his head when he realized just how much second-hand cigarette smoke he'd breathed in bars just like this one.

Sam paused just inside the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and looked around. He quickly sized up the place, locating the exits at a glance as well as where the patrons were seated, just as he always had when he entered a bar. This might become invaluable information in case of a brawl. He wasn't looking for trouble tonight, but then he had to be prepared. His very survival might demand his being prepared for trouble.

Barbara Cooper was there, all right. She was seated by herself at a table to Sam's right, her back to a grimy wall. Her head was turned toward the television set above the bar, her hands wrapped around a glass on the table.

Sam studied her for a long moment. She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered her, except that her face now was drawn and sad, the face of a thoroughly beaten and discouraged woman. Whereas she'd always been neatly and fashionably dressed, her clothes now were rumpled and wrinkled. He wasn't surprised to see her looking that way, however, not after what he'd heard she'd been through.

Please help us both, dear Jesus, Sam prayed silently, as he walked across the room toward the young woman with the terrible sad face framed with curly hair. Even in the dim light of the bar, Sam could see that whereas her hair once was a beautiful golden blonde, it now was almost white. Stress like she'd been through will do that to a person. Sam knew that. Please help us both, dear Jesus.

Barbara looked up as he approached. Her big blue eyes widened in instant recognition. Hello, Sam. Her voice was a husky whisper. Filled with despair.

Sam smiled down at her. Hello, Barbara.

I . . . I wish you didn't have to see me this way, Sam. I'm . . . I'm sorry.

Sam ignored her self-depreciating comment. I'd like to talk to you, Barbara. Will you go for a ride with me?

Barbara sighed. Yeah, sure, Sam. I'll have to pay my tab first, though, and go to the restroom.

I'll pick up your tab. You go ahead and go to the restroom. I'll be waiting for you right here.

Sam watched her get up awkwardly out of her chair. It obviously hurt for her to move, and she still hadn't completely mastered the use of her artificial leg. That would come with time, and a lot of effort. And desire. From the looks of her, Sam wasn't sure how much of that she had left.

Once she was standing, Barbara clutched the table for support while she retrieved her cane from where she'd hooked it on the back of her chair. Only then, taking one deliberate step at a time and steadying herself on the tables and chairs, did she move across the room toward the restroom