A Gift to Cherish (Road to Refuge Book 2)

by Victoria Bylin

  I couldn’t shake a sense of unease as dawn approached. Did he regret making love? Did I? Not a bit—except I felt sick to my stomach in one breath, yet completely justified in the next. We loved each other. We were both adults. Enough said—except it wasn’t nearly enough.

  Trey didn’t stir as I dressed and slipped outside to watch the sunrise. The eastern sky glowed orange with a layer of lavender clouds. It was lovely, the colors soothing and full of promise. The western sky offered no such comfort. Jagged mountains stood unmoving, silhouetted by a sky more black than navy blue.

  Trey didn’t say much as he cooked breakfast, and neither did I. Words were unnecessary. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking it too.

  Still. Married.

  But only legally. Soon he’d be free and we could put the guilt behind us.

  I consoled myself with that thought as we rode back to the house. I also did some mental calculations about what my ancestors would have called my “monthly.” I didn’t show up at the river prepared for what Trey and I had done. In other words, we didn’t use birth control.

  That scared me, but I had made a conscious decision to accept the risk. I knew my body and believed it was a safe time of the month. If I’m even more honest, a primitive force in me wanted Trey’s child. A week later, my period started. I breathed a sigh of relief and a sigh of longing, both at the same time.

  Trey was scheduled to stay another four days, and he did. We didn’t talk about the future in those nights together. What was there to say? I knew he felt guilty about making love and so did I. I tried to console him, but he would have none of it. When he left on a Friday morning, we couldn’t find words. It was the hardest good-bye we ever shared—and the shortest.

  Over the next two weeks, we went back to late-night phone calls, though we skipped occasionally. He opened up a little. Not a lot, but enough to share his deepening guilt.

  “But why?” I insisted. “We’re human. I refuse to say it was a mistake—”

  “Ah, Joanie. You just don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “What it’s like to be in my shoes right now.”

  “No, but I know what it’s like to be in mine—” I took a breath. “I love you, Trey.”

  “I love you, too.” He sighed. “This is just too hard. I want it to be over.”

  “Me too.” I meant the waiting.

  Trey meant something else, but I didn’t realize it until three weeks later, when he called earlier than usual. I was in my office when I answered the phone and heard his voice.

  “Trey! What a surprise.” I turned my chair toward the window so I could enjoy the glorious day.

  “I need to tell you something . . . something hard.” His voice dropped low. I heard a quaver in his voice and braced myself.

  “What is it?”

  “You know Kathy and I are in counseling.”

  “Yes.” To end the marriage, not to save it.

  “I told her about us.”

  “I see.” Anger swamped me. I felt betrayed, as if Trey had told our secret. Which he had. But can a person betray a betrayal? I wanted to blame Kathy for dragging things out, but I was far angrier with Trey. “So when are you coming back?”

  “I don’t know. Soon, I hope. But not until the divorce is final.”

  “Trey—” I bit my tongue.

  “I know. Same old song and dance. I gotta go, Joanie. Know that I love you, and I’m doing the best I can. It’s not good enough, and for that I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later.”

  We traded good-byes without the usual banter, then I slammed the phone down as hard as I could.

  He didn’t call the next night, so the night after that one, I was expecting his call. My anger had cooled, and I was relieved when the phone rang at our usual late hour. I didn’t have caller ID like people do now. It never occurred to me that it would be anyone but Trey.

  “Miss Prescott?” A female voice.

  Every nerve in my body prickled in warning. “Yes?”

  “This is Kathy Cochran, Trey’s wife.”

  Shock rocketed through me, settled in my bones, and froze my tongue. Why would she call? Had there been an accident? I swallowed once, twice, then pushed out a few words. “Is—Is Trey all right?”

  “He’s fine,” she replied quickly. “In fact, he’s out tonight with a friend—the pastor of our church.” Our church. “Trey doesn’t know I’m calling you. I plan to tell him tomorrow during our counseling session.”

  “I see.” Except I couldn’t see anything in the dark. Pressed against the pillows, I stared out the window in search of a shred of light. The moon. Even a single star. But heavy clouds hid the heavens from my sight. All alone, I resorted to my professorial self. “What can I do for you, Kathy?”

  “I’m asking you for a favor—woman to woman.” She paused again. “I want to save my marriage. I’m fighting for him, Miss Prescott. And I’m fighting for our baby—”

  “Baby?”

  “Yes . . . Trey didn’t tell you?”

  My silence answered, but I forced myself to say the word—to give voice and life to his betrayal. “No, he didn’t tell me. How far along are you?”

  “Eight weeks.”

  My stomach curdled as if I’d swallowed poison. Trey had made love to his wife while claiming he loved me—when the divorce was almost final. But it wasn’t almost final if Trey had slept with Kathy while calling me every single night.

  Kathy’s voice stayed strong. “He cares for you, Miss Prescott. He cried when he told me about you. He’s conflicted, and if you know Trey—and I believe you do—you know that sometimes he’s two people.”

  A chameleon. I’d had that thought more than once. Just who was Trey Cochran? Who was this man I thought I loved, slept with, and wanted to marry? Was he a liar and a cheat? Or merely a flawed human being who had failed himself and others?

  And who was I? A party to adultery, or another flawed human being eager to love and be loved?

  Kathy’s voice came back over the line, even steadier than before. “You’ve been a comfort to him, Miss Prescott. A friend when he needed one badly. For that I’m grateful, but now I need you to be a friend to both of us, and to the baby. I’m asking you to stop seeing him—to give us a chance to be a couple again.”

  “You’re asking me to end it with Trey—because he can’t do it himself. Is that it?”

  “I suppose. Yes.”

  Why would any woman want a man that weak? And yet here I was, clinging to him.

  Despite the turmoil, I found myself admiring Kathy for the strength it took to call me. Instead of being angry at Trey, I hurt for his wife. If I had been a distant third party instead of a participant, I know whose side I would have taken—and it wasn’t Trey’s.

  The silence was electric until Kathy broke it. “I know this is a difficult request, an unusual one. But I had to call. You needed to know the truth, and I know how Trey is. He believes what he wants to believe. Right now, he’s conflicted. I’m asking you to make the decision for him. To end it. At the very least, to give us six months to save our family.”

  It was a reasonable request, but something in me balked. “Divorced or not, you’ll have a family.”

  “Yes, but you know what I mean. I want Trey to be with his son or daughter every day, not just weekends.”

  Her words hit like a slap, stunning me into a new clarity. I had wanted children with Trey and had imagined him as a dedicated father, a man who loved and taught his children in small, everyday ways. Geography mattered—more than I wanted to acknowledge. How could Trey be the kind of dad he’d want to be if he moved to Wyoming?

  “Will you at least think about it?” Kathy asked.

  “Yes.” There was no choice. “Yes, Kathy. I will.”

  “Thank you.” With those two humbling words, she hung up.

  This time I set the phone down so gently it didn’t make a sound, but my thoughts spun into a whirlwind. As if a tornado had picked me up
, I found myself spinning to the point of nausea, helplessly dizzy, and running for the bathroom.

  Chapter 26

  Breakfast with Lyn unfolded exactly how Daisy expected. Lyn told her to take her time, think and pray, and to be brave. A position with Maggie’s House, as an assistant manager at one of their safe houses, was Daisy’s anytime she wanted it.

  Only Daisy didn’t want to be brave. She wanted to stay in Refuge forever, but that choice might cost her a future with Rafe. She longed to be with him, but her stomach plummeted at the thought of leaving her nest. God had brought her to Refuge. He’d given her roots. Why would he yank her out of a safe place and replant her now? On the other hand, if she moved to a new city, she’d make new friends, both at church and in AA.

  Unable to sleep on Thursday night, she punched her pillow into a ball and worried. Chelsea was out late with Chad despite saying she’d be home by eleven, and Daisy needed to be at work early tomorrow to help the reps from Coogan’s Clowns set up for a rodeo demonstration. Charity number four, the literacy group, had visited yesterday. Though impressive, they wanted to tear down the historic buildings.

  That left the clown school. The clowns and Patrick Coogan, the CEO of Coogan Rodeo Enterprises, the parent organization to Coogan’s Clowns, were staying in the bunkhouse rather than a hotel. Tomorrow promised to be a full day for everyone and it would start early.

  Tiny feet pattered down the hall to Daisy’s bedroom. Sitting up, she saw Hannah in the doorway, silhouetted by the plug-in night-light and clutching her ratty stuffed dog.

  “Hey, kiddo.” Daisy kept her voice worry-free. “What’s up?”

  “I’m scared-ed.”

  “Of what?”

  “My mommy’s not home.”

  “She’ll be home soon.” At least Daisy hoped so. It was close to midnight. She patted her own bed and made room for Hannah. “Come and get cozy.”

  Still clutching her dog, Hannah tumbled into bed and snuggled under the covers. When she settled, Daisy checked her phone for a text from Chelsea. When she saw nothing, she shot off a text of her own. WHERE ARE YOU?

  While waiting for Chelsea’s reply, Daisy rubbed Hannah’s back and pondered the situation. Chelsea had told Daisy she loved Chad, but Daisy wondered if Chelsea loved Chad or if she just wanted to love him. There was a difference, one that gave Daisy a measure of comfort concerning her feelings for Rafe. She didn’t just want to love him. Her feelings came from knowing him as a person. Loving him was downright inconvenient, which inspired a frustrated pout.

  Her phone finally buzzed with a text from Chelsea. Horrible night. Am OK. Almost home.

  “That’s your mommy,” Daisy told Hannah. “She’s almost home.”

  Hannah nodded, sucked her thumb, and relaxed enough to close her eyes. Daisy slipped out of bed and went to the living room to wait. Ten minutes later, Chelsea walked into the apartment, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Before either of them could say a word, Daisy wrapped her in a hug.

  Chelsea eased back with a shrug. “He dumped me.”

  “Oh, Chels. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Daisy would be exhausted tomorrow for the clowns, but Chelsea needed her now. “How about hot chocolate?” She would have offered to make toast, but they didn’t have a toaster.

  “Hot chocolate would be nice.” Chelsea kicked off the cute shoes that matched her capris and sassy crop top.

  “Go put on your jammies,” Daisy offered. “The hot chocolate will be ready in a minute.”

  While Chelsea changed clothes, Daisy warmed milk in the microwave, mixed in chocolate powder, and fetched the bag of mini marshmallows Chelsea kept for Hannah. A few minutes later, they both dropped down on the couch that used to be in Shane’s apartment.

  “Talk,” Daisy said as she lifted her mug of hot chocolate. “What did the jerk do?” Even if Chad had ended the relationship for a good reason, girlfriend-support demanded he be a jerk.

  “We’ve seen a lot of each other, and it’s been good.” Chelsea paused to sip her hot chocolate.

  “You seemed happy.”

  “So did he, but tonight everything changed. He wanted to get a lot more physical than I did—and that wasn’t fair to me. I told him on our second date I didn’t want that kind of relationship without a real commitment.”

  “Oh, Chels—”

  “I guess he didn’t believe me.” Defeat colored her voice, along with rusty hues of bitterness.

  “Did he end it, or did you?”

  “I did.” Chelsea sipped the hot chocolate again. “I’d rather make a clean break than be ghosted.”

  To ghost someone meant to block them on social media and disappear without an explanation. No closure allowed. It was devastating to the ghostee—the person left to wonder what they had done wrong or why they weren’t enough. Daisy thought ghosting was despicable.

  Chelsea set the mug down with a thud, reached for the bag of marshmallows, and put a handful in her mug.

  Daisy added a few to her own cup. “It hurts, but you’re better off without him.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “That’s easy for you to say. Rafe’s a really good guy.”

  “He’s also from Ohio, and he’s going back in a few weeks.” Daisy hadn’t told Chelsea about Lyn’s offer in Cincinnati, only that she’d withdrawn the proposal. Now didn’t seem like the right time.

  Chelsea’s mouth pursed into a frown. “You and Rafe seem pretty serious. Have you talked about him leaving—or maybe staying?”

  “A little.” Maybe a distraction would help Chelsea. “He invited me to visit him.”

  “Wow. That does sound serious.”

  “It could be. In fact, it is. Rafe used the L word.”

  “Oh, Daize—” Chelsea pressed her hands to her own chest. “Did you say it back?”

  “No, but I wanted to.”

  “Daize! Go for it! I’ve seen the way Rafe looks at you. He’s head-over-heels. He has a job. He’s a decent guy. What in the world is holding you back?”

  “Refuge is my home. I don’t want to leave.”

  “Oh, come on!” Chelsea bolted upright. “You tell other people to be brave all the time. I think it’s your turn.”

  Daisy bristled from head to toe. Chelsea had no idea how hard it was for Daisy to stand on her own two feet. Even more to the point, she didn’t understand Daisy’s faith, and that being brave meant trusting God—not her own instincts or desires. She didn’t want Chelsea’s advice, and she definitely did not want to debate. “We can talk about me another time.”

  “Or now.”

  “No.” Daisy decided to play the distraction card. “By the way—about Chad—Rafe calls him Mr. Man-Bun. They didn’t exactly hit it off.”

  Chelsea laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I’m sure Rafe won’t mind not having dinner at the Green Light again.”

  “No.”

  “Neither will I.” Chelsea picked up the marshmallow bag for the second time and added another handful to her cup. “Bring on the highly processed, artificially flavored junk food. It’s more real than Chad.” But then she shoved the bag aside, her shoulders slumping again. “I want a relationship. I want to matter. Is that too much to ask?”

  “No. It’s not.” Daisy saw an opening and took it. “How about doing something completely different? Come with me to church on Sunday.”

  “I won’t fit in.”

  “Yes, you will. If I fit, you’ll fit.”

  “It’s just not my thing, but you—you’re doing fantastic right now.”

  Daisy shook her head. “It might look that way tonight, but I freaked out over Maggie’s House and ended up in the fetal position. You should have seen me. I was a mess.”

  “I can’t picture it.”

  “It wasn’t pretty, but this is where my faith comes in. God helped me get through it. Now we need to get you past Chad.” But how? A fun idea came to mind—something that didn’t happen every day. Daisy played it
up with a hint of mystery. “So . . . do you work tomorrow?”

  “No. It’s my regular day off.”

  “How would you like to bring Hannah to see a clown show?” She told Chelsea about tomorrow’s charity visit. “They need an audience, so Miss Joan invited all her staff and the crew at Heritage House. MJ’s bringing Cody and some of his friends.”

  Chelsea perked up. “Hannah will love it.”

  “So no ‘guy stuff’ tomorrow. Just you and your little girl having a good time.”

  “Well . . .” Chelsea dragged out the word. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If I meet a cute cowboy who calls me ‘darlin’,’ I just might get back in the game—especially if he has beard scruff.”

  “And smoky brown eyes—”

  “And he’s not a vegetarian!”

  They broke out laughing, but the good mood faded quickly. Chelsea eyed her phone sitting by the marshmallow bag. “I don’t know, Daize. Maybe I should get back in the game so I don’t brood over Chad.”

  “Forget it. You need time to heal.”

  “Or maybe it’s like getting back on the horse that bucked me off.” Leaning forward, Chelsea snagged her phone, swiped and tapped, then set it down. “There. It’s done. I’m back on FriendsFirst. I’m not going to let Chad get me down.”

  “Chels—”

  “Don’t worry about me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”

  Rafe eyeballed the big white bull waiting in the pen next to the temporary arena erected where Thunder Valley used to be filmed. The beast was huge. And ugly. Kind of dumb-looking, too, though Rafe suspected the bull had more smarts than a lot of the criminals he’d arrested.

  The clown show was scheduled to start in just a few minutes. Jesse stood next to him at the fence, while members of the work crew were spread between the fence and the portable bleacher stand. Cliff, Ana, and a half dozen ranch hands were roaming around, distracted by the clowns vying for their attention with balloons and face paint. MJ, Cody, and three of his friends were seated in the bleachers. Rafe expected to see Chelsea and Hannah, but they weren’t in his line of sight.

  Neither was Daisy, though she had greeted him earlier before going back to play hostess and go-to girl to Patrick Coogan, the clown school owner.