When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  “My second favorite next to hot dogs.”

  When she gaped at him, he nudged her with his elbow. “I’m joking, MJ. I just want you to know that I’m not hard to please. Whatever you do is going to be better than eating out all the time.”

  “Well, good.” She tried to feel relieved, but her ribs tingled from the brush of his elbow.

  Eventually he saw the note she had written at the bottom. Dinner would be ready at six o’clock, packed in a basket he could take to his apartment. A trace of a scowl rippled across his face. He blinked it away, then set the list on the table. “This is perfect.”

  “Good. There’s just a little more.”

  She handed him the page about cleaning and laundry. It said she would clean the apartment on Fridays, and he should bring his laundry when he picked up the dinner basket.

  “That’s fine.”

  As he handed her the page, his aftershave drifted to her nose. He was wearing Dolce & Gabbana, her favorite scent in the world. Not every man could wear it, but those who could—Stop it. She had no business noticing how he smelled—and enjoying it.

  With her heart skittering, she handed him a small envelope. “Here’s the key.” Abruptly she pushed to her feet. “I think we’re done.”

  Shane stood with her. A question seemed to dance in his eyes, one she recognized and feared. What are you doing tonight? How about dinner together? Turning quickly, she headed for the door with Shane following her. At the threshold, she faced him. “If you think of anything else—”

  “There’s just one thing.”

  Did his eyes have to twinkle every time he looked at her? Did he have to smell like cinnamon, smoke, and a campfire on the beach at dusk? Silently she prayed he wouldn’t ask her out. “What is it?”

  “Your phone number. If I decide to skip dinner, I’ll let you know.”

  It was a purely practical request, but giving him her number felt personal. He took his phone out of his pocket, and she recited the number.

  Instead of entering it in the address book, he called the phone she had left in the house. “Now you’ve got mine.”

  She turned to leave, uncomfortably aware of Shane stepping in front of her and leading her down the stairs. It was a gentlemanly thing to do. If she stumbled, he’d catch her. But she couldn’t stumble, not in any way. As they neared the last step, Cody and Brandon dashed into the yard. Behind them MJ saw Tracee, seven months pregnant with her fourth child. Tracee waved from the driveway and kept coming.

  When the woman reached them, MJ made introductions. “Tracee, this is Shane Riley. He’s renting—”

  Tracee’s eyes turned into saucers. “Shane Riley?”

  He held out his hand. “The same.”

  “Oh my goodness! I can’t believe it. My husband’s a huge Cougars fan. So is my oldest son. He’s ten, and he thought you were the best third baseman ever. That’s the position he plays—well, he tries. He’s still learning.”

  “Give him time,” Shane said. “And keep it fun.”

  “Oh, we do!” Tracee’s expression turned from admiring to solemn. “I’m so sorry about your knee.”

  “Thank you.”

  MJ was beginning to feel like a bobblehead doll, turning from Shane to Tracee and back to Shane. Somehow her neighbor knew more about her new tenant than she did. Bit by bit, MJ matched the conversation with what she knew from Kim. Apparently the history teacher hired by her mother had been a rising sports star, which meant the knee injury had been more than an inconvenience. It had cost Shane his dream, though judging by his interest in the gym, he planned to return to baseball.

  Tracee turned to MJ, speculation plain in her eyes. “Did you meet in Los Angeles?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  Shane gave MJ an amused look, then turned to Tracee. “I’m teaching at the high school. MJ’s my landlord. I’m renting the garage apartment.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if my boys say hello?” Tracee asked. “Maybe you and Cody and MJ could come to dinner sometime? We could barbecue hot dogs like at Cougar Stadium.”

  Shane and MJ both laughed. It wasn’t funny except to them, which made the exchange ridiculously personal—and dangerous. Her laughter withered like grass in a drought. A glance from Shane sobered her even more.

  Turning away, he focused on Tracee. “Once I’m settled, I’d be glad to meet your family.”

  She thanked him, then introduced Brandon, telling him Shane was both a famous baseball player and a good role model. When she emphasized role model, Shane’s mouth thinned to a line. MJ wondered what triggered the tension, but she wouldn’t ask. If she asked personal questions, so would he.

  Tracee said good-bye and walked Brandon home, leaving MJ and Cody alone with Shane.

  Still wide-eyed, Cody tipped his head up to Shane. “Do you really play for the Cougars?” Thanks to Mr. Davis, their old neighbor, Cody had watched several games.

  “I did.” Shane’s mouth relaxed into a grin. “And I hope to play for them again, but I hurt my knee.”

  MJ’s heart broke for him, because she knew far too much about lost dreams. Cody didn’t, and his eyes sparkled with excitement. “Can you still play catch?”

  “You bet.”

  “Can we play now?”

  MJ interrupted. “Cody—”

  Shane broke in. “Not today. But we can play tomorrow if it’s okay with your mom.”

  They turned to her in unison. With their blue eyes and blond hair, eager expressions and a subtle defiance, they could have been father and son. MJ’s breath snagged in her lungs, burning and aching because the moment felt both right and wrong. A protective streak told her to keep Cody away from Shane, but he needed to play catch as badly as he needed food and new shoes. God in his confusing wisdom had plopped a famous athlete in her son’s path. How could she deny him such a special friendship?

  “It’s okay,” she said to Cody. “But only when it’s convenient for Mr. Riley.”

  The boy furrowed his brow. “Why can’t I call him Shane?”

  Before she could find the right words, Shane turned to her with a slightly guilty expression on his face. “Back at the real estate office, I said it was okay. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Then it’s fine.” It had to be.

  He held out his hand to Cody for a high-five. The boy slapped it with an intensity that made MJ’s chest ache. She needed to clarify one last thing with Shane, so she spoke firmly to her son. “Go on inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Instead of arguing, Cody looked at Shane, who indicated the house with his chin, as if to say, Do what your mother says. The boy ran up the porch steps and into the kitchen, leaving the screen door swinging behind him.

  Feeling awkward, MJ turned back to Shane. “If Cody bothers you, let me know.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t know him. I’m worried he’s going to pester you. He’s—”

  “MJ?” Shane’s voice came out deep and close, like the shadows of dusk approaching.

  She raised her chin. “Yes?”

  “Kids look up to athletes. I know you’re a single mom, and I know little boys can get hurt. I’ll be careful with Cody. Does that put you at ease?”

  No! You like kids, and I like you. But I might not be able to have kids. And I can’t tell you any of this, because it’s too personal. Why did he have to smell so good, anyway? His aftershave was driving her crazy. So was his sincerity. She thought of Kim calling him eye candy and wanted to scream because he was so much more than a good-looking man. He was just plain decent.

  Her throat went dry. “Thanks for understanding. I better go inside.”

  She hurried into the house, went to the sink, and filled a glass with cold water. Sipping it, she peered through the window at Shane hauling a suitcase up the stairs. She forced herself to look away, but she couldn’t stop thinking about boys needing fathers, and the ache in her chest—the place where a woman dreamed of love.

  A su
re cure for her attraction to Shane was to call her mother. With the effort of getting the apartment ready, she hadn’t done it last night.

  She lifted her phone off the counter, saw a missed call, and remembered Shane sharing his number. A sweet shiver rippled through her, but it ended in dread. Blanking her mind, she added his name in the address book, then called her mom.

  A recorded voice spoke with familiar brusqueness. “This is Olivia Townsend. Please leave a message.”

  MJ disliked leaving a voicemail that would raise questions, but her mother screened all her calls. “Hi, Mom, it’s me. I’m at Grandpa Jake’s house. Cody and I are fine, but there’s a lot going on. I’d like to tell you about it in person. Call me back, okay?”

  She set down the phone and sighed. Talking to her mother was like seeing the dentist. MJ wouldn’t enjoy the visit, but it was necessary. Just like the dentist told her to floss more, her mother would tell her how to live her life.

  Olivia Townsend had her own set of Ten Commandments, and they were etched in stones as hard as the ones Moses had brought down from a mountain. At the top of the list was “Get an education.” MJ had failed badly when she dropped out of UCLA.

  Next on the list was “Be responsible.” Getting pregnant had taken care of that one. She cringed at the vivid memory of her mother’s reaction to the pregnancy.

  “Melissa, how could you? I taught you to protect yourself. Didn’t you use birth control? What were you thinking?” And the hardest question of all—“Who’s the father?”

  MJ had shared the story through choked sobs, including her deep regret. Her mother’s reaction was instant and kind. “You made a mistake, but you can start over. You can put the baby up for adoption. It’ll have a stable home, and you can go back to school in a year.”

  For three months MJ had cried and ranted, endured morning sickness, and weighed her options. Nicole told her an abortion was easy, but no way could MJ make that choice—not with what she believed even then about human life.

  While Nicole counseled abortion, her mother advocated adoption. Under the circumstances, adoption made sense—until she went for an ultrasound. The minute she saw her baby squirming in black and white, she fell in love.

  No matter how Cody was conceived, he was hers and she wanted him. Her mother called her naïve and cut off her allowance to prove a point. Instead of surrendering, MJ went to work at SassyGirl, found a cheap apartment, and survived with a little help from Grandpa Jake. She and her mother reconciled shortly after Cody’s birth, but only on the surface.

  Sighing, she stared at Shane’s SUV with the hatch raised to reveal moving boxes. A better Christian would help her neighbor move in. She’d welcome a phone call from her mother, and she wouldn’t envy Kim because she could date without complications. As for her attraction to Shane, MJ recognized the feelings as special, but only at the right time, and this wasn’t the time. If she needed a hysterectomy, there might never be a time.

  She turned from the window and went upstairs. Tomorrow she’d work on the house. She had landscaping to do and an attic to empty. With a little luck, the distractions would keep her from thinking about Shane, at least not too much.

  Shane put his clothes in the antique wardrobe, breathing in the dusty scent of cedar as he hung up the sports jackets and ties he planned to wear to school. He was young to teach high school, and a coat and tie would help establish his authority. Teaching had always appealed to him as a post-baseball career. He just didn’t expect to be doing it so soon. Classes started in three days. In addition to trips to the gym, he needed to go over lesson plans.

  When he finished putting away his clothes, he opened the box that went with him wherever he lived. It held treasures from his past, and he wanted them where they’d remind him of his sister.

  Forgive me, Daisy. For I have sinned.

  He put a jar full of store-bought pebbles on the nightstand. Just about every tourist trap in America sold the colorful rocks, and they were common at the craft shows where their mother sold her metal sculptures. The rocks in his jar were mostly white, red, black, and gray. Daisy had filled hers with colorful pastels—until their nomadic childhood ended at a rest stop between Las Vegas and Barstow, California, somewhere in the Mojave Desert on a stifling August afternoon.

  Complaining of a monster headache, their mother had pulled into the parking lot, then sent Shane and Daisy to the vending machines. When they returned she was slumped over the steering wheel. Shane shouted for Daisy to call 911, pulled his mom from the van, and attempted CPR. But it was too late. She had suffered a fatal brain bleed, an aneurysm.

  It was the worst day of his life, but he recovered with love and attention from the Harpers. The old man was gone now, but as Shane lifted a framed photograph of himself and Coach, taken the day Shane signed with the Cougars, he murmured his thanks and set the picture on a bookshelf near the bed.

  Baseball mementos came next—a game ball from the college championship, hats from all his teams, and shiny trophies.

  Last, he removed a framed snapshot of his mother and Daisy smiling into the camera. He didn’t have a picture of his father, or even a name he could trace. He only knew his parents weren’t married, and that he and Daisy had different fathers. Shane knew nothing about the mystery man who shared his DNA, and his mother died before he found the courage to ask. Now he felt that loss keenly, though he’d grown up knowing his mom loved him beyond measure. It made a difference.

  Shane added a few paperbacks to the shelf, then lifted the last item in the box. His Bible, well thumbed and full of notes, had been a gift from Coach Harper. It was a piece of his history, so he placed it next to the picture of his mother and Daisy.

  As he stood, his stomach rumbled. The arrangement involving MJ’s picnic basket didn’t start until Monday, so he was on his own. He considered inviting her and Cody out for hamburgers, but he was certain she’d say no. Instead he ordered Chinese and ate alone, thinking of her and wondering about Cody’s father. Whoever he was, he apparently didn’t pay child support. If he wasn’t dead, that failing made him a jerk. Shane wondered if his own father was dead or a jerk, then decided yet again that it didn’t matter because he would never know. Whoever the man was, he’d let Shane down.

  So had God. Enough said.

  Chapter 7

  MJ pulled down the stairs to the attic, set the safety latch, and climbed into a room full of junk. The floor matched the shape of the bedrooms below, and the roof peaked in a triangle. Tongue-and-groove knotty pine lined the entire space, a reminder of the 1950s when the attic served as an extra bedroom. A window at the top of the triangle let in a beam of sunlight full of swirling dust motes.

  The house was over eighty years old now, and it held the memories of multiple generations. Cardboard boxes were stacked in uneven towers, outdoor Christmas decorations filled a corner, and cheap shelves bulged with books, vinyl records, and movies in obsolete formats.

  MJ could have spent weeks digging through the family treasures, but she needed to work fast. The attic offered excellent storage, and Kim wanted it empty before she put up a For Sale sign. The junk would go to the dump, but the things MJ wanted to keep posed a storage problem. Her mother’s condo had a garage, but it was as neat as a surgical tray. No way could MJ ask her mom for a favor, not with the argument she expected over selling the house.

  Sighing, she checked her phone. Her mother hadn’t called last night, so MJ expected her to call today. Seeing no messages, she put the phone in her pocket and went to work. Cody was downstairs watching Star Wars again, which meant she had about an hour to work.

  “Mommy?”

  Or less than an hour. He was standing at the bottom of the ladder. “What do you need?”

  “Can I come up?”

  “No. I’ll be down in a minute.” She tested a box for weight, decided she could maneuver it down the ladder, then set it by the opening.

  “Mommy—”

  “You’ll have to wait.”

 
; “But—” The ladder gave a suspicious squeak.

  “Cody, no.” Would he ever learn patience? Not anytime soon. She hadn’t learned it until she had him. When the steps creaked a second time, MJ used her firmest tone. “Cody Townsend, do not come up those stairs.”

  “I’m not Cody.”

  Shane poked his head through the opening. Next came his shoulders and then the rest of him, long legs and all. Dressed in jeans and a gray plaid shirt, with his hair combed and wet from a shower, he exuded physical confidence.

  MJ felt like a dust ball. “Uh—”

  He grinned at her. “Cody let me in. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She did mind. Tracee’s remarks had made her curious, so last night she Googled him. Now she knew his batting average, his exact height and weight, and about the tragedy that landed him in foster care. She also knew what he looked like in a tux. The photograph, taken at a charity ball, showed him smiling straight at the camera—at her, it seemed.

  He was smiling at her now, and she didn’t like it. “Do you need something?”

  “I promised Cody a game of catch.”

  “I remember.”

  “If you’re free sometime today, the three of us could go to the park.”

  She couldn’t let Cody go alone. The boy had talked about Shane all through breakfast, asking questions about baseball and why Shane lived in Refuge. MJ could answer the baseball questions thanks to Google, but the “whys” of Shane’s life remained a mystery, one she had no business unraveling.

  “I’d say yes,” she replied. “But I have a lot to do.”

  He glanced at the cardboard clutter. “Is all this coming down?”

  “Every bit.”

  A wistful smile lifted his lips. “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”

  “I suppose.”

  “My mother used to say that.” He aimed his chin at the box by the opening. “If we do this together, it’ll go faster.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  He went halfway down the ladder, braced, and raised his arms. “Slide the box to me.”