When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  Shane indicated the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She wiped the whipped cream from Cody’s upper lip, slid out of the booth, and picked up her latte and the hot chocolate. The boy scooted past her to walk with Shane, who lifted the to-go bag off the counter.

  The three of them stopped at her car to fetch Cody’s glove and Shane’s equipment bag, then they crossed the street to the park. A winding path led to a sand pit full of plastic slides and hamster tubes. MJ didn’t try to talk. Instead she listened as Shane and Cody competed to name the silliest-sounding animal. Cody won with hippopotamus, but Shane fought hard for yak.

  When they reached a picnic table, Shane set down the bag. Cody looked at her with the blue eyes that came from his father. “Can I play now?”

  “After you eat.”

  The three of them ate, talking more nonsense about animals and naming their favorite donuts. Cody ate half his breakfast sandwich, gobbled the donut, then politely asked permission to go on the slide.

  “Yes, you may,” she answered. “But take care of your trash.”

  He put the wrappers in a nearby metal can and ran off, leaving her alone with Shane and her half-eaten muffin. Her throat felt fine now, but she couldn’t seem to find her tongue.

  He broke the silence by indicating her empty cup. “Those lattes can be tricky. For a minute there, I thought you’d need the Heimlich.”

  “So did I.” She watched Cody climb the steps to the slide. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being a mom, it’s that accidents happen.”

  “Yeah. No kidding.”

  “Oh—I’m sorry.”

  “What?”

  “Your knee. The way your mom died so suddenly.” Too late, she realized he hadn’t told her about his mother. MJ groaned with embarrassment. “Well, now you know. I Googled you last night.”

  A smile lifted his lips. “Learn anything new?”

  “A few things.”

  “Like what?”

  Her mind snapped to the picture of Shane in a tux, smiling in that sincere way of his. To clear her head, she focused on baseball. “I know you bat right-handed.”

  “Correct.”

  “And you hit five home runs your first month in the majors.”

  “Close. It was six.”

  She debated which direction to take. He might prefer to talk about his batting average—it was .278—but she wanted to know about his life. “Tracee said you were a good role model. I can see why.”

  He raised the coffee cup to his lips, sipped, then muttered, “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “What’s different?”

  “Everything.” He tossed the cup in the trash with perfect aim and too much force. Partially full, it clunked to the bottom of the metal can, leaving them with an awkward silence.

  What had he meant by everything? Was he talking about his career or more personal things? She wouldn’t pry. If she asked questions, so would he. Even so, she wanted him to know she cared—not in a man-woman way, but the way Lyn cared for her.

  Her next words stumbled off her tongue. “I’ll pray for you.”

  When he didn’t reply, she felt stupid. Her words sounded clumsy at best, maybe glib.

  Shane stayed focused on Cody climbing up the slide. “Are you a Christian?”

  “Yes, but it’s only been a month. I’m not very good at it.”

  “Neither was I.”

  She heard was and waited for more, but he merely glared at a distant cottonwood shimmering green in the faint breeze, his bitterness as evident as the leaves hiding the tangled branches.

  MJ had never been hostile to God, but she’d been indifferent until the night of the killer bees. She glanced at Shane, saw the deep creases tightening his mouth, and thought about her friendship with Lyn. There was no criticism, only a steady flow of kindness, like a teapot filling an empty cup.

  Was it MJ’s turn to be a teapot? She wanted to be Shane’s friend—maybe more—but a woman couldn’t pour herself into a man without risking her heart, and MJ couldn’t take that chance, not unless she spoke candidly about her condition. No way did she want another complication in her life. Nor did she want to be rejected and abandoned by a man she had to see every day.

  On the other hand, Shane needed a friend. She broke off a piece of her muffin and handed it to him. “Here.”

  He took it and held it, waiting for her. She broke off a bite for herself, and they ate. In the distance she heard Cody making airplane sounds as he went down the slide yet again.

  To her surprise, Shane gripped her hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Not asking questions.”

  She could have thanked him for the same thing. Instead she squeezed his hand tight, then let go. “I bet Cody’s ready to play catch.”

  “So am I.” He raised his voice over the breeze. “Hey, Cody! Come get your glove.”

  The next thing MJ knew, the three of them were standing together in a large patch of grass, and she was wearing one of Shane’s old baseball gloves. He instructed Cody in the art of catching, then handed MJ a baseball and jogged several yards away.

  He positioned himself like the pro he was and called to her. “Give it all you’ve got.”

  She threw the ball as hard as she could. It didn’t go far, so Shane jogged forward, caught it basket style, and lobbed it to Cody, who instinctively backed away. The boy’s face puckered with disgust for himself.

  “Don’t worry,” Shane assured him. “Everyone backs up the first time.”

  MJ, too, wanted to back up—from Shane and being a teapot—but she held her ground, listening as he told Cody to use both hands and keep his eye on the ball. After walking Cody through the motion, Shane jogged ten yards away and tossed the ball again.

  This time Cody charged forward, and the ball plopped into his glove.

  “Good catch!” Shane called.

  Cody threw the ball to Shane, who snagged the bad toss as if he were in the World Series. Grinning, he turned to her. “Are you ready?”

  “You bet!” She hunkered down the way he had.

  “Don’t back up,” he cautioned.

  “I won’t.”

  His eyes matched hers, twinkling bright and full of fun. “Remember to use both hands.”

  “I will.”

  “And—”

  “Keep my eyes on the ball,” she finished for him.

  He tossed it straight and true. MJ took one step forward, raised the glove, and caught the ball with a whomp against her palm.

  Cody pumped his fist in the air. “Good job, Mommy!”

  “Nice catch,” Shane added with a grin. “Now I know where Cody gets his talent.”

  MJ didn’t have an athletic bone in her body, but Cody’s father could have been as skilled as Shane. She had no idea. Faking a smile, she tossed the ball to her son. Someday she’d have to tell him everything, but it wouldn’t be today. Neither would she reveal her private thoughts to Shane, but she’d pray for him—for his knee, his secrets, and his troubled soul.

  Chapter 9

  The daily routine at Maggie’s House turned out to be exactly what Daisy needed. She went to bed before midnight and woke up without the stabbing headache of a hangover. Her housemates were friendly, and she enjoyed learning how to cook. Instead of counting calories, she savored every bite of the meals served family-style. She even liked washing dishes, because doing chores made her feel like she belonged.

  So did the Bible studies. She heard Shane’s voice in some of the verses, but mostly she liked what Kellie, the leader of the study, told the women about making choices. “God didn’t give us a spirit of fear, ladies. The Holy Spirit gives us power, love, and self-control. We have choices—to drink or not. To trust God or not.”

  Daisy longed to be strong like Kellie, but she also longed for just one stiff drink. For a week now, she had resisted the urge. Going to AA meetings with Lyn helped, bu
t Daisy felt like a bird huddled on a power line, swaying in a constant wind.

  This morning, though, she was safe at Mary’s Closet. Humming to herself, she straightened toys left in the children’s play area in the far corner of the store. The front door chimed a greeting and she looked over her shoulder. A stocky man with a silver crew cut and a square jaw took off his sunglasses and surveyed the shop, starting with the clothing aisles opposite the play area.

  Very few men visited the thrift shop, and those who did came with their elderly mothers. This man was alone, and Daisy didn’t like the way he peered down the aisles. Keeping her back to him, she slipped into Lyn’s office.

  Lyn looked up from a spreadsheet. “A question?”

  “No. It’s just . . .” Daisy’s cheeks heated. Eric said she was paranoid. Maybe she was. “It’s probably nothing, but there’s a man out there. He’s alone.”

  “A customer?”

  “I don’t know, but he gives me the creeps.”

  Lyn headed for the door. “I’ll talk to him. Why don’t you go through the bags from St. Anne’s?”

  Relieved, Daisy went to the sorting table, a rickety thing near the opening to the display area but off to the side. She could listen to Lyn and the stranger while remaining out of sight.

  Lyn breezed into the store, her heels clacking on the linoleum. Daisy dumped a bag of clothes on the big table and began to separate shirts and pants, eavesdropping while she worked.

  “Good morning,” Lyn said to the man. “May I help you?”

  “Are you Lyn Grant?”

  “I am.”

  “I understand you work with Maggie’s House.”

  Daisy’s neck hairs prickled.

  “Who are you?” Lyn asked without answering his question.

  “My name’s Troy Ramsey. Here’s my card.”

  “You’re a PI.”

  “And retired LAPD. I’m one of the good guys, Ms. Grant, not a creep out to make trouble. I’m looking for a woman who goes by Daisy Riley or Daisy Walker.”

  Daisy stopped breathing. Who would be looking for her? Not Eric. He’d never spend money on a private detective. Was she in trouble with Shenanigan’s? She’d done nothing wrong, but last month a hostess had been caught stealing money from the register. Shaking all over, she put a plaid shirt in the sell pile without inspecting it.

  Silence hung between Troy and Lyn. Something was happening, but Daisy didn’t dare peek around the corner.

  “Do you recognize her?” the PI asked. Daisy guessed he was showing Lyn a photograph.

  Lyn hummed as if she were considering something. “I’ve never seen this girl.”

  “Look again. The picture’s five years old.”

  Daisy would have been seventeen, covered in acne and twenty pounds heavier. The acne was gone, and so was the weight. So was her pretty blond hair. But other things hadn’t changed. Her eyes were still blue, and her nose tilted up. Even so, Lyn had told the truth. She didn’t know the girl in the picture. Neither did Daisy, not anymore.

  Lyn broke the silence. “She looks like a sweet kid. Who’s looking for her?”

  “Her brother.”

  Shane . . . But why?

  “She’s in trouble,” the PI replied. “Booze. Maybe drugs. There’s reason to think someone beat her up last week. He’s worried and wants to help her.”

  Daisy knew exactly what Shane meant by help. He wanted to shake his finger in her face and make her feel bad. She never wanted to see him again. What she wanted was a drink, and she wanted it now. Even more than a drink, she wanted to tell Shane to go to that particular hot, fiery, awful place he’d told her about, the one for people like herself—bad girls who couldn’t obey the rules.

  Leave it to her perfect brother to ruin her life again. She could just imagine what he’d say about Maggie’s House and the women like herself. What did he want, anyway? To drag her to church? To an exorcist? Probably. His sister the drunken slut would hurt his squeaky-clean image.

  The PI’s voice drifted through the doorway. “You have my card. If Daisy Walker shows up, give it to her.”

  “I will.”

  Trembling, Daisy busied her hands by folding clothes. She heard the door chime and assumed the man had left. After a full minute, Lyn approached her. “You heard?”

  “Everything.” She tossed a stained undershirt in the rag pile. “Shane hates me. Hiring a detective is just like him.”

  “You never mentioned your brother. I take it you don’t get along.”

  “That’s right.” Daisy spat the words. “I don’t want him in my life. Thanks for not saying anything.”

  “You’re safe here.” Lyn gave her the detective’s card.

  Daisy stuffed it in her back pocket. She could guess what Shane would say if he knew about the abortion. Deep down, she felt the same way, but she couldn’t see another way out—not if she wanted Eric to take care of her.

  Her skin felt prickly and she wanted to cry. Only she couldn’t. She needed to stay numb, and gin worked better than anything. There was a convenience store a block away, but she’d left her purse at Maggie’s House. She’d have to get it—no. She could take money from the register and put it back later.

  She needed to get rid of Lyn, so she faked a doleful expression. “I could really use some fresh air. Would you mind if I took lunch early?”

  “Not at all.”

  Daisy wanted Lyn safely hidden in her office, so she indicated the pile of clothing. “I’ll finish this first.”

  Lyn went back to her desk, leaving Daisy to hurry through the bag of clothing. More boy things, then baby clothes—coveralls with an airplane, little striped shirts, and size 3 shoes. A lump bullied its way into her throat. Stay numb. Don’t think.

  Sweeping everything into the rag bag, she glanced at Lyn absorbed in her work with Spotify playing softly on her phone.

  “I’m leaving now,” Daisy called.

  “See you later.”

  She sneaked to the cash register, opened the drawer, and snatched a twenty-dollar bill. The drawer dinged when she closed it, but maybe Lyn wouldn’t hear. Money in hand, Daisy raced out the door.

  Seconds later she heard the rapid tap of high heels, whirled, and saw Lyn, her face lost in shadows but her pace ferocious. The convenience store was just across the street, but speeding cars trapped Daisy on the corner. Riled up and bitter, she pulled the twenty-dollar bill from her pocket, turned, and locked eyes with Lyn.

  “Take it.” She waved the money like bait. “I admit it. I stole it. I’m done with Maggie’s House. I’m done with your stupid rules.”

  “That’s fine,” Lyn replied. “But I’m not done with you.”

  “Yes, you are—”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Daisy glared at her. “Are you going to charge me with stealing?”

  “No.” Lyn scowled, either at Daisy or the idea. “I’m not calling the police, but we’re going to the pier.”

  Daisy didn’t want to go to the pier. She wanted to get blind, stupid drunk. She wanted to stop thinking about Shane, Eric, and baby clothes. “You can’t make me.”

  “No,” Lyn answered. “The choice is yours. So is the money.”

  Daisy pinched the twenty between her thumb and forefinger. How many times had she counted her tips at Shenanigan’s, sorting through ones, five and tens? Twenty dollars would buy her a night of oblivion, but she didn’t want money from Lyn. She wanted to yell and scream at the empty sky because folding baby clothes reminded her of the abortion. If she’d come to Maggie’s House first, maybe she could have kept the baby. Maybe Shane would have helped her. It was a stupid, foolish thought, because Shane hated her.

  She didn’t want Lyn’s money, but she wanted to get drunk so she stuffed the bill in her front pocket. “Thanks.” She meant it.

  Lyn indicated Washington Boulevard. “The pier’s not far, and the exercise will do us good.”

  Daisy wanted to get rid of her. “But the shop—”

  �
�I locked up.”

  Lyn would have an answer for everything, so Daisy gave up. “Fine. I’ll go to the pier.”

  Together they walked down the street, breathing in ocean air and car exhaust. As they neared the beach, the stucco buildings changed from dingy offices to colorful tourist shops. T-shirts filled the windows, while clerks stood in doorways decorated with shells and Mylar balloons. It was Thursday morning, not a busy day, and Daisy started to forget that she wanted a drink.

  At the foot of the pier, the roar of waves replaced the rumble of cars, calming her as she watched surfers bob with the tide. Wet sand stretched for twenty yards, a sign that the tide was at low ebb and about to turn.

  Daisy, too, was at low ebb. Was the shifting tide a sign that her life was about to change? An omen of sorts? She didn’t believe in such things, but Shane did. He said God made things work out for the best. She’d seen similar words on coffee cups at the thrift shop, a trivial sentiment when she needed real help.

  The only person to offer help had been Lyn. She was a Christian like Shane, but not once had she criticized Daisy for drinking or being with Eric. Neither did she condemn her for the abortion. Daisy had to wonder—what would Lyn say about Shane’s idea of the Bible and its rules? No one could live up to those standards.

  The pier stretched hundreds of feet in front of them. Lyn, dressed in a business suit, looked out of place among the fishermen and joggers, but she didn’t seem to care. When they reached the end, she rested her manicured hands on the railing, fingers laced as she stared out to sea. Gulls wheeled over their heads, squawking and searching for scraps left by fishermen. To the birds, the pier was a place of bounty. To Daisy it was a dead end.

  Lyn raised her face to the sky. “I come here to watch the gulls.”

  Daisy expected her to say more, but she was engrossed in the birds. A gull landed on the railing a foot away from them, squawked a complaint, puffed its wings, and took off.

  Daisy laughed in spite of her despair. “I guess I’ve got his place.”