But what next? She was a Christian, but that didn’t mean she was a wait-until-marriage kind of believer like he’d been. Some couples lived together, claiming to be married in God’s eyes while they saved money for a big wedding. Others had sex and considered it equivalent to a white lie, something everybody did. What did MJ believe? He didn’t know, but a kiss good night was a safe place to start. If she backed off, so would he.
The credits rolled on the last cartoon. He glanced at Cody, saw he was out cold, and turned to MJ. Eyes closed, she inhaled in the even rhythm of sleep. Shane had never seen her so relaxed, so unguarded. He blinked and thought of the lacy bra, the candles in her bedroom, the soft side of her nature that she kept private and tucked away.
His blood heated with instincts as old as time. Those feelings were strong, male, and natural—but they came with obligations.
MJ stretched her leg until the sole of her foot touched his thigh. A downy white sock, one from the pack he had given her, covered her toes, and he wondered if she indulged in pedicures and bright pink nail polish. Unguarded in sleep, she slid her foot a few inches and took a deep breath. His gaze wandered back to her face. Should he kiss her awake? No. That was presumptuous and a little weird. They weren’t living a fairy tale. Real life demanded respect, and respect meant giving MJ a choice about that kiss good night.
He picked up the remote and turned off the TV. The sudden silence didn’t wake her, so he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. A touch. Not a jiggle. The start of a caress if she nestled against his fingers.
Relaxed and warm, she rolled her shoulder against his hand and sighed contentedly. A caress, he decided.
When her eyelids fluttered, he moved his arm to the back of the couch. “Are you awake?”
“Almost,” she said, her voice husky with sleep. “I dozed off.”
“So did Cody.”
She pushed up on one elbow, glanced at the boy, and smiled. “It’s the golden hour.”
“What’s that?”
“The only time I can relax.”
Shane could imagine. The boy talked all the time. “When Cody’s asleep, what do you do?”
“I usually check out Instagram and Facebook, whatever catches my eye. Sometimes I call a friend, or—or—” She slid her foot against his thigh, froze, then bolted upright. “I’m babbling. It’s late and . . . well, it’s late.” She snatched up the popcorn bowl and an apple juice cup, then dashed for the kitchen.
Shane picked up the other two glasses and followed. With her hands full, she couldn’t turn on the overhead light. The only glow came from the low-watt bulb on the stove hood. She set the bowl and cup on the counter, then turned on the faucet.
He set the two glasses next to the cup, watching as she squirted soap into the greasy bowl and put it under the hot water. Soap bubbles mushroomed like a nuclear explosion.
Striking a casual pose, he leaned against the counter at a right angle to the sink. “I had a good time tonight. Thanks for dinner and cartoons.”
She rinsed a glass. “Cody enjoyed it, too.”
Shane didn’t want to chat about Cody and mischievous bears. Like she said, it was the golden hour—the perfect time for that kiss, except she had her back to him.
Abruptly she turned off the faucet. “I’m thinking of having a barbecue.”
“A barbecue?”
She dunked the second glass in the soapy water. “Kim and I went to high school together. I could invite some friends. Kim would come. She’s—”
“MJ?” When he touched her arm, she froze. He kept his fingers still, holding her loosely until she turned.
The defiance in her eyes slashed through the dark. “Kim’s a lot of fun. You should go out with her.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“This . . .” He kissed her then, and it wasn’t a peck. Her lips warmed against his, softening into silk as she tested the waters. If she eased back, so would he. But instead she clutched his shoulder blades, swayed against him, and kissed him back with enough passion to light his hair on fire. Both stunned and pleased, he sank with her into the dark water, but then his common sense kicked in. Why the sudden surrender from a woman who so fiercely guarded her heart and protected her son?
Shane didn’t know, but it mattered to him, and later it would matter to MJ. For now, kissing her was enough—more than enough because that kiss shimmered with promise.
“Mommy?” Cody called from the family room.
MJ broke out of his arms, pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks, and gulped air. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s all right.” He hooked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Stay here. I’ll take Cody up to bed. We’ll do a story and everything.”
“No.”
“He’ll enjoy it. So would I.”
“Mommy? Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,” she called back, her voice wobbly and too bright. “I’ll be right there.” Tense and wild-eyed, she faced Shane. “Kissing you like that—I can’t— It was a mistake.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It was.” She pushed away from the counter, away from him, then faced him from the safety of the doorway. “Go,” she murmured. “Please.”
“Not when you’re upset.”
“I’m fine.” She squared her shoulders, but her voice quavered even more than before. “I got carried away, that’s all. It was stupid of me. Just . . . stupid.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I can’t do this now.” Close to tears, she clamped her mouth so tightly that her lips quivered.
In the park she had honored him by not asking questions. He had to give her the same respect. “I’ll go, but we’re not finished.”
“I know.” She looked to the side to avoid his gaze, rolled her eyes to the ceiling, then faced him with another defiant lift of her chin. “It’s just that my life is complicated right now.”
What did that mean? Would it be less complicated later? And if so, why? This wasn’t the time to press, but he intended to dig deeper—for MJ’s sake as well as his own.
He went to the back door, opened it, and turned for one last look. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right.”
“And MJ?”
“Yes?”
“I care about you.” With that he closed the door, leaving her wide-eyed, breathless, and more beautiful than she could possibly know.
Chapter 11
MJ put Cody to bed, then fled to her room. Trembling, she closed the blinds to block the shine on the new windowpane, the silver glow of the moon, and the memory of Shane’s lips on hers.
“Oh, Lord,” she muttered in a desperate prayer. “I don’t know what to do.”
Either she told Shane about the HPV, or she nipped the romance in the bud. Flopping facedown on the bed, she tried to pray but groaned instead. The duvet warmed beneath her body, filling her with the ache to be in Shane’s arms again. Should she call Lyn? Definitely not. Lyn would tell her to be brave, and MJ didn’t want to be brave. She wanted to feel safe.
Nerves on fire, she shot to her feet. She needed to do something physical—like vacuum the house from top to bottom. But the vacuum reminded her of Shane. So did the pencil he had left on her dresser. Fleeing the bedroom, she glimpsed Cody’s door, pictured Shane teaching him how to throw a baseball, and pressed her hands to her burning cheeks.
Grasping at straws, she escaped into the bedroom holding the boxes from the attic. There were still several to empty—the perfect escape from the present. The first box held old tax records—boring tax records that made her wonder if Shane disliked accounting as much as she did. Groaning, she folded the dusty flaps and shoved it aside.
Turning to the dresser, she spotted the black lacquer box holding the letters to Little Miss. Box in hand, she settled on the bed and lifted the lid.
Dear Little Miss,
I pray for you daily, my daughter. I pray our Lo
rd will protect you and keep you from harm. Though I understand your desire to live boldly and serve others, I am filled constantly with a terrible foreboding. Wyoming is a place of ruffians and outlaws, women of questionable morals, and scoundrels of an ilk beyond your ken.
I pray you have found a suitable church and are attending regularly. My own congregation continues to grow, though not because of my efforts in the pulpit. Young Thomas has proven to be a worthy protégé and is greatly esteemed by all, but particularly the young ladies. His sermons are eloquent and so are his prayers. I am well pleased with his character. Forgive an old man for his meddling, but I encourage you, again, to correspond with him.
With great affection,
Your Father
MJ read five more letters, each written on a Sunday evening. After summarizing his sermons, the reverend reported family news and shared tidbits about neighbors and friends, including Thomas. He wrote often of the young minister, and in a tone that suggested the young man and Little Miss had been childhood sweethearts.
Why had the girl left home? Maybe for the same reasons MJ went to UCLA instead of the University of Wyoming. She had wanted to grow up, and she certainly had.
Sighing, she picked up the reverend’s next letter.
Two weeks have passed without a letter from you. Your mother fears you have contracted a serious ailment. Living among the pupils at the Broderick School as you do, contagion is impossible to avoid.
Your mother fears consumption. I confess to some concern, as influenza is rampant among our own neighbors. Please advise us of your health. The Lord has put a burden on my heart and I am praying.
MJ skimmed the next three letters, worrying about Little Miss until she found one indicating the reverend had heard from his daughter.
I am grateful for your letter, though your mother complained it was too short. Knowing you are well is indeed a relief, though I remain concerned. The health of one’s body is a great blessing, but the safety of one’s soul is of even greater import.
Your letter, though comforting, caused me to wonder why you included none of the details that your mother so cherishes. You mentioned not a single student, not a purchase at the emporium, or an oddity you might have seen. You are precious to us, Daughter. We treasure your letters, as they are windows into your heart and soul.
I never cease praying that God will keep you in his care and look forward to the day you come home to us. Until that joyous reunion, we treasure your letters.
MJ imagined Little Miss starting a letter and balling it up, beginning again, then stopping because she didn’t know what to say, probably about Adam Carter. The girl, it seemed, had secrets. Ashamed and maybe afraid, she must have dreaded writing her father.
At UCLA, MJ had behaved the same way. At first she spoke to her mother every day. They talked about everything—except Nicole. Neither did MJ mention parties and her first taste of rum and Coke. In a short time, their conversations degenerated into cryptic weekly reports. The more MJ had to tell, the less she wanted to say.
Six years later, she still had a secret.
Should she tell Shane about the HPV? A kiss could be just a kiss, or it could spark a fire that led to the good things MJ dreamed of—snuggling in bed on a lazy Saturday morning, laughing together at private jokes, siblings for Cody. Shane deserved to be a father, and her body came “as is,” like a used car patched up after an accident.
Shane had been nothing but honorable. Surely she owed him the same respect. Little Miss had kept her problems to herself, and so would MJ. Tomorrow she’d tell Shane again that the kiss was a mistake.
In the morning, Shane went to the gym to burn off both the rough first week at school and the lingering pleasure of MJ’s kiss. He lifted weights until his biceps felt like cooked noodles, then he stepped on a treadmill for his usual five-mile run.
As the machine pulled him back, he powered forward. Sweat streamed down his spine, his arms pumped, and his shoes slapped the rubber mat in a beat that matched his heart rate. Breathing hard, he ran faster, faster still, until every muscle screamed in protest.
MJ was wrong. The kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was human and natural, something to be savored. Why deny themselves? When he had called himself a Christian, Shane viewed sex as sacred, a transcendent bond between a man and a woman. Now he saw it as a drive to procreate, much like salmon fighting their way upstream to a spawning ground. The struggle had a certain nobility of purpose, one Shane admired. Unless MJ slammed on the brakes, the kiss signaled the start of something good between them.
He glanced at the treadmill controls. Four miles down, one to go. The knee felt good today. Not great, but he had time to build up the surrounding muscle. Today he felt like he could do anything. He’d beat the odds and reclaim his dream.
Take that, God!
The verbal punch surprised him. Why fight with a God he no longer believed in? Running hard, he glanced at the mileage counter. A quarter mile to go. The treadmill slowed and he eased into a walk. A moment later his cell phone rang. He stepped off the machine, picked up the phone, and saw Troy’s caller ID.
“What’s up?” Shane asked between deep breaths.
“I know who gave Daisy the black eye.”
Shane cursed. Jaw tight, he struggled to control his voice. “Who did it?”
“Eric Markham. He was a bouncer at Malone’s.”
“A bar?”
“A dance club in Hollywood.”
Shane’s lips curled in disgust. A man who used his fists for a living had assaulted his little sister, leaving her bruised and battered. Horrible images flashed in his brain even as he fought them with deep breaths. Nearly puking, he raked his hand through his sweaty hair and collapsed on a bench. “Find her, Troy. You have got to find her.”
“I’m working on it.”
Fury and fright yanked him back to his feet, and he started to pace. When he spoke, the words came out flat, almost detached. “How did you learn about Markham?”
“I went back to Daisy’s old apartment. The elderly woman next door was out of the hospital and glad to talk.”
Troy detailed the conversation in clipped sentences. Before moving out, Daisy had been working at a restaurant called Shenanigan’s and dating an actor named Eric. The neighbor didn’t know his last name, but she described him as six feet tall with dark hair and a muscular build. When Daisy left to move in with him, she gave the neighbor a couple of houseplants but didn’t leave an address. Troy did some footwork and returned to the neighbor with photographs of wannabe actors named Eric. The neighbor had ID’d Markham instantly.
“I checked him out,” Troy finished. “He was arrested for domestic battery about two years ago, but it didn’t go to court.”
Sweat trickled into Shane’s eyes. He scrubbed it away with a towel, but the salt still burned. “Did you check out Shenanigan’s? Maybe she’s still there.”
“No joy. She quit a few weeks ago, picked up her last check in person, and dropped off the face of the planet. No social media. No new phone. Nothing. The manager didn’t know anything, and the serving staff brushed me off. Women can be protective of each other, you know?”
“Keep looking, Troy.”
“I’m trying, buddy.” The detective ended the conversation with the promise to call again when he learned something.
Shane snatched up his gym bag and strode home, the workout forgotten and his blood on fire. He wanted to smash things, particularly Eric Markham’s face. No man had the right to hit a woman—ever. To use a woman and just throw her away was beyond his understanding, yet that’s what Eric had done to Shane’s baby sister.
Blood still boiling, he stomped down the last block to MJ’s driveway. At the foot of the concrete pad, he slowed to a normal walk, the bloodlust controllable though not fully erased.
She came out the back door and approached him, her face tense and her chin high. He knew she wanted to talk about the kiss. So did he. The last of his anger faded into a tenderness that poure
d a balm over his stinging nerves. He had failed Daisy; he wouldn’t fail MJ.
When she stopped three feet away, he sensed her unease and skipped the small talk. “You want to talk about the kiss.”
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I like you, Shane. But only as a friend. The kiss caught me by surprise, and I reacted. That was a mistake on my part. I’m in no position to start a relationship.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a single mom. I have to protect Cody.”
Shane knew an excuse when he heard one. They had already talked about Cody becoming attached, and he had promised to be careful—and he would. Cody wasn’t the roadblock.
So what was it? His mind shot to Daisy brutalized by Eric Markham. Had MJ been wounded by Cody’s father in some way? Or maybe she’d been hurt by someone else. Shane hoped not, but why else would she pull back from something as small as a kiss? In an ironic way, he and MJ were a perfect fit. She needed to regain her trust in men, and he needed to be trusted.
Stepping closer, he gentled his voice. “I meant what I said last night. I care about you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
She raised her chin with an expression that reminded him of Daisy when she was caught drinking beer behind Coach Harper’s house. Foolishly, he had badgered his sister until she dissolved into tears.
He wouldn’t repeat that mistake with MJ. “It’s all right. We’ll just be friends—you, me, and Cody.”
Relief flashed across her face, but the silvery glint in her eyes faded immediately to tarnished armor. She managed a solemn nod. “Thank you for understanding.”
“I get it. But MJ?”
“Yes?”
“I have to wonder if someone hurt you. Whoever the guy was, he was a jerk.”
Her eyes flared with emotions he couldn’t read. Longing? Hope? Or maybe fear. As much as he wanted to ask, he settled for a respectful pause before heading to his apartment.
When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1) Page 10
