When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  “I know. I really am sorry.”

  “It’s over now, honey.” Lyn handed Daisy a tissue from her purse. “But I’m worried about Eric. Did he see you come into the store?”

  “I think so. He watched me from across the street.”

  Lyn’s gaze hardened. “If he decides to find you, he can. Tomorrow we’ll go to legal aid.”

  “Why?”

  “To get a restraining order.”

  Daisy shuddered at the thought. “That’ll make him even madder.”

  “There’s some risk, but you have to protect yourself.”

  Daisy recalled his breath on her face, the punishing kiss, the way he showed interest but didn’t care about her. Fear heated into anger. And anger morphed into courage—not a lot of it, but enough to lift her chin. “He won’t fool me again. I’ll go to legal aid.”

  “There’s something else we can do.” Lyn’s eyes shifted to Daisy’s hair, both the dry ends and the mismatched roots. “How would you like to be blond again?”

  “I’d love it, but I can’t afford a salon.”

  “You can afford this one. The woman who does my hair used to live at Maggie’s House. I’ll call her tomorrow. Tonight you have something to celebrate.”

  “I do?”

  Lyn arched her brows. “Don’t tell me you forgot about getting your chip?”

  “No. I just thought . . .” Fresh tears moistened her eyes.

  “You thought you’d lost everything.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t.” Lyn spoke with such confidence that Daisy almost believed her. “You found something better than a Rolex. God calls it grace. Now let’s get to the meeting.”

  Grace. Daisy knew from the Bible study that grace was a gift from God, something he gave his children because he loved them. Just last night she had told the empty chair that she wished she could be different, that she wanted to prove she wasn’t as awful as Shane thought. Taking the watch had been a mistake, but somehow her failure had turned into a victory.

  God, it seemed, had heard her prayers and answered. Stunned, she embraced the unseen power she didn’t fully understand. She was an alcoholic. A thief. A whore. How could God love her? Yet he did. She felt it. She believed it.

  I’m yours, God. Show me who you are. With her heart bursting, she thought of her perfect brother and felt sorry for him.

  Chapter 15

  Seated at the wooden desk in his empty classroom, Shane flexed his knee out of habit. It was three o’clock on a cold afternoon in late October, and the halls were empty. He entered the last quiz score into his laptop, gathered his things, and locked the door behind him.

  Track practice—he coached cross-country—was cancelled because of rain, so he had a free afternoon. He considered going to the gym, but his knee ached in bad weather. Home appealed to him far more, especially knowing MJ would peek out the kitchen window when he pulled into the driveway.

  Over a month had passed since the kiss. She kept Cody safely wedged between them, but Shane didn’t mind. Despite the boy’s constant presence, he and MJ had become good friends. He often helped her with yard work, and she had talked to him about her mother’s offer. Thanks to the rental agreement, she had some financial breathing room and didn’t need to sell the house immediately.

  It pleased him to see her more relaxed, and the three of them occasionally grocery shopped and went out for hamburgers. After moving Cody’s car seat from the Bonneville to his Tahoe for the third time, he'd bought a booster seat for his SUV.

  Shane enjoyed helping her, especially with small emergencies like her car not starting. This morning he had jump-started the old clunker and suggested she get the battery checked. If she didn’t step outside when he parked in the driveway, the car trouble gave him a reason to knock on her door.

  Work bag in hand, he went to the main office, checked his cubby hole of a mailbox, then headed for the front door.

  “Shane!” Cody charged out of Mrs. Townsend’s office.

  “Hey, there.” They traded their standard high-five. “When did you start high school?”

  Cody laughed. “I didn’t.”

  “No?”

  “My mom’s getting the car fixed. It’s taking a long time, so she asked Grammie to get me from school.”

  Mrs. Townsend came out of her office, her spine stiff and straight as always. “Good afternoon, Mr. Riley.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Cody tugged on his grandmother’s hand. “Can I go home with Shane?”

  The principal’s expression remained businesslike, but she ruffled her grandson’s hair. “I’m sorry, Cody. But no. Your mom expects you to be here. Plus I doubt Mr. Riley has a booster seat for you.”

  “Actually, I do.” Shane hid a smile. “I’d be glad to take him, Mrs. Townsend. We can hang out at my place until MJ gets home.”

  The principal’s mouth pinched into a tight line, but she didn’t voice either displeasure or surprise that he and MJ were friendly enough for Shane to have a car seat for Cody. He expected her to brush him off again, but her secretary interrupted. The district superintendent was on the line with an urgent call.

  In a rare show of frustration, Mrs. Townsend sighed, told the secretary she’d take the call in her office, then faced Shane. “It looks like I’ll be tied up for a while. Thank you for taking Cody. I’ll text Melissa about the change.”

  Cody pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!”

  Mrs. Townsend’s face softened into an indulgent smile just for her grandson. “Let’s get your things.”

  The two of them fetched his coat and backpack. In less than a minute, Shane and Cody were dodging raindrops on the way to his SUV in the parking lot.

  When Shane opened the back door, Cody scrambled into the booster seat and tried to work the latches himself. Shane tightened the straps, climbed into the driver’s seat, and steered out to the street. As he drove, Cody chattered about everything from the rain to peanut butter sandwiches, which he liked a lot more than tuna fish, which he declared to be yucky. Shane tended to agree.

  They were on Refuge Boulevard, discussing the merits of ketchup, when Cody called out from the back seat. “Look! That’s the tree church. You should come with my mom and me. They give out cookies.”

  Shane had driven past the log-cabin church almost daily and steadfastly ignored it. Sermons and worship music didn’t appeal to him at all. Neither did cookies, because they reminded him of Daisy and her passion for Fig Newtons. Guilt, like the rain, spat at him. With his sister he’d been the man with the log in his own eye while removing splinters for others.

  Cookies were a safer topic than splinters, so he encouraged Cody. “What kind of cookies?”

  “All kinds, but my mom’s are the best. She makes them with M&Ms. You should come with us.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why not?”

  Shane felt as if Daisy were in the back seat, listening to how he’d explain himself to a trusting child. “I went to church for a while.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “I did then.”

  Shane glanced at Cody in the rearview mirror. The boy craned his neck to stare at the church. “I like it. I’m learning the Lord’s Prayer. Do you want to hear it?”

  He lied. “Sure.”

  “Our Father, who art in heaven . . . Shane?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where’s heaven?”

  He could see why children got on people’s nerves. “I don’t know. Ask your mom, okay?”

  “I will,” he said with confidence.

  “Shane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “My mom says God’s our father, but who’s my father?”

  The question hung in the air like a high pop fly. It dangled over Shane’s head for a solid five seconds, then landed at his feet with a thud. Apparently MJ had told her son nothing about his father, a decision Shane thought was cowardly. Cody deserved answers, facts about his history, all the things Shane would nev
er know about himself. No matter how Cody was conceived, MJ owed her son the truth in age-appropriate doses.

  Shane pressed a little harder on the gas. “Ask your mom,” he said again.

  “She doesn’t talk about him. What if she won’t tell me?”

  “Then ask her again.” Ask her until she answers. Shane wished he’d found that courage before it had been too late.

  MJ had a difficult conversation ahead of her, one that could mark Cody forever. Maybe all three of them, because the more time Shane spent with her, the more he cared about her and her son. Without a doubt, he wanted to be a dad, the kind that coached T-ball and set off fireworks on the Fourth of July. He would never know his own father, but being a dad himself would help fill that void.

  When he and Cody reached his apartment, Shane put a video game on the TV, then stepped on the landing and called MJ’s cell.

  “Hi,” she said quickly. “Thanks for taking Cody. I’d be there, but I’m stuck.”

  “At the mechanic?”

  “You were right about the battery, but the alternator was dead, too. The car’s so old they had to get the part from a junkyard. The one they found was bad, so now I have to wait until tomorrow. I hate to ask, but could you pick me up? I’m at River Run Auto.”

  “I’d be glad to. But MJ?”

  “Yes?”

  “I need to talk to you about Cody.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. But he asked me something today. You should know about it.”

  “Can you give me a hint?”

  “He might hear me, and you’re waiting. How about dinner at the McDonald’s with the playground? We can talk while he runs around.”

  “Should I be worried?”

  “Not at all.” He didn’t want to alarm her more than he already had. “But you need to know what he’s thinking.”

  She sighed into the phone. “See you in a few.”

  Shane rounded up Cody, and they dashed back through the rain to his Tahoe. He picked up MJ, then treated the three of them to burgers, fries, and shakes.

  Cody gobbled his food and took off for the plastic jungle gym, leaving Shane alone with MJ. As he opened his mouth to broach the subject of Cody’s father, Tracee Anderson and her sons spotted them from across the play area and waved.

  MJ waved back politely, then pointedly focused on Shane. “I really hope she doesn’t come over here.”

  “No joy,” he said under his breath. Tracee and her kids were already on their way.

  They ambushed him at the table. The next thing Shane knew, he was talking baseball instead of fatherhood.

  MJ smiled politely but said little. He tried to wrap up the sports talk, but Tracee was a fountain of questions, all designed to show her sons that Shane was a good role model. He felt like a fraud, and he resented the intrusion on his time with MJ. Not very Christian of him, but that’s how he felt.

  Finally the Andersons left and he turned to MJ. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you in suspense about Cody.”

  “Tracee’s nice, but she can’t take a hint. Tell me what happened before we get interrupted again.”

  Shane told her about driving past the church and Cody’s interest. “He asked me a couple of questions that you should be the one to answer.”

  MJ studied him a moment, then glanced toward the plastic jungle gym, presumably to be sure Cody was occupied. Shane followed her gaze and saw Cody scrambling up a corkscrew slide from the bottom just as a much larger boy pushed off from the top.

  MJ leapt to her feet. “Cody. Get down.”

  She sprinted toward the slide, Shane at her heels. They were still five feet away when the older boy’s shoe slammed into Cody’s face. The boys landed at the bottom in a tangle of arms and legs.

  The big kid rolled off Cody unharmed, then glowered at him. “That was stupid. You’re supposed to use the steps.”

  Shane gave the boy a firm stare. “It was a mistake. That’s all.”

  The boy stomped off, but Cody lay crumpled on his side with his nose bleeding all over his shirt. MJ had already dropped to her knees and pulled him into her lap. “I’m here, honey. It’s all right.”

  She wiped the blood off his face with her sleeve, rocking him and crooning to calm him down.

  Shane snagged some napkins from a nearby table and handed them to MJ for Cody’s nose. From what he could see, the boy’s injuries included a bloody nose and a bump on the head, probably a few bruises. He’d be all right—except for his pride. Six-year-old boys didn’t like to be seen crying, especially in front of older boys like the one who had called him stupid.

  Kneeling, Shane tapped Cody’s shoulder. “Hey, there.”

  Cody hid his face against his mom’s shirt, but embarrassing tears dripped down his cheeks.

  Shane ignored the tears, giving Cody his dignity. “That was quite a crash, but you’re handling it well.”

  Cody turned to him. “I—I am?”

  “You bet.”

  “My nose hurts,” he admitted.

  “I bet it does. Your nose will be sore for a few days, but I don’t think it’s broken.”

  Cody sniffed to test it. “It still works.”

  MJ pressed a fresh napkin to his face. “Now blow, but not too hard.”

  Cody did as she said, with much honking.

  MJ laughed, probably more from relief than humor. Shane couldn’t take his eyes off her face—the way she smiled reassuringly at her son, the pinch of her brow, the cradle of her arms. Her bloody sleeve said it all. MJ would do anything for someone she loved, but who took care of MJ? Not the man who had fathered Cody. Not her mother. Not God.

  Cody finished blowing his nose, inspected the bloody napkin, and made a face. Declaring the contents “gross,” he handed the napkin to his mother. Before MJ could pinch the disgusting mess with her fingers, Shane snatched it. “This is quite a souvenir. Maybe we should frame it.”

  The boy giggled. “Yeah.”

  “Oh no, you don’t!” MJ threw back her shoulders, feigning outrage and adding to their fun. “That’s going in the trash right now, and we’re going home.”

  Shane disposed of the souvenir, helped Cody to his feet, then offered a hand to MJ. She took it, and he pulled her upright, tucked her against his side, and hooked his free hand around Cody’s shoulder.

  The boy looked at him with shining eyes. “I think that kid weighed a hundred pounds.”

  “Maybe more,” Shane agreed.

  MJ laughed, but a shudder traveled from her ribs to his. He could imagine how a mother felt when she saw her child hurting. Remembering Cody’s question, he whispered into her ear, “Call me later and we’ll finish our conversation.”

  With a little luck, Cody would stay focused on his sore nose and forget the question about his father, at least until Shane could tell MJ what to expect.

  MJ oversaw Cody’s bath, read him a story, and tucked him into bed. His nose was red and he had a bump on his head, but otherwise he’d forgotten the collision on the slide.

  But she hadn’t. What if the accident had been more serious? What if someday he needed a blood transfusion? He had his father’s uncommon blood type, B-positive. MJ was A-positive and not compatible. She couldn’t be a donor to her own son. That kind of uncertainty hounded her. So did whatever question Cody had brought up to Shane. As soon as her son fell asleep, she planned to call him.

  Cody lay in bed with his hands laced behind his head and his eyes focused on the ceiling. She glanced at the spot that had his attention, saw nothing, and came to sit with him. “What’s up there?”

  “Paint.”

  Smiling, she smoothed his damp hair. “Anything else?”

  “Sort of.” He chewed his lip, then mashed his pillow into a ball and leaned against it. “I asked Shane something, but he wouldn’t tell me. He said to ask you.”

  MJ braced herself. “What’s the question?”

  “I know God’s my father in heaven.”

  “That’s rig
ht.”

  “What happened to my other father? The one who’s supposed to live in the house?”

  Please, God. Give me the right words. The question wasn’t a total shock. She’d known this moment would come. But how did she explain what happened to a six-year-old? Cody didn’t want the biology. He needed a name, a face, the things she couldn’t give to him.

  “Well,” she said slowly, buying time to think. “Your father isn’t in our lives anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s hard to explain. He didn’t know—I mean—uh—” She had to do better, or Cody would be confused, even hurt. Mustering her courage, she told the truth. “Your father doesn’t know about us. But God does. And he loves you. He loves us.”

  “Why doesn’t my father know about us?”

  “Because I couldn’t tell him.”

  Please, God. Don’t let him ask why. She busied herself by tucking the blanket around Cody’s lean frame. He didn’t look like her at all—not even a hint of her nose or cheekbones. But he’d inherited her curiosity, her easy manner.

  Cody made a humming sound, considering the facts. “So he’s gone forever.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I get it.” He scooted up on the pillows. Questions burned in his eyes, and he bit his lip, a sign he was working up his courage. “So if you wanted, Shane could be my dad.”

  Relief softened her bones, but fear stiffened them again with her next breath. Cody wasn’t going to quiz her about his father, but he had dangerous ideas about Shane. Hoping to project a casual mood, she tucked the covers even tighter around his legs. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s grownup stuff.”

  Cody’s pale brows cinched together. Before he could formulate another question, she stood and kissed his forehead. “It’s past your bedtime, kiddo. I’ll explain it to you another time.”

  “Mom, wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “We have to say prayers.” Cody’s feet swished under the covers, something he did when he was thinking.

  MJ dropped back down on the bed and clasped his hand. Love for her son squeezed her heart, stole her breath, and left her awed, amazed, and terrified all at the same time.