When she faced him, her mouth slanted in a solemn line. “You said Cody would forgive me.”
“He will.”
“I’m telling you the same thing about Daisy.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do—because of who you are now.”
A nice sentiment, but Shane didn’t buy it. “I’m no one special.” Just a guy who envied salmon.
“You’re my friend.” Her voice pushed at him through the dark. “I don’t know why you lost your faith, but no one else has ever given me the understanding you just did.” She looked into his eyes with such caring he wondered if she was about to kiss him—and hoped that she would.
When she didn’t look away, he trailed his thumb along her jaw. She inhaled sharply, then put her hands flat on his chest, pressing slightly in a gesture that was either a welcome or a wall. Choosing to see the welcome, he matched his mouth to hers with a tenderness born of their shared confessions.
She kissed him back, but only for a moment. “I can’t do this.” Except her fingers clutched at his shirt.
At a loss for words, he kissed her forehead instead. She leaned into him with a breathy sigh, then stiffened and pulled back, loosening her grip on his shirt a finger at a time. Breathing out in a gust, she turned and stared out the window with an expression he couldn’t read.
Reluctantly, he followed her gaze to the trees dripping with the last of the rain. Why hadn’t she relaxed into the kiss? Was she afraid of sex because of Cody’s father? Or—Shane’s next thought paralyzed him. MJ was thin, almost too thin. Was she HIV positive? Had she come home because she was ill?
His heart jack-hammered against his ribs. “I hate to ask,” he began in a voice that didn’t sound like his. “But—” He couldn’t bring himself to invade her privacy more than he had.
She turned back around. “What is it?”
“Never mind.”
“That’s not fair. You can’t start to ask a question and not finish it.”
“All right, then. It’s none of my business. But the way you pulled back just now, and before—are you HIV-positive?”
“HIV?” She hugged herself. “No.”
“Sorry. I just—”
“It’s okay.” She lowered her arms, visibly relaxing. “It’s smart to ask, especially after what I just told you.”
“Even so—”
“Don’t worry about it.” A tiny smile said she meant it. “We’re just friends, anyway. It wouldn’t matter.”
Shane didn’t know what to make of her contradictory reactions, but he knew she enjoyed kissing him as much as he enjoyed kissing her. That meant something else was stopping her, but what? Whatever that mystery was, he intended to solve it. A gentle nudge seemed to be in order. “What are you doing Friday night?”
“Just the usual.”
“Let’s have dinner together. You and me.”
He thought he recognized longing in her eyes, a spark, even hope. But the tension returned with equal force. As much as he wanted her to accept his invitation, he wouldn’t rush her.
After several silent seconds, she took a deep breath. “I can’t. But if you ask me in a month I might say yes.”
“A month?”
She nodded. “My life’s up in the air right now. And I have to be careful with Cody. In a month I’ll be more settled.”
He didn’t understand her reasoning, but the wait would give him a chance to romance her on the sly—flowers, compliments, helping with the dishes—all the small acts of caring that would lead to deeper feelings.
“A month it is.” Before she could rethink her decision, he kissed her satin-soft lips and headed for the door. It would be a long four weeks, but for MJ he could be patient.
The instant the door closed behind Shane, MJ hurried to the family room where she kept her laptop. In a month she’d have the latest pap smear result. If it came back clear, she could think about dating Shane. Of course she’d tell him about her history. One good result didn’t mean she was free of the virus, but a clean test versus a certain hysterectomy was a big step.
She opened the Notepad program and made a to-do list that included scheduling with Dr. Hong, asking her mom to watch Cody, and checking to see if she could crash with Lyn. It was an hour earlier in California, so MJ called her friend now.
They chatted like they usually did, then MJ asked about staying over. “It’ll be just a couple of nights.”
“You’re welcome anytime. You know that.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s new?”
“Not much.” Except I’ve kissed Shane and I’m falling for him. The thought jarred her memory back to the kitchen and his confession about his sister. “I have an off-the-wall question for you.”
“Let’s hear it.”
She told Lyn about Shane losing his mom, being placed in foster care, and now searching for Daisy. “I know the chances she’ll show up are remote, but Maggie’s House is fairly well known. If Daisy lives in that area, maybe she’ll show up. I was wondering if you’d keep an eye out for her.”
Silence.
That kind of reaction wasn’t like Lyn at all. MJ wondered if the call had dropped, but Lyn’s voice came back as clear as before. “I can ask, but you know the privacy policy for Maggie’s House. Women have to feel safe here. I can’t tell you anything without a person’s express permission. That’s a hard and fast rule.”
“And a good one.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for her. If this girl needs help, we all want her to get it.”
They chatted a little longer about life in general. When they hung up, MJ Googled airfares. The cost—$550 out of the Jackson Hole Airport and even more out of the smaller Refuge facility—nearly made her throw up. She could pay for the trip with her emergency Visa, but just barely.
Being in debt scared her, but she could pay off the balance when . . . when what? When she sold the house? When she moved back home with her mom?
God, are you there?
Uncertainty pummeled her. She loved the idea of becoming a nurse but hated the thought of living with her mother. She loved the prospect of falling hard for Shane but hated the threat of a hysterectomy.
Just tell him.
Why not? What did her pride matter? He could back off now, and no one would get hurt. Or at least he wouldn’t be hurt. MJ’s heart was already an aching mess. She didn’t think she could bear a rejection, or worse, the slow withdrawal from their friendship, as if she were a leper.
Or worse still, he’d feel compelled to be kind to her. He’d say a hysterectomy didn’t matter, when it really did. If any man deserved to be a father, it was Shane. No way did she want to take away that dream, when he had already lost so much.
What was the loving thing to do? The brave thing? MJ closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to her temples, and tried to pray. When her thoughts ran in circles, she thought of Little Miss. Had she been as lost and confused as MJ was now? That answer, and maybe an answer for herself, awaited in the box of letters on her nightstand.
MJ padded to her room, sat on the bed, and opened the black enamel case. She lifted the remaining letters, nestled against the cloud of pillows, and started to read.
The first letter began like the previous ones.
Dear Little Miss,
Again I implore you to come home. A boardinghouse is no place for a young lady to live, especially when you mention neither work nor church. My dearest daughter, I fear you have become ensnared in a world that lacks honor, morality, and respect for God’s laws. Come home, child. Forgiveness awaits.
MJ skimmed the four remaining letters from the reverend but gleaned nothing new. Neither did Thomas write again. Frustrated and curious, she went to the spare bedroom and opened the storage box that still held the whiskey flask and a few other trinkets. She poked through hair ribbons and hankies until her fingers grazed a sheet of paper.
Lifting it, she saw that it was buff colored and folded in half, the crease fray
ing at both ends. She unfolded the paper gently, saw Western Union Telegraph Company in old-fashioned type, and read a handwritten message scrawled by a clerk.
Arriving Jan 10 on UP Overland Flyer (Stop) Bringing Thomas (Stop) Your Father.
UP stood for Union Pacific. Overland Flyer referred to a train route. MJ imagined the reverend and Thomas riding in a crowded passenger car, surrounded by families moving west, businessmen, and politicians embracing Wyoming’s recent statehood. The dust would have been thick, the smells of grease and steam heavy in the air.
Where would they look for Little Miss? If she had lost her reputation, no decent shop would hire her. Had she sunk to the life of a laundry drudge? Waitressed in a saloon?
MJ knew her history. The Old West wasn’t as kind to women as her grandfather’s favorite old movies made it seem. With so few opportunities, prostitution might have been the only way for Little Miss to feed herself. That possibility included everything from the luxury of being a rich man’s mistress to the horrors of a hog ranch, the most wretched kind of bordello on the frontier.
MJ imagined Thomas finding Little Miss in such a place—dirty, used, diseased. Would he still want her? The woman’s things were in MJ’s attic, but that didn’t mean Thomas had come to her rescue. Little Miss could have died giving birth to an illegitimate child, or of disease, or at the hands of a violent man.
Was MJ a direct descendent of Little Miss? It seemed possible, even likely. But possible wasn’t enough. MJ wanted to know. Multiple generations separated them, but they shared a similar story, one that belonged to every woman who lived with the consequences of a sexual choice.
When MJ asked her mom to watch Cody for the trip to L.A., she’d give her the letters and ask about Little Miss. Maybe her mother could solve the mystery. Setting the letters aside, MJ hoped Little Miss found her happy ending, because MJ very much wanted one for herself.
Chapter 17
With his students taking a test, Shane sat at his desk grading last night’s homework assignment. For the third time in an hour, his hand drifted to the pocket holding his phone. He knew better than to check for messages in the classroom. The school enforced a strict policy for teachers and students alike, but sometime today a florist was scheduled to deliver roses to MJ. He wanted to know if they had arrived, so he stole a glance at the screen.
Instead of a text from the florist, he saw a missed call from Ray Blaine, the vice president of player development for the Cougars, the man with the power to restore Shane’s career.
There was a voicemail, too.
Pulse racing, he whipped his gaze to the wall clock. Ten minutes to wait before class ended . . . Ten long minutes to speculate and imagine, to hope and . . . No. He wouldn’t pray.
While the students finished the test, he tapped his foot, twirled a pencil, and glanced again at Ray’s number. The caller ID left no doubt. Ray Blaine had personally phoned him. With five minutes to go, Shane called time and collected the answer sheets. After a final minute of classroom chatter, the dismissal chime played and the students filed into the hall. When the last boy left, Shane locked the door and called Ray.
Amber Washington, Ray’s assistant, picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Blaine’s office.”
“Hi, Amber. It’s Shane Riley.”
“Oh, good. Ray’s been waiting for you.”
Ray Blaine—waiting for him? Shane’s pulse raced like it did before a big game.
Ray picked up the phone. “Hey, Shane. How’s it going?”
“Great.” He started to pace. “Congratulations on winning the division. Sorry we didn’t get to the World Series.” The Cougars had lost the league championship in four straight.
“That’s the way it goes. How’s the knee?”
“Strong again. I work out every day.”
“Good. JP Tyler got busted again for cocaine. We cut him loose. Ricky wants to give you a chance.”
Shane stopped dead in his tracks between the window and the locked door. Ricky Jordan was the Cougars manager, one of the best in baseball. If Ricky wanted him, Shane had a real shot at a comeback. Six months ago, he would have hit his knees in gratitude. Today he silently mouthed, “Yes!” and pumped his fist in the air. “When do you want me?”
“Ricky just left on a cruise, then I’m headed to Tokyo to do some scouting. How about November 10? That’s three weeks from now.”
“Perfect.”
“Amber will make all the arrangements. We’ll send a private jet for you.”
“That sounds good.” Good? It sounded great—better than great.
“No problem,” Ray replied. “We’re piggy-backing you on a flight out of Denver. Manny’s speaking at a cystic fibrosis event, and a couple of guys are going with him. There’s an extra seat if you want to bring someone.”
A private jet and an offer to bring a guest? Could it get any better? Shane couldn’t stop grinning. He’d invite MJ for what he hoped would be an unforgettable first date.
“Thanks,” he said to Ray. “There’s definitely someone I’d like to bring.”
The VP chuckled. “Sounds like Preacher Man has a girlfriend.”
“Maybe.”
Ray laughed. “Bring her. Amber will set you up with a hotel, a car, everything.”
“Thanks.”
“Here’s Amber. You two can work out the details.”
When Amber picked up the line, Shane could barely control his voice. She asked about airports, hotels, and car preferences, then promised to email the details.
The instant she hung up, Shane shouted “Yes!” at the top of his lungs. The Cougars wanted him back! If MJ was up for the trip, their first date would be dinner at the beach, a long walk barefoot on the sand, holding hands while the moon glistened on the ocean.
The Cougars booked VIPs at the Crowne Drake Hotel, a glass-walled tower in downtown L.A. with a legendary view of the city. Possibilities burned in his mind. Playing third base again. Celebrating with MJ. Kissing her senseless, maybe even—he stopped himself from reacting like a salmon, but the thought of making love to her did more than cross his mind.
The next three weeks would be the longest of his life. He wanted to speak to MJ in person, but he had to tell someone the good news now. He scrolled through his phone to Craig Hawkins’s number.
His old roommate answered on the third ring. “So how’s the school teacher?”
A month ago Shane would have bristled at the jibe. Today he didn’t care. He enjoyed teaching, mostly because of the kids. He’d miss the classroom when he rejoined the Cougars. “I’m good,” he said to Craig. “Teaching’s not a bad gig. I like it, but get ready to have your roommate back. Ray Blaine just called.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Tyler’s gone.” Shane told him about the arrest. “I’m trying out November 10.”
“Excellent.” Craig paused, then lowered his voice to the somber tone of a friend who understood. “How’s the knee?”
Shane flexed it a couple of times before answering. An ache crept along the ACL, but every athlete lived with some pain. “It’s a lot better than it was.”
“Glad to hear it. Are you crashing here?”
“No.” He mentioned the private jet and the hotel, then went a little further. “I’m bringing someone.”
“Female?”
“Definitely.”
Craig chuckled. “So is Preacher Man still holding on to his purity?”
Shane loathed his old nickname, but Craig was a good friend. They often poked and prodded each other, always with an underlying respect. In the locker room, however, Shane had been viewed as a self-righteous snot and rightly so, but no way would he disrespect MJ even with a friend. “Preacher Man’s dead and gone, but I still don’t talk trash.”
Craig laughed. “Yeah, I figured. Anyway, I’ll be gone all of November. The place is yours if you want it.”
“Thanks. Where are you going?”
“Would you believe through the Panama Canal? I’m taking my pare
nts on a cruise for their thirtieth anniversary, then spending two weeks back home.”
“Ooooh-kla-homa.” Shane sang the famous opening from the showtune. He knew it irked Craig, and that was most of the fun.
As he expected, Craig groaned into the phone. “Good thing you’re not teaching music, bro. Your voice stinks, but yeah. that’s home. I need some normalcy after this year, and my sisters will make sure I get it.”
At the mention of Craig’s sisters, Shane flashed to Daisy. MJ had asked her friend Lyn to keep an ear to the ground, but so far Lyn hadn’t responded. Troy was still looking, but there was no sign of Daisy.
Shane finished with Craig and headed to his SUV. As the engine purred to life, he wished again that he could call Daisy. But there was no way. His stomach plummeted, and he worried she was dead in a ditch. His elation sank into fear, then deeper still into the quicksand of shame and helpless remorse.
A left turn put him on Refuge Boulevard, where the log church loomed on his right. A blast of fury obliterated the shame, even the elation of hearing from Ray Blaine. Spoiling for a fight, he swung the Tahoe into the church parking lot, aimed the hood at the broad side of the building, and jammed the transmission into park. Glowering at a stained-glass depiction of a shepherd and a lamb, he let out a curse at the God who had betrayed him.
Christianity was a lie. God didn’t care.
Except Shane felt a Presence in the SUV—as if Jesus himself were in the passenger’s seat.
A voice whispered in his mind. Go inside.
“And do what?” he said to no one, maybe to Someone. “Pray? Ask you to bless the tryout?”
He had told Ray the knee felt good, but the joint crackled like dry spaghetti. It throbbed in bad weather and made him feel like an old man. He had paced himself for a tryout in February, not one in mid-November. If Shane asked for more time, Cougars management would find a new third baseman. It was now or never, do or die.
Mentally he hurled rocks at the green pastures depicted in the window, the still waters he couldn’t find.
When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1) Page 17
