When He Found Me (Road to Refuge Book 1)

by Victoria Bylin

  Even in baggy sweats and an old T-shirt, with her hair in a high ponytail and no makeup on her face, MJ was beautiful to him. When he thought about it, she’d been living in sweats since the LEEP. Not that he cared about what she wore, but he wondered why.

  She gave him a dull look, then went back to baiting the trap in her hand. “Cody must have gotten you. Thanks, but I have things under control.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not here to help you.”

  “Then why?”

  “I’m here to save the mice.”

  Her mouth gaped. “You are not—”

  “No.” Grinning now, he indicated the remaining four traps. “I’m with you on the war on rodents. But Cody wants a pet. Fortunately, he got a whiff and changed his mind about a mouse.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” She rolled her eyes, then dipped the knife in the peanut butter jar.

  “Need help?”

  “No, I can handle it. I found a few old nests when I took down all the junk, but something new has been running across my ceiling. It probably came from there.” She pointed to a piece of plywood blocking the crawl space above her bedroom.

  Shane picked up the hammer at her feet, crouched in front of the panel, and started to pry out a nail. Cody’s talk about a pet gave him an opening to mention an idea he’d considered all week—adoption. He’d spent his evenings visiting websites and mentally filling MJ’s house with foster kids.

  He pried out the first nail. “I always wanted a dog.”

  “Most kids do.”

  He pulled a second nail. “What about you? Any pets?”

  “A fish.” Laughing softly, she placed a trap in the far corner of the room. “Her name was Goldie and she lasted a month. My poor mom—we had a funeral in the backyard. But after that, no more pets. My mom’s allergic to cats, and we didn’t have a yard for a dog.”

  Shane saw his chance and took it. “Lots of animals need homes. So do kids. I’ve been researching adoption.”

  He pulled three more nails before MJ approached him from behind. He pushed to his full height and faced her. Bluish shadows fanned from her nose, a sign she wasn’t sleeping well. Neither was he.

  She placed her palm on his biceps, imploring him with her eyes. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get ahead of me. I’m not ready for—for us.” She spun away from him, her head down and her shoulders rounded.

  He set the hammer on the floor, came up behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She slumped against him, her spine to his chest, and gave a weary sigh.

  Holding her close felt both good and right, but her silence threw up a wall between them. Words couldn’t break it down, so he inhaled deeply. Savoring the scent of her, he grazed her temple with a kiss. “I love you, MJ. Whatever happens, we can handle it together.”

  Her spine snapped straight, jerking her from his arms. Catlike, with her back arched, she turned and glared at him. “I told you. I can’t do this now.”

  “Then when?” And why not? No way would he back down. “I’d like to have kids the ordinary way, but adoption is a real possibility.”

  “I know you mean it, but—”

  “I do.”

  “It’s not that simple!”

  “It is for me.” Especially after seeing pictures of children on websites. “I was a teenage foster kid. That’s the hardest kind to place. Adoption is in my DNA.”

  Her mouth quivered with a faint smile. “So is being a knight in shining armor.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.” She turned away from him, again, and went back to the pile of mouse traps.

  Shane caught up in three strides. Before she could crouch down, he caught her elbow. “MJ—”

  She froze at his touch. “Shane, stop it. This isn’t a fairy tale.”

  “No, it’s real life.”

  “That’s right.” Chin high, she glared at him. “You don’t know what it means to give up the hope of having a child of your own. I do. I’ve lived with the possibility for a long time, and I have Cody. You’ve thought about it for barely a week.”

  “A week’s long enough.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Her voice rang with gentle confidence, the tone of a wise woman who saw below the surface of things. “I’ve seen you with Cody. I’ve heard you talk about kids, even your students. I know you want children.”

  “I want a family.”

  Why was she pushing him away yet again? For a week he’d spent evenings alone, grading papers when he wanted to hear about her day, Cody’s latest antics, and anything else on her mind. He had resisted the urge to break down her door and kiss her senseless. He’d stayed strong with the belief that she needed to work through her doubts herself. Now he wondered if she needed something else—an ally in an all-out war on those D words, a real-life knight to fight at her side.

  Stepping forward, he lifted her hands. Chin down and eyes on fire, he put authority in his voice. “You’re right. I want kids. But I don’t care if they come from your body, or China or Africa, or from social services. As for being just friends, I’m sick of it. We’re already a lot more than friends. We’re this—” He drew her into his arms, slanted his lips over hers, and kissed her as if she were already his wife, savoring every sensation until something wet touched his cheek.

  A tear. MJ’s tears.

  He lifted his lips from hers, but only so he could hold her tighter. His mouth grazed the shell of her ear, and he whispered again that he loved her.

  She clung to him like a woman needing a life preserver. “I want to believe you. But I can’t do this—not yet. It’s not fair to you.”

  “Who says?”

  “I do.” She lifted her hands from his neck, stepped back, and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. “First you bought us shoes, then you paid too much rent. I can’t count how many times you’ve helped me. You’re doing it again.”

  His brows snapped together. “Doing what?”

  “Rescuing me.” She squared her shoulders, then made quotation marks with her fingers. “‘Poor MJ is all messed up. I’m going to ride to her rescue—yes. I’ll save her. I’ll—’”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s true.”

  How could she be so blind? She was rescuing him. A man needed a mission, and nothing—nothing—called to him more than being MJ’s husband—her lover and best friend, her protector, provider, the hunter of mice and driver of the family car.

  He didn’t see her as needy in the least, or as damaged, but that’s how she saw herself. He got a whiff of self-pity and didn’t like it. “Do you really think I feel sorry for you?”

  “You do!”

  “Do you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I do feel sorry for you. Yes, you need rescuing. So do I. Every human being on this planet needs rescuing. But hey—if you’re so perfect that you don’t need anyone to care about you, fine.”

  “That is not what I’m saying.”

  “Then what?”

  “I—I’m saying—” Her mouth quivered with the threat of tears. “I just don’t know.”

  Every muscle in his body tightened, ready to fight for her. But the spiritual man in him, the one who had suffered and wrestled with God, knew a simple truth. MJ had to find her own way to the light. If he carried her, she’d never develop a strong faith of her own. He’d be the rescuer she didn’t want, not the Rescuer she needed.

  Please, God, help her.

  The prayer echoed in his mind. So did the desire to fight for her. Mentally, he surrendered to both God and to MJ’s needs, but he was human, and he wanted the last word.

  “Fine,” he ground out. “But if you think you don’t need rescuing, you’re dead wrong. Now—” He picked up the hammer. “Let’s finish this and go where it doesn’t stink like dead mice.”

  MJ would not break down again. She wouldn’t. But the tears behind her eyes were as thic
k as motor oil. No way did she want to talk to Shane about the future when she felt as attractive as a blob of mud. When they finished with the traps, she’d take Cody to the movie about talking dogs. Except Cody wanted a pet, and now pets reminded her of Shane’s insistence that he had adoption in his DNA.

  Did she? A leap of her heart said yes, but she couldn’t shrug off the weight of failure, or feel pretty, much less desirable.

  While Shane pried nails from the plywood, she slathered peanut butter on three traps for the crawl space, listening as the nails plinked to the floor.

  When only two nails held the board in place, he offered her the hammer. “You pull. I’ll lift the board.”

  Her fingers brushed his on the rubber grip. Shivers shot through her—both cold and hot, a mix of fear and the longing to be pretty and desirable, the woman he deserved, instead of a blob in sweatpants.

  He gripped the plywood and braced. MJ pulled the last two nails, and the wood gave way. Muscles flexing, Shane lifted the board and leaned it against the wall.

  Foul air spilled into the main attic. Wrinkling her nose, she picked up the flashlight she’d brought up earlier and aimed it into the alcove. A dead mouse was the first thing she saw. “Yuck.”

  “I’ll get that.” Shane retrieved the Ziploc bags she had brought up and took care of the problem.

  While he double-bagged the dead mouse, MJ aimed a flashlight into the dark corners. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and covered a stack of furniture—a four-poster bedstead, a matching bureau, a vanity with an attached oval mirror, and an ornate chair with a cushion that had turned to dust. A cedar chest faced forward, its latch undone.

  Shane peered over her shoulder. “I wonder why this stuff is in here. It seems odd to board it up.”

  “My grandfather and his cousins slept up here during World War II. Maybe someone shoved these things out of the way, then boarded it up to keep four boys from getting into it.”

  “We need to check for nests.”

  He swept away the cobwebs with a broom, then braved the dust and grit to manhandle the cedar chest into the main attic. He picked up the flashlight and pointed it under the remaining furniture. “I don’t see any more mice. I’ll haul the furniture out later.”

  “Thank you. It’s gross in there.” Her gaze drifted to the cedar chest. Even covered in dust, it exuded a romantic charm. “I wonder what’s inside.”

  “The sooner we look, the sooner we can go downstairs.” He picked up a rag and wiped the top clean with strong, swift strokes.

  When he finished, MJ opened the lid. The first thing she saw was a lavender dress faded nearly to gray. The fabric matched the swatches in the storage carton where she had found the letters. “Little Miss! I wonder if these are her things?”

  All else forgotten, she lifted the fragile garment by the shoulders and saw a vintage 1890s style. Time had left its mark, but the cedar chest had protected the garment surprisingly well from light, insects, and mice. “I can’t believe it! If this belonged to her—”

  “Who’s Little Miss?” Shane peered down into the chest.

  “The letters we found up here. Do you remember? They were with a whiskey flask and some hair ornaments.”

  “I remember.”

  “Little Miss’s father wrote the letters. My mom and I don’t know for sure, but we think she’s my great-great-grandmother. Maybe there’s something here.”

  MJ riffled through fabric scraps until her fingers brushed a leather-bound journal. With the greatest care, she lifted it and opened the shriveled cover. An ornate title page read My Diary and below it, in artful penmanship, was her great-great-grandmother’s name, Margaret Jane Abbott.

  A different name, but another MJ. Her heart skipped a beat as she read the first lines.

  I love Papa dearly, but I am eighteen years old. Why must he call me Little Miss instead of by my given name? I deplore silly nicknames!

  MJ bounced on her toes. “She’s definitely related to my mom and me.” She hugged the book to her chest. “This is so special. I can hardly believe we found it.”

  The patient look in his eyes melted her heart. So did the timbre of his voice when he finally spoke. “Read it now. I’ll take Cody to a movie.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not a bit.” He glanced down at the book with a hint of awe. “I teach history. A diary like this is a real discovery. Enjoy it.”

  “I will.”

  He went down the stairs first, took the diary from her, and set it on the dresser in her bedroom. MJ was halfway down the folding stairs when he returned and stood at the bottom, ready to catch her if she fell.

  In her mind she pictured him in ten years, then twenty, even fifty years with more silver in his blond hair than sun-kissed gold. She wanted to grow old with him, but she didn’t want to be a damsel in distress, or a disappointment. She wanted to make his dreams come true. And hers.

  Shane gave her a quick kiss good-bye and went downstairs to round up Cody for the talking dog movie. The instant he backed his vehicle out of the driveway, MJ lit her candles, nestled against her mountain of lacy pillows, and started to read.

  Chapter 26

  Dear Diary,

  I love Papa dearly, but I am eighteen years old. Why must he call me Little Miss instead of by my given name? I deplore silly nicknames! Margaret suits me far better than an endearment meant for the child who cuddled in his lap. I am the youngest of his four daughters, but I am by no means incompetent as my mother and sisters seem to think!

  Only Papa believes in my abilities, though I regret to admit he is not pleased with my plan to leave home for the purpose of teaching.

  I do not expect Mother to understand my ambition, nor do my sisters have a fervent call to seek more from life. They do not understand me; but Thomas does. A similar yearning for purpose—to bring the message of the gospel to the world—led him to our small town and Papa’s tutelage.

  Papa is full of stories about his travels as a missionary in western America. He still speaks of those days with the greatest passion, and I am quietly envious of such an adventuresome life. So is Thomas. Sometimes he complains that he is planted like a cornstalk when he wants to soar like an eagle.

  Papa wants me to be a cornstalk too, but how can I put down roots when I believe that I am destined for a grander life?

  I am determined to be a New Woman, one who rides a bicycle in bloomers. Ha! I refuse to be imprisoned by corsets and billowing skirts that confine the use of my legs. God gave me legs! Certainly He expects me to run and leap and even dance on those legs! The Almighty gave me a sound mind and a noble purpose. I, Margaret Jane Abbott, am determined to fulfill that purpose by sharing my passion for the education of girls . . .

  For the next several pages, Little Miss wrote fervently about women’s rights. MJ admired her determination to do something with her life, a passion that drove Little Miss to get on a train for Cheyenne just as MJ had driven the Bonneville to Los Angeles with an eye on someday going to medical school.

  Some of the passages were social commentaries that rambled for pages. Others remarked on the weather. Most typically she wrote about her search for a teaching position that would take her to “a place where women are considered equal to men in intellect and ability.” When she received an acceptance letter from Miss Adele Broderick, Little Miss rejoiced for pages and thanked God for the chance “to bring enlightenment to a dark world.”

  MJ wanted to celebrate with her, but she knew what lay ahead. A mistake. Heartache. Fear. And very possibly, shame and self-doubt. With her own chest tight, she read on.

  I do not know where to start! I expected Thomas to celebrate my acceptance as a teacher at the Broderick School for Young Ladies. Instead he dropped to one knee and proposed marriage! He told me he loved me and had great plans for us—plans that will take us to places unseen and faraway, plans to take the gospel to the world.

  Before I could gather my wits, he drew me into his arms and kissed me fully on the m
outh. I am . . . stunned.

  I am more than stunned.

  I am awake to feelings my mother would call improper, but how can I believe such feelings are wrong when God made our bodies? Did He—or did He not—give us desires that are as natural as breathing? Oh, Diary! Thomas’s kiss made my body cry out with longing—or was it Lust? I do not know. The kiss was most unexpected, but I cannot say it was unwelcome.

  I care for Thomas, but I am committed to my Season of Discovery. We bickered like little children until he reluctantly agreed that I should accept the position in Cheyenne with the understanding that I return home at the school year’s end. At that time, I will give Thomas my answer to his proposal of marriage.

  Do I love him? I do not know, but I know this: I love my dream more.

  With dust tickling her nose, MJ wondered when pursuing a dream crossed from a noble cause to selfish ambition. Shane knew the answer. He’d found it when he walked off the field at Cougar Stadium.

  The next entries described the five-day train trip to Cheyenne in excruciating detail—every meal, the heat, the idiosyncrasies of her fellow travelers. Little Miss arrived grimy and disheveled, but Miss Broderick herself met her at the station and whisked her to the school, where she shared a room with Miss Annalisse Petty, a pious spinster whom Little Miss found “pedantic” and “small minded.”

  Little Miss had opinions about everyone and everything, and she didn’t hold back. She criticized the curriculum at the school as “too domestic” and waged a battle to introduce a biology class. She also wrote praises for each of her students and knew the tender details of their lives.

  In September, about the time the reverend’s letters began to express worry, Little Miss made a confession.

  Today I met a man unlike anyone I have ever known. If I had crossed his path anywhere but Cheyenne, I would have been compelled to turn my back to avoid his blatant stare! He came out of the Lancer Hotel just as I crossed the street. I was so distracted that a carriage nearly ran me down. When I dropped my reticule, he bent to pick it up.