Love Inspired June 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Single Dad CowboyThe Bachelor Meets His MatchUnexpected Reunion

by Brenda Minton

  Brooks looked around warily. “That’s true,” he agreed. “I even warned her not to follow the iron-rich diet longer than—”

  “Iron-rich diet!” Morgan interrupted hotly. “Does she look like she’s been on an iron-rich diet to you?”

  “When people are giving you free room and board, you don’t demand special diets, too,” Simone said defensively.

  Brooks spread his hands. “Have you done anything I prescribed?”

  “I’ve been at Chatam House all this time, haven’t I?”

  “Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Brooks said drily, but Morgan shook his head.

  “I do not understand how your mind works,” he told her. “You will steal food for a pregnant friend, but you won’t ask for what you need from people who are willing, eager, to help you. What is that? A death wish?”

  “No.”

  “What, then?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know! I just didn’t want to put anyone out. I just...” She looked down.

  She just thought she wasn’t worth it. He didn’t have to hear her say it to know it, and the very idea infuriated, appalled and broke him into little pieces inside.

  “Now, you listen to me,” he told her, shaking his finger in her face. “You are going to get well. In every sense of the word, you are going to heal completely. No matter if I have to...” What? Tie her down and shove pills into her? Force-feed her? Open her head and pluck out every silly notion there? Love her until she believed she was worth it?

  But he already loved her. He couldn’t help loving her. He loved her against his own will. And it hadn’t made a bit of difference. How could it?

  Shaken, he ran a hand through his hair and turned on Brooks.

  “What now?”

  “Feed her a steak and a spinach salad,” Brooks said. “Then take her home and put her to bed. I’ll send around the prescription and a diet plan tomorrow.”

  “Done,” Morgan said, daring her to argue.

  “You might try lightening up on the emotional drama,” Brooks added almost flippantly.

  “I would if I could,” Morgan returned in kind.

  “Wouldn’t we all?” Simone sighed, sliding down off the table. “God knows I did everything I could to avoid it.”

  And she had, he realized. She really had.

  “It’ll be all right,” he promised her with all sincerity, because it had to be. For once, something had to be all right for her. Please, God, he prayed.

  He drove her straight to a little French bistro in town. There they had beef tips in a rich brown sauce, French onion soup and spinach salad, followed by strawberries Romanoff. She ate heartily and thanked him with a smile, but when they were back in the car, tears started to roll.

  “I don’t want to go back to Chatam House. I can’t face them there. Couldn’t I go back to the boardinghouse?”

  “Even if they still had a room for you, which is doubtful,” he pointed out, “you know you wouldn’t rest there.”

  “The mission, then, just for tonight.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of you being alone there, especially at night. Be honest now. Were you comfortable with the thought of Rina being there alone at night?”

  Reluctantly, she shook her head.

  Morgan thought a moment. He could always put her up in a motel, but that wouldn’t look great if it ever came to light, and as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t be entirely sure now that she would be there when morning came. His aunts were not the only ones with room to spare, however.

  “I suppose I could call my dad.”

  Simone winced. “I guess he’ll have to know eventually, but...”

  “Sweetheart, you’re the only one condemning you. Your uncle and aunt are just...hurt and confused right now, but that will pass, if it hasn’t already.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  He searched for a way to convince her, but she was her own best proof. “Simone, what did you do after you turned seventeen? How did you get off the street?”

  She swiped at her tears with her fingertips. “Well, one of the shelters offered GED classes, so I got my high school diploma that way.”

  “Then you went to college.”

  “Junior college first.”

  “You must have had a job.”

  “Several,” she said drily.

  “So you went to work and put yourself through college,” he summarized, “and all that time you kept your nose clean.”

  “I didn’t dare risk—”

  “You stayed out of trouble,” he interrupted firmly, “you worked, you went to school, all on your own, alone, as a teenager, without any help from anyone.”

  She licked her lips. “Yes. All right.”

  “And eventually you found someone and got married. He turned out to be a creep...”

  “Story of my life,” she muttered.

  “But at least he was a wealthy creep,” Morgan went on, and at last she smiled.

  “Well, yes, there is that.”

  “So now your schooling is entirely paid for.”

  “And that is a blessing for which I am deeply grateful,” she said sincerely.

  “Look, you’ve made mistakes,” he told her. “Everyone does.”

  “Not like mine,” she argued.

  “And you’ve paid for them,” he insisted. “You’ve overcome heartaches and obstacles that would have broken lesser women, Simone, and you have a great many accomplishments of which you should be proud. Give yourself some credit. Don’t always expect the worst. You might be surprised.”

  She seemed to consider that, but then she slanted a glance up at him and said, “You’ve never met my mother, have you?”

  He chuckled. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  Simone smiled, but her eyes remained sad. “If you had, you might understand when I say that my apple didn’t fall very far from her tree.”

  “Now you’re just being silly,” he told her. “You’re arguing a genetics hypothesis, when I know perfectly well that I’m sitting here looking at a self-made woman if ever there was one.”

  “But that’s the point, Morgan,” she said gently. “I made myself a pariah in my own family.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “I’m afraid you will,” she told him sadly.

  He gusted a great sigh and shook his head at her. “So what’s it to be, then?” he asked. “Do you run again, or do you stay and face the music?”

  “Are those really the only two choices?” she asked, her voice an agony of hope.

  “That’s how I see it,” he answered forthrightly. “The thing is, if you run, you’ll be alone again, but if you stay...” He held out his hand.

  Gulping, she laid her palm against his. “Chatam House, then. And pray for time, I suppose.”

  “Simone,” he began, curling his fingers around hers, but then he paused. “Should I go on calling you Simone?”

  “I’ve been Simone so long now I don’t know how to be Lyla anymore,” she told him.

  “Simone,” he began again, “time works both ways. Give your family some time. They’ll come around.”

  “I hope so,” she said, “but you can’t really understand, because you’re a Chatam.”

  Maybe you could be, too, he thought, squeezing her hand. But no, she needed a younger man, a man with the time to be approved for adoption. It was too late for him. Like she’d said, it was just too late for some things.

  “You need some rest,” he said, shifting in his seat and releasing her hand to start up the car engine. “It’s been a trying day.”

  The day had faded, however, until nothing of the sun could even be seen along the horizon as the
y drove west toward Chatam House from the bistro. Night would soon envelop the day entirely.

  He got out and went around to help her out of the low-slung car. They walked up the brick path side by side and climbed the steps to the porch. Crossing that deep veranda in silence, they came to the bright yellow door that marked Chatam House as one of the sunniest places on earth—for everyone but her, he supposed. Morgan simply opened the door and held it wide for her to walk through. She did so with marked reluctance, her hands clasped behind her. He followed her to the foot of the stairs.

  “I’ll bring the coupe over for you later tonight,” he promised. He’d get a buddy to help. Someone was always willing to drive his Beemer for him.

  One foot on the bottom step, one hand on the gracefully curving banister, Simone closed her eyes, clearly having forgotten that they’d left the coupe at the mission. “Seems I am forever in your debt.”

  “You’re never in my debt,” he told her, squeezing the hand that hung at her side. “Now, get some rest.”

  Nodding, she began the climb. He watched her until she turned out of sight, then he went in search of his aunts. Odelia’s husband was a pharmacist by trade. Simone would have the rest, diet and prescription she needed, or someone—everyone—would answer to Morgan Chatam.

  * * *

  Morgan’s surprise and pleasure when she turned up for class the next day couldn’t have been more evident, but Simone would much rather have been at the university than Chatam House, where her uncle and aunt tried to convince her to call her sister and the Chatams asked how she was feeling every time they saw her. She couldn’t even check on Rina without someone checking on her. At least the Chatams called her Lyla Simone, using both names, while her uncle and aunt insisted on calling her Lyla. She wanted to snap at them that Lyla was an idiot child, while Simone was a woman, but they had reluctantly agreed to delay informing Carissa of her presence for the time being, so she said nothing. In truth, she was both—the child who still suffered for her mistakes and the woman who paid for them. She was only too happy to escape to class when the opportunity came.

  “You look good,” Morgan said by way of greeting when she first came into the lecture hall. Some of the girls around them tittered, so he immediately amended the statement. “Well, I mean. You look well. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m quite recovered,” she said. “Thank you.” Then for good measure, she added, “Dr. Leland has taken good care of me.”

  Morgan nodded and grinned. “I always recommend Dr. Leland.”

  “I can see why,” she murmured, heading for her seat.

  “Uh, stop by my desk after class, Simone,” Morgan called. “I want to talk to you about that staff position we discussed.”

  She shot him a surprised look and a curt nod before hurrying on her way. She hoped that was good news. Surely he wasn’t going to withdraw his recommendation. As she took her seat, she heard the two students in front of her whispering.

  “A staff position? How did she swing that?”

  “She’s a graduate student picking up a prerequisite.”

  “Oh. Slumming, eh?”

  Stung, Simone bent toward them and hissed, “You don’t know what slumming is until you’ve lived on the street and eaten out of garbage cans.”

  To her surprise, they did not recoil. Instead, they turned in their seats to face her.

  “Did you really?” the young man asked. “Live on the street, I mean.”

  Simone dropped her gaze, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to lie, though. She had tried so hard not to lie throughout all this, though some would say she was merely playing at semantics. Well, no more. Finally, she gave a brief nod.

  “Wow,” he said, “what a testimony you must have.”

  She jerked her gaze up. Was he serious? “T-testimony?”

  “Look at you now, a graduate student in Bible college.”

  “God must have done a real work in your life,” the girl surmised, her smile warm and accepting.

  A work in her life? Through homelessness and cancer?

  The boy pulled a card from a pocket and pressed it into Simone’s hand, saying, “We’re always looking for people to speak to our group, if you’re interested and have the time.”

  Speak to a group? Simone didn’t know what to say to that. “I—I’m pretty busy.” For good measure, she added, “I work part-time at the DBC mission for youth and young adults over next to the rail yard.”

  “Yeah? That sounds interesting,” the girl said. “What’s it like?”

  Simone relaxed, and they discussed the mission for several minutes until Morgan started class. Afterward, the young man rose to his feet and smiled down at Simone, suggesting, “Hey, maybe our group could come over to the mission sometime, and you could talk to us there.”

  Once again, Simone didn’t know what to say. “Uh, maybe. I’ll...see what the director thinks about that.”

  “We’ll pray about it,” the girl said, getting up.

  “Cool deal,” the guy called, starting off. The girl followed.

  Simone blinked at them, wondering what had just happened. Could she really tell her story to a bunch of kids? She would die of embarrassment and shame.

  Then again, if just one of them learned something from it...

  She shook her head. No, no, not these kids. These kids didn’t need to learn from her. They had it together. They were in Bible college, leading good, pure lives. No, the kids who needed to hear what she had to say were the kids at the mission. But did she dare? She bit her lip, pondering the matter as the room emptied. Eventually, she stood, packed her wheeled case and made her way to Morgan.

  He handed her a sheaf of papers. “The job is in the Records Department. Work from home, make your own hours. It’s mostly typing. Fill-in-the-blank sort of stuff. Entry-level. I’m told it’s a good department to get into because every department has records. Even the Records Department has its own records. It’s administrative, not academic, but it gets you on staff, and that’s what I’m—” He broke off, huffed and said, “Maybe it’s not what you’re after.”

  “No, it sounds fine,” she told him. “In fact, it sounds great.”

  “The pay isn’t stellar,” he warned, “but it’s far above what you’re earning now.”

  She thumbed through to that section of the paperwork and literally gaped at the salary offered. “That’s fantastic! Oh, my.”

  “Okay, then. The top sheet there tells you how to go online and fill out the application.”

  “I’ll do it right away,” she promised, smiling broadly.

  “You do that, and I’ll pray,” he said.

  Touched, she tilted her head. “Thank you, Morgan.”

  “No, not this time,” he refuted, shaking his head. “This time, I honestly don’t know if I’m doing the right thing.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “I don’t know,” he told her. “I just really don’t know.”

  She knew that he was worried about her health. “I’m fine. Truly. And what isn’t fine is my own fault, not yours.”

  “That isn’t what I mean,” he said. “My motives may not always be as pure as you think.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek, whispering, “One thing I know about you, Morgan Chatam, is that you always do the right thing.”

  “I hope so,” he replied softly, blanketing her hand with his. “I pray so.”

  * * *

  He didn’t sleep well.

  And that, Morgan told himself blearily the next morning, is what comes of a guilty conscience.

  Simone didn’t even realize that he’d maneuvered her into a staff position for his own purposes or why, and it did no good to tell himself that it was for her benefit when he knew his own motives. If she was on staff at the u
niversity, he could openly date her—even if he had no business doing so. Okay, so it was an easy job and she’d make more money, a lot more money; that didn’t change why he’d done it.

  Repeatedly throughout the night, he had told himself, and God, that he wouldn’t take advantage of the situation. He wouldn’t spend time with her just because he could, wouldn’t take her out, wouldn’t do all the little romantic things that kept popping into his head, and he definitely wouldn’t hold and kiss her. The problem was that he didn’t believe it, for as wrong as he knew he was for her, he wanted her with a desperation that frightened him.

  For the first time in his life, he was afraid. Not angry or hurt, as he had been when Brigitte had broken their engagement. Not grief stricken and broken, as he had been when those he loved had died. Not ashamed and contrite, as he had been when he’d realized what a fool he’d made of himself after Brigitte and Brooks had married. He was afraid that his life would never be the same again because his heart would never be the same again, and he honestly was not sure that he could ever truly be happy without Simone. For whom he was all wrong.

  Perhaps if she could bear a child... He couldn’t believe that he was even thinking about that at his age, but no one could tell him that he wasn’t allowed to start a family the natural way; they could, however, when it came to adoption. He’d known one couple turned down several times by different agencies precisely because of age, so he’d done a little research, and what he’d found hadn’t helped. Simone’s health history was already a strike against her when it came to adoption through normal channels; she didn’t need to add a middle-aged husband to the equation. Funny, he’d never thought of himself as middle-aged before.

  Private adoption was fraught with difficulties, from scams to women who simply changed their minds and too many couples who couldn’t qualify through normal channels. No, he was a strike against her, no matter how he looked at it, so he prayed that God would take this desire, this obsession, from him. It hadn’t helped at all. He didn’t understand. His house felt foreign now, the same house that he’d loved and treasured as his haven all these years. This neat, orderly, clean, spacious bachelor’s paradise suddenly seemed sterile, cold and empty as he sat at the bar in his gourmet kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand, his glasses perched on his nose and his Bible open before him, reading aloud from Proverbs 3.