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

by Brenda Minton

  Simone couldn’t help blushing over such a pretty compliment as that. Neither could she help thinking that Brooks was right about Morgan’s feelings for her and that God must intend for the two of them to be together. It all just made a wonderful, glorious sense, which was why Monday’s news came as such a crushing blow.

  She didn’t get the job.

  The shattering announcement came as a form letter to her student mailbox.

  “Thank you for applying,” she read, “blah, blah, blah...a more qualified candidate, blah, blah, blah...”

  Simone couldn’t believe it. She’d been so sure that she’d discerned God’s will for her and Morgan. When she handed the letter to Morgan after class that morning, he’d first joked about it.

  “What’s this? Is your mother demanding redress for your years of absence?”

  “It isn’t funny,” Simone choked out, waiting for him to read the thing.

  He’d grown somber after the first sentence. Finally, he wadded up the paper and slammed it into the trash can beside his desk. “Stupid of me not to see that coming.”

  “I guess I should’ve applied for more than the one position,” she ventured woodenly.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “There haven’t been any more openings.”

  That hit her like a sledgehammer. “Oh.”

  “Doesn’t mean there won’t be,” he said, looking up, but she could tell he was as disturbed by this turn of events as she was.

  “Of course,” she said, but he didn’t believe it, and neither did she.

  He’d been right all along. They weren’t meant to be together. Sometimes a person just had to face facts.

  “I guess I’d better go,” she said, disappointed but unsurprised when he didn’t try to stop her.

  She felt as if she were wading through chest-deep water as she walked away and left him sitting there on the end of his desk, slumped and frowning. At least he seemed as dejected as she felt, but that didn’t change anything.

  No, it only made the disappointment that much harder to bear.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “My dear, I don’t know what is bothering you, but I think it would do you good to go to prayer meeting,” Hypatia said after knocking on Simone’s bedroom door Wednesday evening. “Besides, Rina says that she will go if you do.”

  Simone smiled wanly and put on as brave a face as she could muster. She had floated in a miasma of disbelief these past two days. “What makes you think something is wrong with me?”

  “You’ve retreated behind your bedroom door again, for one thing,” Hypatia answered. “For another, you look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

  That was so apt that Simone had to work hard at not bursting into tears. “You know how it is when you talk yourself into believing something silly and then realize that you were dreaming all along.”

  “All I know,” Hypatia told her kindly, “is that it can’t hurt to go among your fellow Christians and join them in some earnest prayer. It might even take your mind off things.”

  That, Simone admitted privately, would be most welcome, and bringing Rina along couldn’t hurt, either. She had tried to talk to the girl about keeping her baby, but Rina had insisted that she and the lawyer had everything under control. Simone really didn’t know what was best in Rina’s situation, anyway, and she couldn’t be unbiased about it. They would both benefit from prayer.

  “I’ll get changed,” Simone said. “Then I’ll walk over to the carriage house and get Rina.”

  Hypatia patted her hand. “Very good.”

  Simone wasted no time trading her slouchy sweats for leggings, a wool skirt, a roomy cable-knit sweater and flats. A long wool scarf looped about her throat was enough to ward off even a mid-November chill in Texas. So armed, she went out to fetch Rina from the carriage house.

  The girl had grown immensely in the two weeks since she’d come to Chatam House. Her belly literally filled out the maternity top that she wore with stretch pants, leaving no doubt as to her condition. Simone realized that Rina could not even see her feet as she negotiated the stairs. She was in a much better frame of mind, however, which was why Simone was so puzzled by her decision to give up her child.

  “The misses say I can take a class for the college entrance exam,” she reported excitedly, “and that there are grants and loans available, but I don’t know. Do you really think I can do it? I wasn’t a very good student before.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your brain, Rina,” Simone told her. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

  “Miss Hypatia says I should pray about it, but I feel so funny doing that. Does it work?”

  Simone licked her lips. “It does, yes, when you’re seeking God’s will and not just your own.”

  “I’m not sure I understand that.”

  “Perhaps you’ll find some answers tonight,” Simone told her, thinking that she was the last person to be giving advice on seeking God’s will rather than her own. It was seeking her own desires that had led her to believe that she and Morgan were meant to be together.

  They walked back to the main house and got into the town car with Hypatia, Magnolia, Odelia and Kent, who drove their party to the church on the downtown square. The venerable old church sprawled over an entire city block, but it was the chapel in the back of the campus, rather than the soaring Spanish-style sanctuary, where Kent let them out. The two worship centers stood back-to-back. Though of significantly later construction, the chapel had much more of a Spanish-mission flavor to it, complete with adobe walls and archways. Built in the shape of a cross, it allowed groups to gather in four distinct areas around a central altar.

  The instant she passed through the narthex, Simone’s gaze found Morgan. He stood with his father near the center of the chapel, speaking quietly, his hands in the pockets of his khakis. As if drawn by a lodestone, his gaze met hers, and he started forward, but she quickly turned away, directing Rina to follow along behind Hypatia. She just didn’t think she could calmly converse with him as if their world had not blown apart. For that very reason, she’d skipped his class that day. She had to have some distance to get a hold of her emotions. If he came to her now, she feared what he would say, and she would undoubtedly weep, and the whole situation would become a public spectacle, which was the last thing he needed. Apparently, he realized the wisdom of that, too, for when she took a seat in a row of chairs behind Hypatia and her sisters, she chanced a glance in his direction and saw that he was sitting, with his head bowed, between his father and his sister.

  The meeting began with some singing. Simone did her best to participate, but her throat kept closing up. At one point, Rina leaned over and whispered, “Are you and the prof on the outs?”

  Simone smiled and shook her head. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Oh, okay. You just seem so sad, and I can’t help wondering why you’re not together. Seems like you two ought to be together. You love him, don’t you? He’s sure got it for you.”

  “Rina, please don’t speak of that here,” Simone whispered urgently, hoping they couldn’t be heard over the music.

  “Why not? You’re not ashamed, are you?”

  “Of course not. We have nothing to be ashamed of. But it’s...complicated.”

  “Is it ’cause you can’t have kids?”

  Simone glanced around them self-consciously. “Rina, please! Not now.”

  “Sorry,” the girl muttered. “I just want to help.”

  “I know,” Simone told her, sliding an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I appreciate that. I do.” She mustered up a smile and tried to hide the heaviness of her heart.

  Thankfully, the music ended and along with it, the opportunity for any sort of conversation. They took their seats, and the pastor read from the Bible before calling their a
ttention to the printed list they’d received on the way inside. They prayed corporately for those on the list, all ill, grieving or in need of some sort of assistance. Then, section by section, the alcoves were closed off with curtains and the resulting four smaller groups were led by a facilitator in requesting individual prayer.

  When it came Rina’s turn to speak, she said, “I want this little girl to come out healthy and get a good life.”

  “It’s a girl?” Simone exclaimed, clasping Rina’s hand. “I didn’t know.”

  “Just found out today,” Rina told her.

  “That’s lovely.” She realized then that everyone was looking at her. Did she have a prayer request? Tears filled her eyes, but she couldn’t say it. She dared not, for Morgan’s sake. Besides, how could she ask for the stars when God had already given her the moon? He’d spared her life, reunited her with her family, brought her to the Chatams, seen to it that she got a good education.... How could she be so ungrateful as to ask for more? Mutely, she shook her head, and the facilitator moved on.

  After thirty or forty minutes, prayers came to an end, the curtains were drawn back, a final song was sung and they were dismissed with a blessing. Simone was glad she’d come. She felt a little more at peace, a little more centered—until she looked up and found Brooks looming over her.

  “What is going on?” he asked in a no-nonsense voice.

  Simone blinked at him, slowly rising to her feet. She could feel Rina hanging on every word that passed between them. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Don’t give me that. Morgan looks like someone shot his dog, and you don’t look any happier.”

  Furrowing her brow, Simone tried to think of a politic way out of this, something that wouldn’t embarrass Morgan. Finally, she stated the simple truth.

  “I didn’t get the job.”

  Brooks lifted both brows and blew out a disappointed sigh. “And you’ve taken that as some great sign, I suppose.”

  “How am I supposed to take it?”

  “I don’t know. Did you even pray about it?”

  She tossed a gaze around the room. “Of course not.”

  “I mean in private.”

  She didn’t know how to answer that, how to explain herself without everyone within earshot figuring out what they were talking about, and she imagined that everyone was listening in. Rina and Hypatia certainly were, and neither made any bones about it.

  Brooks threw up his hands. “Simone, sometimes you just have to ask for what you want. Prayer isn’t about motivating God to act or informing Him of your needs, but sometimes He just wants you to sit down, think it through and ask for what you want.”

  “That’s right, dear,” Hypatia volunteered. “There’s no harm in asking for what you want. If it’s not good for you, God can and will say no, but at least you’ll have opened a dialogue on the matter, and eventually, if you’re willing to invest the time and listen, you’ll come to understand His mind concerning it.”

  She’d never thought of it that way. “I see.” She tilted her head. “I guess, in a way, I’ve just been expecting Him to read my mind.”

  Hypatia chuckled. “He can certainly do that, but what you’ve been trying to do is read His mind.”

  Now Simone had to smile. “How right you are.”

  * * *

  Just watching Brooks stand and talk to Simone was almost more than Morgan could bear. He’d been tormented by thoughts of them together before, but now just the idea that Brooks could publicly carry on a conversation with her without anyone thinking twice about it made Morgan want to smack things. Perhaps it was ridiculous—they’d been out to dinner together, after all—yet, somehow, after she’d been turned down for the job at BCBC, Morgan no longer felt comfortable approaching her in public, and he wouldn’t go to her in private. That reeked too much of sneaking around.

  He didn’t know what to do, and it was eating him alive. He hadn’t felt this torn up about Brigitte. If he was honest about it, once she and Brooks had gotten together, even Morgan had known it was right, though he’d been too stupid to admit it. After she’d died, grieving with Brooks had felt entirely appropriate, and Morgan hadn’t had any problem taking a backseat then. Brooks had been devastated and a tower of strength at the same time. He’d warranted every show of support that had come his way, and Morgan had begrudged him none of it, but he resented every word that the man said to Simone standing in the church that evening. Something had to be done about this situation, and it was up to him to do it.

  He’d prayed and prayed about this thing between him and Simone, and now he made a decision. Looking to his dad, he announced it.

  “I’m going to make an appointment with the provost tomorrow.”

  Hub glanced in Simone’s direction and asked, “Don’t you think you should discuss it with her?”

  “No. She’ll try to talk me out of it, and I might be stupid enough to let her.”

  “You should pray about it together, Morgan,” Hub advised.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Morgan agreed, determination filling him.

  He was tired of hiding behind well-meaning regulations and edicts, practically skulking around when he’d done nothing of which he should be ashamed. Well, maybe he’d crossed the line a time or two, but he’d honestly tried to do the right thing. He’d practically turned himself inside out trying not to fall in love, and he still didn’t know how it was all going to work out, but it was time to act. This could turn out to be the greatest disaster of his life, but he was through pretending he didn’t at least want to try for a life with that woman.

  “Might as well start right now,” he said, sliding past his sister and out into the aisle. He covered the distance across to Simone’s section and up to where she was preparing to leave with Rina and the aunties in long, space-eating strides. Shouldering Brooks out of the way, he grabbed Simone’s hand, saying, “Come with me.”

  She looked startled, almost frightened. He nodded to his aunts.

  “Give us a minute or two, will you? We’ll be right over here.”

  He led Simone just a few paces away to an empty row of chairs and sat her down next to him, then took her hands in his.

  “Pray with me.”

  “Morgan.”

  “Here and now. If praying in public is going to condemn us, Simone, then so be it.”

  She glanced around, but then she bowed her head. He did the same, feeling his hair brush hers. A quiet intimacy enveloped them, shutting out the rest of the space and the milling crowd slowly exiting the building.

  “Lord,” he said, “Simone and I want to be together. It’s complicated, but underneath it all, it’s really just this simple. I want her, and she wants me. I don’t know how to work it all out, but You do. Won’t You do that for us? If it can be within Your will for our lives, we want to spend them together.”

  “Please,” Simone added softly, squeezing his hands, and that one small word warmed Morgan as nothing else could.

  “In Jesus’s Name, amen,” he closed.

  Afterward, they both smiled, and he kissed her on the forehead. “There. I feel better.”

  “Me, too.”

  “See you Friday in class.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Sunday in church.”

  “Yes.”

  “And next week.”

  She chuckled. “Yes. I won’t skip again.”

  “Then it’s not as gloomy as all that, is it?” They could still see each other and not date. It wasn’t as if they’d actually dated to begin with, unless that one dinner after she’d met with her mother counted, and personally he chalked that up to therapy for both of them.

  “No. It’s not as gloomy as all that.”

  He got up and let her out into the aisle. Rina had been watching them carefu
lly, but he didn’t mind. Let the whole world watch. He wouldn’t deny what he was feeling, what was happening between them. What was the point?

  She left with his aunties, Rina and Kent, casting him a shy wave farewell as they went out. He gave her a broad grin in return, Brooks standing at his elbow.

  “So what are you going to do?” Brooks asked as they started up the aisle together.

  “I’m going to lay my career on the line,” Morgan answered bluntly.

  “Oh, well, you’re about ready to retire anyway, aren’t you?” Brooks bantered.

  Morgan turned a bland expression on his friend and said, “As soon as we reach the sidewalk, I’m going to punch you.”

  Brooks slung an arm around his shoulders and laughed.

  * * *

  Provost Haward was a busy man, so it was Monday before Morgan could get an appointment with him. He said nothing to Simone or anyone else about it, save his father and Brooks, but he prayed consistently beforehand, so he felt quite calm when he went into the large, well-appointed office. He expected to walk out with an ultimatum or, possibly, without a job, but he’d determined to cross that bridge when he came to it. There were other colleges where he could teach, perhaps not a Bible college, but an institution of higher learning. The thought roiled Morgan’s stomach, but he laid it at God’s feet and left it.

  When Cordés Haward waved him into a chair and said, “Chatam, what can I do for you?” Morgan didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Sir, I have a problem with a student, a serious one, and I thought it best that I bring it to you, get it out in the open.”

  “Who is she this time?”

  “Simone Guilland.”

  Cordés seemed surprised. He obviously knew the name, and well he should, given the unusual arrangements made for her tuition and the way she had entered into the program. “She doesn’t seem the type. What’s she done?”