by Hope Ramsay
“What?”
“I don’t think I’d make a very good minister’s wife. As I said, I’m not much of a believer.”
“I see.” His voice telegraphed his disappointment.
“And there’s one final thing.”
“Okay, since you’re making a list.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out to be anyone’s mother.”
“But that’s nonsense. You’re a child therapist.”
“Right. I’m a therapist, not a mother. The two things are not the same. They might be mutually exclusive. I’ve never really wanted to have children of my own. I’ve always been satisfied helping other people’s kids.”
He pushed back from the car, gut-punched. Over the last couple of weeks, he’d come to believe that Andrea was the woman he’d been searching for. Kissing her had confirmed it. In those moments, it was as if God had sent a blessing.
But this? He didn’t know if he could handle this.
“It’s a lot to think about, I know. I should never have made that bid. I’m sorry. I built up your hopes and then hit you with all my uncertainties.”
“No, it’s okay. Clearly we need to pray on this.”
“You can pray. I’ll think. Why am I so attracted to you? I just don’t see how we can possibly find happiness.”
He was tempted to tell her that Miriam or Savannah Randall had predicted his love would have a medical background. But he doubted that Andrea believed the nonsense his Altar Guild had been spreading through town. So he backed away a few steps, giving her space to leave. “Drive safely,” he said.
She opened the car door and slipped into the driver’s seat. “Take care, Tim.”
Angel got to the parking lot just in time to see Dave’s SUV turn onto Main Street. He stood there in the middle of the road cursing.
He should go back into the VFW hall and help the volunteers. Dave had no interest in coming out.
But Savannah’s instructions had been clear. He needed to go for it. He needed to throw caution to the wind. And he sure had not done that during the auction, had he?
He strode to his Jeep, climbed in, and took off after Dave. It did not take him long to catch up. The vet drove like a little old woman, following the posted speed limits, and Angel drove like a crazy man.
He followed Dave all the way back to Last Chance, down Palmetto Avenue to Calhoun Street. Dave owned an old Victorian house right on the corner of Calhoun and Oak. Dave pulled his Ford Escape into the drive. Angel followed him.
Dave had not been paying attention to his rearview, apparently. Because he seemed surprised that he had been followed. He got out of his SUV with a frown on his face and stood by his open door looking handsome and perturbed.
Angel killed the Jeep’s engine and climbed out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dave slammed the door of his Ford.
“Uh, look, Dave, I know your secret.”
“What secret?”
Oh, boy. Dave was determined to play this charade. Disappointment and concern warred inside Angel’s chest. “I want you to know that I am happy to help you if you are ready to come out,” Angel said.
If looks could kill, Angel would be dead. “Why do you and Charlene think I’m gay? She told me she bought you for me. No thanks.”
“Dave, there is something you should know.”
“I’m going inside now.” Dave turned toward the stairs leading to the back door.
Angel shouted at Dave’s retreating back. “I am sorry. I really am. And I am here if you need a friend.”
Dave stopped. His hands balled into fists. “I don’t need your friendship.” He turned around, his face so pale it almost looked gray.
“Look, Dave, this will be okay. Believe me. I have been openly gay since I got here, and aside from Molly’s father and Simon’s uncles, I rarely have problems. There are a few church ladies with backward views, but mostly I am accepted.”
“I. Am. Not. Gay.” Dave shouted the words. “Now get lost, okay?” His voice broke, and it took all of Angel’s forbearance not to try to comfort him. A man should not have to pretend so hard. But, clearly, Dave was not ready to hear what Angel had to say.
“All right. I am going. But, Dave, you need to think about this. It is so much easier to be the person you were meant to be than to have to pretend and live behind a mask. It is not wrong to be who you are.”
“Just leave,” Dave said, then he turned and hurried up the steps of his house, slamming the door behind him.
A wave of intense nausea awakened Charlene. She sat up in bed, her stomach roiling and her brain playing wicked tricks on her. Her last, vague memory was of Mike carrying her out to his car.
She must have passed out somewhere between the VFW hall and home, and this must be Martha Spalding’s apartment, a mirror image of her own. The bathroom that should be on the left was on the right. Someone had left the light on for her.
She made a dash for it, just in time to heave up the contents of her stomach, which mostly consisted of the cherry garnishes from all those mantinis she’d lost count of. How humiliating, especially since she’d lost her dress somewhere and now wore only her undies. Which were clean, thank goodness. Mother had always impressed upon her the importance of never leaving home without clean undies.
And in her case, the underwear was black and lacy and definitely not the kind she wore when she went tramping around in cow manure.
She was still kneeling before the porcelain throne, suffering through the worst case of dry heaves ever, when someone entered the room, pulled her hair back from her face, and applied a cool washcloth to her forehead.
Mike.
He had really gentle hands. And he didn’t say a word. He just waited until she was done barfing her guts out before he asked, “Better?”
She didn’t reply, because the sound of his voice hit her eardrums and then rattled all of the brain cells she’d tried to pickle.
Bless him, he seemed to know this, because he swooped her up from her kneeling position and carried her back into his bed, which was actually Martha Spalding’s bed. And instead of climbing into it with her, he tucked her in like a child and then handed her a glass of water and two Tylenol capsules.
She took the pills like a good girl.
“Get some sleep,” he said. “I’m right out in the living room on the couch, if you need me.”
She sank into the bed, still dizzy and disgusted with herself. She should probably get up and go home. But she didn’t know where her purse or her clothes were and she didn’t have the energy to go looking for them. Besides, her head had started to pound. So she sank back down under the covers and waited for the Tylenol to kick in. It must have done something, because she drifted back to sleep.
Sometime later, Rainbow climbed into bed with her. The little girl said not one word. But she snuggled up to Charlene’s back. The child seemed to be crying again. In that silent way of hers.
Charlene rolled over and took Rainbow into her arms. It might be the last time she had a chance to hug her. In a few days, Tim Lake would take custody of her. And after that gargantuan bid, it appeared clear that Andrea Newsome and Tim Lake were an item. It was written in the stars, according to Miriam and Savannah Randall. Rainbow would never become her daughter. Ever.
Rainbow sniffled, and Charlene immediately swallowed down her own emotions. “What’s the matter?” Charlene whispered.
“I miss Tigger.” The child wiped a tear from her cheek.
Charlene was suddenly alarmed. Had something happened to the cat? “Where is she?”
“She has to sleep in the office. Mike says she can’t sleep with me anymore.” Rainbow buried her head on Charlene’s shoulder, the picture of misery.
Charlene had a mind to get up and find the cat, but she couldn’t interfere. She understood all too well. Mike had to get Rainbow ready to move in with Tim, who was allergic. Tigger wouldn’t be going with Rainbow when she moved into the Methodist parish house.
She wished it could be different, but in the long run Rainbow needed a father. And Tim Lake seemed like a good guy. She snuggled Rainbow against her breast. “Honey, it’s all going to be okay. You’re safe here. No one is ever going to hurt you again. Now you go on back to sleep, you hear?”
And the two of them drifted off to sleep together.
Mike’s cell phone alarm jolted him awake at seven-thirty—a truly ungodly hour considering what had happened the night before.
But it was Sunday morning and Mike needed to rouse Rainbow and get her ready for Elsie Campbell, who had volunteered to take her to her first day of Sunday school. Afterward she would be spending the afternoon with Tim. The kid needed to get used to this routine. She’d be going to Sunday school from here on out.
Which was the way it should be, since Tim was going to adopt her.
But the whole setup made Mike a little grumpy, probably because he hadn’t slept well last night. He’d checked Charlene every hour on the dot until two a.m., when she finally lost her cookies. After that, he figured she was probably okay, and he let himself doze off.
He pushed up from the couch, padded into the kitchen, and fired up the coffeemaker. He left it brewing as he headed for Rainbow’s room. Full-out panic hit the minute he saw the open door. He rushed into the room. Rainbow’s bed was empty and cold to the touch.
He immediately headed to the office, figuring she’d probably gone in there to visit with Tigger. But the door was still latched. He opened it anyway, only to find the demon cat. She meowed loudly, reminding him that she expected to be fed.
That left the master bedroom. He carefully opened the door and found Rainbow curled up in Charlene’s arms. They were nestled like spoons under the comforter.
He stood in the doorway, his feet riveted to the carpet as wave after wave of emotion tumbled through him. His own mother would have yelled at him if he had ever presumed to climb into bed with her, especially after she’d been drinking. Not that he’d ever even thought of doing something like that. He’d learned how to tough it out as a kid when bad stuff happened. And the bad stuff happened all the time, especially when Mom was drunk.
No, Mike had never crawled into bed with anyone seeking safety. Or comfort. Or assurance.
Or love.
And God help him, he wanted to crawl into that bed right now. But he couldn’t do that.
So he took a deep, deep breath and pushed that lonely, abandoned kid back where he belonged—behind the steel doors of his defenses. He crossed the carpet and gently tapped Rainbow on the shoulder. “It’s time to get up,” he whispered.
She blinked and stared up at him, consciousness lighting her amber eyes. She shook her head and snuggled deeper against Charlene.
This was bad. Tim expected her at Sunday school, and she needed to get with that program. It was Mike’s job to get her up, dressed, fed, and out the door to her new life. He didn’t want tantrums. Her new life would be terrific.
“Time to get up, kiddo.” He threw aside the covers on Rainbow’s side of the bed and attempted to get her out of Charlene’s embrace. That turned out to be harder than he expected, because his adorable next-door neighbor had a death grip on the kid, in addition to looking sexy as hell in that black bra, with all that wild hair haloing her face.
She also still looked a little green around the gills, but it was a cute shade of green. Charlene was cute all over. She was a cute drunk. She was cute wearing manure-covered boots. She was cute lying there half naked with her mascara smudged, cuddled up to Rainbow.
“Charlene,” he said softly, “it’s time for Rainbow to go to church. You need to let her go.”
Her forehead furrowed with an adorable frown. She shook her head and mumbled something about not ever letting her go.
Rainbow took that moment to give him a wickedly wise smile, as if she fully understood his predicament. He gave Charlene a gentle poke in the shoulder, and her eyes fluttered a little and opened into slits. She winced at the light. He’d seen that look on his mother’s face. Her hangover was going to be a doozy.
“Uh, hey, what time is it?” she asked.
“Early yet. But you need to let Rainbow go. I have to get her ready for Sunday school.”
That did the trick. Charlene released her hold on the kid. “Oh, God,” Charlene groaned, “I have to get up. There will be so much gossip if I miss church.”
She tried to rise, but Mike gently pushed her back into bed. “Dollface, you’re not going to church. For one thing, we don’t have the key to your apartment because we didn’t know where you left your purse. So all you have to wear is that killer dress from last night. Not exactly go-to-church attire. I’m sure God will understand. And besides, you aren’t going to avoid the gossip. You’ve already crossed that bridge.”
She gave him a slightly bloodshot stare. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I carried you from the VFW hall barefoot and semicomatose.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“Oh, God.” She slunk down in the bed and pulled the comforter over her head.
“Come on, Rainbow, you have to go to Sunday School.”
“Don’t wanna.”
Charlene peeked from under the covers. “Honey, you do have to go,” she said.
“I do?”
“Uh-huh. All the kids go to Sunday school.”
“Does Ethan?”
“Yes. He goes to a different Sunday school than yours. But he goes.”
“Oh.” Rainbow’s shoulders slumped. “I wish I could go to Ethan’s Sunday school.”
“Sunday school is fun. You’ll meet lots of other kids there. And then you’ll get to spend the rest of the day with Uncle Tim,” Mike said.
Rainbow’s reaction to that news was less than enthusiastic. But he had to hand it to Charlene. She caressed Rainbow’s face and gave her a motherly look. “You need to get up, honey. And do what Mike tells you. Okay?”
“If you say so.” She scooted out of the bed, and Mike took her by the hand.
He turned toward Charlene before he headed out of the room. “Don’t even think about getting out of bed. You can’t go anywhere without a house key. So sit tight. I’ll be back with water and more Tylenol.”
CHAPTER
24
Charlene huddled under the covers, embarrassed and hung over. How could she have allowed herself to get so drunk last night that she lost her purse and needed to be carried from the VFW hall?
She should be ashamed of herself. She hadn’t gotten that drunk since she’d been a freshman at UNC. She should have stuck to club soda.
And probably let Ruby put her hair up in something conservative like a chignon.
Now what?
She slipped from between the sheets and made a quick foray into Mike’s dresser drawers, which proved interesting and intimate. His T-shirts were all white and neatly folded. He had nothing but black dress socks and white athletic socks. He was either color blind or boring.
But she knew otherwise. Somewhere he had a stash of AX jeans and Ralph Lauren polo shirts. That’s pretty much all he wore.
Except for the tux last night, which was exactly like all the other tuxes the guys had rented from Allenberg Formal Wear. But, Lord have mercy, he filled out that tux like nobody’s business. And then he’d behaved like a chivalrous knight, carrying her from the hall. He could have taken advantage of her. But instead he’d held her hair back while she puked in his toilet.
The memory made her face flame hot at the same time that her girl parts got kind of excited. Sort of pitiful all the way around.
She grabbed one of his T-shirts and a pair of sweats with a drawstring and hurried into the bathroom, where she borrowed his toothbrush. He used Colgate toothpaste, just like she did.
She turned on the hot water in his shower and hopped in. Maybe she could wash away last night’s mistakes, but she seriously doubted it.
Sobriety had returned with a vengeance.
Rainbow looked adorable and
ready for church. She’d washed her face, even behind the ears. She’d eaten a bowl of Cheerios, which constituted a minor miracle. She’d sat still for a whole ten minutes while Mike plaited her hair and secured each braid with a pretty yellow barrette that matched the yellow of the dress that Charlene had given her on Tuesday.
He felt insanely proud of her when Elsie knocked on the door to pick her up. The chairwoman of the Altar Guild took one look at her and beamed.
“Look at you, child, don’t you look like a little cream puff today.”
Cream puff? Elsie loved to bake, so he’d give her a pass on that one. Rainbow looked adorable, but nothing like a cream puff.
“I declare, Mike, you’ve done wonders with this child. I’m sure Pastor Tim appreciates it all.”
The comment irked him in so many ways.
He hadn’t done wonders. The miracle worker had to be Charlene.
And Rainbow herself. Timmy would probably give Rainbow no credit for this achievement. When, in fact, the little girl had achieved a lot in a short time. She had gotten up when she didn’t really want to. She’d behaved and followed instructions. She had even said one or two words.
Timmy would probably give all the credit for this transformation to Dr. Newsome. Timmy never stopped talking about the therapist. And after his brother’s confession last night, Mike understood why.
So Andrea, not Charlene, would become Rainbow’s mother.
He didn’t like that idea, even though Andrea Newsome seemed to be a competent doctor and a wise therapist. She had kept a professional distance from Rainbow. Charlene had not. He flashed on the picture Rainbow and Charlene had made this morning, cuddled together in his bed.
It felt as if someone had put a tourniquet around his heart and had started to tighten it. He didn’t want Andrea to become Rainbow’s mother.
He squatted down and took Rainbow by the shoulders. “You’ll be good in Sunday school? For me?”
The little girl said nothing. She merely threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick hug. And whispered, “Will Tigger be here when I get back?”
He blew out a breath. The band around his chest ratcheted up a notch. Of course Rainbow could see what was happening. She was a bright kid. She understood that when she went to live with her uncle Tim, Tigger couldn’t come with her. “She’ll be here,” he said. But, of course, he intended to drop the cat off at the shelter tomorrow.
