Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2)

by Becky Wade

  “Our friend offered above what we would have asked for the shop if we’d put it on the market,” Donetta said.

  “The two of us have spent a lot of time talking about it,” Jerry put in.

  “We know you depend on this job, and we don’t take that lightly. But we also have to think about our retirement.” Donetta moved some of the frosted feathers back from her face. “We told our friend that we’d take his offer. Signed the paper work last night.”

  No! Celia wanted to wail. Why hadn’t they told her about this sooner? She’d have offered to buy the shop. She adored this place. She’d painted the walls, baked pastries for it, and cleaned every surface as lovingly as if Cream or Sugar already belonged to her.

  Looking into Donetta and Jerry’s faces, she could see that they knew all that. They also knew what she didn’t want to admit to herself: She’d never be able to get a loan for an amount that would enable her to buy Cream or Sugar.

  No. Panic began to tighten around her throat. “What does the new owner plan to do with Cream or Sugar?”

  “We’re not really sure,” Donetta answered.

  “Will he keep it a coffee shop?”

  “We just don’t know,” Jerry said.

  “We care about you, honey. We’ll help you. You’re smart, and you’re going to be just fine.”

  She didn’t want to be just fine. She wanted to go on working here. It was her dream, this shop. The loss of Cream or Sugar on top of the loss of Ty felt like a staggering weight stacked onto a load already too heavy to bear.

  No, she thought again, uselessly. She hovered on the verge of tears as her gaze traveled over the interior of her beloved bakery.

  No!

  Ty had propped his boots on his living room coffee table. He had the Wall Street Journal open and had been trying and retrying to read an article about a hedge fund manager. His concentration was shot. His brain only wanted to think about one destructive thing.

  Celia.

  He thought about her last thing at night. First thing in the morning. While he showered. As he was getting dressed. Driving.

  She’d made his life not worth a nickel to him. She’d made him furious. She’d made him doubt his sanity.

  His cell phone rang. He checked caller ID. “Hi, Meg.”

  “Hi, Ty.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m just leaving Celia’s.”

  The concerned tone of her voice had him setting aside the newspaper. “And?”

  “She’s really upset. The people that own Cream or Sugar . . .”

  “Donetta and Jerry?”

  “Right. They told her today that they sold the shop.”

  Ty froze, his brain struggling to comprehend. They’d sold Cream or Sugar? Donetta and Jerry had owned it for as long as he could remember. As far as he knew, it wasn’t even for sale.

  “Ty?”

  “I’m here.” He rose to his feet in one angry motion, yanked his reading glasses from his face. “Who did they sell it to?”

  “Celia doesn’t know who. What do you think we can do to help her through this? She absolutely loves that shop—”

  “Meg, I’ll have to call you back later.”

  “Sure.”

  He disconnected and scrolled through his contacts. He hit Donetta’s name and paced while the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Donetta, it’s Ty Porter. I heard that you sold Cream or Sugar.”

  A pause. “It’s not common knowledge around town yet, but yes. We did.”

  His grip on the phone tightened. At this point it wouldn’t do any good to rail at her for not telling him about her plans. “To whom?”

  “Now, you know I have a deep fondness for you, Ty. But I can’t see as how that’s any of your business.”

  “Donetta, God love you, I’m about to have a stroke. Please tell me right this minute who you sold the shop to.”

  “An old friend of Jerry’s and mine. He’s lived in Holley forever.”

  “His name?”

  “Howard Sanders.”

  When Howard Sanders answered his front door in response to Ty’s knock, he did nothing but study Ty for a good long while. Gloating lit his old eyes. “Ty.”

  “Howard.”

  Like he had all the time in the world, Howard brought a pipe to his mouth and took a long draw.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” Ty asked.

  “I believe I do.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Surely.”

  Ty followed Howard into a dim room that smelled like leather and tobacco. Both men sat. Howard reclined to puff on his pipe. Ty sat upright, intently focused on Howard. “You bought Cream or Sugar.”

  “I did.”

  “And not because you want to go into the donut business.”

  “No.”

  Ty remembered the day Howard had come into the bakery. The older man had watched him and Celia together. Then and there, Howard must have discovered Ty’s weakness.

  “You have something I want,” Howard said. “You have Jim’s land.”

  “And now you have something I want.”

  “Yes.” Howard extended the hand with the pipe to rest along the arm of his chair. “What should we do about this dilemma?”

  “Make me an offer.”

  Howard’s face had so many lines it looked like tree bark. The lines deepened as one edge of his mouth tipped into a smile. “An even trade.”

  Jim’s land was worth far more than the value of Cream or Sugar. Not only that, but Ty needed that land to raise rodeo stock. Without his bull riding, without Celia, his plan to enlarge his farm was all he had left.

  “All’s fair in love and war.” Howard’s smile grew.

  Ty wanted to snap the older man’s neck. Pain flicked along a muscle in his jaw.

  “The donut shop for the land,” Howard said. “That’s my offer.”

  A sudden chill ran along the back of Ty’s neck, his shoulders, and down his upper arms. He sensed God strongly, just like he did every night when he pulled out the bottle of Vicodin. Every night so far, God had stopped him from taking any.

  Maybe God was using this situation to test his commitment to Celia—

  No, he realized. God already knew the depth of his commitment to Celia. God was using this situation to prove the depth of his commitment to Celia to him. He could remember asking God, Show me who I am.

  His heart drummed as understanding dawned.

  God was answering his prayer. All this time, he’d doubted whether he was good enough or trustworthy enough for Celia. His track record stunk. His past actions betrayed him. Celia might never give him another chance to do the right thing. But God . . . God was offering him that chance now.

  Almost six years after his greatest regret, God had presented him with a miracle opportunity to do what he should have done in Vegas.

  To love her.

  “Well?” Howard demanded. “What’s your answer?”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Celia!”

  Celia lifted her head. “Donetta?” She was in her bedroom at the gingerbread house in the process of changing out of her church clothes.

  “I’m coming up your front walk.” The older woman’s voice sailed in through the open windows.

  Donetta had never once paid Celia a visit at home. Frankly, after the terrible news about Cream or Sugar, Celia didn’t know if she could take another meeting with Donetta. “Be right there.”

  She pulled on a pair of skinny jeans because for the first time since she’d moved to Holley, the day’s temperature merited jeans.

  “Waiting at your door!” Donetta called.

  “Just a sec.” She selected a white tank and, over that, a tunic-style purple top.

  She peeked in on Addie. After church, Meg and Bo had taken them to lunch before returning them home just ten minutes ago. Addie lay tummy-down on the carpet of her room, engrossed by a game on her tablet computer.

  Celia opened her front doo
r. “Hi.”

  Donetta bustled in wearing her navy Keds, high-waisted pants, and a Rangers T-shirt. The Rangers had made it into the postseason, so Donetta now dressed in Ranger wear every day of the week. “I have news.” She waved Celia into the living room.

  They settled in front of the picture window in the chairs that faced one another. Drizzle fell over the view of the front lawn, quieting everything, causing Celia’s plants to nod beneath the weight of the water.

  “News?” Celia asked.

  “Two important pieces of news. The first one I promised him I wouldn’t tell. . . .”

  At the mention of the word him, Celia’s heart jolted. She knew exactly who Donetta meant.

  Donetta blew out a breath. “After we met the first time, remember how I called you back about the job at Cream or Sugar? I told you that Jerry and I had reconsidered and that we’d decided to pay you double?”

  Celia nodded.

  “Well. I sort of lied about that last part.” She tipped her head to the side. “Not sort of. I did lie. Jerry and I didn’t increase your salary. Ty did.”

  Wait. What what what?

  “He’s been paying half your salary since the day you came to work at Cream or Sugar. He wanted to make sure you could afford to take the job there.”

  She’d run into Ty right after her initial interview with Donetta. He’d taken her to get snow cones. Her mind raced back in time. She hadn’t spoken to him or anyone, however, about her desire to work at the bakery. “I never told him about the job offer at Cream or Sug—”

  “He came into the shop the same day you did, asking whether you’d been in about the position. He figured it out, honey.”

  In that mysterious way Ty had of understanding her, he’d found out about the interview and he’d . . . he’d offered to pay half her salary? That amounted to a great deal of money. Money he’d never mentioned to her. Even when she’d been breaking up with him, he hadn’t said a word about it. Why hadn’t he thrown it in her face? It would have made her feel two inches tall. Instead, even over the past days when he’d been so angry, he’d continued to pay half her income?

  She shook her head slowly, dizzily. She’d received the call from Donetta telling her they’d decided to increase her hourly wage the day after she’d first attended church. “I thought . . .”

  “You thought what?”

  “It seems silly now. I thought at the time, the day you called me, that God had done it. That He’d made it possible for me to work at Cream or Sugar.”

  “God did do it, Celia. He just didn’t use Jerry and me. He used Ty.”

  Celia lifted her hands to her cheeks. She peered at Donetta with round eyes.

  “I told Ty I wouldn’t tell you. I’m breaking my promise to him, because I think it’s for the greater good.”

  Celia couldn’t find words.

  “Don’t go getting faint on me now,” Donetta ordered. “There’s more, so take your hands off your face.”

  Celia dropped her arms.

  “Now you’re gaping like a catfish.”

  Celia clicked her lips together.

  “That was only the first piece of news. Here’s the second. I got a call from Howard Sanders a few minutes ago.”

  It took Celia a moment to pull up the name. “The man who competed with Ty for Jim’s land?”

  “Apparently so. I didn’t know anything about the land until today.”

  Celia couldn’t fathom what Howard Sanders had to do with anything.

  “Howard is the person who bought Cream or Sugar, Celia, and I just learned why he bought it. He bought it because he still wants the land.”

  Celia’s ribs constricted around her racing heart. “I don’t understand what the bakery has to do with the land. The land is Ty’s now, and he’ll never sell it. Ever since his bull riding ended, he’s been planning to raise rodeo stock. The way he explained it to me, he needs both his land and the new piece of land to do that.”

  “Howard told me that he visited you and Ty at Cream or Sugar one day.”

  “Yes.”

  “Howard must have heard the rumors about the two of you. He came to the shop to see for himself. Howard’s observant, honey. He must have recognized that Ty loved you.” Donetta’s expression gentled. “Howard saw that the person Ty loved, in turn loved the bakery.”

  A tremor dashed down Celia’s spine.

  “Howard bought Cream or Sugar so that he could use it as a bargaining chip, Celia. He met with Ty last night and offered him an even exchange. The bakery for the land.”

  Celia rushed to her feet. “No.”

  Donetta regarded her levelly.

  “And Ty?” Her voice shook. “Ty turned down Howard’s offer. Right?”

  “No, honey. He didn’t. He traded his land for the bakery. For you.”

  “He couldn’t have!”

  “He did. That’s why Howard called me, to explain that the bakery had already changed ownership.”

  Celia took off, frantically searching for her purse and her car keys. She dashed through all the rooms once and had to go back through them a second time before locating her purse and keys where they always sat, on the entry table.

  Donetta stood in the foyer. “I’ll stay here and watch Addie.”

  “Thank you.”

  Celia ducked into Addie’s room. “I have to leave for a bit, but Donetta’s here.”

  “Uh-huh.” Addie hardly even lifted her head.

  Halfway across the front porch, Celia realized she wore no shoes. She detoured to her closet, pushed her feet into her cowgirl boots, then rushed past Donetta to her Prius.

  “Go get your man, honey!” Donetta called after her, one fist in the air. “Go get your man!”

  As she drove to Ty’s, the shaking in Celia’s hands pervaded to the deepest regions of her. What had Ty done?

  He’d called her a coward the day of their fight. She’d thought him wrong at the time. She’d viewed her actions as smart. But the brutal truth? Loving him did terrify her.

  Being hurt by him again terrified her.

  Forgiving him terrified her.

  She’d been using her inability to trust him like a breastplate to protect her heart.

  She had been a coward. But Ty? Ty was not.

  In this part of Texas, he was famously brave for his willingness to climb onto the backs of wild bulls. But that didn’t cover the half of it. He’d put himself out there that day in the upstairs office by telling her plainly how he felt about her. And now, if Donetta could be believed, he’d gone and proved it by sacrificing his future for her sake.

  He needed that land for his own dream. What had he done?

  Halfway up the long private drive that led to Ty’s house, she met a truck coming the other way. Jake.

  They stopped, both rolling down their windows.

  He looked at her with his black Stetson low and his scar painfully obvious.

  She was so addled, she had no faculty for small talk.

  After a tense moment of quiet, his expression relaxed a degree. “He’s not in the house. He’s repairing a broken section of fence. You’ll have to walk to get there.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He explained where to find Ty.

  “Thank you, Jake.”

  He tipped his hat to her and she continued on. The Porter Family Help Squad. To the rescue with her house renovations, bakery renovations, Uncle Danny. To the rescue even now.

  She parked and headed into the fields. She had no umbrella. The light rain seeped into her hair and steadily wet her top, heavying it. Tromping over grass dried by summer’s heat, she cut diagonally toward the faraway fence line. The ground eventually leveled into a wide upper pasture. She could no longer see Ty’s house or barn. Trees speckled the land. A cool breeze swept against her, pushed by the low and scudding pewter clouds.

  From a distance, she saw him.

  He lifted a fallen plank into place, then went to work with a hammer.

  He was soaked. H
is jeans had gone dark with water and his gray T-shirt had plastered to his body, revealing every tendon and muscle beneath.

  Her mouth went dry with trepidation, but she did not slow. She kept on, accompanied by the sound of raindrops pattering against the earth.

  When she’d neared to within ten paces, Ty’s face jerked up.

  They both paused, gazes locking. Gradually, Ty straightened to face her, his features hardening with defensiveness.

  My God, she called out within her mind. She loved Ty, and she’d injured him. He was mad at her and, what’s worse, she deserved his anger. “Why?” she asked him.

  He said nothing. Rain trickled down him in rivulets.

  “Did you trade your land for the bakery?”

  He tossed the hammer aside. “I did.”

  “Ty,” she choked. “Why?”

  With both hands, he raked his hair back from a face that had been weathered by grief since their breakup. His water-darkened hair only made the brilliant blue of his eyes more pronounced.

  “Maybe it’s not too late to get the land back.” She planted her boots. “If you go to Howard or the title company right now and say you’ve changed your mind, maybe—”

  “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “I want you to go right now! And I want you to do whatever you have to do to stop the deal.”

  “You can’t always get what you want, Celia.”

  She flinched. “I know you care about that land—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yes you do.”

  “I don’t,” he growled. “Not if having it means you can’t have the bakery.”

  Tears gathered on her lashes. Truly, she couldn’t stand that he’d done this for her. “And I don’t want the bakery if it means you can’t have the land.”

  “Too bad, because you’re going to keep it.” He advanced toward her, predatory. “In fact, you’re going to run the place because you own it now.”

  “You mean, you own it now.”

  “You,” he insisted, coming even closer.

  “Dictator!”

  “Forest fairy.”

  “Showboat.”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  “Showboat!”

  “Sweet one,” he murmured roughly. He stopped only a foot away.