A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever (30 page)

“Guess so. They both looked as if they had a hard time staying awake in church this morning.”

She'd been a little surprised when Dan and Sheila had taken it for granted that they'd attend church together. She'd been more surprised when Tyler had agreed without a murmur.

The huge antebellum brick church with its magnificent pulpit and professional choir had been quite a contrast to St. Andrew's, but she'd felt at home there. The message had been just as clear, just as loving as any she'd ever heard.

“I liked the service,” she ventured, wondering what he was thinking. “It was nice of Dan and Sheila to invite us to go with them.”

He nodded, frowning. “I don't think I've ever heard a sermon before on Joseph and his brothers. Or on brothers at all, for that matter.”

Was he thinking about his relationship with his brother? She couldn't be sure, but she felt compelled to keep him talking.

“The pastor did have a good point. The deepest hurt as well as the deepest love happens in families.”

“Maybe so.”

Tyler sounded noncommittal, and it pained her. Could anything ever repair the damage his family had done to him?

She'd be kidding herself if she imagined she might be able to do that. Perhaps his love for Sammy would be enough to heal his pain, as it had once healed hers.

“I've always liked the story of Joseph.” She didn't want to let him lapse into silence. “The verse about the brothers intending what happened for evil but God intending it for good—that speaks to me. I guess I need to know that God can bring good out of even the worst of circumstances.”

For a moment she thought he wouldn't respond. Then he glanced across at her with a slight smile.

“Your faith must be contagious, you know that? I've thought more about what I believe in the last couple of weeks than I have in a lot of years.”

“Coming to any conclusions?” She held her breath, wanting to encourage, not wanting to push.

“Only that I need to do some more thinking.”

She smiled, glancing at Sammy as he stirred and pushed himself upright. “That's a good start, don't you think?”

“Maybe so.” He looked at Sammy in the rearview mirror. “Hey, sleepyhead. We're almost home.”

Sammy blinked and stretched. “I'm glad we went to Charleston. I had a good time, didn't you, Momma?”

“I sure did.” Possibly the best part had been the past few minutes. They swept onto the bridge, and as the island came into view, a prayer formed in her heart.

He's questioning, Lord. Please, draw him back to You for his answers. He'll be a better man and a better father when he grows to know You.

Whether anything could restore the love Tyler had once felt for her, she didn't know. She did know that restoring his relationship with God was the best thing that could happen to him.

They pulled into the driveway at the inn, and Tyler's cell phone began to ring. Well, they'd had a little time without business. He couldn't seem to get away from it entirely, even on a Sunday.

He put the phone to his ear, taking on what she always thought of as his business expression—absorbed, grave, intent.

She glanced at Sammy. “Grab your bag before you run inside, okay?”

He nodded, then slid quickly out, duffel bag in hand. He looked eager to tell the whole family about his big weekend. She started to follow him, intending to let Tyler take his call in peace.

Tyler caught her arm to stop her, tension communicated through the pressure of his fingers. The monosyllables of his conversation didn't tell her anything, but apprehension slid through her.

Finally he disconnected the call, still frowning.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Unpleasant possibilities chased each other through her mind like black clouds before a storm.

Tyler focused on her, his eyes very dark. “That was the private investigator I hired to find the man who took the picture of Sammy.”

Her heart thudded uncomfortably. Whatever the answer was to that mystery, it was bound to create still more questions, maybe more problems. But they couldn't hide from it.

“Did he learn anything?”

“It turns out your mysterious bird-watcher was a bit more than that.” Tyler looked angry and perplexed. “He was a private investigator himself.”

She stared at him blankly. “A private investigator?” She could only echo his words, trying to get her mind around the concept. “But what— I don't understand. Does that mean someone actually hired him to come here and spy on us? On Sammy?”

“Unless you believe in a huge string of coincidences, that's the most likely thing.” Tyler slammed the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. “If I could get my hands on him—”

“Don't, Tyler, don't.” Some corner of her heart mourned the disappearance of the peace and hope she'd been feeling since those moments in the moonlit garden the night before.

“Don't what?” He bit off the words.

“I know it's upsetting, but you've got to let the professionals handle it.”

He glared for a moment, then gave her a wry smile. “I've always said you should hire the best person for a job and then stay out of the way and let them do it. But in this case—”

“In this case it's too personal,” she finished for him. “But we don't really have a choice, do we?”

“No. No matter how much I might want to rampage around Charleston looking for answers, you're right.” He clenched his jaw. “He says he should know the rest of it in a day or two.”

Apprehension seemed to dig a hole in her heart. “What do you plan to do then?”

“Once I know who's been interfering in our lives, I'll know what to do.” His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Whoever he is, he'll be called to account. He's going to regret doing anything to my son.”

Tyler seemed to turn inward, his expression bleak. It was almost as if he'd forgotten she was there.

She ought to be glad one piece of the mystery that surrounded the photograph would be unraveled soon. She shouldn't be thinking about how it was going to affect her relationship with Tyler. But she couldn't seem to help it.

T
yler frowned at himself in the bedroom mirror the next morning, then transferred the frown to his cell phone, lying atop the dresser. It was probably irrational, but he'd somehow expected to hear from the private investigator this morning. For the amount of money he was paying the firm, he should see faster results than this.

Miranda's face, her eyes troubled, rose in his mind. She'd been as upset as he at learning that someone had apparently hired a private investigator to look into Sammy's parentage. Probably it had hit her harder because in her safe, peaceful little world things like that didn't happen.

If he persuaded her to marry him again, she'd have to learn to expect the unexpected. He knew as well as anyone that the prospect of large amounts of money brought out the worst in most people. There would be money at the bottom of
this business with the photograph. He was sure of it.

Miranda didn't think that way, of course. Still, even her bright innocence had been damaged by their brief marriage. How much would she have to change to fit into his world? Would she consider marriage worth what she'd have to sacrifice?

He clutched the cell phone and slid it into his pocket. He wasn't used to doubting himself or his decisions. He most definitely wasn't used to letting someone else take care of something as crucial as finding out the motive behind sending him that photograph.

His edginess could be attributed to that fact, he realized. He hated waiting for someone to call and tell him. He wanted to be involved.

Well, why not? He could go to Charleston, get on the private investigator's back, keep after him until they found out the truth.

Just the idea of doing something positive in this situation energized him. He grabbed a tie and knotted it automatically as he headed out the door. He'd have to let Miranda know what he intended, and then he could be on his way.

His mind raced ahead to the road to Charleston as he trotted down the stairs. He glanced into the dining room. Sallie Caldwell was clearing tables, but Miranda was nowhere in sight.

She was probably in the office. She often used these morning hours to catch up on her book work after the flurry of getting breakfast.

He pushed open the office door. Miranda looked
up from a stack of envelopes on the desk, her mouth softening in a smile at the sight of him. The green shirt she wore accentuated the sparkle of her eyes. If she'd lain wakeful after what they'd learned, it didn't show.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

He didn't want to tell her he'd been unable to oust the private investigator's call from his mind long enough to get a good night's sleep.

“Okay.” He crossed to the desk and leaned one hip against it. “What are you working on?”

“Sorting through the bills.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to confess, it's not my favorite chore, but it has to be done.”

“Speaking of chores, I've decided to go to Charleston today. I want to push the private investigator for results.” The need to take action pricked at his nerves, demanding movement.

Miranda's face clouded at his words. “You can't do that.”

“Why not?” Everything in him steeled at her opposition. “I can't just sit around and wait, Miranda. I'd think you'd be as eager as I am to get this thing cleared up.”

“Of course I am.” Her voice was tart. “But you're forgetting what day this is.”

His gaze sought the large calendar posted on the wall behind the desk. Had he missed a holiday?

“Sammy's off from school today, and we promised to take him to Angel Isle, remember?”

The realization that he'd let something so important to Sammy slip hit a sore spot. It might be more
difficult than he'd expected to avoid repeating his father's mistakes.

He pushed himself erect. “I didn't remember we'd planned that trip for today, that's true. That doesn't mean I don't care.”

“I didn't mean to imply—” She stopped, shook her head. “Sorry. Just because I keep Sammy's calendar in my head doesn't mean that you have to. I'm used to juggling what everyone's doing.”

If they married, they'd have to find a way to get past this kind of misunderstanding. Again he wondered if she'd find the benefits of marriage worth the cost.

He shook off the thought. One thing at a time. He had to get this business of the photo resolved.

“Look, can't we postpone the trip to another day?” He gestured toward the window. “Cloudy as it is, it's not a nice day for an outing, anyway.”

“Sammy's not going to think a few clouds are a good enough excuse not to take the boat out. If you want to change the plans, you'd better talk to him.”

She picked up an envelope and slit it open. Apparently she was ready to get on with her work, no matter what her attitude was.

“I thought maybe you'd tell him for me.” He leaned forward persuasively. “You could explain I had to go in to work.”

“Not a chance.” She glanced at him, and he saw the amusement in her eyes. “Nice try, but I'm not going to be the bearer of bad news for you. I've already told you that. You'll have to do it yourself.”

Apparently Miranda had been giving some thought to how this whole parenting thing worked out between them, too.

“So Daddy doesn't just get to be the giver of gifts and leave the unpopular stuff to Mommy.”

“That's right. Breaking bad news is equal opportunity. If you want—” She stopped abruptly.

The smile slid from his face. Miranda was staring at the paper she'd pulled out of an envelope, and her face had grown pale under the tan.

“Miranda? What is it?” He went quickly around the desk to put his hand on her shoulder. “Bad news?”

“I don't know.” She looked at him, her expression apprehensive. “I'm not sure what this means.”

“What is it?” He leaned over, focusing on the paper in her hand. A phone bill, he realized. “Bell South make a costly mistake?”

“It's last month's itemized long-distance calls.” She pointed to a line. “That's a call he made—the man who took the picture of Sammy. I recognize the area code.” She looked at him, eyes wide. “He called someone in Baltimore.”

“What?” He snatched the page from her, running his gaze along the column to find the call, anticipation mounting. This was an unexpected stroke of luck. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait for the investigator to pry loose the information. The telephone number would be a shortcut.

He stared, his mind unwillingly processing the information in front of him.

“Tyler?” Miranda pushed her chair back to stand very close to him, her hair brushing his shoulder as she leaned over to look at the bill. “Why are you looking that way?”

“Because I know the number.” Certainty hardened in him. “It happens to be the private number of a man I'd have said I could trust with almost anything. My assistant, Henry Carmichael.”

“Your assistant? I don't understand.” She leaned against his arm as she studied the bill. “How can that be? Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, all right.” Already the shock was passing, to be replaced with anger that ate its way along his veins. “Good old Henry has sold me out.”

“You can't know that.” Miranda's response was swift. “There might be a dozen explanations.”

“Name one.” He shot the words at her, annoyed at her naiveté.

“Well, suppose he found out about Sammy somehow and just thought you should know. He could have been trying to do a good thing.”

“If he thought that, he'd have told me.”

“But—”

“Forget it, Miranda. I know exactly what happened. I could practically write the script. Henry's doing something he doesn't want me to find out about, and he looked for something that would distract me.” Bitterness edged his words. If there was anyone he thought he could rely on, it was Henry. He'd been wrong.

“Why would he do that? I don't understand.”

No, she wouldn't. The people she knew didn't do things like that.

“At a guess, it's something to do with this deal we've been working on. There's a lot of money at stake. Possibly someone from a rival firm made Henry an offer too good to pass up. It might be worth a lot to be sure I was otherwise occupied at the crucial time.”

Conviction formed even as he said the words. That had to be it.

“How can you be so sure?” Miranda obviously thought he was jumping to conclusions.

“The timing's too perfect. They'd think with me out of the way and only Josh left in the office from the family, they'd have clear sailing. Well, they're going to find they're wrong.” Fury hardened to implacable determination.

“What are you going to do?” Apprehension filled her voice. Because she was worried about him? He wasn't sure.

“I'm going to Baltimore.” He spun, the telltale bill clutched in his hand. “Henry's going to regret this to his dying day, I can promise you that.”

“Tyler, please listen for a moment.”

“Maybe my father had a point, after all. Don't rely on anyone else, that's what he always said. They'll let you down every time.” He stalked to the doorway. “Well, this time they're not going to get away with it.”

She took a step toward him. “Please, don't go into this angry. Don't do something you'll regret later.”

He shook his head, making an effort to focus on Miranda's face. “This is business.”

Funny. That was the phrase he'd heard all his life, always said meaning that this was more important than anything else.

“Maybe you should let Josh handle it.”

“No.”

He saw the hurt in her eyes at his abrupt tone. He was sorry for it, but he couldn't do anything else. This was something he had to take care of himself.

Miranda didn't understand that. The truth was, she probably never would.

 

Miranda sank into her chair, staring at the closed door. Tyler was leaving. From the moment she'd shown him that bill, his path was as irreversible as a tidal wave. He hadn't given a thought to Sammy or to her once his decision was made.

Please, Lord.
The prayer came automatically, then she realized she didn't know what to pray for.

Please, Father, be with Tyler. He's angry, but he's hurting, too. Someone he trusted has betrayed him, and he's not even going to admit how painful it is.

Tyler's face formed in her mind, hard and implacable. He looked like the man he'd been when he arrived on the island. She hadn't realized how much he'd changed in the past weeks until that moment.

Don't let him turn back into that person, Lord. How can he be the father Sammy needs if all he thinks of is business?

She sat for a long time, her head bent to her folded hands, trying to see her path. Finally she stood.

She probably couldn't change his decision to go to
Baltimore and handle the situation himself. Maybe he did have to. But perhaps she
could
help him see that revenge wasn't the answer. For his sake, she had to try.

She walked up the steps slowly, running her hand along the rail that had been worn smooth by generations of hands. Where were the words that would reach him?

Tyler had made so much progress with Sammy. She couldn't let that slip away in his obsession with punishing the man he'd trusted. At the very least, he should talk with Sammy. If he explained why he had to go away, Sammy would understand. He could have confidence that his father would be back.

If
he'd be back. The thought chilled her. She'd been making assumptions about his time here, about what his relationship with Sammy would be.

Maybe she'd been making assumptions about his relationship with her. Hadn't those kisses meant anything? Didn't they mean she was a part of his life, to be included in the decisions he made?

Maybe not. She forced herself to beat down the whimpering little voice that wanted to cry about her needs, her longings. She couldn't do anything about that. She had to try to do something about Tyler's role as Sammy's father.

The door to his room stood ajar, and when she knocked on it, it swung open. Tyler turned, and she realized he was simultaneously talking on the phone and packing a bag.

His frown lightened as he motioned her in.

“Look, everything you say is true.” He spoke into the phone. “I'm sorry I didn't pay attention to your concerns earlier.”

He was talking to his brother, obviously. Well, if Tyler was able to admit to Josh that he hadn't been perfect, that was an encouraging sign.

She took the shirt he'd been trying to fold one-handed and folded it neatly, then put it into the open case on the bed. She looked at him, raising her eyebrows in a question.

He nodded and pointed to a heap of clothing at the foot of the bed. She began packing it, a small measure of relief filtering through her concern. At least he wasn't packing everything. He must intend to come back.

“No, I don't want you to do that.”

For a moment she thought he meant her, and her hands stilled. Then she realized he was talking to Josh.

“Look, I know you mean well, but don't do anything until I get there. I'll call you the minute I reach the city. In the meantime, just keep an eye on him.” His voice hardened to implacability. “I don't want Henry to suspect a thing.”

He snapped the phone shut and paced to the table, where he began sorting through papers. “Thanks, Miranda.” He sounded a thousand miles away already. “I want to get on the road to the airport as quickly as possible.”

Could she say anything that would deflect his obvious desire for revenge against the person who'd
wronged him? “It sounded as if your brother wanted to handle this.”

“He wanted to. He's not going to.” His tone told her that any discussion of that subject would be useless.