Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (22 page)

“Okay. Got one—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Chill, bro. I’m smarter than that. You’re nervous—get a drink.”

Not until everything was taken care of. A car door slammed behind him, but Ben resisted the urge to turn around. His nerves were on edge, and he was seeing cops in every shadow. “When can I pick it up?”

“When can you get here?” DaVannon’s voice turned flippant. “Where you want to be from?”

“Something by you.”

“So you’re moving to KC?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Only if his life here was over. “I’ve got some things in the area to tie up.” Maybe Dana hadn’t pressed charges. Maybe Connor’s presence hadn’t caused any damage.

“I’ll look for you, buddy.” The music blared suddenly. “By the way, congrats on the ump, huh?”

“Yeah. Nice job.” Who cared about that when his freedom was in jeopardy? “Later.”

Ben ended the call, tucked the phone into his pocket. This was the last time he’d change his name. After this he’d be even more careful, even more in control. He’d deal with problems himself, tying off loose ends before they even became loose ends. This was his life, and he was sick of others pulling the strings.

He turned for his car.

A police officer approached from the front of the building, his vehicle big and white behind him.

Ben kept his expression to a passing glance as he walked toward his car.

The footsteps followed. “Benjamin Raines?”

Instinct kicked in.

Ben dashed past his car and around the building, ignoring the officer’s shout and pounding footsteps. No way was this cop taking him. He’d fight as hard as he had to, but he wasn’t going to jail.

He vaulted a chain-link fence and raced across an overgrown backyard. He crossed an empty residential street, ran into another yard, and climbed over a picket fence into some gardener’s paradise. He cut across the grass, keeping himself below the thick shrubs. He slid over a solid wood fence and stumbled through another backyard filled with children’s toys.

He kept moving—running, ducking, climbing fences and criss-crossing whenever he could, wondering as he went how they’d known his name.

Connor.

It had to be. He berated himself for telling Connor their connection. No one else knew.

He sucked in air, ignoring the dagger-like pain in his side. Connor was toast.

Mike and his parents showed up at church Sunday morning.

Meg forced herself to be pleasant, but having already spent three days around people who were more frigid than dry ice made her eyelids twitch.

And why did Mike continue his church appearances? Sure, Patty and Davis had attended church more often than not, and Mike’s lack of church attendance had bothered them. Maybe that was it—he was doing it for them. Maybe once they left he would quit coming.

The thought stopped the eyelid twitch.

On Monday Meg turned her attention to another project, Jill and Clark’s kitchen. Late last week they’d received a large gift of money from someone in the church, the accompanying letter telling them to use it on their home in whatever way they wanted. The money was more than enough to gut and remodel Jill’s kitchen.

Clark had Monday off, and he, Jill, and Meg spent the afternoon brainstorming on the remodel. Jill had already picked out her dream cabinets, and a trip to a kitchen showroom confirmed that the cabinets fit the budget.

The planning continued through a dinner of Meg’s homemade alfredo sauce over fettuccine, garlic bread, and a salad drenched in balsamic vinaigrette. Clark left for a deacons’ meeting as soon as they finished eating, but while Samuel sat in his Exersaucer and watched Terrell play with his remote control Range Rover—his latest gift from Mike—Meg and Jill spread out paint chips and fabric swatches at one end of the kitchen table.

They'd narrowed the color scheme to two subtle shades of bluish gray when Terrell drove his Range Rover into the kitchen.

Meg glanced his way. “What do you need, Terrell?”

“Daddy just drove up. Can I open the door for him?”

Surely Mike wasn’t bringing his parents over again. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Jill watched him leave the room. “Don’t look too thrilled,” she teased Meg when he was gone.

“It’s not Mike. It’s his parents. They aren’t fond of me.”

The front door opened. Mike’s and Terrell’s voices floated through the kitchen doorway.

“Go on,” Jill said. “I’ll wait.”

“What, no moral support?”

Jill tossed up her hands in fake frustration. “All right.”

In the foyer, Terrell spun donuts with the Range Rover while Mike laughed approval, a thick, ribbon-wrapped bouquet of white rosebuds in his hand. He looked up at their approach. “Hey, Jill.” His eyes turned to Meg’s, warming. He held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

When was the last time he’d given her flowers?

She took them, careful not to brush his fingers, and pretended interest in their aroma. The silky buds brushed her nose, her cheeks warming. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled at her again, then at Jill. “She’s been putting up with my parents. They weren’t easy on her.” He turned his gaze back to Meg. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She examined the flowers some more, not daring to look at her friend. Jill was probably giving Mike a thumbs up. “I think I’ll put these in water.” Meg fled to the kitchen.

Three sets of footsteps followed.

Mike sniffed. “Whatever you had for dinner smells great.”

From beneath the sink she grabbed a short, wide glass vase and set it beneath the faucet. “Leftovers are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Mike opened the drawer beside her and pulled out a knife and fork before opening a cabinet and taking out a plate and glass.

“Hmm,” Jill said. “I think you’ve eaten here before.”

Meg flashed her a look.

Jill raised her eyebrows in innocence.

Mike opened the fridge. “Like I told Clark, she cooks better than I do. In fact, I should buy her groceries. Speaking of which, can I get your Wi-Fi password, Meg? I do need to order some things.”

She gave him her password, fingers floating over the perfect white buds.

He set his full plate in the microwave and started it, then pulled out his phone and tapped away on it.

“You really buy groceries online?” Jill asked. “Don’t you want to squeeze all those tomatoes and cantaloupes yourself?”

“And sign autographs and pose for pictures every few feet? No thanks.” He wandered to the table where the paint chips, swatches, and sketch of Jill’s kitchen lay. “What’s this?”

“Meg’s designing me a trademark Meghan Connor Designs kitchen.”

“Lucky you. When does work begin?”

“We’re just starting. It’ll be awhile.”

“Then Terrell and I will get out of your way.” He pulled his plate from the microwave, grabbed his milk-filled glass, and left the room with Terrell.

Jill grinned. “Flowers, Meg?”

Meg flashed her a dirty look. “He was being nice. It was difficult being around his parents. Can we get back to work?”

“You don’t want to smell your roses again?”

She did not hear that. Meg seated herself at the table, and Jill joined her, serious at last while they discussed design elements for several more minutes.

Still, Meg found her eyes drawn repeatedly to the cluster of white roses.

He’d remembered that these were her favorite.

What did she do with a man who did all these nice things—when she wasn’t innocent in their hurt and rebuffed every kindness?

Why did he keep being so good to her?

Jill left when Samuel’s bedtime approached, and Meg packed up the Ashburns’ file before cleaning her kitchen.

The last bowl had just gone into the dishwasher and the last counter wiped down when Mike entered with a dirty plate, glass, and silverware.

Oh, did that bring back memories.

“Jill left?” he asked.

“A few minutes ago.”

“Hope I didn’t mess up your evening.” Oblivious, he set the dirty dishes on the counter.

“Did your parents leave?”

He leaned against the counter while she rinsed his dishes. “I dropped them off at O’Hare before coming here. Which means I’m back to cooking on my own again. Well, tomorrow I am.”

Somehow she knew he’d end up at her table. She squeezed dishwasher liquid into the machine. “Did you have a good visit?”

“I guess. Actually, can we sit in the living room? I need to prop my arm.”

Meg started the dishwasher and followed him out of the kitchen. In the living room, he piled throw pillows at one end of the couch and sat next to them, removing his sling. “Much better,” he breathed. His broad shoulders relaxed. “This thing gets heavy.”

She sat across from him. “Where’s Terrell?”

“Upstairs. I told him to take a bath.”

“You—sent him to take a bath?”

“He usually takes his bath now. Right?”

Meg listened for the sound of running water. There it was. “He does.” What was the point in reminding him that this was her house? Not his?

He stretched his legs under the coffee table. “Thanks for being nice to Mom and Dad. I tried explaining that this isn’t all your fault, but I guess they’re still spoiling me.”

His words rankled. “They do know you had the affair?”

“Yes, but they don’t understand why you couldn’t have told them, at least, about Terrell.”

She let out a laugh. If only it had been that simple.

“Mom and Dad liked your church, by the way. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

He shrugged. “Too informal, just not what they’re used to.”

“Ah.”

“You’ve never told me why you’ve gotten into church so much.”

“You think it’s too much?”

“Twice on Sundays and again on Wednesdays? What’s so thrilling that you’d go that often?”

“Well, sometimes we have jugglers, sometimes comedians, sometimes—”

He smirked.

She smirked back. “It’s important because it’s a chance to learn more about God.”

“You know about God. You grew up in a church.”

“No, I didn’t know anything. Not really. What I’ve learned about God here…”

He stared at her, his expression one of confusion.

“It’s just different at this church, Mike. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

And have him make fun? Like he’d done before? “It’s not something you’d understand unless you wanted to.”

He leaned forward. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’m ready for a change.”

“This isn’t something you do when you’re bored. It’s a way of life. It changes your life.”

“Then how’s it changed your life?”

How did she sum it up? “It’s filled a void, something that’s always been missing. I liked our church growing up, but it never satisfied me.”

“And this does.”

“Yes, but not in a way that works just for me. This is what everyone needs. We’re all made to worship God. We can’t find our own way—this
is
the way.”

“You mean going to church—”

Frustration crept into her voice. “No. Not church.”

“Then what? You’re talking in circles.”

She gritted her teeth, irritated with her inability to communicate. “I’m new at this, all right?”

“Fine. Take your time.”

She exhaled. “I go because each service is an hour where I can focus on God, when I can learn more about the Bible and living as a Christian. I know so little compared to most people there. And that’s why I want Terrell to go too. Some of those kids have grown up in church. They’ve memorized the books of the Bible as children.”

He wrinkled his forehead. “Impressive.”

“See? I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

“So what if they can memorize the books of the Bible. Do you have to recite that to get into heaven?”

There he went again—everything was a joke. “Forget it, Mike. I’m not going to sit here and let you make fun of something that’s important to me.”

His eyes widened. “I’m not making fun. I don’t understand. Explain.”

“No.” Mike would never see his need for God, and it would be his own fault. “You mock what I believe every time it comes up.”

“I wasn’t mocking.” He gritted his teeth. “It’s a bad habit. I’m sorry. I’m trying—”

The running water stopped.

Meg looked at the stairs. Had Terrell’s bathwater been running all this time?

“What do you bet that water is one millimeter from overflowing?” Mike asked.

“Let’s hope that’s with Terrell in the tub.” She jogged for the stairs, grateful for the interruption.

Mike was a hopeless cause. Men like him didn’t think they needed anything or anybody. He was faking interest for her.

For the first time Meg felt sorry for him.

After the near flood in the bathroom, there was no more talk of church, but when Meg entered the auditorium Wednesday night and saw Mike sitting in her usual row, her stomach sank. What was he doing, looking for new material for his jokes?

“There you are,” he said, smile bright, when she seated herself in the empty space beside him. “Where’s Terrell?”

“He has his own kids’ program.”

“What’s that like?”

“They play games, learn verses and Bible stories.”

“And memorize the books of the Bible?”

That did not deserve a reply. Something on the other side of him caught her eye. “What is that?”

“Um, a Bible.” He held it up for her to see. It was burgundy and simple, one of those cheap Bibles available in almost every bookstore.

Why had he bought it?

He spoke before she could ask. “How’s work going on Jill’s kitchen?”

“We’re still laying it out.” He’d asked that for three days straight. “Why the curiosity?”

His shrug seemed overly careless. “Just want to see it done. That kitchen is bad.”

It wasn’t that awful—Meg caught her breath. “You sent the money!”

“Shh.” Mike shot her a fierce look, then slouched in his seat, glancing around the filling auditorium. No one seemed to be listening. He leaned toward her. “It’s not a big deal. I make more than that in one at bat.”

True, but he’d never been so generous during their marriage. “That was very nice, Mike.”

“Well, I try. And you should let me do something for you too.”