Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected Cowboy\His Ideal Match\The Rancher's Secret Son (47 page)

For a moment, it looked as though she might believe him. Panic took over once again, and her lips parted. But instead of revealing truth, she slammed the mask securely back in place and turned her mouth into a sarcastic grin. She shot a pointed look at the dorm behind her leading to Tonya. “Guess we'll see about that.”

* * *

Emma sat at the long kitchen table inside the main house later that night, legs crossed in her favorite pair of lounge pants. A mug of hot chocolate that Mama Jeanie had graciously prepared for her sat at her side, while Tonya's, Katie's and Stacy's files were spread open before her.

She slowly flipped through the pages as a carved wooden cuckoo clock ticked above her head, reminding her she'd been here for a while already and didn't have much to show for it. She'd been able to get away from the dorm for a bit since Faith had come to stay the night as backup for Tonya, who had been excused from the rest of the evening's activities. Max told her, though, if she couldn't keep up the next morning, she had an E.R. trip in her immediate future—even if her parents had allowed her to skip it today.

She turned another page in Tonya's file, hoping to find insight that could point her in the right direction. It was weird looking at Max's careful, handwritten notes in the margins. Too bad she couldn't get a true glimpse of Cody's file. When she'd gotten close enough to be tempted earlier, all she'd seen was the contact page of Cody's information, before her conscience caught up and she'd shut the folder and put it away. She really wanted to read what Max had written during their counseling sessions, and gauge any of Cody's potential progress for herself. She was so desperate to know what to expect when they went home in a few weeks. Was the fact that Max wasn't keeping her up-to-date a bad sign? Or just protocol?

Her eyes lingered on the stack of files again. But no, she couldn't interfere like that. It wasn't her place, and those choices wouldn't exactly draw her closer to her son. Besides, she'd already seen more than she knew what to do with—a typo. And not just any typo, but one regarding Cody's birthday.

Her stomach flipped like it had when she'd seen it. A blessing in disguise? Now even if Max suspected, he wouldn't be able to prove it....

Or was it just one more item to add to her guilt-ridden list?

The desk lamp she'd borrowed from the living area cast a dim glow across her paperwork. She picked up her mug of cocoa and swirled it gently, watching the marshmallows float in an easy circle by the rim and wishing this whole situation hadn't grown so complicated. Somehow, she'd lost control of her own son, yet been put in charge of three incredibly different young ladies—not to mention been dropped straight into the daily presence of the exact man she'd gone to great lengths to avoid for over a decade.

Who said God didn't have a sense of humor?

If she weren't so jaded, she'd examine that a little further. She didn't really believe God was laughing at her or had arranged these circumstances at her expense. Rather, she believed in punishment. Judgment for sins. Living out the consequences of bad choices. Hadn't she done that her whole life? She'd sacrificed so much to keep her pregnancy a secret, and then to keep Cody's father's identity a secret—because she should. She deserved to pay for her mistakes. As the saying went—she'd made her bed.

But had those sacrifices cost too much?

“Marshmallows can't talk, you know.”

She jerked, cocoa spilling onto her hand. Of course Max knew she'd been there, since he'd gotten the files for her earlier that evening. But she hadn't expected him to come hang out—especially not after their exchange that afternoon in the dorm.

He grabbed a dishrag that was folded by the sink and tossed it to her, his lips turned up in amusement. “Sorry. You were just staring into your cup so hard I figured you were expecting an answer.”

If only it were that simple. “It's okay. Just daydreaming.” At night. About him.

And his son.

She dabbed her hand dry and tossed the towel at the far end of the table. Too bad she couldn't throw away her worries as easily.

He pulled up the chair beside her, turning it backward before straddling it. Clad in faded jeans and a college sweatshirt, sans hat, he looked way too much like the Max from the old days. The one who could charm his way into her heart with a single look. The one who'd stolen a lot more than he'd ever given back.

The one who once had convinced her he wanted a life with her.

“Find any hidden treasures in there?” He pointed to Tonya's file, and she closed it before passing it over.

“If you mean explanations, no.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and shifted to face him, suddenly regretting the decision to wear yoga pants. “We'll have to play it out.”

“I figured. I've read all the campers' files several times, and I just don't know. At least we're watching closely now.”

“Better late than never, huh?” She offered a half smile, but he returned it with that serious gaze that still seemed so foreign to her—and still sent shivers over her skin.

“I agree.” His heavy-lidded eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he studied her, and an impish grin quirked the side of his mouth.

Her stomach clenched, and she slowly slid her mug away. “We're not talking about Tonya anymore, are we?”

Chapter Eleven

“I
need you.”

She stared at Max as if sitting motionless could somehow make his words visible. Surely she didn't hear him correctly. “What did you say?”

He didn't blink, just held her gaze with those steady eyes. Those eyes that always reminded her of hot chocolate with a little too much milk. “I need you.”

Oh, wait, they'd done this before. She relaxed slightly in her chair, futilely attempting to calm her erratic heartbeat. “Right. You mean, here. At the camp.” She let out a breath. “I know. Trust me, I wouldn't be here if you didn't.” Hadn't they said that already? Why did he have to keep bringing it up? He probably thought she needed more affirmation after today's episode with Tonya, but he was taking it a little too far.

“No.” He reached for her hand resting on the table and threaded his fingers through hers. An immediate shock wave radiated up her arm, and she tensed but didn't pull away. “I mean, I need you. I need to be around you. I need...” His voice trailed off and he glanced down at their joined hands. “This.”

No. He wasn't. He couldn't. “Max.” His name left her lips like honey dripping from a spoon. Sweet and achingly slow. She couldn't conceal the emotion he still generated inside her. But this couldn't happen. Not for a hundred reasons.

Especially not for one.

“I miss you.”

She missed him, too. And what did that say about her? She missed the man who represented her biggest regret in life. Not Cody, of course. He wasn't a regret, even in spite of the heartache of the past few years.

But Max—big regret. Big heartache.

What was wrong with her? She was worse than a moth to a flame. At least the moths didn't know better. She did—and was still tempted.

“I know it's impossible.” He held on tightly to her fingers, as if fighting the inevitable, and finally broke eye contact to rub his thumb over her hand. “But if it wasn't...I'd be tempted to do this.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

Chills raced down her arms as heat—and memories—warmed her heart. His lips moved up to her wrist, sending tingles into her shoulder.

“Or this.” In one fluid motion, he scooted his chair a foot closer to hers, leaned over and cupped her neck with one hand, thumb grazing the side of her cheek.

She closed her eyes, knowing what was next. This was wrong. So wrong. But it was Max. So familiar. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe, much less form a coherent thought. When was the last time he'd kissed her?

Oh. Yeah.

She jerked away as if burned, nearly tilting her chair backward. “No. No!”

“I heard you.” Max held up both hands in surrender, still close enough to touch but obeying her protest. “I'm sorry.”

He'd tried to start it up again. And she'd almost let him.

It was almost enough.

Almost.

“It wouldn't be right.” His words came out a statement but left a clear question mark ending. “You're working here.”

“I'm working here.” She parroted numbly, unable to back away any farther from his magnetism but knowing if she didn't, she might very well find herself pulling the same move on him. “I work here.” There, that was a reason he could understand. A reason she could actually share, anyway.

“You work here.” He repeated it back, nodding, until the sly charm she never could resist filled his eyes. “For three more weeks. Give or take.”

Three weeks. A lifetime. Same difference. With Max, time stopped and sped up and rewound and did all sorts of crazy things she couldn't control. And that was the problem—with Max, she had no control. Never did.

And unfortunately, not a lot had changed, because if a year ago—six months ago, or even a week ago—someone had told her she'd have Max Ringgold's hands in her hair, she'd have laughed in their face at the absurdity.

God really, really had a sense of humor.

She needed control back. Not just with Max—with her life. With her son. With the family she'd sacrificed for and fought to create.

A family Max didn't fit into. Not yet. Not like this.

She had to resist.

She dug deep, closing her eyes and bringing back to life a box of memories she alternated between, regularly reliving and regularly shutting out. Max with a baggie of white powder. Max, getting yet another DUI from the sheriff, who threatened to tell Emma's parents on her if he ever saw her with “that riffraff” again. Max, trading cash for drugs with a local gang banger two weeks after promising her he'd been clean.

There. She could do it.

“Three weeks or three years—it's not happening.” She opened her eyes and steeled herself against the hurt radiating from his posture.

A muscle worked in his jaw, and despite knowing better, she desperately wanted to touch it. Feel the rough bristle of a permanent five o'clock shadow under her fingers. Graze that dimple in his chin. She knew, instinctively, she had one last chance. He hadn't shut her out yet, she could tell by his expression. She could undo her last words—if she spoke now.

But what would that accomplish? More pain? More mistakes? More daily reminders that she'd screwed up and had been paying for it ever since? Maybe he'd be a good influence on Cody. But once he knew the truth—it'd change everything. He'd never look at her that way again, and worse yet, he could resent Cody for her choice. Resent them both.

Her heart couldn't break over Max Ringgold a second time without permanently disassembling.

Besides, she couldn't risk Cody being kicked out of the program. Smack-dab in the middle of his last-chance before juvie was not the time to correct a mistruth he'd believed his entire life. Not without doing damage none of them could repair in time.

The clock ticked a rhythm above their heads. Max raised his eyebrows, waiting. One more try. One last heartbeat. She held her breath.

And the cuckoo chirped the hour.

* * *

Max ignored the crack spreading across his heart, ignored the desire seeping through his chest, and plastered on the best fake smile he could muster. “Truce, then.” He held out his hand, and Emma shook it, wariness holding her expression hostage. He didn't blame her, after what he'd just pulled. What had he been thinking, going for broke like that?

He let her hand go immediately, despite the cry of his instincts to hold on longer, and stood to straighten his chair. He dragged it several feet away, back to its rightful place, and reminded himself that from now on, this was his rightful place, too. Where he belonged—away from Emma. A respectful distance, anyway. She'd made her choice.

A man could only get kicked while he was down so many times, and twice was enough.

Emma stood, too, as if she was afraid he was forcing her to leave. Hardly. He needed her here—for the camp. He'd just be sure to keep his personal issues out of it. “You can go back to your files. No need to run off.”

Again.

“I think I'm done for the night.” She stared at the paperwork, looking young and overwhelmed in wrinkled sweatpants and a purple hooded sweatshirt. He drew his eyes away from the strands of blond hair skimming her shoulders. “There's nothing there.”

Oh, there was.

Just not in Tonya's file.

“We'll see how she does in the morning. In the meantime...” Max hesitated, gripping the back of the dining room chair in front of him.

Emma crossed her arms. “The truce.”

“The truce.” He nodded. “Friends?”

Surprise flickered across her pale face, and he'd have given his right arm to know why. Did she really think he was an all or nothing kind of guy now? That their history forever determined their future? There was always room for pages to be rewritten. If he didn't believe in fresh starts, what kind of leader was he, anyway?

She rolled in her bottom lip, just like she'd always done when she was younger. Just like he'd seen Cody do a dozen times while at the camp. “Friends.”

Relief flushed through his body. It wasn't what he really wanted, but at least the awkwardness could be shoved behind them now. They could move forward and focus together on what was most important—the kids.

“Then I'm going to need your help.” He motioned for her to sit again, and she quickly obeyed as if eager to press forward with their new relationship. They needed to cement the decision, for sure, before the sun rose and reality doused them in an unforgiving light. “I really want to brainstorm a few new ideas for the campers. I'm not getting through to some of them like I expected to by now.”

“Is Cody one of them?” Her brow puckered, and she tapped a nervous rhythm with her pencil.

“Don't worry about who.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but he couldn't discuss Cody right now. It was too soon—and not fair. He couldn't do that with the other campers and their parents, so he wouldn't start breaching confidentiality now. Besides, Emma was too anxious over it—wrong mindset on her part. There was still a long road to walk.

For both of them.

“I'd like your help, especially with some project ideas for the girls. These kids need to work hard, but they need to have fun.” He patted Tonya's files. “They need to see they can have a good time without abusing substances or breaking the law.”

“But isn't the point of the camp to learn discipline and responsibility? Learn how to respect authority?” Her frown lingered, though interest had sparked her gaze at the mention of fun.

“Of course. Don't you think we've been doing that?”

She hesitated, then snorted. He took that as a yes. She was probably remembering the early hours, the structured eating schedule, the punishment for forgotten manners, cursing and fighting, the strict rules about free time, the obstacle course that nearly did the group in...

“So, you'll help me?” He hated how much it mattered that she not turn down this small gesture.

She nodded slowly, eyes appraising him. He tried to look stoic. No more tricks. He wouldn't take advantage of their chemistry again—even if the air sizzled like a campfire every time he got within three feet of her. He tried to convey that honest message with his own gaze, not surprised in the least that they could still read each other so easily. After all they'd been through...

“I'll help.”

“Great.” His breath escaped in a rush of air. “Tomorrow, then.” He wanted to shake her hand again. No, scratch that. He wanted to kiss her good-night.

Time to cowboy up and face facts. He stood, scooted their chairs in, gathered the files, held the door for her and smiled like a gentleman.

The entire time Emma stomped over his heart on her way to the dorms.

* * *

Emma slapped her alarm clock as it buzzed, and then curled into a stretch, wishing she could crash for another eight hours. She'd lost a lot of sleep over the years because of Max Ringgold, and last night was no exception. His words kept replaying in her head, a record stuck on repeat with an incessant message.

Max still wanted her.

The fact brought more nightmares than dreams, and she fell asleep too close to dawn.

Suddenly, she sat up in bed, fully awake. Today was Tonya's testing period. Would she pass?

Tonya's bed was empty, the covers pulled up and her pillow fluffed. Emma frowned. A quick glance confirmed Katie and Stacy were still asleep, sprawled haphazardly across their sheets as only teens could do. Where was Tonya?

Grabbing her slippers in one hand and her toiletry case in the other, she padded toward the entryway for the bathrooms, heart thumping with unease. If Tonya was still sick, she wouldn't be up and about so early.

But what if they were on to her, and she'd panicked? Done something really crazy, like run away?

Sort of ridiculous to think a teenager would make her bed before attempting jailbreak, but it was just as ridiculous for someone as beautiful as Tonya to think she needed to starve herself to look attractive. Teenagers sometimes did crazy things to feel loved and accepted.

Emma was a poster child for that particular motto.

She ducked back as the dormitory door swung open, nearly clipping her slipper-clad toes. “Oh, sorry.” Tonya grimaced at the near miss, but the vibrancy in her complexion and the simple fact that she was there, dressed in a purple robe with her hair freshly braided, lifted Emma's spirits.

She fought the urge to hug her. “You're looking better.” Understatement of the year. Compared to her pallor yesterday after the barn incident, Tonya looked runwayworthy once again.

“Feeling better.” Tonya smiled, and it seemed sincere enough. Either she'd taken some acting classes overnight, or whatever had plagued her had passed. Maybe it'd been nothing more than low blood sugar, after all.

She just really hoped it hadn't been lies. Max didn't do well with those.

Ironically.

“Ready for breakfast?” Emma lowered her voice so not to wake the other girls, though they'd be getting up in about ten or fifteen minutes anyway. “I think Mama Jeanie said something yesterday about pancakes.”

A brief shadow flickered across Tonya's expression before the grin returned. “Sounds great.”

Did it? She made a mental note to watch Tonya's eating habits closely.

“I'm glad you're on the mend, but if you feel off today at all, let me know.” She tried to mimic the firm tone Max used that worked so easily on the teens. “We want you to be okay.” She tried to hold Tonya's gaze, show her compassion, but the younger girl dodged it, shaking off further inquiry.

“I'm fine. I promise.” She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug and fiddled with the satiny ties of her robe.

Max's famous line ran through her mind in protest—
no lying at Camp Hope
—but she swallowed the words. The girls heard that often enough. They needed to trust Emma, not take her as a nag. They already had moms—well, most of them. They needed a teammate, someone they could trust while they grew and healed.