Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (18 page)

More laughter from Addie.

“This car is a perfect size.” Celia wasn’t about to let him cast aspersions on her car, even if it did insult his masculinity to ride in a small hybrid and, worse, to let a woman drive.

Ty and Addie launched into a conversation about
The Wizard of Oz
, a movie Celia hadn’t yet deemed Addie old enough to watch.

Celia gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. They were on their way from Ty’s house to her new house, and she’d just come off an hour-long visit with Ty’s parents. Ty’d spent the whole visit staring at her and failing to keep up his share of the conversation. She’d had to compensate for him even though her own thoughts were in a complete clamor. The whole time she’d been answering Nancy and John’s questions, in her mind she’d been pointing a finger at their big, handsome son and shrieking,
He just kissed me! He just kissed me!

Ty had KISSED her. He wasn’t allowed to kiss her.

No, he was a grown man. He was allowed to do whatever he wanted. It was more that
she
wasn’t allowed to kiss him back. She had, though. The memory made her cheeks flame.

She’d been so surprised, when he’d tugged her to him, and then so . . . so immersed in the most instantaneous storm of desire, that she’d . . .
shoot
! She’d kissed him back. And not halfheartedly. No, no. Quite passionately. So passionately she’d almost fainted from the bliss of it.

For years her libido had lain dormant except for the occasional wistful twinge over a scholarly looking professor or doctoral candidate. How
could
it have betrayed her by showing up now, and with such force, for him?

“Turn here.”

Celia turned onto a street lined with Victorian houses, working to focus on the neighborhood instead of the man sitting so uncomfortably near.

The houses reminded her of perfectly constructed confections made by a master pastry chef. Each one beautiful, fancy, and entirely unique. She spotted delicately crafted small Victorians. Big and imposing ones, exquisitely imagined and set to their best advantage on lots ripe with old trees. All had been frosted with the prettiest palette of colors—pink, blue, eggshell, peach, green—three and four hues on every one. Old-fashioned light posts decorated with hanging baskets of flowers stood at regular intervals along the sidewalk.

“Left,” Ty said.

A block and a half later, he pointed. “Here’s yours.”

Celia pulled into the driveway and leaned forward, taking in the sight of it.
Yours
, he’d said. Her gingerbread house. He’d assured her that he’d given it to her with no strings attached. She hoped so . . . hoped, all at once, that he wouldn’t want more kisses in exchange for the mortgage.

It boasted two shades of blue, lots of frilly woodwork, and a
wraparound white porch. Thanks to the pictures Ty had emailed to her, she recognized it the way she would have a long lost friend. It was even cuter than it had appeared online, in part because of the charming and historic streets that surrounded it.

The three of them made their way across the lawn. Celia used the new key Ty had given her to unlock the front door, admitting them into an interior that smelled pleasantly like pine-scented cleaner and old wood. A hallway led straight ahead. Addie hooked a left into the living room, so Celia and Ty followed. A fireplace surrounded by gleaming custom woodwork dominated one wall, while windows dominated the others. The previous owners had painted the space a soft dove gray and the thick baseboards and crown moldings cream.

“I left the walls the way they were.” Ty lifted a muscular arm to scratch the back of his neck. “I figured you’d want to pick out your own paint colors.”

“I do. Thank you.” This was so awkward! To pretend normalcy with him when her head brimmed with memories of having been plastered against his chest.

Addie peppered Ty with questions Celia hardly registered as they moved from the living room into a dining room that offered a large built-in china cabinet.

The kitchen filled one back corner of the house. More gray paint. Appliances that had all been purchased in the last decade. Lovely marble countertops. Several rectangular windows, which meant lots of lower cabinets but few uppers.

It was a kitchen to cook in. A kitchen
she
could cook in. She could easily picture herself whipping together her Thanksgiving sweet potato casserole here, or Christmas cookies, or the egg dish she and Addie always ate on Easter morning. With a direct view to the outside, she could even bake while watching Addie play in the backyard. Assuming, that is, that the weather would eventually cool to something in the vicinity of what human beings could tolerate.

When they moved into the hallway, Ty motioned his head toward
a closed door. “This is your room, Addie, but let’s come back to it. Best for last, right?”

“Right.”

The bathroom floor had been tiled with small octagonal tiles, all white except for a row of black about a half foot from the walls.

They’d almost returned to the entry area.

Ty pointed with a crutch to the airy and spacious room at the front of the house. “I thought you might like this for your room, Celia.”

Just the way he said “your room” made her skin flush. Clearly, she’d been deprived of male attention for too long.

“It’s beautiful.” Age-scarred wooden floors. Views of the front and side yards. The space sat empty except for a single box—a shoebox maybe?—that waited in the center of the room. “What’s this?”

“A housewarming gift.”

Celia bent and flipped open the lid, uncovering a pair of women’s cowgirl boots in the classic style. Pointed toe, mid-sized heel. They’d been fashioned out of gray leather with fancy scrolling and stitching all over them.

“Aren’t those cool, Mom?”

“They are.”

“I told Daddy to get you pink ones, like mine. But he said you’d like gray boots more than pink, even though you’re a little bit of a hippie—”

“A hippie?” She angled a look at Ty.

He shrugged.

She wasn’t a cowgirl-boot–wearing type of woman. Plus, she had no intention of accepting any more gifts from him. Once they were out of Addie’s earshot, she’d try to convince him to return them and keep the money. “Thanks for the boots.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My room now?” Addie stared at Ty with the stillness of a dog watching a squirrel.

“Your room, Addie,” he agreed.

Addie hurried to her doorway, waited for them to join her, then swung the door open. “Oh!” she gasped.

The rest of the house was vacant, but Addie’s room had been done up in Royal Princess style. A wash of pale pink covered three of the walls. The fourth wall, at the head of the four post double bed, blazed hot pink. A hand-painted and glittering silver tiara had been painted above the bed.

Ty or his female decorator or someone had bought a matched set of white furniture. A chandelier dripped handfuls of pink crystals. The curtains had been made from pale purple-and-white-plaid fabric, then trimmed in hot pink pom-pom fringe. Lamp bases that looked like sugar-crusted fairy-tale castles rose from the bedside tables. The whole room could have come straight out of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog.

Addie stood frozen, her eyes gawking.

Ty chuckled.

As if the sound of Ty’s amusement loosened Addie from a spell, she went into motion, touching everything with wonder. “Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ty and Celia watched Addie for long moments. Celia knew within her own heart the bittersweet sting that came from mothering a child who was growing up. This room belonged to an older girl. A big girl. And Celia . . .

Well. Celia had wanted Addie to stay a baby forever.

“Are you mad that I didn’t ask you first?” Ty asked under his breath.

“No. It’s okay.” Though it did miff her a little.

“I wanted to do something for her. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s a great room.” She stole a glance at him out of the corners of her eyes, taking in the trademark T-shirt, his masculine profile. She could clearly see in Ty’s expression the pleasure it had brought him to give this room to Addie.

Celia’s experience with Ty had proven him capable of real generosity. It had also proven him capable of breaking her heart.

You can be Addie’s father
, Ty. We can have physical chemistry. We can shoot comebacks
at each other all day long, and maybe we can
even grow our unlikely friendship.

But no matter what,
I can’t ever let myself love you again
.

C
elia woke the next morning to darkness, closely followed by a wave of disorientation. Where was she? She jerked to sitting, heart pounding.

The glow from a plug-in princess night-light revealed one corner of her surroundings. She was in Addie’s I’m-either-a-rich-girl-or-I’m-royalty bed inside the gingerbread house in Holley.

This was her new normal.

Next to Celia, Addie slept on her side, no doubt dreaming of a brave prince and the sweet and spunky maiden he’d fallen for at first sight. She’d balled her baby blanket against her chest, and her lips had parted with relaxation.

Based on the weak light rimming the curtains, dawn hadn’t yet fully arrived. Carefully, Celia eased out of bed. She carried Addie’s new desk chair from the room so she’d have something to sit on, and padded to the kitchen. Once she’d gotten the coffee maker going, she stood in front of it in her sleep uniform of boxer shorts and cami. Before it had finished brewing a full cup, she helped herself to some. Then she sat on Addie’s chair, feeling her aloneness like a cloak. She took steady sips of coffee as she watched the sun rise over her first morning in Holley, Texas.

This is your new home
, she told herself, trying to make herself believe it.

She’d grown used to living in an apartment, to having tenants next to her on either side. This stand-alone house felt airy and unprotected in comparison. It also presented her with a blank slate, empty of both furniture and experiences. So many sweet memories had been tied to her old apartment. Those memories—
I rocked Addie here when she was a newborn, I
gave Addie a bath here when she was a toddler
, I made up bedtime stories here for a thousand nights
—had caused Celia to shed secret tears in each and every room during her final days at River Run. Already she missed—

Enough, Celia! You live here now. Set some
goals. Make a list, get on with life.

She pulled a small note pad from her purse and held a pen poised over it.

#1. Resist romantic overtures from Ty.

She paused, then underlined it twice. She’d found this more difficult than expected yesterday when he’d looked at her with need in his eyes and said things like
“I’ve missed you. I’ve about gone
wild waiting for you to get here
.
”
She drew an asterisk and added,

*
No more kissing
.

She refused to risk her and Addie’s emotional health by placing her trust in Ty a second time. If she ever dated anyone again in this lifetime (which was a big if), she’d need to date someone who was capable of commitment to her. The only woman Ty seemed capable of commitment to was Tawny.

Celia took a sip of now-tepid coffee and tapped her pen against her lips. Was there any chance that she could live in Holley without ever having to see Tawny face to face? She prayed so.

#2. Get Addie settled in the house.

The moving truck would arrive soon. She had no chance of getting everything in order before Addie’s fifth birthday, coming up quickly. But she’d try her mightiest to have it done by the time Addie started school, on Monday. Monday was less than a week away, but if she worked like crazy, she had a shot.

#3. Find a job.

It had been years since she’d gone job hunting. She was rusty at structuring a resumé and lacked contacts in this town. Even so, she dearly wanted, for the sake of her self-respect, to find her own job without Ty’s help.

Pushing to her feet, she tucked the note pad back into her purse. She needed baking therapy. Her TV hadn’t arrived yet so she didn’t have her cooking shows. But thanks to Ty’s mom and sister-in-law who’d stocked her pantry for her, she did have shelves filled with flour, sugar, baking soda. . . .

Around ten, the doorbell rang.

Celia answered it to find a couple standing on her front porch. A pretty blonde around her own age held a present wrapped in Williams Sonoma paper. Next to her stood a tall cowboy with closely shaved dark hair and striking gray eyes.

“Celia?” the blonde asked.

“Yes.”

She smiled. “Hi, I’m Meg. This is Bo.”

“Ty’s brother,” the cowboy added. He extended his hand, and Celia shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

They were one heck of an attractive pair. “Thank you. Nice to meet you both.”

“Ty told us that your moving truck is scheduled to arrive soon.” Meg tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We were hoping we could help you unload.”

“Definitely. Come on in.” From what Ty had told her, she knew
that Bo managed a Thoroughbred racehorse farm and that he’d married Meg two years ago. Meg had inherited a fortune, lucky her, and now ran a charity for single parents and their children.

Once they’d bundled inside, Meg handed Celia the present. “Welcome to Holley. This is just a little housewarming gift from us.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“We’re so pleased that you’ve moved here.”

“Mom?” Addie emerged from her room.

Bo and Meg turned to her, every bit as fascinated by the sight of her as Bo’s parents had been. Celia introduced them, then unwrapped her gift while Meg and Bo asked Addie questions.

Celia uncovered a gorgeous set of cooking tools that included a spatula, a pasta fork, and a ladle among others. The gleaming stainless steel canister that held them had been engraved with the letter
C
.

Bo and Addie were still talking, but Meg caught her eye. “I heard that you like to cook.”

“I do. This is a beautiful set. Thank you. I’ll use it all the time.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

Celia gestured to the living room. “If I had furniture I’d invite you to sit down. As it is, the only thing I have to offer is food.”

“Lots of food!” Addie interjected. She motioned for the newcomers to follow her. “I’ll show you.”

In the kitchen one of the marble countertops labored under the weight of banana muffins, shortbread, and a cinnamon coffee cake.

Meg and Bo both paused at the sight of the spread.

“You made all this this morning?” Bo asked.

Celia nodded and refrained from confessing that she had a little bit of a compulsion. She’d rather they think her merely industrious.

Bo placed a slice of coffee cake on a paper plate, and Meg chose a muffin. Addie and Celia both helped themselves to shortbread.

“So, Addie.” Meg peeled back her muffin wrapper. “Did you have a fun summer?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

In her calm and serious way, Addie relayed a story about the River Run pool and the boy who’d gotten into trouble for shooting her in the face with his water gun.

Meg and Bo leaned against the counter, side by side. They worked on their food, listening attentively, asking follow-up questions. Meg laced a hand through Bo’s elbow. He tucked that elbow near to his body in an answering gesture of protectiveness.

They had magnetism between them, these two. So strong that Celia could feel its buzz. What would it be like to have that sort of bond with a spouse? Amazing, probably.

While Meg wasn’t necessarily a beauty, her face and demeanor had a sweetness to them that drew Celia in. Meg wore a pink T-shirt, coordinating Nike shorts, tennis shoes, scant makeup, and her hair in a ponytail. Even so, she managed to look elegant.

Bo resembled Ty a little in build and also in the evenness of their well-molded features. She hadn’t met him during her high school years because he’d graduated just before she’d arrived. The Porter boys she’d known back then, Ty and Jake, had been the objects of a thousand infatuations. Looking the way he did, she’d guess that Bo had been the object of a thousand more.

When Addie finally paused to blink at her audience and gather breath, Celia saw her chance. “How did you two meet?”

Meg’s eyes sparked with humor. “I tried to fire him. It didn’t take.”

“Fire him?” Addie asked.

“Yes,” Meg said to Addie. “He runs something called Whispering Creek Horses. It’s a stable. When I took over my dad’s ranch, I didn’t think I wanted a stable full of horses.” Meg lifted a shoulder. “I was wrong. It turned out that I liked the stable, and I . . .” She glanced up at Bo. He glanced down at her. “. . . really liked the guy who ran it.”

Bo smiled at his wife with such devotion that the power of it rolled through the room like a tidal wave. Well, there you had it. Celia’s story with Ty—we got married and my husband regretted it in the morning—didn’t exactly stack up.

“Did you know,” Addie said, “that my daddy brought my mom her bracelet when she lost it?”

“No,” Meg answered, “I didn’t know that.”

“It was like in Cinderella.”

Heat climbed up Celia’s cheeks. Just what she needed. Her daughter manufacturing a romance between her and Ty in front of a couple who had an actual romance going.

“Remember the glass slipper?” Addie continued. “It was like that, only my daddy brought a bracelet. Not a slipper. He’s really, really nice.”

Meg and Bo nodded.

“He gave me these boots,” Addie stated.

“I love your boots,” Meg told her.

Bo polished off the last bite of coffee cake. “That was delicious, Celia.”

“So’s this.” Meg lifted what remained of her muffin.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, it’s
seriously
good,” Meg said. “You’re really talented—” The rumble of a big engine and the groaning of brakes interrupted her.

The moving truck had arrived.

They all poured onto the front yard to watch as the two men who had come with the truck opened the vehicle’s rear doors, positioned a ramp, and rolled down the first piece of furniture. Her sofa.

“Would it be okay with you,” Bo asked, “if I invited some people from our Sunday school class to come by and help?”

“Sure.” It was a weekday and hotter than Satan’s armpit. She couldn’t imagine that any of Bo’s friends would take him up on his invitation, but it wouldn’t hurt to let him ask. In her experience, not even close family members wanted to help a person move.

Bo pulled out a smartphone, hit a few buttons, then walked up the truck’s ramp. Meg followed. He stopped halfway. “No way, Countess.”

“Bo, I can carry—”

“Not on my watch.” He gave her a crooked grin, a grin that admitted to all kinds of weaknesses where she was concerned.

Meg shook her head, lips curving. “You’re hopeless.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

Meg crossed toward Celia. “Is there something I can do inside?”

“Absolutely.”

What in the world was going on?

While his brother Jake pulled into a parking spot across the street from Celia’s house, Ty sat in the passenger seat, scanning the scene. The moving truck he’d hired stood at the curb and lots of guys around his age were carrying boxes from it into Celia’s place.

Ty frowned. Who’d invited strangers?

He let himself out and made his way toward the house on his crutches. Jake grabbed a case of bottled water from the truck bed and fell into step beside him.

Ty motioned his chin toward the water. “What’s that?”

“I wanted to get Celia something. You know, for her housewarming or whatever.”

“Bottled water?”

“It’s practical.”

Ty would have teased Jake if Jake had still been up for teasing. But ever since he’d come home from Iraq, injured and fighting post-traumatic stress, his younger brother had been grim. Jake was no longer the brother Ty’d once known, the brother who’d teased and taken teasing. Nor was he someone who laughed. Or even smiled.

As they neared the front door, Bo walked out, his face red from heat and work. “Hey.” He came to a stop in front of them. “How’s everything at the farm?” he asked Jake.

“Fine.”

“Who are all these people?” Ty indicated the men walking past.

“They’re friends of ours from church.”

Married friends or single friends?
Ty wanted to ask. Genuine irritation shifted through him. He didn’t want single guys without busted legs unpacking Celia’s stuff.

“We’re unloading pretty fast,” Bo continued. “I think we’ll have the truck empty in another thirty minutes.”

“I’ll go set this down and help you.” Jake walked into the house.