Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (26 page)

“What’s her name?”

“Betty.”

No potential. Unless she was born and raised in the Czech Republic, then changed her name to Betty upon her arrival on American shores.

When they’d finished their cake, Danny—true to his insistence that he enjoyed the heat—took Addie out on a bike ride. Celia went to work assessing his fridge and attending to Danny’s other housekeeping needs. She’d swept half his living room when her phone buzzed to signal an incoming text. The tingling sensation that cascaded through her in response meant only one thing.

She pulled her phone from her purse.
Are you ever going to wear the boots I
gave you?

Nope
, she answered.
Are you ready to
return them and get your money back?

Never
. Then ten seconds later,
Will you be coming over tonight to flush
any more medications down my toilet?

Not unless provoked
.

I’m thinking the plumbing pipes beneath my house are
feeling pretty painless and relaxed right about now
.

She caught herself smiling. He didn’t seem to bear her any ill
will. Of course, that may be because she’d fled (in fear of her chastity) before securing his sworn promise not to take more Vicodin.

Bring Addie over this
afternoon?
Ty asked.
Whitey’s lonely
.

Out of all the girly and fanciful names Addie could have chosen for her pony, she’d tossed up an air ball by choosing Whitey.
Whitey doesn’t care about anything except her next
meal
, she typed back.

Okay, I admit it. Whitey’s
fine. I’m lonely
.

Her fingertips hovered over the phone. She wanted to write
Why don’t you call Tawny
? but Ty would be even more insufferable to deal with if she confirmed the envy he already suspected she harbored toward Tawny.
We’re spending the day with Uncle Danny
, she typed instead.
He’s lonely, too
. The fact was, a part of her wanted to drive to Ty’s house. She did, in a way, sort of . . . miss him. Ludicrous. Also worrisome, because she’d definitely not given herself permission to miss Ty.

Danny and Addie, sweaty and red faced, bustled into the house with the bike and third-wheel attachment.

Ty sent her another text.
Come over after
you leave Danny’s
.

No
, she answered.
Don’t you
have any cowboy things to do? Like spit tobacco? Rope
stuff with your lasso? Chew cud?

It’s cows
that chew cud, sweet one
.

She burst out laughing, only to swallow the sound when she looked up and saw that Addie and Danny were watching her.

“Who’s that?” Addie asked.

“No one.” Celia slipped the phone back into her purse and returned her attention to sweeping.

“Was it Daddy? You like him, don’t you?”

“Hmm?” Ever the rotten actress.

“You like him.”

It didn’t look like Addie was going to drop the subject, so Celia faced her and took up her mommy face and tone of voice. “Of course I like him. He’s your father, and he’s a good man.”

Danny snickered.

Addie regarded Celia with the heaping and withering scorn that only a five-year-old can muster.

“What?” Celia asked defensively, her spirits starting to slump because she knew what.

“You like Daddy the way that the princesses like the princes in the movies. And in the end, the princesses and the princes always kiss each other, Mommy.
Everybody
knows that.”

M
onday mornings. A day and time of the week not known for bringing joy.

But as Celia stood in her dining room with her phone clasped to her ear listening to Donetta offer her double the pay to work at Cream or Sugar, she realized that this particular Monday morning brought with it bucket loads of joy.

“So what do you think?” Donetta asked. “Do you want the job?”

“Yes.
Yes!
I definitely want the job.” Celia pressed a cool hand to her hot cheek. “Thank you so much. You won’t be sorry, Donetta. I’ll work really hard for you. Wow. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, honey. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes. I can.”

“See you at nine.” Donetta clicked off.

Celia lowered the phone. For a minute straight she stood unmoving in the silence, grinning from ear to ear. She was going to get to work at a bakery, many years after she’d put that dream away. A bakery!

Oh my goodness! It felt like a gift beyond price. Too sweet to be true . . . and yet it was. She, Celia Park Porter, baker! She’d no longer have to stress over her job search. She could support her daughter. And she’d done it herself, without Ty’s help. But with, she suspected, God’s.

The timing couldn’t be a coincidence, surely. Yesterday she’d been to church and heard God tell her He loved her. Today Donetta had called and miraculously offered her twice as much per hour as she had last week.

Astonishing. Humbling. Thrilling!

With a squeal, Celia broke into a dance. Her bare feet thrummed against the floor. Her hips swayed. Her hands jabbed skyward. It was vaguely tribal and wholly uncoordinated.

I have a job!

Celia wasn’t the only person finding a foothold on their career aspirations that morning.

Across town, Ty climbed a hill alongside his neighbor. Jim had been eager to show Ty the land he had for sale, and Ty hadn’t asked to tour the property on ATVs like he should have because he hadn’t wanted to sound like a wuss. So here he was, hiking up a hill on his crutches. His shoulders and his good leg were in agony and all the movement had caused his bad leg to hurt like a— He cursed inwardly, keeping his face turned from the older man so Jim wouldn’t see his pain.

At last they reached the hilltop, and Jim stopped. “Here we are.” Jim tilted his straw Stetson to blot sweat from his forehead, then tugged the brim back into position.

A 360-degree view spread out from where they stood. Mostly grassy, with some bunches of trees here and there—a typical north Texas landscape more familiar to Ty than the back of his own hand. He’d grown up on land just like this. He’d built his home on the property next door because this type of acreage made him comfortable.

“What do you think?” Jim asked.

“Well, like I told you, I have a mind to raise rodeo stock. Looks perfect for that.”

“It is. See just there?” Jim pointed to a stream that wound across a section of the property below them. Greenery had grown up
around the water source, which formed a natural pond at one point, before continuing out of sight. “That’s Whispering Creek.” In salesman fashion, Jim went on to describe the features of the land and the improvements he’d made to it.

Ty had built his house four years ago. Since then, he’d had reason to come over to Jim’s occasionally. Neighbors helped neighbors, and there’d been times when the two men had worked together to clear downed tree limbs after thunderstorms, when Ty had loaned his generator to Jim, when Jim had let him borrow a power tool. This was the first time, though, that Ty had viewed this land with the option of owning it. As it happened, the idea of owning it felt exactly right.

He filled his lungs with air, smelling warm earth and sunbaked grass. For the first time since his fall off Meteor, interest for something beyond bull riding began to awaken inside of him.

He could do this. He could raise stock and spend his energy and time doing something that had meaning. He hadn’t left all his worth behind him on the dirt floor of an arena in Boise, Idaho.

Jim finished talking.

“I want to buy it,” Ty stated.

A smile dawned across Jim’s face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Would you like cash or a check?”

Jim chuckled. “You know that Howard Sanders wants it, too.”

“I do.”

“Howard’s been calling Marjorie and me for years, reminding us of his interest in buying the place. I can’t say he’s been the easiest neighbor. He’s opinionated about everything under the sun and we’ve had our run-ins.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’d rather sell the land to you.”

It didn’t hurt that Ty could outspend Howard many times over, and that Jim knew it.

“I told Howard, though, that I’d give you both an equal shot at the property.”

“Understood. How about you work up a price that’s fair and
pass it along to us both? If Howard is willing to pay above your asking price, I’d appreciate the chance to make a counter offer.”

“Fair enough.”

“Will you agree to sell the land to the man who’s willing to pay the most?”

“I will.”

“That’s all I ask.” Ty’s determination rose. In no time at all, he would own this property.

The next morning Celia drove her Prius to Cream or Sugar so she wouldn’t appear for her first day of work looking heat-rumpled. She’d chosen a scoop-neck green top and a lighter-than-air knee-length patterned skirt. Even though neither piece required ironing, she’d ironed them both twice in hopes of making a good impression.

She let herself into the bakery and found Donetta making change for a customer. Donetta tipped her head toward the door at the rear of the space. “You can go on back, hon. Jerry’s there.”

The bakery case ended with a slab of wood that could function as a counter, but hinged at the wall so that workers could lift it and walk past. Celia did so, then made her way into a square room.

A large commercial oven loomed in one corner. Double refrigerators. The appliances appeared old, but not awfully so. Clinton era, not Reagan. Metal counters, sinks, fixtures. The short hallway that proceeded out of the space looked to hold a stairway, a rear exit door, and likely a bathroom. Numerous open shelves ran horizontally around the kitchen. Some held bowls, pans, trays; others contained industrial-size bags of supplies like flour and sugar. Everything appeared rigorously clean.

A man stood with his back to her, stirring what looked to be cookie dough. As she approached, he turned.

“Jerry?” Celia asked.

“That’s me.” He spoke with a quiet, unhurried voice.

“I’m Celia. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He gave her a gentle smile. Apparently this was Celia’s champion, the one who’d talked Donetta into paying her extra. He reminded her of Hulk Hogan, except ginger-haired and without the muscle definition.

“Thank you for hiring me.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’d have liked to hug him or babble with gratitude. “What can I do to help you?”

“In a minute you can help me get these cookies on the sheet.”

“I’d be glad to.”

He told her where to find an apron and a box of hairnets. She donned the apron in two seconds. The hairnet—less familiar. In her sous chef days, she’d simply worn her hair pulled into a ponytail. Either Donetta and Jerry were old-school or Donetta had been motivated by the sight of Celia’s flyaway curls to make a trip to the nearest culinary supply store.

Celia pulled on the white mesh net and glanced at the mirror that hung in the hall wall near the back door. She resembled a Los Angeles gang member.

After washing her hands, she arrived at Jerry’s side. He handed her a tool that looked like a mini ice-cream scooper and the two of them began to place balls of cookie dough on trays.

“Do you like to bake?” he asked.

“Very much.”

And with that, Jerry’s conversational needs seemed satisfied. He’d brought Hulk Hogan to mind because he sported the kind of mustache that went up one side of his mouth, crossed over the top, and went down the other side.

When they finished, they slid the cookies into the oven.

“Now we’ll move on to sheet cake.” Jerry riffled through a small rectangular recipe holder and handed Celia a weathered recipe for Texas sheet cake. She spread it carefully on the counter to study it.

Jerry began collecting the ingredients they’d need.

“What kind of baking schedule do you usually follow?” Celia asked.

“We always make the donuts first thing in the morning before we open. During rush hour, Donetta works out front. I help her when she needs me, and when she doesn’t I clean up back here. After that, I take a break for breakfast at McDonald’s. Then I come back and make cookies. Every other day I also make sheet cake.”

“Got it.” Celia started measuring out flour, trying to convince herself of the amazing fact that she worked here now, in Cream or Sugar’s peaceful kitchen on Holley’s old town square.
They’re paying me to do this
. To bake, something she’d do—and regularly did do—for free.

Celia was happily scooping cocoa powder into the bowl when she heard female laughter from the front of the shop followed by the deep rumble of a man’s voice.

Her turncoat heart picked up speed as Ty entered the kitchen on his crutches, Donetta following close behind.

“Good to see you, Jerry.” Ty nodded at the older man.

“Hi there, Ty.”

Ty’s attention settled on her, the teasing in his eyes making them an even brighter shade of blue. “Nice hairnet.” He wore a weathered navy baseball hat and carried a huge bouquet of amber-colored tulips.

Celia would have said, “Scram!” or “No civilians allowed!” or “I’ll shove this hairnet where the sun don’t shine!” if Jerry and Donetta hadn’t been in the room. “Hello.” She tried for a smile that hopefully looked wifely.

“Congratulations on your first day of work.”

“Thank you.” She’d told him about her new job because she needed him to pick Addie up from kindergarten each weekday afternoon, then take care of her at the gingerbread house until she got off work.

He moved to her, then bent to kiss her cheek.

Celia froze. He was taking advantage of their eyewitnesses to do things she wouldn’t let him do in private.

“No touching!” she whispered.

“Hmm?” he breathed near her ear. “I can’t hear you.” He kissed the sensitive spot where her jaw met her neck, then straightened.

He should be embarrassed to put on a show like this in front of Jerry and Donetta, who were doing a shabby job of pretending not to be fascinated. Instead of embarrassment, Ty seemed highly entertained. Confident as ever. He may not have the DNA for embarrassment.

“These are for you.”

She accepted the flowers. “They’re beautiful.” His impossible sixth sense had once again led him to exactly what she liked best.

Jerry removed a vase from a cupboard and filled it with water for her. “Here you are.”

She thanked him and arranged her tulips. It seemed more absurd than ever that this larger-than-life man should be her husband. No wonder Donetta, Jerry, and the rest of Ty’s groupies were curious about the oddity of his wife and child. She was too normal for Ty. She’d shown up with Addie out of the blue. And the two of them lived separately from Ty. If she hadn’t lived through it, their situation would perplex even her.

“You can put me to work while I’m here if you want to, Donetta.” Ty said to the older woman. “I come cheap.”

“You’re not lifting a finger in my kitchen,” Donetta replied, “No, sir. Are you hungry, though, Ty? I’ve got a cinnamon cake donut with your name on it.”

Celia hid an eye roll.

Care to sit down, Ty? Pillow
for the small of your back? Footstool? How about we
all wave palm fronds at you to keep you cool
?

“You know me,” Ty answered. “I’ve never said no to a donut.”