Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (27 page)

Celia arrived home from work that afternoon to find Addie sitting on the edge of her bed and Ty lounging on the rug, his back against her bookcase. Addie was brushing Aurora’s hair while rhapsodizing about Grace, her new kindergarten friend. Snow White sat on Ty’s leg brace. The rest of the princesses lined the edge of Addie’s dresser, like a studio audience.

“Hello, everyone.”

“Hi, Mom.”

Celia crossed to Addie and hugged her.

“Where’s the hairnet?” Ty regarded her with lazy humor. He still wore his baseball cap.

“I left it at work, thank you very much.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“May I speak to you for a minute?”

“’Course.” He began to lever himself up.

Addie looked back and forth between them with interest.

This time, Celia knew better than to lead Ty into the dangerous territory of her bedroom. She took him to the back stoop and closed the door behind them. Heat thumped the top of her head like a drumstick might a snare drum.

“Have you taken a look at that Snow White Barbie?” Ty asked. “She’s stacked.”

Celia didn’t let herself smile.

“Can’t imagine you approve of Addie playing with dolls that look like that.”

No, she didn’t. Objectified female body image and all that. “Surprisingly, that’s not why I asked to speak to you.”

“No? Did you want to speak to me about hiring a painting team to redo your house? ’Cause I’ll pay for that in a heartbeat. Whenever I’m in there I feel like I’m standing inside a box of crayons.”

It bothered her that in some strange way, Ty’s ribbing made her delight in her paint choices much more complete. She drew herself up. “First, thank you for picking Addie up and bringing her home today—”

“Did you just say thank you? To me?”

Despite herself, she did smile then. Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, she squinted up at him. “I guess I did. Believe me, it didn’t come naturally.”

“I’ll just bet it didn’t.”

They held eye contact across a drawn-out pause. Her attention dropped unbidden to his dimple, then his lips. “Um . . . so it went
okay? Picking Addie up? She didn’t miss me or feel anxious or anything?” Guilt and second-guessing were constant companions to motherhood.

“Nope, it went fine.”

“Good.”

He hooked his thumbs into the handholds on his crutches. “You can start in on me now about visiting Cream or Sugar today. That’s why you asked me out here, right?”

Freaky mind reader! “Well,” she conceded, “yes.”

“You might want to start with how the bakery is your place of business. Then you can tell me that you need to concentrate while you’re there and my presence distracts you because of your crush on me—”

“I hotly debate that—”

“—and then you can go on to say that I’m part of your personal life, and you don’t want your personal life overlapping with your professional life.”

“It’s true. You
do
belong in my personal life and not my professional.”

“Which sounds sort of promising.” He tilted his face a fraction, which sent the shade from his brim cutting across his features at a different angle. She could see the faint scar on his cheekbone. “I want to be a bigger part of your personal life.” His features turned serious while he stared at her. “I’m crazy about you.”

No stammering or apology.

Her mouth went dry.

“I think about you all the time,” he said. “I know why I shouldn’t want more. But I do.”

A terrible and treacherous longing softened her heart. The emotion reminded her just how much she’d loved him once. If she hadn’t loved him quite so much, he wouldn’t have been able to hurt her as deeply as he had.

She cleared her throat. “Like I was saying. Since Cream or Sugar is my place of employment, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your distance.”

“Whatever you say, sweet one.”

“Really?”

“I live to please.”

Ty left fifteen minutes later. An hour after that, Celia and Addie readied themselves for a trip to Brookshire’s for groceries. When Celia lifted her keys from her purse, a familiar weight clunked against her palm. With disbelief, she peered down at a peace sign key ring. An identical sibling to its predecessors.

Give
Peace a Chance
III.

On Celia’s first day of work, Donetta and Jerry had stayed with her the entire shift. Jerry had explained the kitchen’s routines. Donetta had taught her how to operate the cash register and rattled off a string of do’s and don’ts.

On Celia’s second day of work, the Rangers were playing a one o’clock game at the Ballpark in Arlington. Thus Jerry and Donetta, dressed in matching Rangers T-shirts, pulled out at ten sharp.

Except for the chewing of the trucker putting away jelly donuts at the corner table, quiet settled around Celia. For a few moments, she simply absorbed the details of the bakery.
She
was now in charge of Cream or Sugar.

As customers drifted in, she waited on them with perhaps a little more perkiness and appreciation than necessary. Everyone asked if she was new in town and introduced themselves.

She brewed fresh coffee because the old tasted like swill. She cleaned the shop’s front window. She wiped the counter and tabletops. She fantasized about all the things she wanted to bake in the kitchen and all the updates she wanted to make to the front room.

About an hour after she’d taken command of her new domain, Ty sauntered through the door. No crutches. Noticeable limp. He ignored Celia completely, wasting the perfectly good glare she was trying to give him.

Two female friends sat together, sharing a square of sheet cake. “How are you doing?” he asked them as he passed by.

They both startled to attention at the sight of him. “Doing well.” Big smiles. “You’re Ty Porter, right?”

“Yep.”

They gushed over him for five minutes straight. Celia knew, because she timed it.

“Let us know if we can get you anything else,” Ty said, finally moving away from the pair.

Let
us
know?

“How about you, ma’am?” he asked the little old lady drinking decaf. “Can I do anything for you?”

Poor thing. She was too frail to handle his lady-killer smile. She tittered, blushed, and thanked him profusely, even though he hadn’t done anything.

He walked to the end of the display case, raised the wooden slab, and continued around it like he owned the place. He stopped in front of Celia, tall and lean in a gray NASCAR T-shirt, jeans, and his alligator boots. The lack of crutches and the jeans meant he’d been to the doctor that morning and his bulky brace had been exchanged for something slimmer.

She pitched her voice low. “Do you remember our discussion yesterday?”

“Perfectly.”

“Then what happened to staying away from here like you said you would?”

“I didn’t say I’d stay away from here. I said ‘whatever you say,’ which isn’t the same thing at all.”

He was going to send her to an early grave! She drew in air to let him have it—

“Shh.” He motioned with his head. “We have customers.”

“
We
don’t have anything. You don’t work here.”

“I’m going to help you. I like this place.” He shrugged. “There’s donuts.”

“No.”

“’Course there’s donuts.” Laugh lines feathered out from his eyes.

“No, you’re not going to help me.”

“Yes, I am.” He smiled like someone who knew they held the winning card. His arms crossed over his broad chest, which pulled the soft cotton tight over his muscled shoulders. “If you have a problem with it, then take it up with Donetta.”

Celia ground her teeth.

“Donetta loves me,” he said.

If she could have bested him physically, she’d have pushed him out of the shop like a tractor pushing garbage.

“Think for a minute,” he continued. “If I’m working out here, then you’ll be free to go in the kitchen and bake things.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone! I’m responsible for this place when Donetta and Jerry are gone. I’m going to stay out front and do the job I was hired to do.”

“Don’t trust me?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll prove to you that you can.”

And with that, he stayed. And stayed. Despite her protests.

He chatted with everyone who came in Cream or Sugar’s door. He served up donuts and coffee with his trademark easygoing humor. He went out and brought back lunch for Celia, then insisted she take a break to sit and eat. Fifteen minutes before kindergarten was scheduled to release, he left to go pick up Addie.

Shoot,
she thought as she watched him walk away. He exasperated her, but illogically, that did not make her immune to him. Quite the opposite. The bull rider was sexy. Even with the limp. Maybe made sexier
by
the limp.

“You can’t fall for him,” she murmured. She refused to put herself through that heartbreak again and doubly refused to put Addie through it. Their daughter watched their every move like a teal-glasses-wearing hawk. Besides, as far as Celia knew, Ty was just biding time with her until Tawny became available.

Tawny was far more desirable than she was—any fool could see that. And Ty, despite the good ol’ boy shtick he sometimes aimed at people, was no fool.

T
he next day Ty showed up again at Cream or Sugar. And the next. The number of female customers who frequented the bakery between the hours of 11 a.m. and 2:45 p.m. began to skyrocket. Tawny, who’d acquired a sudden love for chocolate chip cookies, was among them.

Without Celia’s blessing or permission, a pattern established itself. Ty arrived at Cream or Sugar two or three hours after Celia did, depending on his physical therapy schedule. He left in time to collect Addie from school. During their time together at the shop, he made Celia laugh, he made her want to throw herself into his arms, he made her want to pull her hair out.

Every rare once in a while she’d glance at Ty and catch him staring at her. Staring at her with such hungry intensity that her body would flare with heat. Then she’d blink, and he’d turn away to answer a customer’s question, and she’d convince herself—or
almost
convince herself—that she’d imagined it.

He even came to Cream or Sugar on Saturday. Celia had regretted her need to work on Saturdays for Addie’s sake. As it happened, though, Addie had a ball at the shop. Ty pulled a stool in front of the cash register for her to stand on, then taught her how to ring up customers. Addie peered at everyone in her solemn way, bloomed
under their praise, and somberly smoothed the dollar bills before placing them carefully in their slots in the cash register’s drawer.

Celia sank into an auditorium seat for her second Sunday worship at Meg and Bo’s church feeling oddly worried and hopeful at the same time. All week long bits and pieces of last week’s sermon had stitched through her memory, reminding her of the grace that waited . . . that refused to go away.

This time around she half expected Doogie Howser to preach a sermon that would make her feel terrible and unworthy. It would almost come as a relief, in a way, if that happened. She could write off last week’s message as an anomaly and go about her life, content that she’d come to the right conclusion about Christianity the first time.

But no.

Meg and Bo’s pastor spoke again of God’s love. He talked about his Savior with such simply spoken passion and gratitude that a lump of emotion formed in Celia’s chest.

“Princess Jasmine is, as we know, very benevolent.” Mother and daughter were curled up in Addie’s bed. Sunday night dimness enfolded them, softened by the pink glow of the princess night-light. “After her marriage to Aladdin, she decided not to sit around on her royal rump.”

Predictably, Addie giggled. Five-year-olds could be counted on to laugh at silly words for body parts.

“There’s not much career satisfaction in sitting around. A woman can only eat bonbons and shine her jewels so much, right?”

“Right,” Addie replied loyally.

“You see, Jasmine had noticed that there wasn’t as much access to clean water out in the desert as she would have liked. This bothered the princess, because she wasn’t only about beauty and wearing skimpy
I Dream of Jeannie
clothes—”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, over-your-head reference. Jasmine was independent and didn’t have to wait around for a man to come and fix the situation with the water. No, indeed. She gathered together a group of like-minded volunteers, and they dug wells so that everyone could stay hydrated.”

“After digging wells did Jasmine go to a ball?” Addie looked at Celia hopefully.

“After she’d completed a hundred wells, a sultan from a neighboring province threw a ball in her honor.” As Celia detailed the dresses, the tiaras, and the ladies’ pointed slippers, Addie’s eyelids grew weightier.

At length, Celia’s words drifted to silence. Ordinarily she tiptoed out at this point and went to work straightening the house or catching up on email or folding laundry. Tonight, though, she carefully rested her head next to Addie’s.

The two of them were safe here in their little house. She still had debts to get out from under, and her relationship—or non-relationship—with Ty constantly unsettled her. So much so that insomnia continued to wake her one or two mornings a week. Neill and her other neighbors had the baked goods to prove it.

Even so, she’d managed to achieve a secure environment for her child. The chamomile tea bags sat on their pantry shelf, unneeded, because Addie’s acid reflux hadn’t flared up once since arriving in Texas. Celia had assumed the reflux had to do with Addie’s physical body. Now it looked as if it might have had more to do with Addie’s mental health and the worry she’d lived with back in Corvallis. A shaming thought. Celia had tried so hard to protect Addie from the pressures and financial concerns she’d faced. But kids were smart. They picked up on what went unsaid.

Here in Holley they had Uncle Danny, the entire Porter family, and Ty behind them. She had a job.

“‘Every good and perfect gift
,
’”
the pastor had read at church today,
“‘is from above
.
’”

It boggled Celia’s mind to think about that kind of love, a love
so personal that it had given her all the surprising new blessings she’d just counted.

Celia unstuck a strand of hair from Addie’s temple and swept it behind her ear. She couldn’t seem to rationalize that kind of love away. Couldn’t find fault with it. Couldn’t stop longing for it. The girl who’d moved every few years during her childhood wanted a place to belong within the heart of God.

Should
we give it one more try, God? You and me
?

Padding silently from Addie’s room on bare feet, Celia went to her bedroom and rummaged through her book collection until she found her old Bible. She’d had it since she was a kid and had refused to part with it, despite the fact she hadn’t opened it in ages.

She sat cross-legged on her periwinkle-blue rug, wearing her sleep cami and cotton shorts. The curtains blocked out the world beyond. The quiet of her aloneness hovered like a heavy fog.

Gently, she opened the book and paged through. She occasionally stopped to read passages she’d highlighted during her teenage years. Some verses spoke of perseverance. Some hope. All spoke of a faithful God.

After a time, she closed the Bible and simply held it clasped between her hands. She bent her head over it.

She had everything she’d thought she wanted. A healthy, happy daughter. A home, a job at a bakery, the ability to pay her bills. And still, the yawning hole within her remained. The void within her was larger than any mortal person could satisfy.

I . . . I think I
misunderstood everything about you all those years ago. I was
wrong, and I’m to blame. I’ve been full,
completely full, of mistakes. I’m so sorry.
Tears matted her eyelashes and slid slowly down her cheeks.
Thank you
for giving me Addie even when I asked you not
to. I didn’t know then how much I’d
love and treasure her.
Raggedly, she begged God for His forgiveness.

The more she basked in the presence of the kind of love that would exchange Jesus’ perfect life for the disarray she’d made of her own life—the more the hole within her began to fill.

God loved her. It made no sense that He should. But He did.

He loved her with a pursuing love that she could scarcely comprehend. Her mistakes had been paid for. Miracle of miracles, they’d been paid for. And now she needed only to have faith in Him and accept the waterfall of His grace.

Ty sat in his home office the next morning. He’d pulled down the shades because the room’s dimness suited his state of mind.

He knew very well that he couldn’t have Celia. He didn’t deserve her, and it wouldn’t be good for her or for Addie. So, no. He could not have her. The truth of it was like a stew he simmered in all day and all night long.

The person he couldn’t charm, kiss, touch, or call cute was the person he was married to, for pity’s sake. He wasn’t such a dumb jock that he didn’t know about irony. His situation was ironic, but not the least bit funny. It put him in a bad mood whenever he was alone, and this morning it had given him a headache, too.

Howard Sanders wasn’t helping.

Ty frowned at his ringing phone, which showed Howard as the incoming caller. Irritated, he silenced his phone and returned his attention to the computer. For one week straight, since he and Jim had walked Jim’s land together, Howard had been calling him. Twice, Howard had come by Ty’s house to complain in person.

Ty clicked to a new website screen and tried to focus. He’d been working on his stocks all morning, killing time before a session of swimming, weight lifting, and physical therapy. It was downright humiliating that he’d been reduced to swimming. Everybody knew that cowboys didn’t swim, except what was needed for skinny-dipping or to get from your boat to your water skis. However, his choices were either swim or sit on his butt. And he just couldn’t handle any more sitting. Especially in the mornings, when he itched to get to the only part of the day he cared about: the hours with Celia at Cream or Sugar and the time with Addie afterward.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his phone screen go dark. Then immediately relight. Another incoming call from Howard.

So far Howard had made five bids for Jim’s land. Each time, Ty had counter-offered for more. They’d gone back and forth like this, driving up the price of Jim’s property.

When Jim had contacted Ty an hour ago to say that Howard had raised his offer yet again, Ty had lost patience. He’d offered Jim a hundred grand above the current asking price.

He was pretty certain that amount had shut Howard’s wallet for good. Apparently, though, it hadn’t shut Howard’s mouth. Ty wasn’t sure anything could. Jim’s land had belonged to the Sanders family since the annexation of Texas right up until Howard’s father had been forced to sell it off during the Depression.

Ty understood Howard’s drive to reclaim the property. Ties to land and family ran deep for Texans. At the same time, Ty wanted to start some of his own history on Jim’s acres. Howard didn’t have to like it. Jim was honor bound to sell the land to the man with the most money, and in this bidding war, that was him.

Thirty minutes later, Ty’s phone illuminated again. This time Jim’s name filled its screen. “Hi, Jim.”

“Well, Ty . . .” Pleasure was evident in the man’s voice. “It looks like you finally hit on an amount above Howard’s budget.”

Ty leaned back in his leather desk chair, gazing at the ceiling. “It took some doing.”

“Howard is
angry
.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“But Marjorie and I are very pleased. We’d like to accept your offer.”

Ty smiled, satisfaction rising. “Excellent.”