Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected Cowboy\His Ideal Match\The Rancher's Secret Son (43 page)

Yet that good mood lowered her defenses, and with a secret the size of hers, she had to stay on guard.

Max shook his head. “I think most counselors would have talked her through it from the sidelines. You dove back into the game.”

She'd never been one for sports analogies, but she got his point. “I'm glad you're not regretting hiring me.” Wait a minute, she wasn't getting paid. She fumbled for the right words. “Or not hiring me. I mean, asking me to volunteer.” Perfect. Maybe if she kept talking, she could actually fit her foot in her mouth.

A slow grin lit Max's face, and her stomach reluctantly flipped. “I don't regret
that
at all.”

His emphasis on the word made her breath hitch, and she rolled in her bottom lip. The weight of her secret suddenly resembled a thousand anvils taking residence on her shoulders—too heavy to bear. Had she been wrong? About everything?

No.
She blinked, reminding herself of the memories she dredged up regularly to starve the guilt. Drugs. Guns. Bad guys. She'd saved her son.

But exactly how far was Cody from that now, anyway?

Max's expression suddenly shadowed. “Uh-oh. Looks like Cody's having trouble on the rope swing.”

She followed his gaze to the challenge ahead, where the rest of the teams had gathered with Chaplain Tim, Faith and another male counselor whose name escaped her. The joy she'd known from helping Tonya bled from her heart like water through a sieve. She could hear the taunting of Cody's failure on the rope from some of the other boys, and compassion mixed with her natural mama-bear instincts.
No one
made fun of her son. She rushed forward.

“I've got it.”

His protest didn't deter her and she pressed on. “I have to—”

Max's brow furrowed and he grasped her wrist to stop her. “I said, I've got it.” The warning in his eyes spoke volumes, reminding her of her place. She might have made a significant step with Tonya, but the proof was in the pudding—or more accurately, the bog. And right now her son was dangling above it, trapped and scorned.

Proving once again that she could help everyone in the world except for those she loved the most.

Chapter Seven

I
t was the same in every camp—it never took long for the group to find the weakest link and stage an attack. Now the guys who had taunted Cody were raking the front yard as punishment, while the rest of the campers were allowed an hour of free time before dinner—their only break after an entire day of barn chores, the obstacle course, hiking and the individual chats with him he dubbed One4One.

Max folded his arms and leveled his gaze at Cody, who could have been enjoying some video games or watching a movie had he not gotten in trouble, but was instead washing Max's work truck. A trace of guilt still lingered over the way he'd stopped Emma so abruptly that morning, but she couldn't go barreling over to save the day for her son. Talk about making matters worse for a guy. Plus, it was Max's issue to handle. Emma had proven herself in the incident with Tonya, but even with the girls, she wouldn't have final say in everything that came up. Volunteers were volunteers. Necessary, yes, but the bottom line came down to the kids, God—and Max.

He had a lot of making up to do there.

Speaking of making up—he hoped Emma wouldn't be mad at him. He had only done what he had to in order to stop her from making a mistake, but that look in her eyes still taunted his soul. It'd been one part confusion, two parts hurt, all topped with a healthy heaping of doubt. Emotions he could recognize a mile away.

He should know, he saw them in the mirror often enough.

“This stinks.” Cody let out another, stronger word as he sloshed a bucket of water against the driver's side door and halfheartedly rubbed it with a sponge. The water hose tangled on the gravel drive at his feet. Max considered suggesting that he un-kink it before turning the water back on but held the advice inside. The kid would figure it out when it wouldn't flow.

And just like the hose, he needed to figure out what was clogging Cody.

“You do understand why you're out here, don't you?” He tugged the brim of his hat lower over his eyes to block the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting off the windshield.

Cody shrugged, water dripping down his forearms and leaving dirty trails. He glared. “Because I said those bad words on the rope swing?”

“Hardly.” Max snorted. “You just said a bad word ten seconds ago and didn't even notice.”

Cody remained silent, scrubbing at a mud streak on the truck door with more attention than it really required. Was he listening, finally? Max shifted his weight, wishing he'd brought a chair outside to pull up and level with the kid. But there'd be time enough for that during their One4One tomorrow. “You'd have been punished for the cursing, too, but not as severely. You're out here because when you got off the rope, you swung at Peter.”

“And missed.” Cody shot him a pointed glance, as if his bad aim should excuse him.

“Sometimes, intention matters more than result.” A fact he wished he could go back and alter in his own life. If only these kids could glimpse five years, ten years into the future—man, what changes they'd make. “Trying to hit him is as bad as doing it.”

The sponge splashed into the bucket, spraying water on Max's boots as Cody straightened to his full height. “It's not fair! He was laughing at me. They all were.”

Not all, but Max could imagine it felt that way, hanging above a crowd and demonstrating to everyone that he couldn't hack the challenge. Cody was the youngest, and smallest, kid in the camp. Physically, he was behind the other guys, but in spirit, he could rise far above—if only he'd properly channel that frustration and rage. Max had been the same way when he was in junior high, having not grown into his tall frame until later in his teen years. It stung being the smallest kid on the team in a culture obsessed with equating muscles with masculinity.

But if he'd been told there were more important things to consider at the age of thirteen, would he have listened any better than Cody? If his dad had told him...maybe. Too late to ever know now. And from the blank line on Cody's paperwork regarding his father, well, the kid wouldn't get to discover that theory for himself, either.

Once again, he and Cody were in the same holey boat.

But Max hadn't sunk to the bottom, and he was determined that Cody—and the rest of the kids in his charge this month—wouldn't, either. He drew a steadying breath, praying for patience and wisdom. “How'd you feel, when they laughed at you?”

Cody picked up the hose, fumbling with the nozzle and averting his eyes. “I didn't care.”

“No lying at Camp Hope.”

He let out a huff. “Fine. I felt stupid. Happy now?”

“Not really.” Max waited a beat, understanding the frustration that drove the teen's illogical outbursts. They'd work on that together. But first things first. “Why did you feel stupid?”

“Because I couldn't do it. And everyone else could.”

Definitely wasn't the time to point out the girls had struggled with the challenge, except Stacy, who'd shown surprising strength and made it across the bog on her first try. “It's not about what everyone else does. It's about
your
effort. And if you hadn't come down off the rope trying to land punches, I'd have been proud of how hard you tried.”

Cody's hands stilled on the water hose. “Really?” The gruff tone attempted to camouflage the hope under the words but failed.

Max pretended not to notice. “Yeah, man. And besides, not being able to do something challenging on the first try doesn't make you stupid. But handling it the way you did makes you a quitter.”

“Let me guess.” Cody tried to spray the truck, but the water clogged as Max had predicted. He looked at the length of hose and finally knelt to untwist it. “No quitting at Camp Hope, either.”

Max grinned. “You're a fast learner. And that's why you're going to try again tomorrow.”

Panic flashed across Cody's face before he unleashed the water on the truck. The spray created a mist against the sunlight. “Do I have to?”

“You want to be a quitter? Feel stupid?”

He shook his head, staring down at the river of soapy suds sliding across the gravel.

“Remember—everyone does things at their own pace, in their own time. You're here for you.” Max reached out and clapped his hand on Cody's shoulder, slightly surprised at the connection he felt toward the little guy. Probably because he was one of the youngest campers he'd ever had at the ranch—and maybe because so much of Cody reminded him of himself as a teenager. If he could keep these guys from making some of his mistakes, it'd all be worth it.

“Just keep trying.” He patted Cody's shoulder before dropping his hand to his side. “And keep your fists to yourself.”

Cody smirked but didn't argue as he shut off the water. “If you say so.”

“There's just one more thing.” Max plastered on his most serious expression, effective enough that Cody's face fell.

“What is it?” He squinted as if bracing himself.

Max gestured to the truck, holding back a grin. “You missed a spot.”

He totally deserved the wet sponge that splattered against his stomach.

* * *

Despite the day of heavy physical activity, Emma couldn't sleep. She adjusted the pillow under her head for the tenth time, wondering if Katie were going to snore every night or if this was an exception. Across the room from her bunk, Stacy muttered in her sleep, her deep Southern accent giving an odd rhythm to the half-formed words, while Tonya lay quietly, a pink glittered sleep mask covering her eyes.

Emma rolled over, pulled the blanket over her ears, and squeezed her eyes shut. But all she could see in her mind's eye was a replay of Cody swinging helplessly from a rope, the expression on his face a mixture of anger, embarrassment and fear.

She sat up abruptly before she could picture the same expression paired with an orange jumpsuit, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Maybe some water or milk from the kitchen would settle her nerves and help her sleep. A distraction was necessary, regardless. She couldn't keep lying in bed alternating between regretting the past and wishing away the future.

Including the regret of not having slammed past Max when he'd stopped her from getting involved with Cody.

Max asked her to come to the camp as a favor—for him, of all people—then expected her to look the other way when her child was hurting and in need? When Cody was made out to be a target? When the last thing he needed at the camp was more reason to grow angry and bitter and distant?

Though deep down, she couldn't ignore the sensation that Max had a point. Underneath the surface layers of mama-bear instincts and desperation lay the truth—she'd have made things worse.

Still, that didn't take away the incessant desire to fix it. Fix Cody.

Fix herself.

Maybe she'd make that milk a hot chocolate.

Emma threw on a flannel robe, knotted it at her waist and shoved her feet into the closest shoes she could find—her shower flip-flops. The night air would be chilly, but she'd rush to the kitchen and be back before she had time to get cold—or before the girls could wake up and realize she'd left.

She hesitated at the door, one hand grazing the knob, and studied her sleeping charges. Still snoring. Still unmoving. Nothing to worry about—after all, hadn't Faith left the girls alone for a short time yesterday, before barging in and catching Emma in her verbal blunder? They'd be fine.

Careful not to let the door slam, Emma slipped outside the dorm and into the main house. Since Mama Jeanie did all the cooking and served their meals, Emma hadn't had reason to rummage through the refrigerator yet and didn't know where anything was in the kitchen. Probably wouldn't find it in the pitch black. She flipped on the low light over the sink, brightening the stone tiles on the floor. The room felt different this late at night, and she tiptoed quietly toward the refrigerator, aware that Mama Jeanie's sleeping quarters weren't far down the hall.

She quickly found the milk, searched in vain for a bottle of chocolate syrup and finally discovered a drinking glass in the cabinet to the right of the pantry. She took a big gulp of plain milk just as heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Pausing midsip, she stared at Max over the rim of her glass.

He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth quirked as amusement danced in his eyes. His wrinkled T-shirt and pajama pants, along with rumpled hair void of its usual cowboy hat, gave testament to his own lack of sleep. “Thirsty?”

A flush heated her neck, and she swiped her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. Juvenile, but faster than trying to find a paper napkin—and better than conversing with a liquid mustache. “Couldn't sleep.”

“Long first day, huh?” He reached for the fridge and pulled out the carton of orange juice.

“You could say that.” She stepped back as he rummaged for a cup. Memories long buried burned for release. He'd always preferred juice over milk, regardless of the time of day or food he was eating. Some things never changed.

“I feel like I need to apologize for earlier.” Max set the carton back in the fridge and turned to her, sincerity shining in his gaze. He ran his finger around the edge of his full glass, meeting her eyes briefly before averting them.

She threw him a proverbial bone, however grudgingly. “You did the right thing.” The words tasted unfamiliar. Max Ringgold, making the right decision? But she had to somehow let go of the Max she knew from the past and reconcile it with the one standing before her now. Old Max drank orange juice out of the carton, cared about nothing but his own next adventure—illegal or not—and lived for the moment.

New Max poured juice into cups, helped troubled teens and ran a successful ministry.

Somewhere in between the two extremes lay a missing puzzle piece, and Emma couldn't help but long to find out where it went. Where it fit.

What hole it might fill.

He picked up his glass but still didn't drink, rather studied it as if the yellow liquid held answers. “I wasn't apologizing for the why, but the what. I was abrupt.”

Well that sounded more like the Max she knew. But this one wasn't arrogant, only confident. There was a difference if one looked hard enough.

She just didn't think it wise to stick around and try.

“It was the right choice.” She took another quick sip of milk and rinsed her glass in the sink. “No worries.” There was so much more she wanted to say, but standing in a dark kitchen with Max in their pajamas didn't exactly lend to the right timing.

“I know it's awkward.”

She hesitated, her back to him as she turned off the faucet. She didn't want to turn around, didn't want to risk seeing something in his eyes she only once imagined she'd see—change. Pure, heartfelt, hard-core change. Max had clearly made something of himself, had chosen a better path after she abandoned their sinking ship of a relationship by escaping to college and never looking back. She'd wanted to see that change in him so bad then but had gotten burned. He'd not only broken his promise to her to change, he'd flat-out mocked it. How could he whisper such heartfelt assurances of her being good for him, of her being enough—and then turn around and do another drug deal the minute he thought her back was turned?

It was too late.

And she couldn't bear seeing the change in person when it couldn't undo the past.

She lowered her eyes as she turned, wiping her hands on the sides of her robe. “What's awkward?” Denial at its worst. But what choice did she have? None of the events of the past few days made any sense to her heart, already fragile and weary from the strain of Cody's rebellion.

“Us.”

She lifted her gaze, grateful for the shadows shrouding his half of the kitchen, and moved away from the light lest he see too much. “It's just a month.” That currently felt as if it'd already been about six. Sort of reminded her of another time in her life where nine months went by as slowly as a decade. Her cheeks burned.