Authors: Brenda Minton
“Hush up,” Nathan ordered, popping up from the couch, his nose stuck in the book.
“Only if you'll play ballerina with me.”
“Okay, come around here and dance for me. I'll be your audience.”
As Grace began to sing and dance her way around the sectional sofa, Carissa happened to glance through the front window.
“Phillip!” she exclaimed. “What is that child doing?”
“Tucker? Oh, he's just digging a hole to plant a tree.”
“It's not a tree,” Nathan argued. “It's a pinecone.”
“He'll ruin the grass,” Carissa complained over Grace's singing.
“I'm going to resod in the spring anyway,” was Phillip's laconic reply.
Grace hit a high note, twirled and bowed. “Now the song's about rainbows,” she announced, launching into another aria.
Carissa rolled her eyes, shifted the baby onto her hip and waved at Simone, saying, “Let's go into the kitchen. Phillip, try to corral the kids, will you?”
“Sure, honey.”
Simone glanced at Morgan, who looked a bit shell-shocked, and followed her sister. Carissa pointed to a tall stool at a gleaming granite counter. “Sit there.” She then promptly handed over the baby.
Just like that, Simone found herself ensconced in her sister's kitchen with the sweet little bundle in her lap and a lump in her throat. She was an adorable baby, all soft and pudgy, with dark curly hair and big dark eyes. Cooing and laughing, she waved her arms and kicked her tiny feet, perfectly content.
“Hello,” Simone said, wondering if this was how it was to be, trying not to fall in love with every baby she met for the rest of her life. “How old is she?”
“About six months,” Carissa said, checking something in the oven. “I hope you're hungry. You're too thin, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“The cancer?”
“Partly,” Simone answered. “Partly depression, I think.” How surprisingly easy it was to confide in her sister. After all this time, even with all the resentments and distance, she was still just Carissa.
“Over Dad?”
“That's some of it.”
“Your marriage?”
“Not really. We weren't together very long before the cancer hit.”
Carissa reached into the stainless steel refrigerator for a salad. “That's what ended it?”
Simone nodded. “Serious illness does strange things to people, makes them or breaks them. It broke us apart, and in some ways it broke me. In other ways, it made me.”
“That makes a kind of sense,” Carissa said. “More than you not letting us know you were here.”
“Carissa,” Simone began, but her sister lifted a hand.
“I don't want to talk about that. Whatever crazy notions you have in your head about that, you can just get over them. But you're going to have to let Mom know, Lyla.”
Simone winced at the old name, but she wouldn't state a preference, and she wouldn't argue about letting Alexandra know she was in town, though she'd been hoping for a few more days' reprieve, at least.
“Whatever you think best.”
“I'll set something up for one evening this week, then,” Carissa told her.
Simone nodded glumly.
“She's probably going to want to come here,” Carissa said, grimacing, “though I'd rather she didn't. That's awful, I know, but you remember how she is. She comes in and picks apart everything in the place. I always want to move and forget to leave a forwarding address after she's been here.”
“Hasn't changed much, then, I take it,” Simone murmured.
“She has, actually,” Carissa said, narrowing her eyes accusingly. “She's gotten worse, and I expect you to bear the brunt from now on.”
“I suppose I deserve that,” Simone muttered.
“You certainly do. Still, a neutral meeting place would be best the first time out,” Carissa mused, “and I doubt we could get her back to Chatam House even if the aunties would be kind enough to agree. They didn't exactly hit it off.”
“What about the mission where I work part-time?” Simone wondered. “I think Pastor Hub might agree.”
Carissa brightened. “Uncle Hubner is a sweetie. I'm sure we can work something out with him.”
Just then, Marie Ella let loose with a loud, foul-smelling grunt.
Carissa and Simone in unison cried, “Ew!”
“She is no lady when it comes to filling her diapers,” Carissa exclaimed, waving a hand in front of her face. “Get her out of the kitchen, would you?”
Simone hopped down off the stool and carried the now grimacing baby draped over one arm into the living area. The men, who were seated at the dining table, both jumped up and fled as she approached.
“Yow! What is that?” Morgan demanded.
“That's Marie Ella,” Phillip said. “She's a stinker. A sweetheart, but a stinker.”
Not knowing what else to do, Simone carried the baby toward him. Surely he had dealt with this before.
“Oh, no,” he said, jumping out of the way. “Everything you need is right down that hall.” He pointed, adding, “Last door at the end.”
“Butâ”
He craned his head, looking toward the front windows. “That kid's digging a hole big enough to bury himself. I better go supervise.” Nathan and Grace, both holding their noses, were already out the door.
“I'll help,” Morgan volunteered, following quickly after him.
“Morgan!”
He hesitated long enough to shake his head. “I'm the old bachelor here. Remember?”
Before he pulled the door closed, Phillip had the temerity to wink at her and chortle, “Welcome home, Lyla Simone.”
“Oh!” She heaved a great sigh and held Marie Ella out at arm's length, muttering, “Where's a clothespin when you need one?”
Suddenly the little one screwed up her face and howled, no happier with her situation than anyone else apparently.
Ten minutes later, having found the right room and all the necessary accoutrements, including disposable plastic glovesâMarie Ella obviously having been a frequent visitorâthe offending mass and odor had been disposed of, and a clean, happy baby had once again charmed Simone with her winsome, toothless smile. Carissa came in.
“Dinner's ready. I have Phillip and Morgan setting the table.”
“Serves them right, abandoning me on the field of battle.”
Carissa grinned. “Well, you know how it is. Phillip is great with the kids, but even he has his limits, and I don't imagine Morgan has had much experience.”
“Neither have I,” Simone complained, and then, quite without meaning to, she blurted, “and I probably never will.”
“Sure you will,” Carissa said dismissively. “You always think it'll never happen to you, but you'll be having babies before you know it.”
Simone burst into tears before she even knew it was going to happen.
“Lyla!” Carissa dropped down next to her. “What's this?”
Simone gasped out what the cancer had taken from her, desperately needing to say it when before she hadn't wanted to talk about it at all except with Morgan. She'd only told Rina to try to help her see what a gift her baby was.
“Oh, honey,” Carissa crooned, gathering her close. “I'm so sorry, so very sorry.”
It was such a comfort, more comfort than any other words or any other hug. “Thank you.”
“I had no idea.”
“I know. I know. I didn't mean to spill it like that, but suddenly I just had to tell you.”
“Of course you did. But it's not the end of the world. You can always adopt.”
“I don't know. Maybe. There can be so many problems with that. I just don't know.”
“Hey,” Carissa told her, “you never know what God's got in the works. Look at me. Virtually unmarriageable one day and the next...”
Simone snorted, but Carissa insisted.
“No, really. Who wants a poor-as-a-church-mouse widow with three kids? Next thing I know, that hunk out there has roped me into developing reality apps and LOVE in capital letters. He's the most laid-back man on the face of the earth, too, and he has to be, to put up with my three terrors. It's a crisis an hour around here, and he thrives on it. God made him just for me, Lyla. I believe it heart and soul. He's got a plan for you, too.”
They sat together, holding each other close, until Simone looked up and saw Phillip standing quietly in the doorway, a patient smile on his ruggedly handsome face. Simone realized suddenly that the children were screaming at the tops of their lungs and poor Morgan was probably pulling his hair out.
She sat up straight, dried her eyes and declared, “I'm starving.”
Carissa gave a watery chuckle and plucked Marie Ella off the bed. Turning and rising in one swift motion, she thrust the baby into Phillip's hands, proving that she'd known he was there all along.
“Here, macho man. Take care of this.”
As Carissa slipped around him, he winked at Simone and tipped the baby over his shoulder. She erupted in giggles.
It was a delightful sound. Simone felt lighter than she had in days. Not even the upcoming meeting with her mother could cloud this moment.
She had lost much, cost herself much, but she had a sister again and faith that God had a plan for her.
She could only hope and pray that the plan included Morgan.
Chapter Thirteen
“I
wasn't this tired after the amusement park,” Morgan admitted, walking Simone up onto the porch of Chatam House about a quarter of four on Sunday afternoon. “I don't know how Phillip does it. He actually seems to thrive on the chaos.”
“I think he's the biggest kid in the family,” Simone said.
“Maybe that's why he's so good with them,” Morgan mused. “Did you see the way he handled the baby? I'd never have pegged Phillip for a nursemaid.”
“She's a very sweet, easy baby,” Simone pointed out dreamily.
“Especially considering that she's half skunk,” Morgan muttered.
Simone spluttered with laughter. “She is rather pungent at times.”
“
Every
time, according to Phillip. Apparently she's become a family legend.”
“Poor darling,” Simone giggled. “What awful stories they're going to embarrass her with when she's older.”
“The tale is bound to be lost in the heaps of Chatam progeny to come,” Morgan said thoughtlessly. “Kaylie's already expecting, and I hear my baby brother, Chandler, is feeling some pressure to add to his herd. Then there's Petra and Dale, Phillip's older sister and her husband. Also, I'm told that my Leland cousin Reeves and his wife have been trying for some time.”
Simone looked positively stricken. He wanted to cut out his tongue. After an awkward moment, she changed the subject with an endearing determination. “You're kin to Brooks?”
Morgan's mood went from wretched to brutal in a snap. He worked hard to keep the snarl out of his voice. “Brooks didn't tell you?”
“No.”
“We're only related by marriage, if that. His uncle Thomas was married to my aunt Dorinda, the youngest sister of Hub, Hypatia, Magnolia, Odelia and Murdock, in that order. Anyway, Dorinda and Thomas divorced years and years ago. She remarried and moved to California. Thomas and wife number three, I think, are still around. It's really more that Brooks and I have common relatives. My cousin Reeves is also his cousin. That's all there is to it.” Morgan told himself to be glad that she'd reminded him why he should be keeping his distance from her. It was too easy to forget.
“I see.” To his chagrin, she walked over to one of the wrought-iron chairs beside the front door and sat down, saying, “You never asked me about my dinner with Brooks.”
“No, and I don't intend to,” he stated firmly.
“That's too bad,” she said, “because I'm going to tell you about it anyway.” She patted the chair next to her.
“Look, Simone,” he began, but she fixed him with a steely stare and ordered him to sit down. Feeling it would be churlish, if not downright cowardly, to do anything else, he sat, sliding well back in the chair and crossing his legs.
“First of all,” she said, “I'm not the least bit interested in Brooks Leland.”
Morgan tried not to let loose a smile at that. The thing squirmed around on his lips for a while before he got a firm hold on it, but he managed. Saying what he needed to say was more difficult, but he managed that, too.
“You should be. Brooks is a fine man. And a doctor.”
Duh.
“He's...closer to your age.”
“Oh, please.”
“He is. A few years.”
“Yes, yes, you're quite right,” she agreed. “He's also intelligent and caring and handsome.”
Well, that was more than Morgan wanted to hear.
“Yeah, he's a paragon. The point isâ”
“The point is I'm already interested in someone else. More than interested, really.”
Morgan's heart thunked hopefully. Him. She had to mean him. Didn't she?
No, of course she didn't. Men were probably lined up around the block just waiting for a chance at this womanâyounger men, without restrictions and emotional baggage the size of V-8 engines.
“That's great,” he said, trying to sound as though he meant it. He clapped his hands to the narrow arms of the metal chair and prepared to rise. “I'm happy for you.”
“You should be,” she said, putting a hand in the center of his chest and pushing him back down. “You really are the dumbest smart man alive, aren't you?”
He glowered as the full meaning of what she'd said settled in. “That's one of Brooks's pet sayings. You two were discussing me, weren't you?”
“Don't change the subject,” she snapped. “When I'm shamelessly throwing myself at you, the least you can do is make a halfhearted attempt to catch me.”
Stunned, he bleated,
“Whaat?”
“You heard me,” she retorted petulantly.
And that's when she kissed him. Again.
And that's when he kissed her back. Again.
But honestly, what was a man supposed to do when a woman,
the
woman he hadn't been able to get out of his head for more than ten seconds running in weeks, was right there, pressing her sweet lips against his, smelling like a garden and tasting like ambrosiaânot that too-salty chicken casserole they'd had for Sunday dinnerâand twining her arms about his neck? How could he not palm the back of her head and slide his arm about her shoulders to draw her close? What was so wrong about just floating for a minute or twoâor fiveâin the misty cloud of elation that her kiss brought him?
He wondered how long it had been since he'd really wanted anything, anyone, and he wasn't sure now that he ever really had before this, and that was a startling discovery at his age. When at last he found the strength to pull back, she had the dreamy look that every man wanted to believe he could put on a woman's face. Until reality slapped him right upside his ego.
“Aw, I can't keep doing this!” he told himself as much as her.
She huffed out a sigh of pure disgust. “I would like to know why not.”
“Simone, I am not the man for you,” he stated flatly.
“I think you are.”
“I'm too old.”
“Ha!” She laughed, one hand coming up to press against her lips. “I think not.”
He did not need reminding of that kiss. Shooting up to his feet, he began to pace.
“Then put it another way. You're too young.”
She tucked her chin and rolled those big, beautiful eyes up at him. “Surely you can do better than that. I've been on my own since I was sixteen. I'll tell you something else. I tried a relationship with a man my own age. It is not an experience I care to repeat, and I think he should wait at least ten or fifteen years before he tries it again, too. Do you honestly think I'm not mature enough to know my own mind?”
Morgan didn't dare concede the point, but in truth she was the most mature twenty-six-year-old he'd ever met, and he'd met
many,
so he simply tried another tactic.
“Simone, you're a
student,
and for me that's poison.”
She tucked one dainty boot beneath her, tilted her head and said, “Once I'm on staff at the college, that won't matter.”
That rocked him. So she had tumbled to that loophole in the college policy, had she? He didn't think his father had let that particular cat out, but who else might have opened the bag? The answer was all too plain.
“Brooks told you, did he?”
She inclined her head in an elegant nod. “He did. He told me more besides.”
Morgan folded his arms. “Such as?”
She straightened, pressed her hands together primly, looked him right in the face and nearly felled him with, “Brigitte knew about the brain tumor before she broke your engagement.”
He staggered and dropped down onto the chair again. “What is that you're saying?”
“She knew about the brain tumor before she broke your engagement.”
He couldn't speak, his mind whirling, for several seconds. “But...”
“Brooks married her even though he knew she was dying.”
The implications were enormous, but one thing stood out. “Why didn't they tell me?”
“They wanted to spare you as much as they could,” Simone told him sympathetically. “Brooks said he knew as soon as she broke her engagement to you that God's plan was for him and her, not you and her. But he loved her, Morgan. He loved her so much, and the time they had together was worth the world to him.”
Still reeling, Morgan mumbled, “He told you all this, but not me?”
“Yes,” Simone said, “because he wants us not to be afraid of the possibility of my cancer returning. But it isn't the same. I see that even if he doesn't. Her fate was sealed. Anyone who gets involved with me is taking an unknown risk,” she went on. “I know it's asking a lot, Morgan, and I don't blame you at all, if that's whyâ”
“You think that's the reason I keep trying to do what I know I should with you?” he interrupted, appalled.
“Why you're trying to push me away, you mean.”
“That's not it! Give me some credit, will you? I have some faith, you know.”
“Then what?”
“Sweetheart,” he said urgently, “don't you understand that with a younger man you could easily adopt children but with me it's not likely?”
“And you're young enough to still father children of your own,” she countered wistfully, “but you'd never have that chance with me.”
Astounded, he shook his head. “Simone, it's been so long since I thought about having children that I don't even know how I feel about that now.” He rubbed a hand over his face, muttering, “Especially after today.”
“Not all households are like my sister's,” she told him wryly.
“That's a relief,” he said, shaking his head at the thought of Grace standing in her chair and performing a four-year-old's version of “Yankee Doodle
Daddy
” while her mother scolded and Phillip applauded.
“I couldn't live in that kind of chaos, either,” Simone said, “but I have to admit that I would grab at any opportunity to have a child.”
“I know,” Morgan said, “and I'm not sure that time hasn't passed me by entirely.”
“So where does that leave us?” she asked.
“That I don't know,” he admitted, gusting a sigh.
She bit her lip, that beautiful, luscious lower lip. He almost groaned.
“Don't throw me over yet,” she pleaded. “Let's just give it some time to see what God has planned.”
“At this point, I can't see anything else to do,” Morgan conceded, cupping her sweet face with his hand. “I'm an abject failure at getting rid of you. Funny, I've never failed at that before. I'm a master at it.”
“Even the professor has to learn a lesson from time to time,” she teased.
He drew his brows together. “I've learned a few things today.”
“I guess we both have,” she said, and he suddenly realized how tired she looked.
“You look beat. Go in and get some rest.”
Nodding, she got to her feet. “It's more emotional than physical, but it's a good tired this time. You were right about Carissa. We had a long talk. She told me about Dad and her husband Tom.”
“I'm glad.”
“I expect we have our moments ahead of us, but for now I have my sister back.”
“Answered prayer there,” he said, turning her toward the door.
“Truly. Thank you for being with me today. I owe you for this one.”
He chuckled. “You do. You really do.”
She slid him a look over her shoulder then, saying, “But that doesn't mean you don't have to come with me to meet my mother. And after that if you don't go running for the hills, then you're a better man than even I think you are, Professor Chatam, and that's saying a lot.”
He was grinning like the fool that he undoubtedly was when the door closed behind her, for they were no closer, really, to solving anything. The years hadn't diminished. She was still a student and forbidden territory that he just kept crossing. Someday soon, he was going to get caught at it. And that baby thing just kept getting bigger and bigger. But he wasn't sure now that he really even had a choice when it came to Lyla Simone Worth Guilland. He was helplessly, hopelessly in her thrall, and God was going to have to get him out of this one.
* * *
The meeting with Simone's mother, Alexandra Hedgespeth, and her husband, Leander, was set for the following Saturday afternoon at the mission. Hub volunteered to be there. Morgan was shocked to find that Chester and Hilda wanted no part of the meeting. That, as much if not more than Simone's comments, should have prepared him for what he would find when he escorted Simone into his father's crowded office, but though he'd caught a glimpse of Alexandra at Phillip and Carissa's wedding, she hadn't bothered to stop by the reception, so he had no real idea that the attractive blonde was all plastic veneer outside and venom inside.
Simone had dressed with care in a chic moss-green knit sheath with a straight-across-the-shoulders neckline that called attention to her long, graceful neck and regal carriage. The narrow sleeves belled at the wrists, showing off her delicate, feminine hands, and the midcalf length of the narrow skirt worked well with her boots. She'd added a soft suede belt with fringed ends and tied it loosely, letting it drape about her hips. He thought she looked smashing, and he'd have been proud to walk into any faculty function with her on his arm. Yet she'd barely entered the room before her mother attacked.
“What have you done to yourself? You're skinny as a rail! You're a drug addict, aren't you?” Seated in front of his desk, Alexandra looked to Hub for confirmation, saying, “That's what happens to kids who run away from home, isn't it? You must see it all the time.”
“Rarely, actually,” Hub replied, rocking back in his chair.
“I'm not a drug addict, Mother,” Simone said calmly, sinking down into the empty chair at Alexandra's side. Carissa was seated on a small couch tucked up against the wall. Phillip folded himself down next to her after Simone sat. Morgan went to lean against the end of his father's desk nearest Simone. “And hello, it's nice to see you,” Simone went on. “How have you been?”