And unfortunately, not a lot had changed, because if a year ago—six months ago, or even a week ago—someone had told her she’d have Max Ringgold’s hands in her hair, she’d have laughed in their face at the absurdity.
God really, really had a sense of humor.
She needed control back. Not just with Max—with her life. With her son. With the family she’d sacrificed for and fought to create.
A family Max didn’t fit into. Not yet. Not like this.
She had to resist.
She dug deep, closing her eyes and bringing back to life a box of memories she alternated between, regularly reliving and regularly shutting out. Max with a baggie of white powder. Max, getting yet another DUI from the sheriff, who threatened to tell Emma’s parents on her if he ever saw her with “that riffraff” again. Max, trading cash for drugs with a local gang banger two weeks after promising her he’d been clean.
There. She could do it.
“Three weeks or three years—it’s not happening.” She opened her eyes and steeled herself against the hurt radiating from his posture.
A muscle worked in his jaw, and despite knowing better, she desperately wanted to touch it. Feel the rough bristle of a permanent five o’clock shadow under her fingers. Graze that dimple in his chin. She knew, instinctively, she had one last chance. He hadn’t shut her out yet, she could tell by his expression. She could undo her last words—if she spoke now.
But what would that accomplish? More pain? More mistakes? More daily reminders that she’d screwed up and had been paying for it ever since? Maybe he’d be a good influence on Cody. But once he knew the truth—it’d change everything. He’d never look at her that way again, and worse yet, he could resent Cody for her choice. Resent them both.
Her heart couldn’t break over Max Ringgold a second time without permanently disassembling.
Besides, she couldn’t risk Cody being kicked out of the program. Smack-dab in the middle of his last-chance before juvie was not the time to correct a mistruth he’d believed his entire life. Not without doing damage none of them could repair in time.
The clock ticked a rhythm above their heads. Max raised his eyebrows, waiting. One more try. One last heartbeat. She held her breath.
And the cuckoo chirped the hour.
* * *
Max ignored the crack spreading across his heart, ignored the desire seeping through his chest, and plastered on the best fake smile he could muster. “Truce, then.” He held out his hand, and Emma shook it, wariness holding her expression hostage. He didn’t blame her, after what he’d just pulled. What had he been thinking, going for broke like that?
He let her hand go immediately, despite the cry of his instincts to hold on longer, and stood to straighten his chair. He dragged it several feet away, back to its rightful place, and reminded himself that from now on, this was his rightful place, too. Where he belonged—away from Emma. A respectful distance, anyway. She’d made her choice.
A man could only get kicked while he was down so many times, and twice was enough.
Emma stood, too, as if she was afraid he was forcing her to leave. Hardly. He needed her here—for the camp. He’d just be sure to keep his personal issues out of it. “You can go back to your files. No need to run off.”
Again.
“I think I’m done for the night.” She stared at the paperwork, looking young and overwhelmed in wrinkled sweatpants and a purple hooded sweatshirt. He drew his eyes away from the strands of blond hair skimming her shoulders. “There’s nothing there.”
Oh, there was.
Just not in Tonya’s file.
“We’ll see how she does in the morning. In the meantime...” Max hesitated, gripping the back of the dining room chair in front of him.
Emma crossed her arms. “The truce.”
“The truce.” He nodded. “Friends?”
Surprise flickered across her pale face, and he’d have given his right arm to know why. Did she really think he was an all or nothing kind of guy now? That their history forever determined their future? There was always room for pages to be rewritten. If he didn’t believe in fresh starts, what kind of leader was he, anyway?
She rolled in her bottom lip, just like she’d always done when she was younger. Just like he’d seen Cody do a dozen times while at the camp. “Friends.”
Relief flushed through his body. It wasn’t what he really wanted, but at least the awkwardness could be shoved behind them now. They could move forward and focus together on what was most important—the kids.
“Then I’m going to need your help.” He motioned for her to sit again, and she quickly obeyed as if eager to press forward with their new relationship. They needed to cement the decision, for sure, before the sun rose and reality doused them in an unforgiving light. “I really want to brainstorm a few new ideas for the campers. I’m not getting through to some of them like I expected to by now.”
“Is Cody one of them?” Her brow puckered, and she tapped a nervous rhythm with her pencil.
“Don’t worry about who.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but he couldn’t discuss Cody right now. It was too soon—and not fair. He couldn’t do that with the other campers and their parents, so he wouldn’t start breaching confidentiality now. Besides, Emma was too anxious over it—wrong mindset on her part. There was still a long road to walk.
For both of them.
“I’d like your help, especially with some project ideas for the girls. These kids need to work hard, but they need to have fun.” He patted Tonya’s files. “They need to see they can have a good time without abusing substances or breaking the law.”
“But isn’t the point of the camp to learn discipline and responsibility? Learn how to respect authority?” Her frown lingered, though interest had sparked her gaze at the mention of fun.
“Of course. Don’t you think we’ve been doing that?”
She hesitated, then snorted. He took that as a yes. She was probably remembering the early hours, the structured eating schedule, the punishment for forgotten manners, cursing and fighting, the strict rules about free time, the obstacle course that nearly did the group in...
“So, you’ll help me?” He hated how much it mattered that she not turn down this small gesture.
She nodded slowly, eyes appraising him. He tried to look stoic. No more tricks. He wouldn’t take advantage of their chemistry again—even if the air sizzled like a campfire every time he got within three feet of her. He tried to convey that honest message with his own gaze, not surprised in the least that they could still read each other so easily. After all they’d been through...
“I’ll help.”
“Great.” His breath escaped in a rush of air. “Tomorrow, then.” He wanted to shake her hand again. No, scratch that. He wanted to kiss her good-night.
Time to cowboy up and face facts. He stood, scooted their chairs in, gathered the files, held the door for her and smiled like a gentleman.
The entire time Emma stomped over his heart on her way to the dorms.
* * *
Emma slapped her alarm clock as it buzzed, and then curled into a stretch, wishing she could crash for another eight hours. She’d lost a lot of sleep over the years because of Max Ringgold, and last night was no exception. His words kept replaying in her head, a record stuck on repeat with an incessant message.
Max still wanted her.
The fact brought more nightmares than dreams, and she fell asleep too close to dawn.
Suddenly, she sat up in bed, fully awake. Today was Tonya’s testing period. Would she pass?
Tonya’s bed was empty, the covers pulled up and her pillow fluffed. Emma frowned. A quick glance confirmed Katie and Stacy were still asleep, sprawled haphazardly across their sheets as only teens could do. Where was Tonya?
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Grabbing her slippers in one hand and her toiletry case in the other, she padded toward the entryway for the bathrooms, heart thumping with unease. If Tonya was still sick, she wouldn’t be up and about so early.
But what if they were on to her, and she’d panicked? Done something really crazy, like run away?
Sort of ridiculous to think a teenager would make her bed before attempting jailbreak, but it was just as ridiculous for someone as beautiful as Tonya to think she needed to starve herself to look attractive. Teenagers sometimes did crazy things to feel loved and accepted.
Emma was a poster child for that particular motto.
She ducked back as the dormitory door swung open, nearly clipping her slipper-clad toes. “Oh, sorry.” Tonya grimaced at the near miss, but the vibrancy in her complexion and the simple fact that she was there, dressed in a purple robe with her hair freshly braided, lifted Emma’s spirits.
She fought the urge to hug her. “You’re looking better.” Understatement of the year. Compared to her pallor yesterday after the barn incident, Tonya looked runwayworthy once again.
“Feeling better.” Tonya smiled, and it seemed sincere enough. Either she’d taken some acting classes overnight, or whatever had plagued her had passed. Maybe it’d been nothing more than low blood sugar, after all.
She just really hoped it hadn’t been lies. Max didn’t do well with those.
Ironically.
“Ready for breakfast?” Emma lowered her voice so not to wake the other girls, though they’d be getting up in about ten or fifteen minutes anyway. “I think Mama Jeanie said something yesterday about pancakes.”
A brief shadow flickered across Tonya’s expression before the grin returned. “Sounds great.”
Did it? She made a mental note to watch Tonya’s eating habits closely.
“I’m glad you’re on the mend, but if you feel off today at all, let me know.” She tried to mimic the firm tone Max used that worked so easily on the teens. “We want you to be okay.” She tried to hold Tonya’s gaze, show her compassion, but the younger girl dodged it, shaking off further inquiry.
“I’m fine. I promise.” She lifted one slim shoulder in a shrug and fiddled with the satiny ties of her robe.
Max’s famous line ran through her mind in protest—no lying at Camp Hope—but she swallowed the words. The girls heard that often enough. They needed to trust Emma, not take her as a nag. They already had moms—well, most of them. They needed a teammate, someone they could trust while they grew and healed.
But healing never began without first acknowledging the wound.
Her thoughts turned back to Max as Tonya slipped past and began rummaging through her dresser. Emma thought she’d healed from their fling—no, it was more than that. Labeling it as such was clearly a defense mechanism she’d concocted years ago. She had to start being honest with herself, just like Max had been honest last night.
A heavy sense of realization settled in her stomach, as hard and unforgiving as a boulder. But she couldn’t avoid it any longer. This particular truth didn’t seem able to set her free, but rather, it confined her in the same chains she’d struggled against for years.
She still needed him, too.
Chapter Twelve
Cody Shaver might not have his mom’s eyes, but he’d definitely inherited her uncanny ability to clam up at the slightest hint of a breached wall.
Max shifted in his office chair, ignoring the squeak of the fake leather and trying not to show the frustration building within his chest. They’d been making such progress in their One4One—two-plus weeks into the program now, and he’d gotten through to Cody about his behavior. He’d also been able to praise the kid for several well-done chores and even secured a promise to apologize to Jarvis for the fighting incident.
Then he’d asked Cody about his dad, and the boy’s jaw clamped tighter than Nugget with Brady’s favorite cowboy hat.
“So your father...”
Face pale against his black T-shirt, Cody shook his head, a dull ache in his eyes. “I already told you. I don’t know who he is.”
That was so not like Emma. A blank name on Cody’s paperwork under father? How could she not know? No, Emma knew, and didn’t want to say. Why?
Unless... A wild thought crossed his mind, so wild he felt ridiculous even considering it. But the timing... He turned Cody’s file to check the kid’s birthday and started a desperate backward count down in his head.
Cody slumped in his seat. “All I know is he was some jerk who left my mom when she was pregnant and never came back.”
His eyes lingered on the numbers before him, and his heart swam in an odd mixture of disappointment and amusement, all at the same time. The timing was impossible, by almost a year. Who was he kidding? Emma hadn’t thought twice about him after she left.
But this wasn’t about him.
No, this was about a boy who had been abandoned by his own father before he could even meet him and clearly carried those wounds around on his shoulders.
And Emma—he hurt for her. Even though she’d clearly gotten involved with someone quickly after she left Max, no one deserved what she’d been through. What she and Cody had been through together.
Max drew in a deep breath, determined to put Emma aside for the moment and talk about Cody’s issues alone. “Let’s talk about your dad for a minute. How knowing that he never came back makes you feel.”
A warning flashed in Cody’s eyes, indicating a hot button, and Max hesitated. He didn’t want to start a fight or war of the wills, but he had to reach through the shield Cody still held and get to the source of the boy’s hurt. Once there, Max could help him figure out how to process the behaviors Cody felt and decide if he needed to be referred to a professional. More than half of the teens that left Camp Hope received a referral, which made Max sick inside. The teens’ parents clearly cared enough to bring them to the facility, but they never realized how much of a part of the overall problem they often were themselves.
Workaholism. Alcoholism. Perfectionism. Transferring fears of guilt, rejection and failure onto their kids. Without the right coping skills, the teens ran to whatever distractions or pleasures they could get to the quickest. It was sad.
And it made Max wonder if he’d be better off never bringing his own children into the world someday. Brady teased him about finding the right woman already so their kids could play together one day, but he didn’t know. His own father had screwed him up—and it was solely by the grace of God that Max had escaped the destructive cycle. He had no guarantees he would be able to keep it up.
“I don’t feel anything. I’m fine.” Cody crossed his arms.
“I understand this isn’t a fun topic.” Max shifted forward in his chair, having chosen to sit beside Cody rather than let the desk separate them. “But it’s probably more important than you realize. If you can just tell me a little about how—”
“No!” Cody stood up, skinny chest heaving, cheeks red and eyes glassy. Clearly, he was fighting a losing battle with tears. “I don’t have to, and I don’t want to.”
Time to retreat. But they wouldn’t end the session in such a negative place. Max gestured for Cody to sit back down. He obeyed, grudgingly, his eyes as wary as a doe’s in November, and fixed his gaze somewhere near the potted plant behind Max’s chair.
Fortress closed. But he’d dealt with worse. There was always a drawbridge if you looked hard enough. “There’s one more thing we need to talk about today, then you can go on to your chores.” He pressed on, pretending not to watch as Cody slowly regained control of his emotions and unclenched his jaw. “How are you doing with your mom being here on campus?”
“I hardly ever see her. So it’s fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Wish she’d avoid me this much at home.”
Ouch. That would have cut rig
ht through Emma’s jean jacket and straight into her heart. Max struggled to hide his surprise at the boy’s choice of words. “You feel smothered at home?” Well, didn’t every teen?
“I guess. I mean, she’s just always on me, wanting to know what I’m doing and where I’m going and who I’m with.”
He hid a smile. That just meant she was doing her job as a mom—and doing it well. “Don’t you think that maybe some of your past choices have given her a reason to ask a lot of questions?”
He flushed red. “Yeah.”
“So give her some slack, okay? Here’s a secret about parents.” He leaned forward as if he were about to reveal the mother lode of teenaged treasure.
Cody pretended indifference, but his eyes lit with interest.
“The more truth you tell them, the more they back off.” He knew that was the case more often than not, and he could easily see how Emma’s personality fed into that. If Emma could trust Cody again, she’d be more comfortable giving him some space. And teen boys needed a degree of space—he could remember the hormones and the struggle that came with being thirteen. It was a balancing act, and Emma and Cody were about to topple off the wire if something didn’t change.
“You think so?” Cody squinted with uncertainty.
“It’s a fact. You need to show your mom she can trust you. And she can’t trust you until you make good decisions in front of her. Be responsible, that sort of thing.”
“Like, doing my chores the first time she harps on me?”
Max rubbed his jaw, briefly hiding the smile he couldn’t contain. There were moments like this every so often that popped up and reminded him that Cody was only thirteen—his youngest camper, and in so many ways, still a child. It brought comfort—that maybe Cody wasn’t too far gone after all—yet also, unease. Kids in Cody’s position didn’t need to be naive or gullible about themselves, either.
“Yes, like that. And also, like, not sneaking out of the house to vandalize your school.” He hardened his pointed stare, and Cody ducked his head.
Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected CowboyHis Ideal MatchThe Rancher's Secret Son Page 50