A Trusting Heart

by Shannon Guymon

  “Well, I’m not going home. I’m staying, and if anyone comes up to me looking for you, I’ll be as nice as can be and give them your cell number. I told you to leave her alone, but you can’t, can you? It’s pathetic how obsessed you are even after eight years. She made her choice, Dylan. It wasn’t you. It will never be you. I’m your wife. If you spent half as much time thinking about me as you do her, I’d be in heaven. Don’t worry about how I’ll get home. I’ll find a ride.”

  With that, she flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and walked quickly back to the ballroom. Ouch! Trevor eased away from the wall, just enough to be seen. It seemed as if the pot was getting ready to boil and he didn’t mind sticking his spoon in for a little stir.

  “Great party, huh?” he drawled, giving Dylan a lazy smile. Dylan flinched noticeably, turning to glare at Trevor.

  “Is that how you made your millions, eavesdropping? A little insider trading? You always were a sneaky son-of-a . . . ”

  Trevor’s eyebrows raised slightly. He would freely admit he had been eavesdropping, but he would never have described himself as sneaky. He decided to ignore that little jab and dish out one of his own.

  “Didn’t Megan look beautiful tonight, Dylan? I was just about knocked off my feet. And what a kisser! Why anyone would let someone like her get away is beyond me. What on earth were you thinking, Dylan?”

  Dylan sneered at Trevor and turned to walk away, but suddenly found himself face to face with Trevor.

  “If you ever harass Megan again, you’ll regret it. Do you understand me?”

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed and he took a step backwards as he threw a hard right at Trevor. Moving back and automatically blocking the first swing, Trevor ducked the second and went into a defensive position, waiting. Dylan stood, breathing hard with his fists clenched, not sure what to do next. Trevor nodded his head to something behind Dylan.

  “Dylan, I think your friends are looking for you.”

  Dylan turned to see who Trevor was talking about and saw a group of unsmiling men he had made the ill-fated bet with.

  “Don’t forget what I just said about Megan. I’m going to be watching out for her now. Remember that.”

  Trevor turned and took his keys from the shocked young valet, who wasn’t too shocked not to smile at the tip.

  Driving away from the hotel, Trevor headed up the canyon to a secluded and private cabin he was borrowing from a friend. He thought about what had happened at his ten-year reunion and laughed. He laughed so hard he had to pull over to the side of the road until he regained control. Here he was, acting like a complete teenager. A macho one at that. If his mother had seen him, she would have dragged him out of the hotel by his ear. He had always had the urge to protect Megan and he had finally gotten his chance. Trevor laughed again as he realized he was acting out his teenage fantasies. Man, he needed therapy. It would serve him right if Megan was hiding a very large, very possessive boyfriend somewhere. Trevor reached for his phone and punched a button that automatically dialed his personal secretary.

  “Blaine? . . . Yeah, it was great. Hey listen, take this down. Megan Garrett. She lives somewhere in Utah County, I think. Find out everything you can on her. Have it to me by tomorrow morning. Got it? Thanks.”

  Trevor hit the gas, continuing on his way. He couldn’t stop smiling. He was always happiest when he was on the brink of a new project. And, though Megan Garrett didn’t realize it, she had just become Trevor Riley’s next project.

  Three

  MEGAN LOOKED OUT THE garden window in her kitchen. She felt so calm and peaceful that she never wanted to leave the house again. Bad things happened when you did. Megan shook her head and smiled at the thought, then gasped as her border collie attacked her weeping cherry tree. Megan tried hard not to think some very uncharitable thoughts about her dog, Marjorie. So instead of daydreaming of taking her dog to the pound, she grabbed her scriptures and headed out the door. It was Fast Sunday and she didn’t want to be late. Hearing everyone’s testimonies was her favorite part of church. Not that she’d ever had the guts to get up and bear hers, but she knew someday she would. Just not yet.

  Megan turned to lock her front door, pausing to look over the house, her one and only extravagance. She had driven by the house one day, seen the “For Sale” sign, and had immediately fallen in love. Being thirty thousand dollars below appraisal hadn’t hurt either. Yes, it had needed a few repairs. Like a million. But the simple charm of the old house had caught her imagination. Growing up, Megan had either lived with her parents or with roommates in cramped apartments, but this was her home. The red brick, dormer windows, chimney, and half-acre lot had seemed to call out to her. And she had answered back, using all of the money in her savings for a down payment. Dylan had been furious with her at the time, wasting her money on a house that he refused to live in. He had been set on an exclusive condo close to school so he could finish up his degree. It was the one thing she refused to budge on.

  But even with a huge down payment, she still had a monster of a mortgage. She’d thought at the time she could easily handle it considering the substantial salary she had been earning working for Dylan’s uncle at Royden, Powell, and Associates as the executive secretary. Sadly, she was laid off from that fine establishment right after she dumped Dylan. Surprise, surprise. She had since found that her love for houses had translated nicely into joining the real estate game.

  Reality had been sinking in one mortgage payment at a time. Now she knew for sure she couldn’t handle it, unless she actually started selling houses, of course. She’d only sold two during the past six months. She was still living off the last of her commission, but her mortgage, unfortunately, didn’t leave very much left over for food.

  Thinking of food had her wondering what in the world she was going to make for lunch. She had a choice between macaroni and cheese and Marjorie’s kibble. Boy, was she looking forward to using the gift certificate to The Roof. At the moment, thoughts of salmon and crème brulée were powerful enough to push the embarrassing memories of last night back into a corner. She found herself smiling as she walked to church.

  * * *

  Three and a half hours later, as she sat alone at her small kitchen table and poked at her soggy macaroni, she didn’t feel like smiling anymore. She did have her limits. She reached for the phone. Maybe if her mother was in a good mood, she would invite Megan over for Sunday dinner. The thought of pot roast with potatoes and carrots had her mouth watering as she dialed the number quickly. She’d ignore whatever rude comments they wanted to say to her as long as she could have second helpings.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me, Megan. How are you guys doing? I haven’t talked to you for a while.”

  “Oh, you know us, dear. We’re doing great. How’s the real estate market lately? I hope it’s picked up since last time we talked.”

  Megan blew the hair out of her eyes and wondered how to steer the conversation around to food.

  “Hmmm. Well, Jackie sold a house last week, and Dean has an earnest money agreement written up. So, yeah, I think things are looking good for us.”

  “You didn’t mention yourself, dear. Have you sold anything lately?”

  Megan pursed her lips in frustration. She did have the tendency to come away from conversations with her parents slightly depressed. Was the food really worth it? At the moment, she wasn’t sure.

  “Not yet, but I have high hopes for one family. They’ve come in twice, and I think I have them narrowed down to a wonderful home in American Fork. They have the cutest little girl; I just want to steal her and take her home with me.”

  “You could have had a cute little girl of your own by now, if things had been different. But it’s no use crying over spilt milk, right? Well, dear, I’ve got to be going. It’s been nice chatting with you, but your father is taking me and your sister out to lunch at Mulboon’s. You know how we all love those shrimp bowls. I’d invite you, of course, but since you�
�ve become so zealous about religion, I wouldn’t want to offend you.”

  Megan got up and placed her bowl of macaroni and cheese in the microwave after saying goodbye to her mother. She tried to no avail to think of anything besides large bowls of fresh shrimp and tangy cocktail sauce.

  She really shouldn’t complain. She had actually been invited over for Sunday dinner by Drew Jarvis, a kind man in his mid-forties and a widower. He was actually handsome, too, in an English sort of way, especially if you could get past the fact that he was still very much in love with his wife who had died two years ago from breast cancer. He taught American Heritage at the community college to support five very active children. He had been asking her to come for dinner for the last month and a half. She hadn’t accepted even one of his invitations, mostly because she didn’t want to lead him on. Plus, she had the distinct impression that he was on the lookout for a new babysitter/housekeeper/wife. She couldn’t even handle one rotten dog—how could she handle five kids? But wouldn’t it show her mother?

  Megan continued to pick woefully at her inadequate dinner as she eyed the bag of dog food she had just purchased at PetSmart. Maybe if she added enough gravy it might taste like a roast? She shook her head as she swallowed another bite before laying down her fork.

  Megan paused as she reached for the keys, wondering what kind of food they served in homeless shelters. With her luck, it would be macaroni and cheese. Going out to the backyard, she walked over to her dog and patted her head a couple of times. She glanced at her now-battered cherry tree and growled at the dog, which only incited further excited barking. Megan sighed. No one took her seriously, not even her dog.

  Megan pulled out of her driveway and headed to her usual spot. The parking lot beside the Mount Timpanogos Temple in American Fork. Second only to her house, it was her favorite place to be. She tried going to the temple at least once a week, but Sundays, when she was usually all alone, was when she needed the peace and sense of beauty the most. She turned the motor off and tilted the seat back as far as it would go before resting her head on her hands and gazing up at the stained glass. She liked to use her time in front of the temple to think and pray and go over her goals in life. She had started this ritual of parking in front of temples when she had been a freshman in college and it had helped her get through some very difficult situations. As she closed her eyes and felt the sun caress her face, she smiled once again. She would never trade her life now for what it had been. Macaroni, dog, and all.

  Four

  TREVOR TOOK ONE LAST bite of the chicken enchiladas with green chili sauce his mom had made especially for him and laid his fork down, despite the frown he received.

  “Mom, after three helpings, even I get stuffed. I loved them. Who wouldn’t? Can I take some back to the cabin with me? I promise to eat some more before I go to bed later. I promise!”

  Cora Riley glared at her son’s plate and then smiled suddenly, making him instantly suspicious.

  “I wouldn’t have to stuff you so much if I had a daughter-in-law and, say, three grandkids to spoil. It would really make things easier on you. And I know the perfect girl. Short black hair, great blue eyes, and dimples to die for. Hmm? What do you think? I’m good friends with her mother. We bowl every Tuesday morning together. I could set the two of you up tomorrow. You’re in town for how long? A week? Two? You could be engaged in a few weeks . . . ”

  Trevor pushed back from the table and grinned at his mother as she rambled on, spinning her dreams for him. He should have moved back years ago. His mother needed family around her. All of the times he had flown her up to Washington didn’t really cut it. She had two sisters and a brother who lived nearby with their children, but that was different. Trevor was her only child and his dad had died in Vietnam before he was even born. His mother had never remarried, although she was a petite, attractive woman. Cora had spent all of her time working to support the two of them. She had taken jobs cleaning houses wherever she could find the work. And she had made enough to support the two of them, send him on a mission, and put him through college. She was incredible. It was time for paybacks.

  It had taken three years and countless arguments to get her to stop cleaning houses and retire. He had finally convinced her that being a volunteer was much more fulfilling. And although she had refused all of the vacations he had wanted to send her on, she did accept jewelry. Now it was time for more. He wanted to see her in a brand new home, somewhere safe and beautiful. Convincing her to move was almost impossible. But, this way, he was killing two birds with one stone. Bribery could be so useful.

  “Hold it, hold it! I’m way ahead of you, Mom.”

  Cora closed her mouth slowly, eyed her son, and searched for the teasing light in his eye. He looked dead serious. At thirty, maybe he was ready to settle. Maybe she would have grandkids after all. Cora’s face lit up as if a sun had burst inside her. With tears gleaming in her eyes, she rushed over to her son’s side and cradled his head in her arms.

  “Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve been needing to hear the pitter-patter of little feet running around my house. And how long has it been since I’ve had a little sticky handprint on my window? They’ll have dark hair and eyes like you, I bet. You have strong genes, Trev, just like your dad. Oh, you’ve made me so happy, I’m going to make you your favorite dessert! Coconut cream pie!”

  Trevor felt a little hitch in his heart as he watched his mother float around her small, immaculate kitchen, dreaming of grandchildren. He shouldn’t have waited so long.

  “There are a couple of conditions you might want to consider before you start making that pie.”

  Cora turned slowly around and stared at her son with a steely gaze.

  “What conditions?”

  “You might want to sit down for this. I already have the contract written up, and I have it right here with me. If you agree to the terms, then I will do all in my power to make your dreams of sticky fingers come true.”

  Cora stomped over to the table with a frown on her face and her hands on her hips.

  “You know, you’re too much like your father! Who else would make his own mother sign a contract? Just one or two is all I’m asking for! If I wanted four or five, I could see the need for a contract. What kind of conditions?”

  Cora sat down at the table, still glaring at her son, but took the contract quickly, scanning the pages as if she had been a lawyer all of her life.

  “I have to sell my house? Forget it!”

  Trevor picked up a stray olive off of his plate and threw it in the air. Although he opened his mouth, ready to catch it, the olive bounced off his nose and dropped onto his brand-new leather shoes.

  “I have to use the services of Megan Garrett? I don’t even know her. Dennis’ son is working for Wardley. I’ll use him. He’ll cut us a deal on the commission. I’ll see to it.”

  Trevor shook his head and continued throwing olives in the air and missing them. Cora sniffed and returned to the contract.

  “I have to be as kind and as motherly to this Megan Garrett as humanly possible? What is this?”

  Cora dropped the contract as both hands went to her mouth. “She’s the one. You want to marry this Megan Garrett! I see! Oh, of course I’ll be nice to her. Why did you have to put that in the contract? You think I don’t have good manners? You think I would be mean to the person who will bring my son so much happiness and give birth to my grandchildren? Shame on you!”

  Trevor grinned at his mother but shook his head.

  “You definitely have polite down pat, Mom, but when you treat all the women who I introduce you to as if they were convicted felons hiding a secret, wicked past, then yes, I do need to put that in the contract. For heaven’s sake, when I introduced you to Allison, you made her cry!”

  Trevor took one look at his mother’s crestfallen face and quickly backpedaled.

  “Hey, now don’t get me wrong! That’s one of the things I love about you. You’re a mother bear and you always hav
e been. You’ve been protecting me from bullies since I was two and now you’ve taken on suspicious females. All I’m saying is I want you to look closely at this woman. Look into her heart. Besides, it’s a little difficult to get you those grandkids without a wife first. Not impossible, but very difficult.”

  Cora smoothed the pages of the contract out on the table, considering what her son was telling her. She had only wanted the best for her son. That wasn’t a crime, but she could take it easy on Megan.

  “That Allison was a gold digger, you mark my words. She was only after your money. Can I help it if I want someone to love my son for himself? Besides, that girl was so twitchy. Very guilty-looking. I could never trust a daughter-in-law with a twitchy eye.”

  Trevor choked on an olive as he sputtered and laughed. “Mom, her contacts had sand in them. We had spent all day at the beach and it had been windy that day. I can’t believe this. You hexed a perfectly good relationship over a twitchy eye. And all she could talk about after that night was how much her other boyfriends’ mothers had loved her and why did my mom hate her so much. You’re something else!”

  Cora had the grace to blush, and decided that a change of subject would be in the best interest of everyone.

  “I just don’t understand why I have to sell my perfectly fine house just to meet this girl. And why make me look at, and I quote, ‘lots with a view and having at least one-third of an acre in property.’ And it says here that I have to inspect at least four lots. What if I find the perfect lot on the first try?”

  Trevor got up from the table to get himself a glass of water from the sink and wished that his mother was one of those agreeable sorts who went along with everything their beloved sons wanted. But that just wasn’t Cora Riley’s style.

  “Let’s think grandkids here, Mom. You need at least a third of an acre for the swimming pool I’m going to put in. Kids love to swim on hot summer days. I know I did when I was kid.”