Home At Last

by Raney, Deborah;

  Shayla opened her door, then closed it partway and turned back to him. “I did have a good time tonight, Link. I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”

  “I did too. And I promise it’ll be easier next time and the time after that.”

  She laughed as if she wasn’t sure there would be a next time.

  “We only have family dinners every other week. I can’t wait that long to see you again. How about a movie Sunday?”

  “I’ll see.”

  “You’re not going to back out on me are you?”

  She pursed her lips and looked straight ahead through the windshield. “I don’t know, Link. Let me think on it for a while, okay? I’ll call you before Saturday.”

  “That’s kind of mean to make me wait that long.”

  “You’re a big boy. I bet you’ll survive.” She opened her door and a blast of cold air whooshed in.

  He reached for his door handle. “I’ll help you get Portia.”

  But she waved him off. “I’ve got her.”

  She climbed out, shut her door, and opened the back door. “Unbuckle, baby.”

  “I already did.”

  Link put his arm over the seat, watching, feeling a little useless.

  Shayla set Portia on the sidewalk and started to close the door, then gave a little gasp. “Oh! I forgot to give your sister the bags.”

  “What bags?”

  “The coffee bags she wanted.”

  “Which sister? I can give them to her.”

  She looked distraught. “I can’t believe I did that! I totally forgot they were behind my seat.”

  “No worries. I can take them to her.”

  Shayla snatched up the shopping bag. “It doesn’t matter. She probably didn’t want them anyway. Goodnight, Link.”

  He didn’t like the note of sadness in her voice when she said it.

  12

  Link says there’s no such thing as fairies.” Portia bobbed her head as if that made it so. Since the minute she’d popped out of bed, the girl had been chattering about Link and their night at the Chicory Inn.

  Shayla cringed inwardly and glanced across the table in the kitchen alcove where her father sat. Thankfully he was engrossed in the newspaper, having been up since four a.m. baking. She hadn’t told her Dad about going to the Whitmans’. Link had dropped her and Portia off before Daddy got home from his prayer meeting and she’d made a point to be in bed when he came home, so she didn’t have to answer any questions about where they’d been. If Portia didn’t hush, there would be plenty of questions to answer.

  Shayla scooted the lime green cereal bowl closer. “Eat your oatmeal, baby. You’ve got school today.”

  “Does Link go to school?” Portia giggled.

  “No, silly, he’s a grown-up. He goes to work. Now eat.”

  She stole a sidewise glance at her father. Their eyes met.

  Daddy put the paper down. “Speaking of school, we’d better get moving, baby girl. And just who is this Link you keep talking about?” His question was aimed at Portia, but he didn’t take his eyes off Shayla.

  To her surprise, he hadn’t brought the subject of Link up again since that day the bakery window had been shattered. Except to tell her on his way to bed that night, “I trust you, girlie. I know you’ll do what’s right.”

  She knew he expected her to take that as a decree not to see Link. But he hadn’t forbidden her, and she truly didn’t think seeing Link was wrong. That didn’t keep her from shaking in her shoes right now though.

  “Link has a whole bunch of kids at his house. The big house.” Portia spread her arms wide and launched into a description of her evening with Link’s nieces and nephews. Though Shayla had tried to shush her and change the subject, Portia had talked of little else since.

  Daddy set his coffee mug on the table. “You went to his house? After all we talked about.”

  You mean after all you talked about, Daddy. “His parents’ house. Well, the inn they run.” She worked to sound nonchalant, but the quaver in her voice gave her away.

  Her father let the newspaper fall over his half-eaten scrambled eggs. “So you decided to take up with the guy who nearly ran Portia down? Are we talking about that Link Whitman?”

  “You know we are, Daddy. And for the hundredth time, it was an accident.”

  “Link says I’m a character,” Portia spouted with a grin. She was totally smitten with the man.

  “Hush and eat your breakfast, Portia.” Shayla hadn’t meant for it to come out so harshly. And she knew the fact that it had only made her father more suspicious.

  He took a sip of his coffee. She recognized the demeanor that said he had plenty more to say. “So what’s the deal with this Link? What are his intentions?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know good and well what I mean. Are you dating him?”

  “We’re friends, Daddy. I don’t know beyond that.”

  “And when are you seeing him next?”

  Warmth rushed to her cheeks. “Maybe Sunday. If I can find a sitter.”

  “You’re not taking Portia with you this time? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Why?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his reasons, so she quickly told him hers. “I don’t want Portia to get attached to him . . . in case it turns out not to be anything.”

  He glanced over at Portia. “Too late for that, I’d say.”

  “We’re just friends, Daddy.”

  “And what if he wants more?”

  “I’ll deal with that when—if—I have to.”

  “You’ll have to. You know you will. Best deal with it before things get ugly.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He scraped his chair back from the table. “You know very well what I’m talking about.”

  “Daddy, I’m thirty-three years old. I think I can handle this.” She was a little shocked to hear the defiance in her own voice. Even grown men didn’t talk back to Mike Michaels. Unless they were looking for a fight. But it seemed like she’d been doing her share of it recently. And she was not looking for a fight.

  She did know what he was talking about. But Link wasn’t like the handful of other men she’d dated. He was different. She just knew he was.

  Her father folded the newspaper into thirds and placed it on the table, giving her a look that said this conversation wasn’t over yet.

  ***

  Link pulled up in front of the bakery and jumped out of his truck, leaving it running. He was a little later than he’d told Shayla. He should have called to let her know he was on the way. As it was, they’d be late for the movie if they didn’t hustle. He was almost tempted to toot the horn, but if his sisters had taught him one thing in life it was that you did not, ever—unless you were looking for trouble with the girl and her father—sit in a car in front of said girl’s house and toot the horn.

  The bakery door was unlocked, which was unusual for a Sunday. He started to step inside, then hesitated, feeling like he was trespassing. He knocked on the door, and when no one had responded after a minute, he stepped inside. “Shay?”

  He called her name again and heard movement above him. A door creaked open upstairs, and Shayla’s father appeared and started down the steps.

  Link took a step backward and removed the baseball cap he’d been wearing. “Sorry to just walk in, sir.”—he pointed over his shoulder to the front of the store—“The door was open. I wasn’t sure Shayla could hear me knock.”

  “She heard.”

  “Is she ready? She and Portia? We’re going to a movie.”

  Shayla’s father reached the bottom of the stairs and stood there, feet spread wide. “We need to have words, you and me.” He motioned between them.

  “Yes, sir?” He extended a hand, which Michaels ignored. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced. I’m Link Whitman.”

  “So I’ve heard. Have a seat.” The man indicated a four-top in the middle of the room. Link pulled out
a chair and sat, not sure what was coming and more than a little nervous about it.

  “Is everything okay, sir?”

  Mr. Michaels sat across from him, elbows on the table. “That depends on you.”

  “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure you understand my daughter’s situation.”

  Link waited, wordless. What situation was he talking about? And where was Shayla?

  Mr. Michaels cleared his throat. “I don’t know what Shay’s told you, but she has responsibilities here”—he waved a hand that encompassed the bakery—“and that generally doesn’t leave time for anything else.”

  “Has Shayla said she doesn’t want to see me?”

  The man shifted in his chair, making it scrape along the tiled floor. “Whether she wants to see you or not isn’t the topic at hand.”

  “If by responsibilities you mean Portia, I understand that.” He was pleased his voice came out sounding steadier than he felt.

  “Yes, Portia is part of it, but—”

  “Portia has been invited to go along on our dates. She’s a sweet girl.”

  Mr. Michaels cocked his head. “Shay told you about Portia? Why we have her?”

  He nodded. “That she’s her brother’s daughter? Your son’s. And that Portia’s mother died.”

  “Do you understand what that means?”

  Link wasn’t sure enough about what he was getting at to want to answer that question. “I’m not really—”

  “Link?”

  Footfalls sounded on the stairway, and Link looked up to see Shayla descending. Her eyes were red and swollen. What was going on?

  “Daddy, what are you doing?”

  Her father scraped his chair back and looked up at her.

  “Link.” Shayla’s voice wobbled and she looked at her father even though she was addressing Link. “Could we please go for a drive? We need to talk.”

  He pushed away from the table and rose slowly.

  “Daddy, I’ll be back in a few hours. I need some time away. Portia fell asleep upstairs. She’ll be hungry when she wakes up.”

  Mr. Michaels stood, mouth gaping, as if he wasn’t accustomed to taking orders from his daughter.

  Shayla disappeared around the corner near the back door. Feeling her father’s eyes on him, Link became extremely interested in the pattern of the tile floor. But Shayla returned a few seconds later with her coat and purse slung over her shoulder.

  “Come on, Link. Please.”

  He followed, feeling oddly torn between going and staying.

  The fire in Mr. Michaels’ eyes made his decision for him. He gave the man a brief nod and headed for the front entrance, holding the door open for Shayla. He half expected to feel her father’s grip on the scruff of his neck.

  Outside, Link opened the passenger door for Shayla, tucking her coat out of the way before he closed the door. He jogged around and climbed into the idling truck.

  “Can we not go to the movie?”

  “Sure. Of course. But what’s going on?”

  “Just drive, would you? Please. If we sit here for ten seconds, he’ll think of a reason to make me stay.”

  “You have a fight or something?”

  She huffed. “Fight implies there were two people arguing.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t have a lot of experience with women, but he did know that sometimes it was best just to listen. He backed out of the parking space and headed toward Cape Girardeau. “I know a coffee shop in Cape. That sound okay?”

  She nodded, then flipped the visor down and inspected her makeup in the mirror. “I’m a mess.”

  “You look great.”

  She gave him a what are you smoking? look.

  “Okay. You’ve maybe had better days, but I like your hair like that.”

  That made her laugh. But her expression quickly sobered again. “Can we just go park somewhere and talk?”

  “Okay. Your dad’s not going to report me for kidnapping or anything, is he?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m thirty-three years old, Link. I don’t have to do what my daddy says.”

  Link glanced at her again. Four years older than him. He hadn’t realized that. But did realize—too late—that his expression revealed his thoughts.

  She studied him and sighed. “You didn’t know I was thirty-three, did you? Well, let’s just start getting secrets out of the way.”

  He shifted in the seat. “No. I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, deal with it. How old are you? Twelve?”

  He managed a laugh. “Twenty-nine.” It was only four years, but wow, thirty-three did kind of throw him. He would’ve guessed twenty-five at most. But then, his sister Corinne was the same age as Shayla, and she didn’t seem old to him. Age was just a number, right?

  But in the back of his mind he heard his sisters talking about biological clocks ticking, and he remembered how hard Danae had tried to become pregnant—before she and Dallas had adopted their precious sons.

  Women had babies in their thirties, didn’t they? And everything was fine? He wanted a family. He would never have confessed it to Shayla, but he’d imagined what their babies together might look like—and in his mind they were adorable. But he was in no rush. And at thirty-three, Shayla might be.

  But he was getting way, way ahead of himself. And they weren’t together to talk about how old Shayla was. Why were they here? She still hadn’t said.

  “I know this lake out in the country. Would you be comfortable if we drove out there to talk? It’s real pretty. And it’s quiet. Nobody’ll be out there this time of year.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Her shoulders hunched and she pulled her knees up to meet them, looking like a wounded child.

  They drove in silence most of the way along mostly deserted county roads, and when they turned onto the lane that led to the lake, Shayla straightened and put her feet on the floor, looking out the window. “This is nice. I’ve never been out here.”

  A misty fog hung over the small lake and seeped over the banks to the edges of the pasture. The wind whipped up little white caps on the surface of the water and at intervals, the fast-sinking sun caught them and turned them to diamonds. The grass and brush were brown, but the canted sunlight burnished them gold against a baby-blue sky.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been out here.” He pointed toward the lake, which looked more like a pond all these years later. “It’s not as big as I remember. One of my high school buddy’s grandparents own the land. They used to live in a trailer right over there”—he pointed—“but they moved into town a while back. To the same place CeeCee lives. They used to let us come fishing out here. I always wished for enough money to buy this property.”

  “I can see why. It’s gorgeous.”

  He’d never even told his family about that dream. It was nothing more than a stupid daydream really. But with Shayla he didn’t feel foolish admitting to it.

  He drove off the lane and through the bumpy pasture, parking on the slope of a ridge that afforded a view of the water and the vista beyond. Leaving the view of the road behind them, they couldn’t get much more secluded than this.

  He shut off the engine, and in the stillness of the truck’s cab, he could hear Shayla’s quiet breaths. He unbuckled his seatbelt and faced her, stretching his arm over the back of the seat. “So tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t even know where to start. And I know how it’s going to end, so really—even though I don’t want you to—you’d be justified in taking me back home.”

  “Huh-uh. You’re not getting away with that.” He touched her shoulder gently. “Just talk to me. Trust me, okay?” Even as he said the words, he wasn’t certain what he was about to get into. Or whether he wanted to get into it at all.

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then breathed out a sigh. “Here’s the thing, Link. Portia doesn’t call me ‘Mama,’ but truth is, I am her mama.”

  “You mean—” He stopped. Looked at her. “Wh
at are you saying?”

  She held up a hand. “No, no. I just mean that I may as well be her mama. The responsibility for her falls on me. Pretty much always. And it always will. Do you understand what I’m saying? Unless I cut out like I did today and give Daddy no choice, I’m all Portia has. Jerry’s not getting out any time soon, and even if he did, he’d be worse than Daddy when it came to taking care of a little girl. It doesn’t matter how much I wish things were different, they’re not. And I have to consider how everything I do will affect her.”

  “I understand.” He could imagine, but how could he really understand. And he had to admit, it was a part of Shayla’s life that gave him pause. Serious pause. Although, the fact that she had a brother in jail—for drugs—actually bothered him more than the fact that she essentially had a child.

  He admired Shayla for taking the responsibility of her niece so seriously. And it irked him that her father left it all to her.

  Shayla shook her head. “I’m not sure you do understand. And that’s what Daddy and I were arguing about. I love Portia. And if she was my own daughter, I’d be really careful before I let someone into my life. Until I knew it was serious. She’s been let down . . . had her heart broken too many times already in her short life. I can’t let it be broken again if I can help it.”

  What was he supposed to say to that? He looked at the steering wheel, scrambling to come up with words.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know it sounds like I’m putting a lot of pressure on you. But—”

  “No. It’s okay. I understand.” He kept telling her that, but did he? He wasn’t sure he understood. Or wanted to.

  “No. What I’m saying is, I’m giving you an out. I know we’re a lot to take on. And I don’t blame you for not wanting the package deal. But that’s what I am. A package deal.”

  Wow. He swallowed hard. “I . . . Let me—”

  She held up a hand. “There’s more. And I’d just as soon get it over with in one pass, okay?”

  13

  Can we get out and stretch a little?” Shayla squirmed in the truck seat, dreading the conversation to come. Part of her wishing she could stay out here in this beautiful place with Link forever, while another part wanted to crawl under the truck and pretend she’d never started this conversation.