Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel)

by Coulter, Brenda

  During his long absences, Laney sometimes treated herself to a late-night soak in his hot tub. As romantic shadows slow-danced on the candlelit ceiling of his screened porch, she imagined living in a house exactly like Jeb's with a husband and children. She liked to picture herself nudging aside a big, shaggy dog with her foot and sliding swollen loaves of yeast bread into the oven as small people at the kitchen table clutched pencils and asked questions about long division or Minnesota history.

  Shaking her head to dismiss those thoughts, she followed Jeb into the garage, where he was already sticking a needle attached to a slender rubber tube into the basketball.

  "The mail guy left a package for Mrs. Lindstrom on my porch by mistake," he said as he pumped the foot pedal, forcing air into the ball. "Would you . . . ?"

  Of course she would. The judgmental old lady across the street would have a fit if "that wild Jackson Bell" showed up on her doorstep. Besides, Laney had yet to return the house key she'd used last night when she'd gone over there and scooped stinky gourmet cat food into Snowball's dish.

  "Where's the package?" she inquired.

  "Kitchen table." Jeb disconnected the pump and gave the ball a couple of experimental bounces. "Thanks."

  Laney rummaged through her bag for Mrs. Lindstrom's spare key, and then she plopped the bag on the workbench. Heading toward Jeb's back door, she heard several quick hard thumps followed by a brief silence and then a whispery swoosh—and a masculine grunt of satisfaction.

  She couldn't help smiling. She might have troubles by the truckload, but she'd be spending the next few hours with Jeb. And tomorrow morning, he would actually sit beside her in church.

  She found the package and carried it across the street.

  Sour-faced Mrs. Lindstrom thanked her for bringing it and for looking in on Snowball, the overfed white cat leaning against her spindly legs. Those preliminaries disposed of, she introduced her favorite topic of conversation.

  "I see Jackson is home," she said in her high, nasal voice. "And you're spending too much time with him, just like you always did."

  For the sake of neighborliness, Laney smiled patiently. "You know Jeb and I have always been close."

  "What I know is that Jackson Bell has always been trouble." The skinny old woman pronounced the words with the relish of a small-town busybody, which she emphatically was. "Mark my words, if he doesn't end up a drunkard like his father, he'll be something even worse."

  Laney's smile slipped, but she held on to her temper. "Jeb is nothing like his father."

  "Laney." Mrs. Lindstrom gave her a pitying look. "That boy is a rock musician. Do you honestly think he doesn't take illicit drugs and consort with groupies?"

  Laney refused to consider that question. "He's a sweet man," she insisted. Granted, Jeb had made some choices in life that she couldn't applaud. But he was honest and loyal and tenderhearted, and it made her crazy that people didn't know those things about him.

  "Sweet!" Hugging the package to her chest as though to shield herself from such wild talk, Mrs. Lindstrom shook her head. "I just hope you know how bad it looks when he's at your house until all hours."

  All hours? It was true that after last night's supper at Willie's and the trip to pick up Francine, Laney and Jeb had played Scrabble at her kitchen table. But he'd gone home at ten o'clock, just as he always did, because Laney needed her sleep.

  Deciding not to waste her breath explaining that to the nosey neighbor who was obviously still maintaining full-time surveillance on Jeb from her kitchen window, Laney handed over the woman's spare house key.

  "I almost forgot to give you this." Forcing a smile that felt as brittle as pond ice after a light freeze, she asked, "Did you enjoy your visit with your sister?"

  "What was there to enjoy?" Mrs. Lindstrom demanded in a querulous tone. "Helen's not much of a housekeeper, and how she manages to make an ordinary pork chop so tough, I'll never know. And she brags on her grandchildren all day long, when those kids are the most obnoxious pack of brats you ever did see. And that husband of hers! If he isn't the laziest—"

  "I'm sorry to interrupt," Laney said hastily, "but I have to get back." She needed this toxic conversation about as much as she needed a good poke in the eye. "You have a nice evening, okay?" Giving what she hoped would be taken for a jaunty wave, she turned and stomped back across the street to where Jeb stood waiting for her, the basketball cradled against his hip.

  "Well?" His mouth curled in wry amusement. "Is she still watching me instead of television?"

  "Yes," Laney hissed.

  All humor drained from his expression. "I shouldn't have made you go. Not after the week you've had."

  "I'm okay." Laney sucked in a breath and released it slowly. "She was her usual crotchety self, that's all."

  "And you defended me," Jeb guessed. "When are you going to stop rising to her bait?"

  "I can't help it," Laney retorted. "She's so unfair. She doesn't understand the first thing about you."

  "She might understand more than you think," he said quietly.

  "Stop it," Laney commanded. "You're not . . . what she said. You don't—" She thought twice about finishing that sentence.

  Jeb had gone very still, his wide-eyed gaze fixed on her with heartbreaking wariness. They had been here before, many times, and Laney had always backed away, afraid to ask questions that might elicit disturbing answers.

  "Never mind," she said. "I'm just stressed out. I can't deal with stuff the way Mom did."

  "Don't start that again. You're not your mother."

  No, she wasn't. She could all but kill herself trying, and she'd still never be that full of wisdom and faith.

  Jeb palmed the basketball and set it to spinning on his raised index finger. "We'll do something fun this weekend," he said as he pushed the ball into the air and caught it, still spinning, on the first finger of his other hand. "Anything you want."

  "I want to go to church." She still hadn't made things up with the Lord, but after sixteen years of praying for Jeb, how could she ignore his sudden willingness to accompany her to church?

  "That's already on the agenda." He tossed the ball up again, then clapped it between his hands and pivoted to face the goal.

  Thinking some physical activity might improve her mood, Laney scrambled in front of him and flung out her arms to guard.

  He stopped and stared down at her. "Seriously?"

  All right, so he had fourteen inches on her, not to mention the moves of a Harlem Globetrotter. Laney dropped her arms.

  "Don't feel bad," he said. "You can still crush me at Scrabble. Last night you almost had me in tears." He punctuated that outrageous statement by pushing the basketball into a perfect arc that carried it through the hoop without even touching the rim.

  As he lunged forward to catch the ball, a playful autumn breeze lifted his hair and wafted a clean, spicy scent to Laney's nostrils. It was the same appealing fragrance she'd noticed yesterday morning, and it puzzled her because it carried no hint of the tobacco smell that always clung to—

  Realization flashed through her like an electrical pulse.

  "Jeb! When did you quit smoking?"

  About to shoot again, he stopped and turned to face her, oddly hesitant. "Last week." His Adam's apple moved and then he added, "I quit drinking, too."

  Laney had spent years worrying about his self-destructive habits. She'd tried countless times to dissuade him from those risky behaviors, but he would just look at her with tortured eyes that begged her not to pursue him into the dark world he couldn't seem to abandon, even for her.

  "Jeb," she breathed, "that's wonderful!"

  He smiled, but too faintly to show his dimple, and there was still something almost apologetic in his eyes.

  Confusion dampened Laney's joy. Pressing a hand over her thrumming heart to settle it down, she asked, "What made you decide to quit?"

  He shook his head. "Can't tell you just yet." Widening his stance, he dribbled the ball between his fee
t. "But don't worry. It's something good." He turned and took several running steps away from her before darting back toward the goal and executing a perfect layup shot.

  Something good? Well, of course it was something good. But what was going on? If he had embarked on some trendy California-style health regimen, why keep it a secret? Was he waiting to see if he'd be able to stick with it?

  That had to be it. Although why he'd worry about that, she had no idea, because when Jeb put his mind to something, he had tons of self-discipline. Still, if he needed time to work this out in his own way, she'd try to contain her curiosity.

  She walked toward him. "At least let me give you a congratulatory hug."

  He caught the ball and held it level with his face, elbows out, while she moved in and wrapped her arms around his lean middle. She saw him look up at the sky, emphatically patient, and then he sighed, tossed the ball onto the grass, and draped one arm around her shoulders to give her a brief squeeze.

  Amused by his desperate nonchalance, Laney turned her face against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt to hide her smile.

  "I just have a few things to work out," he said, "and then I'll tell you everything."

  "All right." She let go of him and stepped back. "But isn't it a shame Mrs. Lindstrom doesn't have one of those directional listening devices that professional spies use? I'd dearly love for her to eavesdrop on this conversation."

  Jeb gave her another strange look. Then he averted his face, hiding behind his lanky dark hair. The boyish, uncertain gesture was almost painfully endearing.

  "Come on, Mowgli." Laney marched over to the workbench and retrieved her bag. "Let's do something about that mop of yours." When she walked past him, heading for her kitchen door, Jeb fell in behind her without a word.

  In her kitchen, Laney collected her haircutting tools while Jeb tugged his sweatshirt over his head and dragged a chair to the middle of the floor. When he sat down, she tucked the edges of a towel under the neckband of his T-shirt. Splaying her fingers, she pushed both hands through his silky hair again and again, massaging his scalp. He closed his eyes and emitted a soft, deep rumble that sounded like a cat's purr.

  She'd been cutting his hair since he was fifteen. On her first attempt she had nearly shaved him bald, but in time she'd become quite proficient at cutting a man's hair. Or Jeb's hair, anyway. None of the men she'd dated had ever trusted her skills enough to submit to even a light trim.

  She pushed back a soft fall of shining espresso-brown hair and absently fingered one of Jeb's long sideburns. "Short layers all over?"

  "Whatever," he said.

  He didn't possess a particle of vanity about his looks. His hair and clothes were always clean, and he shaved five or six days out of every seven, but beyond that he never gave his appearance a thought. He'd wear his shirts to ribbons if Laney didn't haul him up to Bloomington's Mall of America once a year to shop at the big-and-tall men's stores.

  She made him buy conservative clothes so he'd look less menacing. It wasn't his fault that he towered over everyone, or that the silvery glint of his eyes and the harsh tilt of his dark brows intimidated people. As for his crushing stare, that was merely a defense mechanism, a trick he used when people scared him by getting too close. Jeb was no danger to anyone but himself, and it made Laney crazy that nobody else seemed to realize that.

  She combed his hair down over his eyes and addressed its excess length with her scissors. His nose twitched like a rabbit's and she knew she'd tickled him, but he didn't move his head. She could peel him like a boiled egg and he would just sit there, silent and unconcerned.

  "Let's go to the mall on Monday," she said. The tearoom was closed on Mondays, so that would be a good time to replenish Jeb's wardrobe.

  Eyes still shut, he grunted his agreement.

  Laney made a mental note to go through his closet and see if he needed any sport coats or ties. For all she knew, he'd taken all of his dressy clothes to California—and he'd need something nice to wear if they went to the French restaurant or perhaps to a classical music concert in the Cities.

  Thinking of coats and ties reminded her of her ex-fiancé.

  "I bought Nathan a beautiful silk tie for his birthday," she said, laying aside the scissors and switching on her electric trimmer. "But he never wore it."

  "Nathan's an idiot," Jeb pronounced.

  "No, he's brilliant. He was first in his class at law school." Nudging Jeb's head forward, Laney dragged the trimmer through his hair. "But what's even more impressive," she added with a grin, "is that he could beat me at Scrabble."

  "He didn't care enough about your feelings to wear your tie," Jeb said doggedly. "That makes him an idiot."

  "Maybe." But Laney had been an idiot, too. Without her best friend to talk things over with, it had been ridiculously easy to convince herself she was in love with Nathan.

  Maybe she had been, a little. But Nathan wasn't Mr. Right, and if Jeb had been here, he'd have helped her see that.

  For several minutes, the only sound in the kitchen was the pleasant hum of the trimmer that sent tufts of soft dark hair fluttering to the floor. When Laney was satisfied with the short, subtle waves that lay against Jeb's head, she removed the towel from his shoulders and brushed him off.

  As she set her haircutting tools aside and washed her hands in the kitchen sink, Jeb got her broom and dustpan from the utility closet. Anyone else would have rushed to the bathroom mirror to check out his new look, but Jeb always said Laney was the only mirror he needed. If he didn't look okay, she'd fix him.

  "Want to go out for Mexican food?" he asked as he plied the broom.

  "No, I have other plans." Drying her hands on a dish towel, she nodded toward the items she'd assembled on the countertop that morning: two onions and two cans each of diced tomatoes and red kidney beans. Her deep cast-iron skillet stood ready on the stovetop. She glanced at her watch. "I'd better get started."

  Maybe she shouldn't just assume Jeb would stick around for supper. But growing up, he'd parked his giant feet under her mother's table several nights a week, so it would feel strange to start issuing actual invitations now.

  "I'll just clean this up and get out of your way," he said.

  "You're not in my way, Jeb." He was no cook, but he was good company, and he never minded peeling potatoes or setting the table while Laney tended to the more challenging aspects of meal preparation. So where had he picked up the idea that she wanted him out of her kitchen?

  He'd been acting oddly ever since he'd come home. She hoped it wouldn't be too long before he offered the explanation he'd promised her. He'd said it was something good, and she desperately needed to hear something good, particularly after the other night and that upsetting conversation they'd had.

  "Ollie Lincoln hit a deer last weekend," she said as she lit the gas burner under her skillet. "It dented the grille of his new truck, but the carcass wasn't too badly damaged, so he butchered the meat." She opened the refrigerator to retrieve a white-wrapped bundle of ground venison, which she held up in triumph. "I'm making chili."

  For a venison-loving man who had just been told he'd soon be sitting down to one of his favorite meals, Jeb didn't look pleased. The broom had stilled in his hands and a vertical furrow had appeared between his eyebrows. When Laney opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, he gave his head a small, quick shake.

  "Ollie's a good guy," he muttered, and he started sweeping again.

  Did he think she was making supper for Ollie? She could see how he might have jumped to that conclusion, but why would it bother him to think of her spending an evening with a guy they'd both gone all the way through school with?

  She dismissed the question with a mental shrug. Jeb's mind often moved in mysterious ways, and that head-shake he'd given her a moment ago meant she might as well forget trying to coax an explanation out of him.

  "Yes, he's a good guy," she agreed. She waited for a couple of heartbeats and then deliberately added, "And his new wife is a sw
eetheart."

  Jeb's head jerked up. "He got married?"

  "A few months ago." Laney transferred the roll of ground meat to her skillet and mashed it flat with a wooden spoon. "The Graces matched him up with their neighbor's niece."

  "Oh." Jeb rested his hands on top of the broom handle and stared out the window.

  "I think I told you that Francine had a flat tire the other night," Laney said as she peeled the papery jacket off an onion. "On Thursday morning when I took it to Ollie's garage to see if it could be fixed, I mentioned that you were coming home. Ollie asked if you liked venison, and then he gave me some to cook for you."

  "He's a good guy," Jeb repeated, this time without appearing to begrudge the words. The deep groove between his eyebrows vanished, and as he bent to sweep a mound of dark fuzz into the dustpan, his mouth relaxed into a faint smile.

  Quartering her onions, Laney wondered how many more of his smiles she'd get to see before he relegated their amazing friendship to history.

  What was she going to do without him? And what would become of him after he gave up the only real friend he had ever allowed himself?

  He tapped her hip, signaling her to step aside so he could open the cupboard and empty his dustpan in the trash receptacle under the sink. As Laney shifted, a hot tear rolled down her cheek and she forgot herself and sniffled.

  "Crybaby," Jeb teased.

  She produced a wet chuckle to support his assumption that the onion fumes were making her cry. When he went to put the broom away, she sniffled again and hacked frantically at the onions.

  Why did everything good have to change? Why could she never hold on to anything that gave her any measure of peace and security?

  Losing her mother had been a staggering blow, but Jeb had never been more than a phone call away, at least in the beginning. He'd talked her through a lot of sleepless nights, but then Tom had come into her life, and Jeb had gone to tour Europe and Australia with the band.

  Was that when he'd begun drifting away from her like a helium-filled balloon on a summer breeze?