She broke up the meat browning in the skillet and added her onions.
It was simply the way of things, he had insisted the other night, and while he clearly didn't welcome the change, he was accepting it for her sake. That was the maddening thing about Jeb; he was forever denying his own wants and needs to do whatever he believed was best for her.
She had to make him see reason before they both ended up lost and alone.
Lost? Alone? Convicted by her conscience, she mentally backspaced and deleted those words. She hadn't been behaving like one, but she was a Christian. If she wanted to find peace and contentment, all she had to do was abandon her foolish rebellion and learn how to trust God the way her mother always had.
Jeb was the one who would be lost. He still didn't believe God existed, let alone that he desired a personal relationship with each of his children. So at least until he accepted that reality, Laney was determined to reject his lame-brained plan to improve her life by bowing out of it.
Chapter Nine
He was going to have to adjust his sleep patterns, Jeb realized on Sunday morning in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn. From what he could tell, Christians were morning people who popped out of bed shortly after dawn on Sundays and trooped cheerfully off to church. Jeb wasn't optimistic about his ability to be cheerful at any hour before noon, but he was determined to participate in the Sunday morning trooping, even if that meant hitting the sack hours before his usual four A.M.
With his eyelids still at half-mast, he buttoned the blue-striped shirt he'd chosen last night to go with his black dress pants. Laney had told him a man could get away with wearing nice jeans at her church, but for once in his life, Jeb wasn't interested in getting away with anything. He wanted to do things right. Why else had he stayed up so late reading the Bible he'd stolen from that hotel in Louisville?
He still felt bad about taking it, even though he'd left a $500 check with the concierge, who had promised to send it to the people who put Bibles in hotel rooms. Jeb had taken that book like a starving man might snatch a loaf of bread, without any thought to the morality of the thing. But now he worried that he'd let God down, so he wasn't about to risk compounding his offense by wearing the wrong clothes to church.
He couldn't manage a tie at such an early hour, but he did have the presence of mind to pull on a sport coat instead of his scuffed leather jacket. Right on time, he headed over to Laney's house and tapped on the kitchen door, desperate for some coffee.
The little tyrant wouldn't give him any. Not until he exchanged his one brown shoe for another black one.
He trudged home and corrected his error, and then he returned to Laney's and presented himself for inspection. He passed, and she pressed a steaming mug of strong black coffee into his eager hands. He guzzled half of it leaning against her refrigerator, eyes shut, and then he groped his way to a chair.
He propped a hand under his chin and was close to dozing off when Laney, always excruciatingly cheerful in the mornings, jingled her car keys next to his ear.
"Time to go," she sang like a happy little bird.
During the drive to the church, Jeb woke up enough to worry. Why hadn't she told him what to expect?
"What will I have to do?" he asked as she pulled into the parking lot beside the steepled, white clapboard church.
She threw him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
Well, he didn't know. That was the problem. "I've never been to church," he reminded her.
"It'll be fine, Jeb." She reached over and gave his forearm a reassuring pat. "There will be a lot of singing and praying and Bible-reading, and before the sermon they'll collect an offering, but you won't be expected to participate in any of that. Not when you're just a casual visitor."
He intended to be much more than a casual visitor, but he couldn't tell her that. Not yet.
Was God okay with his holding back? It wasn't as though he was ashamed of being a Christian. He just wanted to help Laney.
"Hey." Her honey-colored eyebrows rose, etching faint lines in her forehead. "There's nothing to be nervous about."
There was everything to be nervous about. But he couldn't tell her that, so he just nodded and reached for his door handle.
Two hours later, Jeb's brain was reeling as he telescoped his long body into Francine's passenger seat. He'd been wholly unprepared for the explosions of joy that had rocked him throughout the worship service and even during the adult Sunday school class he and Laney had attended afterward. Not since that night in Louisville had he been gripped by this kind of excitement, this conviction that he might yet salvage something from the wreck he'd made of his life and become—well, not a good man; it was too late for that. But a far better man than he had been before.
As he buckled his seatbelt, he noticed Laney gnawing on her thumbnail and watching him with worried eyes. He gave her a pointed look and waited to hear what was troubling her.
"Was it okay?" She pulled her thumb away from her mouth. "I tried to keep the introductions to a minimum. "
"It was fine," he said, sliding his palms down his thighs to still the nervous jiggling of his knees.
"Honestly?" Her wide blue eyes begged him for reassurance.
"Honestly, princess. It was fine." Afraid he was on the verge of blurting that he'd treasured every moment of the experience, Jeb steered the conversation in a safer direction. "Did it feel good to be back?"
"Oh, yes." Her worried expression gave way to a radiant smile that shot straight to Jeb's heart and made him want to beg her to forget about finding her perfect man and just take him, instead. Even though she could kiss him until her lips blistered and he would still be just a frog, never the prince she deserved.
Pulling in a slow, deep breath, he shoved those feelings back into the cobwebbed corner of his heart they had escaped from. He knew better than to yearn for things he could never have.
"Thank you for making me come," Laney said. "It was good of you, Jeb, especially when you have no interest in—"
"It was fine," he repeated, cutting her off before she said something about his beliefs that he'd be forced to confirm or deny.
Twisting to look over her right shoulder, Laney backed out of the parking space. "I just wish Mom could have seen this day," she said quietly.
Jeb gazed out his window at the white church steeple and the cerulean sky beyond it. Now convinced that heaven was a real place and that Hannah was there, he hoped she knew her prayers for him had finally paid off. He had abandoned his dissolute ways and was making an honest effort to become someone she might have been proud of.
It wasn't easy. Yet giving up his bad habits was proving far less difficult than coping with this avalanche of feelings he had no clue how to catalogue and process.
He was acutely aware that he wasn't normal. With the exception of anger, which he had always vented through his music and his reckless lifestyle, emotions terrified him.
Even when Hannah lay dying, he'd been unable to tell her that he loved her. Alone in the room with her, holding her emaciated hand, he had tried to give her that final gift. But the words had been too big for his throat and they'd gotten stuck there, stopping his breath and making him feel dizzy and sick.
As weak as she'd been, Hannah had seen his struggle and saved him. She'd given his hand a feeble squeeze and whispered, I know, Jeb. I've always known.
He had never said the words to Laney, either. But as damaged as he was, Laney had always accepted him. She'd loved him ceaselessly, unconditionally, until he'd given up fighting and dared to believe in her love, undeserved as it was.
It had happened exactly the same way with God.
Wonder and gratitude slammed through him in powerful waves, but Jeb stared fixedly out his window and struggled to suppress those emotions until he was safely alone.
It wouldn't do for Laney to see how deeply all of this had affected him. Not until the time was right to tell her everything.
Monday arrived bright blue and glorious,
a perfect autumn day. Worrying about the tearoom had kept Laney tossing and turning for most of the night, but she was a morning person at heart, and the crisp breeze wafting through a partly raised kitchen window renewed her energy and her spirits.
She cleaned her house and did three loads of laundry before hustling upstairs to change into her favorite jeans and a rose-colored pullover sweater with delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline, yet another handmade gift from the Graces. She finger-fluffed her curls and applied only a touch of makeup, because for the first time in ages, her cheeks were glowing and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
She checked her watch, then phoned Jeb.
"This had better be important," he growled.
"What a charming way to answer the phone," Laney said sweetly.
"Oh, it's you. Sorry." He yawned, a whining sort of roar reminiscent of Chewbacca in Star Wars. "What do you need?"
"It's eleven o'clock," Laney said. "You asked for a wake-up call, remember?"
"You don't have to indulge my every whim," he muttered.
Laney grinned. "Oh, this was entirely my pleasure. Now roll out of that bed. I want to get to the stores before all of the best clothes are taken."
"Very funny." He yawned again.
Marveling at her unusually buoyant mood, Laney tried to recall the last time she'd taken a full Monday off from the tearoom. She couldn't, and that meant it had been far too long.
"Get vertical, Jeb, and get over here. I'm making egg-salad sandwiches."
"Fifteen minutes," he said, and hung up.
After starting a pot of coffee, Laney made one last circuit of her clean house to spray each room with honeysuckle-scented air freshener. When she entered the dining room, a shaft of sunlight was streaming through one window, spotlighting the unfinished jigsaw puzzle on the table.
It had been more than a year since she'd finished going through her mother's things and given the last boxes of music books and clothes to the Salvation Army. So why was she still unable to put this stupid puzzle away?
She ought to do it right now. She ought to get the box from the hall closet and break the puzzle apart and—
"Not today," she whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.
She returned to the kitchen and was preparing lunch when she heard Jeb's familiar rap on the glass portion of the door.
He hadn't shaved, she noticed when she let him in, but he smelled of spicy soap and cinnamon mouthwash. He was dressed in a decent pair of jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, but Laney frowned at the battered leather jacket he hung beside the door. If she had anything to say about it, he'd be getting a new one today.
"What's with the disguise?" she asked when he deposited his Twins ball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses on the counter.
"We have a new music video out." He got a mug from the cupboard and helped himself to coffee. "Lots of unnecessary close-ups."
"What did you expect?" Laney asked as she arranged sandwiches and raw vegetables on a plate. "You're a star now." She popped a cucumber slice into her mouth and handed the filled plate to Jeb.
He took it and his coffee to the table and sat down.
"I just wish people wouldn't . . ." He sighed and pushed a hand through his damp, newly shorn hair, unconsciously enhancing its rumpled appeal. "I never wanted to be famous. You know it was never about that."
Sensing that he was on the verge of revealing why he'd "needed" to come home, Laney sat down beside him.
"What is it about?" she asked gently. "What do you want?"
For a long moment, he stared at his coffee as though waiting for the answer to appear on the liquid's reflective surface. Then he shook his head.
"No. I'm not doing introspection at this hour."
As he gulped his coffee, Laney swallowed her disappointment and reminded herself that she had all day to coax confidences out of him.
Three cups of coffee later, Jeb was sufficiently alert to drive up I-35 to the Mall of America, where Laney dragged him into all of the usual men's stores to replenish his wardrobe.
"Aren't we done yet?" he asked as they entered the last store on Laney's mental list.
"Almost," she said. Why did men have so little stamina when it came to shopping? After a measly two hours, even patient Jeb started complaining.
"Laney." When she turned to look at him, he spread his arms to remind her that he was carrying six bulky shopping bags. "All these shoes and jeans are so heavy they're stretching my arms."
Hiding her amusement at his manly exasperation, Laney paused to finger the sleeve of a wonderfully supple black leather jacket. "Well, that's good, isn't it? You'll be able to tie your shoes without bothering to bend over."
"Heartless female." When she didn't respond, he nudged her shoulder with his elbow. "Come on. Let's go have some fun."
"I'm having fun." She shrugged away from his touch and checked the jacket's price tag. Jeb was disgustingly rich, but Laney's practical soul balked at needless overspending. "Oh, good. These are on sale." She flipped through the rack to see if they had his size.
"I don't need a new jacket." He leaned one shoulder against a mirrored wall and thrust out his bottom lip like a sulky six-year-old at bath time.
Laney sighed. "Jeb, your jacket looks like it's been fought over by a pack of wild dogs."
A hovering sales associate coughed into his fist. Probably to cover up a laugh, Laney decided as the slightly built, elegantly dressed older man ran a practiced eye over Jeb's lean frame. He selected a jacket and removed it from its hanger, holding it out to Jeb.
Jeb went statue-still and his eyes narrowed ominously. When Laney pinched the back of his arm to discourage him from firing up the Death Stare, he acknowledged defeat with a heavy sigh.
"Just go ring it up," he said to the salesman.
They hauled their purchases out to the parking lot and stowed them in the SUV. Then they returned to the mall, where they rode the indoor roller coaster and piloted World War II fighters in flight simulators. For supper, they gnawed on Tony Roma's famous baby back ribs. After that, they headed up to Level 4 and the theatres. Laney won their traditional coin toss—heads for a chick flick and tails for an action-adventure film—and chose a romantic comedy.
"Stop pretending you didn't like it," she said two hours later as they exited the theatre. Prodding Jeb's side with a playful finger, she added, "I heard you laughing."
When she tried to poke him again, he arched away from her, lightning-quick, and captured her misbehaving hand.
"I might have laughed once or twice," he said, tightening his grip as Laney tried to pull free. "But that actor put me off my popcorn."
Laney ceased struggling. "Why?"
"He looks like the veterinarian," Jeb said sourly.
Laney considered that. "Maybe. But Luke's cuter."
Jeb stopped walking to glare at her. "He wouldn't be so cute if I had broken his nose like I wanted to."
Hiding a smile, Laney glanced pointedly at the large hand engulfing her own. "Squeeze harder," she said. "One of my fingers isn't quite numb yet."
His gaze shifted to their joined hands and he reacted with patent surprise, instantly releasing her.
"Did I hurt you?" he demanded.
She laughed and resumed walking. "You're not capable of hurting me, Jeb."
"I hope you never find out how wrong you are."
This time it was Laney who halted. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He opened his mouth, but then seemed to change his mind about tendering an explanation.
"Forget it," he said. "You know talking about the veterinarian always makes me—" He shook his head.
"Turn into an animal?" Laney suggested sweetly.
He raised his hands like claws and bared his teeth.
Laney squealed and scrambled away from him. She leaped onto a descending escalator and grinned when she heard a low-pitched growl immediately behind and above her.
She had no idea what he'd been trying to tel
l her a minute ago. Just because she'd known him forever didn't mean she always understood him. But even at his most inscrutable, Jeb was still a more satisfying companion than any of the men she'd considered building a future with.
Never one to stand still on an escalator, Jeb walked down a few steps. Turning suddenly, he asked, "Are we still good for tomorrow night?"
So he hadn't forgotten that. "You're serious about going to the singles' group?" Laney asked.
He frowned. "Didn't I say I'd go?"
"Yes." And he never broke his word. "But it will include a Bible study, Jeb. Are you positive that you—"
"I'm positive. It's part of our plan, remember?"
"I suppose." She still wasn't sure how she felt about his plan.
"And lightning didn't strike me yesterday morning when I walked up the church steps," he added. "So I figure it's safe to go back."
He glanced over his shoulder. They were nearing the bottom of the escalator, so he turned away from Laney to step off.
She stared at his broad back and wondered what she was arguing about. If Jeb was willing to accompany her to church and to the singles' Bible study, then they ought to go. Yesterday's service had soothed her jangled nerves; surely at some point her rebellious heart would turn back to God.
Maybe Jeb's heart would begin to soften, too.
As he drove her home in a familiar, comfortable silence, Laney mulled over the other part of his plan. At supper, he had insisted that her search for a husband shouldn't be a stressful process. According to him, all she had to do was make friends with a few guys who shared her interests and values, and then just sit back and wait to see if one of those friendships blossomed into something more.
Sit back and wait? She didn't have time for that. Anyway, what was Jeb doing dispensing romantic advice when his guitars meant a hundred times more to him than any woman he had ever dated?
"Sit back and wait," Laney grumbled. "Hah."
Changing lanes on the freeway, Jeb spared her a glance. "Are you muttering at me?"
She turned an accusing look on him. "Sit back and wait, Jeb? That's your best advice?"
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