Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel)

by Coulter, Brenda

  "Okay, man. Want me to pick you up? On the way home we could stop and get her favorite coffee and muffins for a surprise."

  "A ride would be good," Jeb said. Taylor's place was less than twenty minutes from the airport, so he wouldn't have long to wait. "Thanks."

  "No sweat. Just let me find my pants and write a note in case Shari wakes up. Be there in a few."

  Jeb didn't have any bags to claim, so he got a cup of coffee and went out to the passenger pick-up area to wait for Taylor. He had just tossed his empty cup into a trash receptacle when Taylor's silver Jaguar convertible rumbled to a stop just a few feet away.

  Jeb opened the passenger door, tossed his backpack behind the seat, and climbed in.

  "So what's up?" Taylor asked.

  Jeb pulled the seatbelt across his chest. "Like I said, I need to talk to Shari."

  Taylor nodded as he eased out into the traffic. "She'll probably be awake by the time we get there."

  "Yeah. About that. What's she doing sleeping at your place?"

  "Exactly what you think she's doing." Taylor gave him a look of smug amusement. "Don't tell me you've gone and joined the morality police, Jackson. Not after all the times we—"

  "It's a fair question," Jeb pointed out. "Why's she sleeping with you when she's making plans to marry me?"

  "Marry you?" Taylor sliced him with a look of pure outrage. "What are you talkin' about?"

  Jeb just shook his head. "All right, I give up. What game is she playing?"

  Taylor hit the brakes and yanked the Jag back to the curb, where they came to a violent stop. "She's marryin' me!" he shouted.

  Jeb opened his mouth and immediately closed it again. "Awkward" didn't even begin to describe this situation. After a moment he asked, very carefully and not without a great deal of hope, "Do you think the baby might be yours?"

  "Might be?" Taylor wrenched his door open and leaped out of the car. Stunned, Jeb watched him place a hand on the Jag's hood and kick his body over it like a guy in an action film. An instant later, he nearly tore Jeb's door off its hinges. "Get out!" he growled.

  He wanted to fight? Well, fine. It had been far too long since Jeb had had the pleasure of hitting somebody. He jerked his seatbelt off and swung his right leg out of the car.

  He never made it to a standing position. Taylor's roundhouse punch caught the left side of his jaw and sent him sprawling.

  Lying on his back, his left foot caught inside the idling Jaguar, Jeb looked up at Taylor's furious face and tried to make sense out of what was happening.

  "Get up!" Taylor snarled.

  Jeb pulled his foot out of the car and sat up. Then he slowly shook his head, partly to ascertain whether Taylor's stunning punch had knocked his brain loose, but mostly because he had just remembered he was a Christian now, and Christians didn't pound the snot out of people.

  Not even people who were begging for it.

  "Get up!" Taylor kicked Jeb's thigh with the pointed toe of a cowboy boot.

  Jeb rolled up to his feet and backed away, hands up and palms facing the irate drummer. "Hold on, Taylor! What's this all about?"

  "You can't have her!" Taylor threw another punch.

  Jeb ducked just in time to save himself from losing a few teeth. "Are you crazy?" he yelled, backing up some more. "I don't want her!"

  "You don't?" Taylor rubbed his skinned knuckles and shook his long blond hair back from his face. "Then why do you want to see her so bad?"

  Keeping a wary eye on Taylor's dangerous right hand, Jeb said, "Because she's pregnant and the baby might be mine."

  Quick as a Texas rattlesnake, Taylor's left fist slammed into Jeb's belly.

  Jeb staggered backward, bent double and fighting to suck in some air. "Taylor," he wheezed, raising one hand in surrender. "Come on, man. I don't even know what this is about!"

  "You know what it's about," Taylor said, but he sounded less certain now.

  "No, Taylor, I don't know." Jeb cautiously unbent his body, pulling himself up to his full height in front of the drummer who had once seemed to cherish an almost childlike admiration for him. "Shari came to Minnesota and told my girlfriend she was pregnant. But I never—" He stopped, remembering the haze of drugs and alcohol that had shrouded his former life, and decided to rephrase that. "If I ever spent a night with her, Taylor, I don't remember it."

  "How could you not remember?" Taylor demanded, his face flushing with renewed outrage.

  Jeb just looked at him and waited for him to figure it out.

  Finally, Taylor nodded. "The baby's mine, Jackson. I don't know how you got the hare-brained idea that—"

  "She tricked me, Taylor." Yes, it was childish and unprofessional; Shari had been downright weird lately. "She wanted me back in L.A., so she made trouble between me and my girlfriend. I don't know if she just hinted or if she flat-out lied, but the message my girlfriend gave me was that Shari was pregnant and the baby was mine."

  "The baby's mine," Taylor said from between clenched teeth.

  "Yeah." Jeb rubbed his bruised jaw with one hand and his aching belly with the other. "Yeah, man, I got that."

  "And she's marryin' me." Taylor jerked a thumb toward his own heaving chest.

  "Yeah." Jeb looked up at the blue California sky and choked back a hysterical laugh. "Congratulations."

  Late Thursday evening, Laney sat at her dining room table and divided the "Paris at Night" puzzle into six large sections, which she carefully laid in the box she'd saved. If she ever changed her mind about hanging the puzzle in the hallway with those her mother had completed, it would be a quick job to put it back together. She'd make the tiny H-shaped hole in the midnight sky less noticeable with the black guitar pick Jeb had given her to glue behind it.

  Rubbing the smooth plastic pick between her finger and thumb, she turned to look at one of the framed photographs on her mother's antique sideboard: Jeb at his piano, head thrown back and eyes closed, lost in his music.

  She ached to know he was all right. He hadn't promised to call from Los Angeles, but she could call him, couldn't she? Just to see if he was okay?

  No, she couldn't call. She was crippled by the fear that he'd insist she was better off without him. And she just didn't think she could bear hearing him suggest, very gently, that she not call him again.

  Her heart fluttered painfully as she laid his guitar pick on top of the puzzle and closed the box.

  She was headed upstairs to bed when her phone rang. Assuming it was Ollie or Crystal returning her call about the hockey tickets, she grabbed the phone off her bedside table and didn't bother to check the display.

  "Hi, princess."

  Surprise and relief robbed Laney of breath. For several seconds, speech was impossible.

  "Laney? Are you there?" Jeb sounded anxious and exhausted.

  "I'm here," she said. "Are you okay?"

  "Laney, it's not my baby."

  Her legs gave out and she sank onto her bed. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as gratitude broke over her in powerful waves.

  Thank you, Lord. Thank you.

  "Laney? Did you hear me?"

  "I heard," she said faintly. "I'm glad, Jeb."

  "She knew all along who the father was. She and I never—" He cleared his throat. "But she was mad at me. Frustrated. And she said something about hormones and mood swings and a fight with her parents. Whatever the reason, she deliberately misled you in order to make trouble for me."

  What a dirty trick. Laney was amazed by the woman's callous deception, but she was too relieved to dwell on it.

  "I'm just glad it's over," she said.

  "Yeah. And I'm sorry about—"

  "Don't, Jeb. We dealt with all of that before you left, remember? We're okay."

  "Yeah." He sighed the word, still sounding dead on his feet. Had he even gone to bed last night?

  His cell phone was picking up a lot of background noise. Laney could hear a male voice droning through a PA system that Flight Something-Something to Nashvil
le was now ready to board First Class passengers.

  Clearly, Jeb was sitting in an airport departure lounge. But he hadn't said he was coming home.

  "Are you still in Los Angeles?" Laney inquired uneasily.

  "Yeah." Jeb's reply carried a distinct note of reluctance. "The airport."

  The fingers of Laney's right hand pressed down on her quilt and then slowly curled until she was gripping a handful of fabric. "Are you coming home?"

  When Jeb didn't immediately answer, she knew. He was getting on a plane, but not one heading for Minneapolis-St. Paul.

  She really ought to have seen this coming. She'd gotten an earful of this stuff from Sarah Jane and her other women friends: Men often pulled back the moment a relationship took a serious turn. Tell a man how you felt about him before he had accepted his own feelings, and you risked making him feel trapped.

  And just that morning, Laney had uttered those three man-terrifying words: I love you.

  "Princess." His deep voice was full of apologies. "I'm not coming home right now."

  Squeezing her quilt even tighter, Laney shot an exasperated look at the ceiling. Sometimes she really hated being right.

  Well, she would just have to prove to him that her love wasn't a cage. She'd back off; she'd give him all the time he needed to think things through.

  He'd come home eventually. All she had to do was be patient.

  "I know you have a lot to straighten out." She was proud of her calm, reasonable tone. "Your career, and all."

  "Yeah," he said with palpable relief. "I flew to Nashville yesterday morning. I was going to tell you all about it when I got home last night, but then that other stuff happened. Anyway, I'm going back to Nashville to—"

  "It's all right, Jeb. I know you're busy, and I—"

  "Could you speak up?" he interrupted. "It's noisy here."

  "I know you're busy," she repeated. "It can't be a simple thing to break up a successful band."

  "No," he agreed. "It's going to be a mess."

  Skeptical Heart was based in L.A., but since Jeb was going to Nashville, that must be where the record company was located. There was undoubtedly a great deal of money at stake in this breakup; it might take him weeks to sort things out. And for all Laney knew, he was already trying to hook up with a new band.

  Her brain stumbled over that thought, but what had she expected? That he'd retire at the age of twenty-seven and settle down in Owatonna to raise tomatoes and hang out at the curling club? Jeb lived and breathed music. Of course there would be a new band.

  Laney was suddenly a lot less sanguine about his coming home. With his heavy touring schedules, Jeb lived on the road for weeks or even months at a time. And it would be just like him to refuse to draw her into a relationship that would always be strained by the demands of his career.

  She shook that disturbing thought out of her head and hastily changed the subject.

  "I got an offer on my building today," she blurted.

  "Did you? Was it a good one this time?"

  "Yes, very. Just four thousand dollars less than the asking price. So I'll be—"

  "Thank you, Mr. Bell." A woman's voice. "Enjoy your flight."

  "I hate your phone," Laney grumbled. "It picks up every sound within a mile of you."

  "Yeah, sorry. What were you saying about the offer?"

  "Just that I'm going to accept it."

  "I know that'll be hard," he said. "I'm glad about the money, though."

  "I'll be okay, Jeb. I know it's time to move on."

  "That's good." He seemed to hesitate, and then he continued in a deeper tone. "Laney, I won't be seeing you for a while. I'm trying to get a new project going, and if everything works out, I won't even have a free weekend for the next three months."

  Laney's hand went to her throat. So this was it. He was making the break.

  Telling her not to wait for him.

  "Mr. Bell?" a woman drawled in a rich southern accent. "Could I trouble you to move up a row? This is seat 4B, and you're supposed to be in 3B."

  Jeb mumbled an apology, and the woman said something that Laney didn't catch, and then Jeb was back on the phone. "Laney? I'd rather tell you about all of this later, when things are more settled."

  She pressed her hand over her mouth, smothering an involuntary cry of distress. A tiny squeak broke through, but Jeb didn't notice because he was being distracted again.

  "Jackson?" Another woman. This one sounded very young. "Aren't you Jackson Bell?"

  "I'm on the phone," he said dangerously, and then he sighed. "Sorry, princess. I meant to call you earlier, but my whole day's been crazy."

  "It's all right," she said.

  "Are you okay? You sound—"

  "I'm fine," she said firmly, because she would be, somehow. "But I have to go." A tear was rolling down her cheek, and she'd start sniffling at any moment now. "You get some rest, and call me sometime when you're not fighting off autograph hounds, okay?"

  "Yeah, okay. But Laney? When you sell the tearoom, be sure to take some time to look around and think about what you really want in life."

  She didn't have to think about it. She wanted him.

  But he was being stupid again.

  "All right, Jeb." She swallowed hard, but couldn't push the hurt down. "And you take care of yourself. 'Bye."

  She pressed the End Call button and allowed her tears to flow unchecked.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Seated at her desk in the tearoom's kitchen, Laney scanned the contents of a letter she'd just received from the Internal Revenue Service.

  "Why am I surprised?" she said under her breath. Sighing, she set the letter aside and opened the rest of the day's mail—the tearoom's electric bill and the monthly invoice from the service that laundered her napkins and tablecloths. Both bills included notices about rate hikes.

  "Blood from a stone," she murmured darkly, refolding those papers and tossing them onto a growing stack of unpaid bills. In the two weeks since Jeb had been gone, her money troubles had multiplied at an alarming pace.

  "What did you say, dear?" Millie looked over from the prep counter, where she was slicing cucumber sandwiches into little triangles for the Graces' afternoon tea.

  Laney sighed. "I just got a Notice of Audit letter from the IRS. Also, the electric company and the laundry service are raising their rates."

  "Don't worry," Millie said. "We'll think of some more ways to economize until you get this place sold."

  "I don't know what else we can do," Laney said bitterly. "I guess we could give up the tablecloths and start using paper napkins, but we kind of need our electricity." Pushing a mess of curls away from her right eye, she shared her biggest worry: "Millie, this buyer's financing is still looking iffy. What am I going to do if the sale falls through? It could be a long while before—"

  "Hush, dear. It'll all work out. You'll see."

  Laney startled as the phone on her desk rang, but she didn't pick it up. Caroline was out front; she would answer the call.

  "Laney," Aggie said from the doorway. "The dining room's empty now. Do you want me to lock up?"

  Laney glanced at her watch. "Yes, go ahead. Thanks."

  Aggie grabbed the ring of keys off the counter and jangled them as she walked away.

  "Laney," Caroline called from the dining room, "Your real estate agent is on Line One."

  "There now," Millie said comfortingly. "That'll be good news."

  Laney picked up the phone on her desk and forced a cheery tone."Hi, Ron. Do we have a closing date?"

  No, they didn't have a closing date. The buyer's financing had fallen through. Holding the phone against her shoulder, Laney massaged her aching temples.

  "Okay, Ron," she said wearily. "Thanks for letting me know." She hung up the phone, and then she folded her arms on her desk and laid her head on top of them.

  Lord, why is everything so hard? I'm so tired of trying my best and being smacked down at every turn. It would be so much easier
to bear if I had Jeb to share this stuff with.

  "Is she crying or praying?" Aggie asked in a loud whisper.

  "Both," Laney admitted as she raised her head and saw all three of the Graces watching her with obvious concern. She gave them a wan smile. "The building's not sold, after all. The guy didn't get his financing."

  "Ah," Caroline murmured. "It wasn't God's timing, then."

  That mild comment lit Laney's fuse. "Apparently not," she snapped. "Apparently, his plan is for me to go bankrupt!"

  Instead of registering shock at that outburst, Caroline's eyes narrowed in keen speculation. "This is about Jeb, isn't it?"

  "No," Laney said quickly, but then she realized that it probably was.

  She'd told the Graces only that she and Jeb had argued bitterly about a personal matter, and that they'd made up just before he'd returned to L.A. on urgent business. She figured they had guessed the rest—that she'd fallen in love with him, and that she was afraid he didn't feel the same way.

  "Stop trying to forget him," Caroline advised. "You've been best friends for most of your life, and you don't just forget something that special."

  Aggie nodded sagely. "And the harder you try, the more miserable you're going to be."

  Laney stared at her great-aunts. "Who said I'm trying to forget—"

  "You don't talk about him," Millie interrupted gently. "And when we mention him, you always change the subject."

  "I'm dealing with this the best way I know how," Laney said evenly. "He didn't promise to come back, and I can't just put my life on hold until he decides how he feels about—" She sighed and shook her head. "Anyway, I have other problems right now, so I'm not going to spend any more emotional energy wondering and worrying about Jeb."

  Maybe if she kept telling herself that, her stubborn heart would get the message. It was worth a try, wasn't it?

  "He'll be back," Millie said.

  That earned her a sharp glance from her elder sister.

  "We don't know that," Caroline said. "But letting that go for a minute." Her gaze shifted back to Laney. "We know you're upset about having to sell this place. But you need to stop thinking you've failed your mother's memory. Hannah couldn't have worked any harder than you've been doing, and she wasn't any smarter than you are, either. If she had lived longer, I'm sure she would have sold this place by now."