Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  He hadn’t even thought of that hurdle. “That’s where she’s from?”

  “Yeah, and her mom’s still there. Not anywhere near ready for reunification, but she is still there.”

  Brock nodded, his heart dropping. Not a chance. This wasn’t going to happen, and suddenly his chest hurt.

  “I’m going for it anyway.” Brandi stood, crossing her arms. “I just needed you on board. I can make arrangements for visits, go the extra mile. I travel that way often anyway.”

  “What about Ethan?”

  Brandi’s eyebrows pulled in. “What?”

  “Your husband? Is he on board?”

  “Oh.” She smiled, though a blush spread across her face. “Of course. All that stuff—I meant we. We’re trying to have her placed here—Ethan and me. Together.”

  That was a little overstated. Brock examined her while a tiny wisp of concern drifted in his mind. Maybe the honeymoon was already over…

  Maybe it wasn’t any of his business and he should stop trying to read into things. And if they were going to bring So-J up the mountain to stay on a little more permanent basis, he wasn’t about to set up a road block.

  “Good. Well, I’m on board, for sure. And we can have you guys move into a cabin—or you could move into Gramps’s house, and I can take the apartment downstairs, if you think that would help.”

  Brandi’s grin—the much more normal expression on her face—resurfaced. “Shouldn’t matter. We have two bedrooms and, obviously, the run of the ranch. If we can get past the location issue, I think everything else should fall into place.”

  She reached across the desk with her hand. Another common move—she was personal and business all in one setting. Ethan’s total opposite, as he was not at all business, and sometimes not really that personal either. On the surface level, yeah, he was a people guy. But only the few and the privileged got beneath that layer.

  Brock was glad Brandi had been one of the special few. Ethan needed her in his life. And maybe, so did So-J.

  ~*~

  “My piano is lonely.”

  Cheryl pressed her phone to her ear and grinned at Brock’s puppy voice. “Just your piano?”

  “Well…” He chuckled. “Now that you mention it, it’s been a couple of days since I’ve seen your smile.”

  Or decades. She hadn’t smiled so much in her adult life as she had recently with him. But, and there was always going to be a but, she wasn’t ready to face him after the nightmare. Two days had gone by, and she still shuddered when she imagined him asking her to explain. So she’d stayed with Nana. And he’d stayed at the ranch. Avoiding her too?

  “Hmm…you know, the road goes both ways.”

  “I know. And trust me—I would have significantly less tread on my tires right now if not for the fact that I need to be here this week.”

  Man, when he decided to come on, he came on strong. Clearly he hadn’t been pushing her away. Pleasure and fear made a sweet-n-sour concoction in her stomach. How to hold him close and keep him at a distance?

  Oh, she knew how. But that plan required a little bit of privacy, not a handful of cabins full of kids.

  “But”—his tone changed, becoming more serious—“really, Sherbert, you need to come out. There’s someone here that I’d love to introduce you to.”

  That was a weird left turn. Who could she possibly want to meet at Kelly Ranch, outreach for messed-up kids?

  “Will you come?”

  She grinned into the phone. “You’ll have to wait. I’m helping Nana.”

  “I know. Later? You could bring her. She loves the ranch.”

  That was true. Nana spoke about Kelly Ranch as if it were God’s gift to Hayden, which was a little strange since the woman never, to Cheryl’s knowledge, spent much time out there before Brock turned it into a kids’ retreat.

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to keep calling you until I get a positive answer. So go on and be a baker. Just count on your phone pestering you every thirty minutes or so.”

  Over-the-top persistence. Maybe she should be flattered. Or freaked out. “What are you after, Brock Kelly?”

  “You.”

  Again with the all-out charm.

  “Hmm…”

  “Yes. See, that’s not hard. A simple yes will do, and then I’ll leave you alone. For now.”

  His determination coaxed a laugh. “Okay. Yes. I’ll be out later. Now go be a superhero.”

  “Good.” He paused, and she felt his smile in the breath of silence. “You think I’m a superhero?”

  Shaking her head, she pulled the phone away from her ear. “Good-bye, Brock.”

  “No, wait—”

  Grinning, she cut him off. A little game of cat and mouse was always good. After all, she wasn’t new to the art of…

  Seduction?

  Ouch. That wasn’t a very nice thought. Be gone…

  Still, the word left an imprint in her mind. It didn’t feel good.

  ~*~

  Cheryl finished washing the final pan, her hands drippy with lemon-smelling soap as she turned to Nana.

  “Brock wondered if you wanted to go to the ranch tonight.”

  Nana’s soft smile settled on her mouth, and a look of hope and joy filled her eyes. “No, child. I’m not up for it tonight. These old bones are calling for some time off my feet. Thank you though.”

  Cheryl dried her hands on the white towel, a touch of concern making her anxious. Nana had moved a bit slower today, and twice Cheryl had caught her doing some deep-breathing exercises. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

  “Oh no, dearie.” Nana moved to give Cheryl a side hug. “You go enjoy that kind man. He’s a good one, you know.”

  He was that. But Cheryl didn’t want to encourage Nana’s hints. Not when she knew it’d all come crashing down eventually.

  Nana looked up, her shaky, work-worn hand coming up to cup Cheryl’s cheek. “You’ll find your way.”

  With an uneasy pause, Cheryl examined the woman. She still seemed there, not gone into whatever mental trip she sometimes took, but Cheryl wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

  “I’m glad I got to see it,” Nana said.

  “See what?”

  “You. Coming home.” She moved up to her toes, pulling Cheryl’s face down toward her, and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “It’s time, child, and you’re almost there.”

  Cheryl’s heart began to throb. “Nana…”

  Nana moved out of reach and headed out the bakery door.

  Cheryl didn’t know what to make of her. What was more, it was becoming harder to fight against the invitation.

  Come home.

  If only it were that easy.

  ~*~

  Brock could barely stay in his chair. Where was she, already? So-J would be off with the others before long, and he wanted to have Cheryl meet her before lights out. So-J would stay in a cabin with the girls for the rest of the week, but come Friday, they’d transfer her to the apartment with E and Brandi.

  God answered that one fast. Almost whiplash fast. Which strangely sent up a red flag. That, and the fact that So-J was displaying a distinct disdain for Brandi. Troubled waters lay ahead for the newlywed couple, and it might be partly Brock’s fault.

  He hadn’t asked them to foster her though. He’d intended to apply himself. Granted, a single guy paired with a ten-year-old girl was about as likely to happen as a ninety-degree day in January in Steamboat. But…

  It’d all be okay. Things would work out—Brandi was really good with kids, and Ethan seemed to be bridging the gap in the meantime. There was bound to be difficulty, but they’d be all right.

  “Sonja, you didn’t clear your dishes.” Brandi’s soft but clear, commanding voice dragged Brock’s attention from the window.

  “So what? I don’t do child labor.”

  “Well, we don’t do feudal service here. So take care of yo
ur stuff. Starting with your dishes.”

  Yikes.

  “The state pays you well enough to take care of us. Don’t start with me.”

  “Okay, kiddo.” Ethan stood next to her. “Why don’t we try being grown up about this, shall we? Let’s start with a promise. We won’t ask you to do anything we’re not willing to do ourselves. Okay?”

  So-J folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head with a silent yeah, right. Brock’s attention moved to Brandi, who flung a scowl at Ethan.

  Unexpected.

  Brock stood, stacking his used dishes onto his plate and then taking them toward the kitchen. He stopped beside So-J and leaned down as if to share a secret.

  “It’s not a bad deal, kid. Dish duty includes first dibs on dessert. How do you think I always get the biggest piece?”

  Her eyes slid his direction, and he winked before he moved on toward the kitchen. Brock heard the clinking of ceramic against ceramic behind him, and he had to fight the temptation to look back.

  Why’d Brandi start in on So-J right off like that?

  Clear expectations. Yes. That was protocol. But the girl had just been moved. Who knew how many placements she’d had before this. A handful of grace…

  Who was he to judge? Parenting wasn’t part of his résumé, so he’d do best to keep his nose on his face.

  Brock was loading his plate on a tray for the industrial dishwasher, when Ethan came through the door. E paused, his foot holding the door open, and So-J came through with her own little stack.

  She still didn’t look very happy, but she was doing it. Good step.

  Brandi followed her, pinning another glare on Ethan as she passed.

  What was that about?

  So-J slid her pile onto the countertop, none too gentle. “So what do I get?”

  “How about the satisfaction of knowing you did something useful?” Brandi’s dry answer seemed to tie tension between them all.

  Ethan sighed. Loudly.

  So-J crossed her arms again. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  “You going to help me with these?” Brock asked.

  “All of them?” She spread her hands wide toward the piles of dishes spread on the counter.

  “You don’t have to. You did your share, just like everyone else.” Brock grinned at her. “But that dessert deal…”

  “What is it? Because it better be good if I’m going to slave after everyone else. Otherwise you can forget it.”

  Brandi stepped forward. “Sonja, you can’t talk to Mr. Brock with disrespect like that.”

  “Look, I’ve been in this game for a while. I know how it works. I may have to tell people that you’re my foster mom, but let’s just keep it real here. You’re not my mom. Period.”

  Ethan came up behind Brandi, touching her elbow before she could respond. “Right. We’re clear about that, kiddo. We’re not your parents. But we’d like you to be a part of our family, for however long you can be. Families, they do stuff together. Fun stuff. Sometimes work stuff. And they respect each other. I told you, Brandi and I won’t ask you to do anything we’re not willing to do.”

  Brock held his breath while So-J’s glare bounced between Brandi and Ethan. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders relaxed.

  Ethan must have caught it. With a slight nod, he picked up a dirty plate. “I think Cammy made scotcheroos, which happen to be my favorite. Double dibs for the kitchen help, so I’ll be staying.”

  Brandi loaded her dishes, washed her hands, and left the kitchen. So-J stood in the middle, watching Ethan and Brock work for a few minutes before she began loading cups.

  A win for Ethan. And maybe a loss.

  Brandi wasn’t acting anything like Brock would have expected. Something wasn’t right.

  ~*~

  Cheryl breathed in with a long, purposeful breath. They were just kids. She didn’t need to cower because a group of ten-year-olds had just passed her on the driveway. Surely they’d go into their cabins soon, and she could have Brock to herself.

  Right. Nothing to get upset about.

  Her shoulders cramped with tension. Rolling her head from left to right, she told herself to ignore it and then moved for the back kitchen door to the lodge.

  Brock’s laughter made her pause, and a small smile tickled her mouth. Almost as good as music. She pushed through the door and found him dodging around the center island with Ethan hot on his trail.

  “Quick, So-J! Catch!”

  Something small and square left his hand. A little dark-haired girl snatched it out of the air and ran for the door into the dining room. Ethan spun around and darted after her, and she squealed as the door shut behind her.

  Cheryl stopped near the sink. “What are you doing?”

  Brock paused, his hand ready to push on the other door to go after the other two. “Sherbert!”

  With a quick switch in direction, he made his way to her, his hands falling to his side. Without touching her, he came into her space, his smile transforming from goofy to…intimate?

  “Where…” His lips brushed her forehead.

  Cheryl shut her eyes.

  “Have…” He kissed the tip of her nose.

  She lifted her face.

  “You…” He grazed her jawline with his mouth.

  “Been?” Finally, finally, his kiss found her lips.

  She smiled against his mouth, wrapped up in the delightful sense of being missed…wanted. He didn’t draw out the kiss, leaving her longing for more, but when she moved into his chest, he wrapped his arms around her.

  “I missed you,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  As she leaned into the embrace, she waited for the questions to tumble from his mouth. What happened in her dream? Why was she so afraid? Why wouldn’t she tell him about it?

  She wouldn’t answer. Instead, she’d capture his mouth again, run her hand over his chest, up around to the back of his neck until she’d push her fingers into his hair. He’d shift, forget, and they’d move into the land of make-believe. Well, she’d move into the land of make-believe. He’d be pushed into the land of physical response without mental calculation. Men were easy like that.

  Heat swirled in her chest as she laid out the plan. A sour kind of heat. If he followed her lead, what would that do to her esteem for him? Keeping this man meant everything in that moment, but in the long run…

  There was only one kind of run in this game—not long runs, just sprints. It was better kept that way. And so she waited…

  He only held her, his fingers occasionally toying with the ends of her hair.

  A screaming laugh shattered their hanging reprieve, and suddenly the dark-haired girl burst through the door.

  “No!” she shouted, still giggling. “You’re too slow, old man! You can’t get my piece!” Still running, she darted around Brock and Cheryl, hiding behind Brock.

  “Old?” Ethan stomped through the door, a very fake frown on his face. “I am not old! I still ride with sixteen-year-olds. I am definitely not among the aged.”

  Cheryl stared at her brother. What was with them? All of them? Their lives revolved around these kids, transforming them into silly, but somehow still cool, adults, the likes of which she’d not met.

  The girl moved, stepping from behind Brock. Her smaller body brushed against Cheryl’s arm, provoking an involuntary cardboard response. Every muscle contracted, and breathing became difficult. She glanced down, and the girl looked up at the same moment. Their eyes collided, and Cheryl found herself imprisoned by the connection.

  Ten years old. She was ten. When was her birthday?

  Stop it. Now.

  Brock’s hand moved against Cheryl’s shoulder as he stepped back enough to also touch the child.

  “Cheryl. This is who I wanted you to meet. Sonja—So-J to those of us who are cool enough to know her.”

  Cheryl finally pried her eyes from the kid’s and looked at Brock. He grinned as if presenting the most famous, coolest kid in all of Colorado. Why d
id he want them to meet?

  Oh no. He figured it out. He had to know, and he was…

  Panic clawed in her chest, climbing to her throat as a wave of dizziness passed through her head.

  “Sherbert? You okay.”

  No. What was he doing? No.

  “Ew.” The girl—So-J?—stepped back. “Dude, she looks like she’s gonna hurl. Don’t spew on me, lady. I only have two other shirts, so…”

  Ethan came behind So-J, his hand covering her shoulder. “You’re right. Cheryl, you don’t look so good. Another headache?”

  How about a full-body spasm? “I don’t know. I’d better go home.”

  Ethan shot a quick look to Brock, one that said you’d better figure this out—and good luck, and then guided So-J out of the room.

  “What was that about?” Brock spoke as soon as they were alone.

  “I don’t know.” Liar. “I just suddenly didn’t feel well. Nana stayed home, so I’ll just head back.”

  “Hold up.” He gripped her hand, stopping her retreat. He waited, his gaze traveling over her face with tender concern. “Not yet. I wanted to talk to you, and Ethan and Brandi have the activity tonight, so I thought we could spend some time together. Maybe whatever hit you will pass?”

  Not if his topic of conversation was what she suspected. Then again, if they were alone, maybe she could forget that there were a dozen kids running around nearby who provoked haunting emotions, and she’d proceed with her clench-the-man plan.

  “Maybe. Let’s not stay here though. Okay?”

  His eyebrows dropped. “Why not? I’d love to hear you play again, if you’re up for it.”

  Stubborn man. Cooperate, already. Her way would be better for both of them.

  He tugged her back toward himself until her shoulder brushed his chest, and leaned his head against hers to whisper near her ear. “Come on, Sherbert. You love music. I just want to see you smile again.”

  Seemed he had his own game plan for her. As the stiffness in her body drained, replaced with a warm rush, she wondered who was playing whom in this exchange. She knew what she wanted. What was his aim?

  You.