He took the second set of steps, fishing his keys from his pocket. A woman sat on the floor by his door.
Cole stopped at the top. What was she doing here? “Mrs. McKinley . . .”
“Cole.” Her head came off the wall as she straightened, meeting his gaze. Her knees were pulled up, her arms folded on them. She looked more like a little girl than a fiftysomething mother and grandmother.
She stood, brushing her hair behind her ear in a movement so like PJ it made him ache inside.
PJ. A chilling thought flittered through his brain, snagging hard. “Is PJ—is she okay?”
“Yes, yes, she’s fine. It’s nothing like that.” The woman gave a sheepish smile. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”
He regarded her for a long minute, trying to fathom why she’d made the long drive.
“Can I come inside? Just for a minute?”
He immediately thought of the barren state of his apartment, of last night’s dishes left in the sink. But curiosity prevailed. “Ah, sure.”
He let them in and gestured to the sofa. He remembered her tidy farmhouse and wished he could vaporize the ball of socks, the empty coffee mug, the junk mail scattered across the coffee table.
“Can I get you anything?” He thought of the paltry selection in his fridge. He couldn’t remember his last grocery run. “Water? Coffee?”
She perched on the edge of the couch. “No, thank you. I went out for a bite while I waited for you. There’s a nice little diner just down the street.”
He took the other end of the sofa as an uncomfortable silence thickened the air between them.
“How’d you find me?”
“We moms have our ways.” She fiddled with her purse strap, winding it around her small hand as she took in the apartment.
“How is she? PJ?” His heart thumped hard in anticipation of her answer. For a sliver of news that might satisfy his hunger.
“Not so good, if you want to know the truth. You up and left without so much as a good-bye.” Her tone softened the harsh words.
“I’d have thought you’d be pleased about that.”
Her eyes squeezed in a wince, and she looked down at her lap. “You’re very direct.”
“I see no need to beat around the bush.”
She met his gaze. “You’re right. I did want you out of PJ’s life. I looked at what I knew of you and filed you with all her loser ex-boyfriends. That was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have judged you, shouldn’t have butted in, and I’m sorry for that.”
“You came all the way here for that?”
“I told you in person you were wrong for her. Least I can do is admit I was wrong face-to-face.”
He gave her props for going the extra mile. “I appreciate that. But you were right about some of it.” He wasn’t good for PJ. She deserved so much more.
“No, I don’t think I was.”
He wasn’t going to argue. There was no point. He leaned forward, his elbows digging into his knees, wishing she’d leave before he said something stupid. Before he begged her for more news of PJ. Something good. Something to warm him up. Something he could take with him to bed at night.
“She’s in love with you, you know.”
His heart constricted painfully. He rubbed at the spot as if he could soothe it. Hope rose, and he squashed it down firmly. He didn’t dare look at her. She was a perceptive woman, and his feelings for PJ were hovering way too close to the surface.
“She thinks you left because of her. That you couldn’t get away from her soon enough.”
He ached inside at the thought. He never wanted to hurt her. It was better this way. She’d get over it. Get over him. Better he let her down now than later when she was all in.
“I know I’m being a nosy mom again, but I don’t think she’s right. I think you took to heart the things I said. That perhaps I added to the erroneous things you already believed about yourself, and I’m so sorry for that.”
He’d barely begun scratching the surface of that in counseling. Just thinking about it made anxiety worm through him. He sure didn’t want to discuss it with PJ’s mom.
“I’m sure PJ must’ve told you we lost a son . . . Michael. Nothing can prepare you for something like that. The depth of grief, the overwhelming darkness . . .” She gave Cole a penetrating look. “The guilt . . .”
He looked away, clenching his jaw.
“I know all about guilt. You don’t lose a teenaged son and not ask yourself the questions. Why did I let him go swimming? Why wasn’t I there with him? What kind of mother am I? The guilt can eat you alive.”
“What did you do?”
“I wallowed in it. For a while. I screamed at God and begged for answers until my voice was gone. Cried more tears than I knew I had. But I had countless friends who prayed with me and for me and held me up when I didn’t think I could take another breath.
“Eventually the darkness lifted, and I came to realize I had three other children who needed me. A husband who was hurting too. I remembered that God loved me enough to give me seventeen years with Michael, loved me enough to give him a home much better than the one he had here. Loved me enough to give me assurance that I’d be with him again someday. There’s beautiful peace in that.”
But what about the guilt? What about the wretched unworthiness that lived down deep inside, that swallowed him alive?
“But the guilt,” she said. “That took awhile. We think we’re in control of things, and moms are probably especially bad about that. We think if we do the right thing everything will work out for the best, and our kids will be healthy and safe.
“But God has a plan, and even though we don’t understand the why of it, we can remember that He loved us enough to send His Son to die for us. He settled His love right there, on the cross, and anything else that happens, I can trust Him to know what’s best. Not understand it. Not take responsibility for it. Just trust.” She gave him a wry smile. “Easier said than done, I know.”
Her words opened something inside him. Something light and freeing. Someone else had been through the fire and come out the other side. He knew God loved him, but trusting was hard. And the guilt was buried so deeply he didn’t know how to dig it out.
“Just let go of it, Cole. God doesn’t want you carrying around that guilt. He doesn’t want you alone and miserable. He made you for better things. We’ve only got one life. One chance. Don’t waste it.”
Cole felt a burning behind his eyes and blinked it away. He thought of those applications he’d tossed in the trash, those kids who needed him. He thought of PJ. Did she really love him? He couldn’t speak. His throat was swollen and raw.
“I love my kids—every one of them. I’m still trying to do my best by them, even though I can’t control their lives, and when I see one of them hurting needlessly . . .” She gave a sheepish smile. “Well, I’m a mom.” She hitched her purse on her shoulder. “I should let you get back to your evening. You’ve had a long day, and I have a long drive back.”
He stood numbly and walked her to the door. “Thanks for coming all this way, Mrs. McKinley.”
“Think about what I said. You’re a good man, Cole. I’d hate to see you miss all the great things God has in store for you.” She opened the door and turned to him. “And, Cole . . . it’s Mama Jo.” She patted his cheek gently then pulled the door closed.
Chapter Forty-Seven
PJ FLIPPED OFF THE LIGHTS AND MADE SURE THE EXTERIOR lights were on. It was early to retire, but she was out of things to do. Her cooking class had been canceled at the last minute. The ladies of the Rotary had a fund-raising event tomorrow morning and needed extra time for final preparations.
PJ changed into her pajamas, settled into bed, and flipped on the TV, needing the sound of voices filling the house. She spotted her laptop on the nightstand. She should work on a website for the B & B. The closing was only three days away. She should be nearly ready to open; instead, the upstairs remained untouched.
She stayed busy enough through the day, or tried to. But nighttime came and memories charged in like unwelcome guests, making themselves at home in her brain. She indulged them until tears spilled down her cheeks and soaked into her pillow.
Enough of that. You have to stop this, PJ. He’s gone. He doesn’t love you. You have to move on.
But her heart sang a different tune. Her heart wondered if he thought about her sometimes too. If he missed her touch. If he lay in bed thinking of what could have been.
But he was the one who left.
She really had to stop this. She plugged in her cell and started channel surfing. Nothing was on Monday nights, nothing that would occupy her mind.
A scratch at the window made her jump. Stupid branch. Every time it was windy, the scratching spooked her. She needed to trim the tree.
Had she locked the front door? She’d unbolted it earlier for her class. Normally it wasn’t a big deal, but since her trouble with Keaton she’d been diligent, especially now that she was alone in the house.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled herself from her comfy bed and padded from her room. The wood planking was cool, and bits of dirt stuck to her bare feet, reminding her it was time to sweep.
She walked through the kitchen, startling when the dishwasher changed cycles. She was jumpy tonight, for no good reason.
The house smelled faintly of garlic and thyme from the roasted chateaubriand she’d experimented with earlier. The beef had turned out tender and flavorful. If she added it to the menu, it would be her most expensive dish—a culinary treat for special occasions.
The exterior lights filtered through the leaded transom window, guiding her to the foyer. A shuffling noise sounded on the porch. It was only a squirrel or the wind.
The doorknob clicked.
Her heart hammered, pounding up in her ears. Thoughts raced. Keaton. No phone. No help. She reached for something, anything—an umbrella left by a customer weeks ago. She pulled it from the stand and cocked it back as the door swung open. A large shadow entered boldly. She closed her eyes and swung the umbrella like a bat, the wooden handle connecting.
“Ow!”
The umbrella flew from her hands, clattering across the floor. A squeak escaped her throat as she turned to run.
Then the voice registered in her brain.
She stopped midturn, palming her chest. “Cole?” she whispered into the darkness.
“Why do you keep hitting me?” His voice was disgruntled.
Her breath left her body in an epic sigh. She flipped on a light.
He palmed his forehead, blinking against the brightness.
“Omigosh. Are you okay?” She pulled his hand away, wincing at the angry red knot already rising at his temple. “I’m so sorry. I thought—what are you doing here?”
He rubbed his head, glowering. “Second-guessing myself.”
She pushed the door shut and urged him to the steps. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”
She retrieved the cold compress she kept on hand for burns and made her way back to the foyer. The man had probably come for his things, and she’d walloped him upside the head. Again.
Way to go, PJ. If you can’t talk him into loving you, maybe you can beat him into it.
When she returned, she sat on the step above him, putting her even with him, and pressed the compress gently to his temple.
He flinched. “That’s quite a swing you have there,” he said, sounding a little less peeved.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I thought you had a class tonight.”
“It was canceled.” He must’ve planned to slip in while she was busy, take whatever he’d come for, and leave without having to see her.
He shifted, and his stubble scraped against the palm of her free hand.
She snatched it back. “You didn’t have to sneak in.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You thought I was busy, and you were going to slip upstairs and take your things. That’s not necessary. You can have whatever you came for.”
He gave her a penetrating look, something shifting in his eyes. “I hope so.”
Did he think she was going to put up a fight? That she’d claim his things just because he’d left them behind? Didn’t he know her better than that by now?
“Help yourself.” She took his hand, pressed it against the cold pack, and stood.
He dropped the compress and bolted to his feet, blocking her way. His eyes locked onto hers. Green, familiar, and so close.
Her insides fluttered. He didn’t even have to touch her to draw a response. He stirred so much with just a look. Always had, from the very beginning. How lame was she?
“What if I came for you?”
For her? Her heart turned over in her chest. A seed of hope sprouted inside her, but she was afraid to believe. She’d been burnt too many times before.
“What?” she asked.
“What if I want another chance?”
“You left.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed against the tightening in her throat. “You just up and left without even saying good-bye.”
His eyes softened as he laid his palm against her cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I was wrong. I thought I could let you go. Thought you’d be better off without me—and maybe you would. But I can’t do it. I’m done trying. I know I’ve got a lot of stuff to work out. But I want to work it out here, with you. I want to be the man you deserve.” His voice was as thick as honey, his eyes as solemn as she’d ever seen them. “Give me another chance.”
Her eyes prickled with tears. She couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.
“Please don’t say no.” His eyes scrolled over her face, pleading. His thumb teased her lower lip.
She drew in the scent of him. Clean. Musky. All man. She missed that smell so much. Missed the husky texture of his voice, the gentle comfort of his touch.
“Going once . . .”
She was helpless to speak at the look in his eyes. There was no need for words anyway. Words were overrated.
“Going twice.” His breath feathered her lips as he drew near.
Her insides went to liquid. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than his lips on hers. She strained toward him as he neared.
His lips met hers, brushing softly. Once. Twice. She felt it clear to her bare toes.
“Gone,” he whispered against her lips.
She was gone. Completely, totally, irrevocably gone.
He deepened the kiss, and she savored the familiar taste of him. He was everything she remembered. Was he really here? Wanting her? Needing her? If this was a dream, she hoped she never awakened.
He pulled her closer, drawing her into his embrace. She wound her arms around him, taking comfort in the solid strength of his shoulders. Her hand found the warm beat of his pulse at his neck and rested there.
A moment later his lips left hers. She held back the whimper that rose in her throat. Their breaths came raggedly.
His eyes burned into hers as his thumb stroked her cheek. “I am so gone over you, PJ. I love you. So much.”
Her breath left on a deep sigh. “I love you too.”
Her reward was the gentle upturn of his lips. “I missed you. I don’t want to be without you. Ever. Again.” He brushed her lips slowly, softly.
Warmth unfurled inside her as he moved his mouth across hers. She thought back to the beginning. She’d thought she’d known what she wanted. But all of her wishes were just falling stars, here one moment and gone the next. What mattered was right here, right in front of her.
When he drew away, she whispered, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
He gave her a penetrating look, the kind that reached deep inside and settled low and sure. “I’m never letting you go again. You’re stuck with me. I’ll find a job. We’ll make it work.”
PJ had other ideas about that, but it wasn’t the time.
“Promise?” she asked. Her eyes wandered over his bea
utiful face, taking in the familiar planes, the scruff on his jaw, the cleft in his chin. She met his gaze and saw forever in his eyes.
“Promise,” he said.
Epilogue
THE DEED WAS DONE. LITERALLY.
PJ slipped inside the house, the folders clutched to her chest, and dashed up the stairs. She knew Cole was here, had seen his truck in the back lot.
He’d spent the past three nights upstairs on the living room sofa and the past three days looking for work. In between classes and cooking and planning, they’d found quiet moments. Cole had gone to see a local counselor yesterday, someone recommended by PJ’s pastor. He was determined to work out his issues, and PJ was determined to be there for him as he did so.
There was no one else for her. She knew it with a certainty that grounded her. And the best thing? The feeling was mutual.
She practically skipped down the hallway and burst into the living room. Cole looked up from the newspaper, spread open on the dining room table.
“Whatcha doing?” Her voice crackled with energy. Her heartbeat was like a jackhammer in her chest.
He gave her an amused look. “Looking at the help wanted ads. What’s got you so wound up?”
“I just closed on the house with Mrs. Simmons.”
His brows shot up. “Oh, hey. Wow, why didn’t you tell me?” He rose from his chair and embraced her. “Congratulations, baby. I’m so happy for you.” His hands moved across her back, doing nothing to settle her.
“Thanks. It was a big day.”
“Let’s go out tonight.” His voice rumbled low in her ear. “Celebrate.”
“I like the way you think. We do have a lot to celebrate.”
He took her hands in his and put them behind her back. “You’ll have to put me to work up here while I’m still unemployed. I could add that wall, make this into a suite, like you wanted.”
“Or I could just leave it like this.”
“Well, yeah, but a B & B needs a suite, don’t you think?”
The Wishing Season (A Chapel Springs Romance Book 3) Page 25