Healing the Boss's Heart (10 page)

“Makes me want to visit,” Maya said.

“Not me. I’d rather roast than pay any extra visits out there.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said quietly, sympathetically. “I’d give almost anything if I could see my mom and dad again.”

“If you believe everything Michael says, you will.”

That brought a tender smile and she looked directly at Greg, meeting the obvious challenge. “I do and I will,” Maya said with clear assurance. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss them every single day.”

They had entered the stripped office building and were heading for the stairs leading to the apartments above when the overhead lights flickered.

Greg stopped. Waited. Started to grin when the lights came on and burned steadily. “We have power!”

“And air?”

He laughed at her eagerness to be cooler. “Let’s let them get the whole grid up and running before we ask too much of it, okay? I’d rather have a refrigerator than air-conditioning.”

She pulled a face. “Well…”

“Come on. I want to go check how much of the building is functional and whether there was any damage to the circuits. We don’t want the power on if there’s a short somewhere in here.”

Following him up the stairs with Layla, Maya asked, “Is there anything you just take at face value? Or do you always insist on double-checking every tiny detail?”

“I check. Doesn’t everybody?”

“No,” she said with a quiet laugh. “You are one of a kind.”

“You say that as if it’s bad.”

“Not really, I guess. I’m just not used to being around a person who picks at every little thing the way you do.”

“You’ve never known anybody else who’s like that?”

“Only one person,” she answered, sobering. “Layla’s father.”

Greg turned at the top of the stairs to study her expression. In a way, she seemed to want to tell him about her past. Was she waiting for him to ask? Maybe. Or maybe it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. There was only one way to find out.

“I don’t know who the guy was—and I’m not asking you to tell me his name,” Greg said, “but he had to be a fool to leave you and that sweet little girl.”

“Thanks.” Blinking and averting her gaze, Maya appeared to be avoiding the subject.

“Forget I mentioned it,” he said quickly. “It’s none of my business.”

“I guess I don’t mind telling you if you really want to know,” Maya said, speaking softly and looking up at him. “I suppose I’d rather you hear the story from me than as distorted gossip.”

He stood very still, waiting, giving her time to organize her thoughts and decide how much, if anything, to reveal.

“I was engaged to be married but I was having my doubts even before I found out…” She glanced at her daughter as the child skipped happily off down the hall. “You know.”

“I get the idea.”

“When I told my fiancé what had happened he was furious. I actually thought he was going to hit me when I refused to consider terminating the pregnancy.”

Greg’s jaw clenched. “That’s inexcusable.”

“I probably would have come to my senses and broken our engagement, if he hadn’t suddenly left town and saved me the trouble. I have no idea where he went.”

“Have you tried to find him?”

“I did at first. Then it occurred to me that a life without him was a blessing. I don’t need his help to raise our daughter. As a matter of fact, it’s best that he’s out of the picture so Layla never has to deal with him. He had a terrible temper.”

So, that was what had kept her single all this time, Greg mused. He’d wondered why an attractive, available woman like Maya Logan had never married. Now, he knew. She’d not only been disappointed by love, she’d been emotionally scarred by a man in whom she’d once placed her trust. A man who wasn’t worthy to shine her shoes.

The forlorn look in Maya’s eyes spurred him to offer advice in the form of a question. “Have you talked with Michael about what happened?”

“No. I wasn’t a member of his church until after Layla was born and I didn’t want to have to explain the situation all over again.” She hesitated. “It was hard enough telling you just now.”

“Maybe you should reconsider opening up to Michael. I’m no theologian, but is it possible that God was sparing you by sending that guy away, protecting you and your little girl from a life of
abuse?” Judging by the way her jaw dropped, she had never before considered that possibility.

“No,” Maya said after a short pause. “I wasn’t stuck in the relationship. I could have walked away any time I’d wanted to.”

“How about after Layla was born? What if her father had stayed right here in town so you couldn’t escape him? Suppose his temper had led to even worse violence? How would you have protected her?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“Then I’ve made my point,” Greg said. He took the lead and started down the hallway. “I’ll check your place first and make sure it’s safe, then we can all turn in. Since you don’t have a refrigerator yet you can keep using mine for as long as you need to.”

“Maybe we can dig my fridge out tomorrow and test it to see if it’s okay after we photograph it for the insurance company. It didn’t look like it was in too bad a shape when we picked up the bedroom furniture. I don’t care if it’s dented, just as long as it works.”

“We’ll do that in the evening, after I’m finished working on the cabins,” Greg told her. “By then, the streets should be in better shape for driving. I don’t know why I haven’t had a flat tire already.”

“Maybe the Lord was watching out for us.”

A
lthough Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, you sure couldn’t tell it this particular Sunday, Maya thought.

Of course, there was the scripture about pulling your sheep out of a ditch even if it happened to fall in and get stuck on the Sabbath, so she figured this situation wasn’t all that different. Thankfully, more outside help was arriving by the hour to relieve the weary locals.

She had already posted Marie’s picture outside the church and had left flowers below it herself, although she’d had to beg some of her neighbors for what little was left of their usually lush gardens in order to come up with enough for a pretty bouquet.

Maya was glad to see that the sanctuary was crammed to the aisles when she stepped inside for the worship service. That figured. Facing their own
mortality and surviving, the way they all had, was a surefire method of increasing the size of a congregation. Too bad the positive effects would probably be short-lived.

Maya had planned to invite Greg to accompany her to Sunday services but he’d apparently been up and gone by the time she’d knocked on his door a little after eight because he hadn’t answered.

She had been thrilled to discover that there was hot water for a shower, probably thanks to his customary attention to detail—the same meticulousness she had once thought of as a character flaw.

Picturing Greg’s reaction to that kind of criticism made her smile. As far as he was concerned, his methods were the only right way to do things and he wasn’t shy about saying so.

It was that degree of confidence that had made him so successful in business. It was also the biggest stumbling block to letting herself care for him romantically. Taking orders at work was one thing, but in her personal life was totally different. And totally unacceptable. She’d managed to muddle through as a single parent thus far and she would continue to do so for as long as it took to guide Layla successfully into adulthood.

The sight of Greg approaching via the maroon-carpeted center aisle of the sanctuary banished all negative thoughts. He looked wonderful. And terribly pleased to see her, too.

She grinned and scooted over to make room for him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. Where’s our princess?”

“In the children’s service,” Maya said, choosing to ignore his casual reference to Layla belonging to both of them. “I was afraid she’d get too restless and bother other people, especially since it’s so crowded this morning.”

She paused and fidgeted as she tried to ignore the warmth she sensed from his closeness. What was the matter with her? She no sooner got through assuring herself that she could not possibly care for this particular man than he walked in and once again took her breath away. The lingering trauma of the tornado had obviously unhinged her.

Michael led them all in his customary opening prayer before the choir director announced the first hymn. Maya was chagrined to note that she and Greg were going to have to share a hymnal. As she opened and held it out, his warm, strong hand covered hers and she could barely read the words, let alone sing with her usual confidence and joy.

Greg, on the other hand, had a beautifully rich baritone. The sound of his singing sent shivers along her spine and made the fine hairs on her arms prickle.

Dear God,
she prayed silently,
help! What’s wrong with me?

No divine answer was necessary. She knew exactly what was wrong. She was making the ter
rible mistake of falling for her boss, yet she had no idea how to stop what was happening or return to the uncomplicated, impersonal relationship they had shared just a short time ago.

The only saving grace, as far as Maya was concerned, was that Greg was unaware of her burgeoning feelings for him. Heaven help her—literally—if he ever suspected.

The second song went no better. By then he had not only covered her left hand, he had turned slightly and begun to stand even closer, as if they were the only two people present. At least that was how it felt to Maya. They were merely sharing a hymnal, yet they were doing it as a couple, not as individuals, and she was awed by the sense of perfect companionship that gave her.

As the singing concluded, Greg closed the book and bent closer to whisper, “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

“No reason.”

The pastor began to speak, drawing her back into the worship service. She had nearly regained her composure when Greg reached over and took her hand.

She knew she should pull away. She would. In a minute or two. After all, Greg wasn’t used to coming to church and she didn’t want him to feel unwelcome.

If you really believe that’s why you’re letting him hold your hand,
Maya told herself,
you’re even further gone than you thought you were.

And now he’s got me talking to myself, too,
she added, perplexed and flustered.
Next thing I know, I’ll be giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.

As if on cue, her fingers contracted ever so slightly and she did just that.

Greg’s response was to smile at her and gently tighten his grip.

Head swimming, heart pounding, Maya wondered if she was ever going to regain her self-control or if she was destined to spend the rest of her life on an emotional roller coaster. She consciously hoped not, but truth to tell, she was secretly wondering what surprises were still in store.

Michael’s sermon was as much a history lesson as anything else. He contrasted the faith of the Old Testament patriarchs with that of the founders of High Plains, including Will and Emmeline Logan, who were Maya’s ancestors, and Zeb and Nora Garrison, who were Greg’s.

He concluded with a reference beginning in Isaiah 55:8. “I can’t tell any of you why disasters occur or why extraordinarily damaging tornadoes have hit High Plains. I can only quote the prophet Isaiah. ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the Heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’”

Michael paused, then continued. “I can’t begin to know the mind of God. None of us can. But I do know He has given us a chance to reach out to each other and show that His spirit is living in each of us.”

Greg once again squeezed Maya’s hand as Michael concluded in prayer.

By this time she was beyond pulling away. On the contrary, it was beginning to feel so right to have him holding her hand that she was loath to think of the moment when he would finally release her and they would go their separate ways.

“I’ve been wondering how our little friend is doing,” Greg said as they headed for the child care room to pick up Layla after the service.

“Who? Tommy? The last time I saw him he was hanging around the lady collecting stray animals.”

“That figures. I’m concerned about him, too, but I meant the little blond girl we found. Have you heard anything about her?”

“No. And she has been on my mind. Do you want to walk over to the hospital and visit her?”

He shrugged. “Think they’d let us in?”

“I can’t see why not. After all, we found her in the first place.”

“Assuming anyone remembers us. It was pretty hectic Friday night.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Maya replied. “It’s all kind of a blur.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

Greg chuckled and nodded. “I sure do. Until I finally got a few hours sleep last night I hardly knew if I was coming or going.”

“You were doing both,” she teased.

“How right you are.”

When they opened the door to the room full of children, Layla immediately squealed in delight and ran straight to Greg. Surprised and flattered, he swung her in an arc and carried her out while Maya followed, looking a bit chagrined. He could understand that. She’d been Layla’s only caretaker for so long it must be hard to accept the fact that the child was fond of someone else, too. The astounding thing was that the little girl seemed to genuinely like him.
Him.

He chose to make light of it for Maya’s sake. “I think the princess likes the view from way up here. That’s what you get for being shorter.”

“My feet reach the ground so I must be tall enough,” she quipped back. “That’s what my brothers always used to tell me. They both inherited Dad’s height. I’m more like my mother was.”

“I imagine you wrapped both Clay and Jesse around your little finger just the same. I never had siblings but I can picture you lording it over those bigger, older boys.”

“I might have. Just a little.” Maya smiled wistfully as she looked at Greg. “I really miss Clay.”

“Where did you say he was?”

“Being a real cowboy, as usual, up in the wilds of Canada. He’s guiding pack trains for hunters so he’s out of touch with civilization for weeks at a time. Sometimes longer. I keep telling myself that’s why he hasn’t called me back. I doubt there’s any way he’s heard about what the tornadoes did here.”

“You weren’t specific when you left the message for him?”

“No. I didn’t want to scare him to death.”

“He’ll call eventually. He’s a Logan so he’s probably good and stubborn, but he’ll phone you when he can. I know he will.”

“What do you mean, Logans are stubborn? I’m not.”

It was all Greg could do to keep from bursting out laughing. He settled for a knowing grin. “Of course you’re not. You were eager to listen to my advice when I told you we needed to go to the basement during the storm and you couldn’t wait to accept my help afterward. Right?” His grin widened when she made a silly face.

“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point.”

“Good.” As he led the way out of the departing crowd and started across the church lawn, Tommy Jacobs ran up and tugged on the back of his jacket.

“Did you find Charlie?” the boy demanded. “Did ya? Huh?”

“Sorry, no,” Greg said. “But I’ll be going out
again this afternoon to work by the river and I promise I’ll keep my eyes open for him while I’m there.” As the child’s countenance fell and he started to walk away, Greg asked, “How’s it going at home? How are your foster parents doing since the storm?”

“Okay, I guess.” He worried the muddy grass with the toe of his already dirty sneaker. “Mrs. Otis stays in bed a lot but Mr. Otis is a pretty good cook—if you like hot dogs all the time.”

“Is she sick?”

Tommy shrugged. “I dunno. Nobody talks to me.”

“Well, I’ll keep looking for Charlie,” Greg assured him. “Don’t give up hope, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

All Greg said as the boy left them was, “Poor kid.”

“Should we go look for Charlie now?” Maya asked.

“Not if we plan to go very far. Like I said, I promised Michael I’d help him do more work on the Waters cottages this afternoon and I only have about an hour free. That’s enough time for a meal. Are you hungry?”

“Where do you propose we go? The pizza place is still closed.”

“Yes, but Isabella’s is open.”

“That’s so fancy.” He saw her glance down at her casual outfit and flat shoes.

“I’d be delighted to take you there—or anywhere—
even if you were wearing shorts and old tennis shoes,” Greg said. “Don’t be a snob.” The instant he’d said that he rued being so frank.

“Me? A snob? No way.”

At this point he saw no graceful way to recant so he forged ahead. “In reverse,” he explained. “You’re assuming that just because the prices are higher at Isabella’s Ristorante, the people inside are stuck up and wouldn’t accept you. I’ve been dining there often since I came back to High Plains and I happen to know that’s not so. They’re just as down to earth as you and I are.”

She arched a graceful brow. “As I am, maybe. There is nothing down to earth about you.”

“Ouch.” He pretended to grimace to cover the fact that her comment had truly wounded him. “I thought, after the past few days, you were beginning to see me as a real human being.”

“I am. I do. But you can’t change the fact that you’re a Garrison, any more than I can change being a Logan. As Reverend Michael reminded us this morning, we come from very different backgrounds. Your people were rich mill owners and merchants and mine were dirt-poor cattle ranchers.”

“So?”

“So, that’s just how it is.”

“No,” Greg countered, “that’s how it
used
to be. We’ve come a long way since then. Don’t get so
focused on the past that you miss out on the future, Maya.”

She didn’t say another word until they got to the hospital, and even then she directed her comments to others, rather than to him. If he hadn’t been carrying Layla he wondered if her mother would have even acknowledged that he was still there. It pained him to imagine that she might not have.

Blond, petite, Nicki Appleton was leaving the hospital as Maya and the others arrived. She greeted everyone with a smile, centering its brightest glow on Layla. “Hi. How’s my favorite pupil doing?”