Rich in Faith (Richness in Faith, Book 3) (11 page)

“I’m not a fan either.” I don’t tell her I can sympathize with her inability to sleep. Lately, my sleep has been very broken.

Like my life.

“Well,” Vera says as she stands. “I’m going to give it the old college try. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. I’ll take that.” I nod toward her glass.

“Thank you.” She takes my hands in hers and for a moment I wonder what she is going to say.

But she doesn’t say anything. I notice the hopeful look in her eyes before she leaves.

Shaking my head, I walk to the sink and set our glasses in it.

Flipping lights out as I walk, I let the moonlight guide my path. Shadows of darkness cause me to stumble as I reach the stairs.

“Easy. I have you.”

And indeed he does. Court’s hands are on either side of my hips, steadying me. “Thanks.”

“Sorry. I’ve been sitting here thinking. I just saw Mom walk back to her bedroom. I didn’t realize you were still up.”

“I came down for a drink of water.”

He scoots over on the step. “Want to sit for a minute?”

“Sure.” As I speak the word, it comes to me that the steps aren’t very wide, and once again, I will be extremely close to this man whose touch takes me places I’m not ready to go.

“Welcome to my thinking place.”

Our legs brush as I sit on the stairs. I would surmise that I should be becoming used to the feel of him, but I’m pretty sure his touch is something I will never become used to.

“When I was a kid, I would sit here if I had a problem.”

“Did it help?” I ask.

“Not always. But it always gave me a good sense of direction. Up or down. I considered going back to my room upstairs a means of looking up, or going up. Moving forward. Sounds stupid, but it worked for me.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid. And like you said, if it worked…”

“Did you have a favorite thinking spot?”

Memories tumble through my mind. Memories I’ve suppressed far too long to reveal now.

Especially to someone like Court Treyhune. His family’s fortune is probably one of the biggest around.

I’ve been burned by his kind in the worst way, and I vowed I wouldn’t put myself in that position ever again.

But for the first time since I made that vow as a hurt seventeen-year-old, I find myself drawn once again to the mystery of a man that is way out of my league.

Maybe Court is different.

Maybe he wouldn’t care about my background.

My upbringing.

Maybe if I told him my favorite thinking spot was sitting on the steps going up to my trailer, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

I can’t believe my mind is actually going to that place. That place of revealing my past.

But Court speaks, squelching any words that might have come out of my mouth.

“MaryLeigh and Jared grew up together.”

MINGLING

HIS WORDS ARE like a confession, only I don’t see what he has to confess. His tone indicates it’s a fact that doesn’t set well with him. “They did?”

“Yes. Only I didn’t find out until after I married MaryLeigh. Not that it would have mattered, but the fact that they kept it hidden mattered.”

“Kept it hidden? When did you find out?”

“About a year before she became sick. We were all out together and someone from their past saw us, came over and started talking about the old days.”

“Awkward.”

“Very.”

The rooms are dark, but the floor-length windows let in moonlight which casts shadows across the floor. I wonder what it is about the darkness that turns Court into someone who wants to reveal things.

It’s like the darkness is a catalyst for emptying his heart. “What was their reason for keeping this from you?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve learned that the truth and MaryLeigh and Jared don’t always line up. I’m still trying to mesh it all together.”

“Oh.” My heart flutters for a moment. I tell myself I’m not lying to Court. So what if there are things about me he doesn’t know? I’m the nanny for his children.

Not someone he’s interested in spending his future with. “I liked to sit on the steps, too.” No need to reveal any details about the steps.

Where they led.

The fact that they were weathered and wooden, not covered in plush carpet.

Steps are steps.

“I’m comfortable around you. I’m not comfortable around a lot of people.”

I don’t know whether to say thank you or not.

And he makes comfortable sound like a favorite, worn shirt. Like comfortable is something he’s resigned himself to, not something he’s looking forward to.

I want to be what somebody is looking forward to.

I stand, the urgent need to end this conversation overwhelming me. This, he and I, will never work, so why I’m sitting here reminiscing about his past, refusing to reveal mine is beyond me. “Goodnight.”

Carefully I turn, making my way up the stairs quickly before he can say anything that will change my mind.

FATHER’S DAY DAWNS sunny and warm. I want to call my dad early, before the festivities begin. I’m sure the day will fly by and we have to be at the airport at four o’clock to go back to Florida.

I tiptoe through the house, not wanting to wake anyone. Crystal is in the kitchen, but her nose is buried in her coffee and newspaper simultaneously, and she doesn’t even acknowledge that I pass by.

I find a spot outside where my cell service is excellent and call my dad.

“Happy Father’s Day to the best dad in the world.” I hope my tone sounds lighthearted and fun, not worried and secretive.

“Shelbs. How’s my favorite girl?”

I laugh. “Mom must be at church. She thinks she’s your favorite girl.”

“You’re both my favorite girls.” In my mind I can see him smile, which makes me miss him that much more. Except for a summer or two where I was at camp, I’ve always spent Father’s Day with my dad.

Oh, and last year. I ditched my dad in favor of Dale’s dad. “I miss you, Dad. Especially today. Of course I mailed my card late. It should arrive on Monday.”

“Ah, honey. You know I don’t need a card. Just hearing your voice is all I need. Florida treating you okay?”

“It is.” The least possible said is the best in this situation.

“Good. Your mama and I are trying hard not to be worried about you with the break up and all that. Trying real hard. You sure you’re doing all right?”

“I am. I promise.” Again, short and sweet.

“I’ll take your word for it. What part of Florida are you in? I don’t think your mama told me.”

Mama didn’t tell you because I didn’t tell her. To blow off the question would draw more attention than telling them. “Kind of between Orlando and Miami. It’s a little town. You probably haven’t heard of it. Hampton Cove.”

“Hampton Cove? What do you mean I probably haven’t heard of it? That’s where Court Treyhune lives. Cal Treyhune’s son. He owns all those car dealerships in those parts.”

“Oh.” To say anymore would be dangerous.

Very dangerous.

“Shelbs. You’re not gonna believe this. Your mama surprised me with two tickets to the Fourth of July race. We’re going to Daytona. I’ve wanted to go to Daytona my whole life. The 500 costs way too much, but she scrimped and saved for a while now and I’m just as happy to be going in July. Can you believe it Shelbs?”

I’m not believing much of anything at this point. He’s finally going to Daytona. Why now? Why this year?

I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I’m going to be there or anything. It’s not like Court will be there.

Putting as much enthusiasm in my voice as I can, I answer my dad. “That’s great news, Dad. I know you’ll have an awesome time.”

“Your mama, she’s got such a big heart. And you’re just like her.”

A big heart and a deceiving heart. That’s what I have.

I am standing in the yard of Cal Treyhune, my dad’s hero in life. And I can’t say a word.

I can’t say a word because there are way too many scenarios which could play out, and if even one of them did, I would be exposed for who I really am.

“I’m excited for sure, Shelbs.”

A high-pitched squeal rings out in the air. I turn toward the house and see Bristol and Darling running out the door. “Dad, I need to run. The kids I’m watching are up, and I need to get to work.”

“They make you work on a Sunday? Don’t you have a day off?”

“It’s kind of round the clock right now. But it’s okay. Tell Mama I said hi and I love her. You too. Talk to you soon.”

“Love you, too. And yes, we’ll talk soon.”

We hang up, and I walk over to where Darling is chasing Bristol. “What are you girls doing? You can’t be screaming through the house. Your grandpa needs to rest.”

“Bristol took the last bagel. And I want it. She won’t share, either.”

I stand, hands on hips, and watch as Bristol shoves a bite of the bagel into her mouth. The bite is way too big and her mouth is working hard trying to chew it.

Taking Darling by the hand I start walking. “Come on, we’ll find you something to eat.”

Instead of wringing her hand out of mine, she actually squeezes my hand a little as we walk. She halfway turns and I see her stick her tongue out at Bristol, who immediately starts following us.

“Here,” she says catching up and shoving the rest of the bagel in Darling’s face. “I’ll share.”

“No. Shelby is going to make me breakfast.”

Good grief, did I say I would make something? I don’t think so, but since it seems to have calmed Darling down, I don’t argue.

“I want Shelby to make me breakfast, too.”

Bristol is keeping strides with us. We all walk into the kitchen, which is now void of Crystal. Her empty coffee cup and wrinkled paper still sit on the table. As Darling slides into a chair, Bristol drops what is left of her bagel into the trash can.

“Seriously?” I look at her. “Why did you throw away perfectly good food? There are starving children—”

“All over the world. I know.”

And the rich people say it as well. “Well, there are. You had no reason to throw that away.”

“I wanna eat what you cook. Like Darling.”

With those words, she scoots a chair close to Darling and sits.

Opening the refrigerator and cabinets, I find an abundance of food and start cooking.

“What is going on here?”

The girls are still sitting in their chairs at the table as Court walks in. I’m standing at the stove, void of makeup, wearing a now grease-splattered shirt as I made the mistake of trying to cook the bacon too fast.

So glad I’m only the nanny. “Just cooking a little breakfast. Want some?”

He peruses the counter and stove, lifting a paper towel that covers the toast I’ve been making. As if on cue, the toaster oven beeps indicating another two slices are done.

Raising his eyebrows, he nods toward the toaster oven. Without asking, he takes the slices out and starts buttering them with the butter I had sitting next to the plate.

I don’t say anything, but do appreciate his help. Finishing up the bacon, I pour the eggs that are ready to scramble into a pan, the sizzle breaking the quiet of the room.

“Something smells good.”

The voice of Cal Treyhune halts my hand in mid-motion as I stir the eggs. After a moment, I start again, making sure the eggs don’t burn. If I do this right they will come out fluffy and soft.

“Turns out Shelby is one good cook, Dad. Do you want some breakfast?”

“You bet I do. Bacon, eggs, my kind of food. You’re a good woman, Shelby. A good woman with a good name to match.”

Cal sits at the end of the table, and I wonder how much of the food I’m cooking he’s even allowed to eat.

I don’t say anything. I can’t.

Images of my father blast into my mind.

Here I am, on Father’s Day, making breakfast for the man my father considers his hero.

An unsettling feeling rolls through my stomach. I have no concrete reason to feel this way, but this life I’m living, mingling with the Treyhunes for the summer, is going to change my life.

I just don’t know exactly how.

MISTRUSTS

THE DAY SPENT at the Treyhune compound proved to be exhausting. As we arrive home, the girls are sleepy and weepy and already missing their cousins.

It was a bad time to mention their hair.

A really bad time.

“If I start at the bottom and work my way up, it won’t hurt. I promise.”

You’d think I’d just asked them to give up their iPods instead of asking them if I could brush their hair.

“We don’t want you to brush our hair.” Bristol speaks for Team Twin.

“Girls.” I sit at the end of the bed they are sitting on and they move a few feet toward the headboard, like I’m dangerous. “It’s got to happen sometime. Those tangles must be brushed out.”

“We can get the tangles out, see?” Bristol starts poking her fingers in her hair. She grimaces as her fingers collide with a tangled mass, but pushes through. Darling copies Bristol and starts yanking her hair as well.

“Good job, girls. Keep at it.”

Court’s voice pierces the room and we all look toward the door where Court is standing. His gaze drifts from the girls to me, where he nods his head toward the kitchen.

I look at the girls. “I’ll be back.”

Brush in hand, I follow Court to the kitchen. “Have they always brushed their hair with their hands?”

“Look. I know it seems strange, but MaryLeigh always let them do what they wanted with their hair.”

Pressing my lips together I try to figure out how to say what I want to say without being disrespectful to Court or MaryLeigh, may she rest in peace.

“I can see how that would be all right when they were little,” I say, not seeing at all. “But they are becoming young women, now. Their hair is long and probably beautiful, but who can tell?”

“Young women? They’re ten.”

“Ten today, thirteen tomorrow. It will be here before you know it.”

“Can’t we let nature take its course here? By the time they are thirteen I’m sure I won’t be able to drag them away from the mirror.”

Before I can answer, Bristol and Darling come running down the hall, bursting into the kitchen with an air of exuberance.

“Look,” Bristol says, running fingers through part of the bottom of her hair. “It’s working. No more tangles.”

Darling hasn’t been as successful as Bristol, but is still smiling and pretending that she has.

I now realize this battle is bigger than the hair. This has to do with MaryLeigh and hanging on to ways and ideas that she implemented, even if they weren’t practical or even right.

Setting the brush on the bar stool I walk to Bristol and smooth my hand over the bottom of her hair. “Very nice. You’ve done a great job.”

She smiles and so does Darling.

Court? I wouldn’t call his expression smiling or happy. I’d call it more like he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to.

As if I have a clue.

“DO YOU HAVE A minute?”

I’m sitting on my bed checking my email but look up when Court’s voice interrupts my browsing. There are still people sending me emails regarding my former CFO job, and it’s all I can do not to delete them.

Instead I’ve been forwarding them on to Dale’s email. I’m surprised at how little emotion I have looking at his name. It’s like the man of my dreams hadn’t even been in the picture of my life ever.

“Sure.” I set my laptop on the bed and follow Court, trying to decide which one of the many topics he wants to discuss with me. The homeschooling, the hair, the deceased wife’s strange life ways, or the deceased wife’s secrets.

He walks into the living room, a place I haven’t spent much time. He chooses one of the chairs to sit in, so I choose the other, leaving us facing each other. He looks in place with his expensive attire settled into an expensive chair, covered in a soft cream-colored fabric.

“The girls like you a lot.”

I can’t tell by the expression on his face if he thinks this is a good thing or not. But it should be a good thing, so I’m going with that mindset. “I’m glad.”

“They’re different around you. Like me. I’m different around you. Which leaves me wondering what it is about you that has captured our attention?”

My stomach flutters at his words. This topic wasn’t on my agenda of topics.

He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets, and slowly paces, his gaze on the floor as if looking at me might provide an answer that he doesn’t want to receive.

I must say if he’s playing stump the nanny, he has won this round.

“If you’re expecting an answer, I don’t know what to say. I’m not magic and I don’t cast spells.”

I think his eyes are smiling even if he isn’t. “I’ve told you before you’re pretty. Too pretty to be a witch.”

“Thank you.”

Totally out of what I’ve determined to be his character, he perches on the wide arm of the couch. This is something I would yell at the girls for, but he paid for all this furniture, so he can sit if he wants.

But I bet Mrs. Stratton would have something to say about it.

“Barb told me about your situation in Atlanta. Why you wanted to get away for a while. It’s no good when something isn’t what you think it is. It’s even worse when somebody isn’t who you thought they were.”

At this point I, the queen of being somebody I’m not, try not to break out in a visible sweat.

I guess he takes my silence as an invitation to move forward with what is on his mind. “A broken engagement is hard, but it’s better to find out before the marriage takes place. Trust me, I know.”

He’s not asking me questions, so I don’t feel like I can ask him any questions. It’s obvious though that his marriage wasn’t the perfect picture the media painted it.

And Jared played a part in all this.

What part I can only guess.

So the sad, lonely widower Barb portrayed to me when she told me about this job probably isn’t as sad as she thinks he is.

Or maybe he is. But the sadness might come from other places in addition to his wife’s death. “Break-ups are deaths on a smaller scale.”

And yes, I did just voice those words. Words that sounded great when they ran through my head, but I’m not so sure how great they sound to a man who is still grieving the death of his wife.

Or grieving the death of who he thought she was.

“Much smaller, but yes.”

I’ll give him that. I shiver, hoping I haven’t belittled his situation in any way. “The point is we’ve both lost something. We just lost it in different ways.”

“Someone, not something.”

Maybe he was more vested than I was. I shrug.

He stands, walking toward me. He holds his hand out, like I need help. I wasn’t aware I needed helped out of the chair.

But it appears I do.

His touch is gentle. The problem comes in that instead of letting go of my hand, he strengthens his grip and pulls me close to him. Unable to resist, I look into his eyes. A whole section of the wall he hides behind has eroded, and I can see way more than I want to as I drown in his gaze.

His lips move so I know he’s speaking, but it takes a few seconds for the words to sink into my brain.

And when they do, I almost wish I’d stayed oblivious.

“Maybe one day we’ll find another something.”

“Maybe.”

Sometimes silence can be awkward, but right now it seems right. I let it linger before asking if I heard him right. “Something or someone?” My words are whispered in the silence of the big house, my gaze never leaving his.

His lips finally curve into that smile I’ve been waiting to be the recipient of, and I’m thankful for his support as the word swoon enters into my mind.

“I think we’ll be able to determine that when it happens.”

MY FEET POUND THE pavement harder than ever the next morning. Sleep broken by visions of a handsome man plagued me all night long, until I knew I’d be better off not even trying anymore.

I know that after last night everything has changed. Court’s implication is clear, and while I don’t think he’s ready to have another relationship, he wants to let me know he is well on his way to that point.

Maybe he’s enamored by Team Twin liking me. The vibe I’m getting is that they haven’t liked anyone who has been their teacher or nanny since MaryLeigh died.

And honestly, if Court hadn’t told me they liked me I wouldn’t have known.

There are a lot of ghosts in every closet of the Treyhune home. Way too many bones rattling together at the same time. I’d be a fool to become involved in all of their lives.

Too late.

As each foot hits the pavement it screams the phrase until “too late” pounds through my head, one word right after another.

I stop running as if that will stop the words.

It doesn’t.

They simply come as I breathe in and out.

Too. Late.

The skies are gray this Monday morning. Showers threaten while thunder rumbles in the distance. The breeze doesn’t help cool me down. It only fuels the rapid pace of my thoughts in directions I can’t believe they are going.

Court Treyhune.

In a million years I never would have thought he’d be accompanying me on a morning run. Plaguing my thoughts.

Making me think happiness could come again so soon.

But the scales on this are way off balance. Weighing heavier than the promise of happiness, are past hurts and mistrusts.