A Time to Forgive and Promise Forever (24 page)

 

“What are you doing?”

The voice startled Miranda, and she inadvertently closed the file she'd been searching. She glanced up.

Tyler stood in the office doorway. The pool of light from her desk lamp didn't quite reach him, making him a dark silhouette against the hallway beyond.

“Looking for the records on our Mr. Dawson.” She rolled her chair back from the desk. “I haven't been able to get him off my mind since Sammy told us about him this afternoon, but this is the first chance I've had to look through the records.”

Family had surrounded them since they'd returned from Angel Isle. That should have made it easier for her to be near Tyler, but it hadn't. She'd been too aware of the necessity to hide her feelings both from him and from the family.

She'd asked her mother about Dawson, evading explanations for her interest. She hadn't wanted the outpouring of advice that story would have triggered.
All in all, she'd been happy to escape into the office once Sammy was in bed.

Tyler crossed the small office and leaned his hip against the desk. He still wore the khakis and dress shirt he'd donned for supper—apparently he wasn't convinced he could appear at the table in jeans.

He glanced at the monthly charts posted along one wall, the filing cabinets, the fax and copy machines. “This isn't what I expected.”

“The office? Did you think we did it all with quill pens?”

“Not quite that.” He smiled, and she appreciated the width of the desk between them. She needed something to safeguard her from the effect of that smile. “But the registration desk with the old-fashioned register sends a different message from this.”

“People want old-fashioned, down-home charm when they come here. They don't need to know that all the records move from the register straight to my computer.”

“Very nice. You probably even have a Web site.”

“Thanks to Chloe. She set it up for us.” She swiveled to face the computer. “I ought to be able to track everything we have about Dawson—his reservation, how he paid, credit card.”

“Ought to be?” His voice came from directly behind her. He'd rounded the desk while she'd focused on the screen, and he stood close to her chair. She felt his hands brush her shoulders, then grip the chair back.

Breathe, she ordered herself. Concentrate. She
couldn't let Tyler guess his nearness reminded her vividly of that moment when they'd kissed. He'd obviously been able to dismiss it from his mind. So should she.

Her throat felt tight, and she swallowed. “The trouble is, he didn't make a reservation.” She pulled up the relevant screen. Tyler leaned over her shoulder to look at it, and she had to remind herself to breathe again.

“He just walked in?” His question was sharp, and he wore the expression she'd always thought of as his business look—intent, determined, focused.

“Well, it was February. We weren't exactly busy.” She frowned. “It's a little unusual that he didn't even call to ask if we had a room, but it does happen.”

“What about his credit card?”

She clicked to the payment file, then shook her head. “He paid in cash.”

Tyler's hand came down on her shoulder. “You're not going to tell me that's routine.”

“No.” She tried to ignore the warmth that trickled through her at his touch. “No, that's not routine. Most people use credit cards, a few pay by check. Cash is—strange.”

“I'm beginning to find the mysterious Mr. Dawson a little too strange to believe.” Tyler sounded grim. “Can you trace his address?”

“Let's have a look.” She tried to manage a smile. “Theo showed me a Web site where you can check an address anywhere in the country. I don't think I want to know why teenagers know something like that.”

“Power,” he suggested.

“I suppose so.” She clicked to the site, trying to ignore the pressure of Tyler's hand, the feel of his breath against her cheek as he leaned over. “Let's see if Alfred Dawson really is at 4423 Steeple Drive in Detroit.”

The answer popped up in seconds, and Tyler saw it as quickly as she did.

“A phony address.” His anger was communicated through his touch.

“It might not mean anything.” She tried to come up with a logical reason and failed.

“Somehow I can't buy that.”

“I guess I can't, either. I asked my mother what she remembered about him.”

Tyler turned her swivel chair so she faced him. “And?”

“He didn't make much impression on her, either. But she was surprised when I said he was from Detroit.”

“Why?” Tyler's habit of firing one-word questions was unnerving.

“She said she talked to him about things to see in the area, and Charleston was mentioned. He referred to it as the holy city. Nobody does that except died-in-the-wool Charlestonians.”

That brought some reaction to his stern expression, so quick she couldn't quite decipher it.

“What is it?” Apprehension colored her voice.

“Winchester Industries has a branch office in Charleston.”

“That could just be coincidence.”

“That's a few too many coincidences for my
peace of mind. Maybe you can believe in this random visitor with the vanishing past who just happens to take a photo of Sammy that just happens to get sent to me, but I can't.”

She battled a rush of fear. “If you weren't who you are—”

Tyler's face was set. “If I weren't Tyler Winchester, this wouldn't have happened, is that what you mean?”

“Well, would it?” She tried to push her chair away from him, but he gripped it firmly.

“You knew who I was when you married me.”

Her brief flare of anger was extinguished by his tone. “Yes. I knew.” She had to deal with the repercussions of that.

He straightened. “I'm going to the office in Charleston tomorrow. I'll find an investigations agency while I'm there and put them onto it. Give me everything you have on Dawson.”

Her life was spinning out of control. “I'll get it ready for you.”

“Good.” He turned away, his mind obviously racing ahead to the next day.

“Tyler, don't forget about the T-ball practice. You promised Sammy you'd be there.”

“I'll be back in plenty of time.” He focused on her, his expression softening. “Don't worry so much.” He touched her cheek lightly. “I'll get to the bottom of this, whatever it is. I'm not going to let anything hurt Sammy.”

She nodded, pinning a smile on her face. All Tyler's concern was for their son, and that was the
way it should be. Still, she couldn't quite suppress the rebellious little corner of her heart that wished some of his concern were for her.

“H
e's not coming.” Sammy's lower lip came out, and Miranda suspected he was pouting to keep himself from crying.

Miranda glanced at her watch again, then down the street toward the center of the village. Tyler had promised to be back from Charleston in time for Sammy's T-ball practice. He wasn't.

“Come on, Momma.” Sammy yanked the car door open and tossed Theo's old ball glove onto the seat. “We'll be late if we don't go now.”

She felt like pouting herself. Or crying. Seeing Sammy's hurt was worse than her own. She slid into the car.

“Maybe he got stuck in traffic getting out of Charleston.” She'd suggest anything that might wipe the pain from her son's face.

“He could've been here if he wanted to.” Sammy clutched the glove, not looking at her as
she pulled onto the street. “I knew he wouldn't come.”

“Son, maybe you ought to wait and see what your father says before you decide that.”

Sammy didn't answer. How could she blame him for his anger and disappointment when she was seething with it, too? This was just what she'd feared would happen when she let Tyler into their lives.

You couldn't keep him out, her conscience reminded her. Once he knew about Sammy, that option wasn't open.

Her eyes searched the bridge to the mainland as they passed it, looking without success for Tyler's burgundy rental car. We agreed we weren't going to let Sammy be hurt. How could you let him down this way?

There was little point in addressing the question to someone who wasn't there. But when Tyler arrived, he'd have to answer her.

Something prickled in her mind, refusing to go away until she looked at it.

You never confronted Tyler about anything when you were married.

She looked at the truth with dismay. Had she really been that young, that much in awe of him? Had she been that much of a doormat?

She drew up under the live oaks that ringed the practice field, clenching the steering wheel for a moment of prayer as Sammy darted from the car.

Lord, I'm angry right now with Tyler. I don't want
to confront him out of my own hurt. Help me to make him understand his responsibility to his son.

She wouldn't let her feelings get in the way. She wouldn't repeat the pattern she'd begun when they were married. This time Tyler would be called to account.

 

Practice was long over when the moment came to put her resolution into action. Miranda sat alone on the front porch when Tyler's car finally pulled into the driveway after supper. The family was tactfully avoiding the area to give her free rein with Tyler. She would need it.

He mounted the porch steps, then put his briefcase down. The suit jacket he'd worn when he left was slung over his shoulder, but he still looked businesslike and intimidating in the dress shirt and striped tie that announced his status.

“Waiting for me?”

“Yes.” He obviously didn't remember. Anger for her child burned along her veins. How long would it take him to realize what he'd done? “We have to talk.”

He nodded, leaning against the railing. “Dan Carpenter, who's in charge of the Charleston office, was able to recommend a private investigations agency. I talked with them, gave them all the information we had. They hope to get a line on our Mr. Dawson before long.”

If he expected congratulations on that, he was doomed to disappointment. “And did some disaster hit the company this afternoon?”

He frowned. “No, of course not. Why?”

She shoved herself out of the rocking chair, letting it creak back and forth. “Why? Because I couldn't imagine that anything less would keep you from fulfilling your promise to your son.” She planted her fists on her hips. “You don't even remember, do you?”

She watched him thinking it over, mentally checking his calendar. She saw the moment when it registered.

“T-ball practice.”

“You told Sammy you'd be there.”

Annoyance flared in his eyes at her tone, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I had business to take care of.” He was clearly not used to accounting for himself to anyone.

“More important business than keeping your promise?”

“Look, I forgot.” His belligerent attitude eased, and he put his hands against the railing on either side of him. “I'm sorry. Was he upset?”

The sign of concern for Sammy heartened her. “Yes.” She wouldn't pretend this wasn't important, because it was. “He was upset. He said he knew you wouldn't come.”

Tyler winced at that. “What did you tell him?”

“I said he should wait and talk to you before he decided that. That maybe you had a good reason.”

“I take it business isn't a good enough reason.”

Please, Lord, help me make him see.

“Not for breaking a promise.”

“Come on, Miranda. People break promises all the time.”

Maybe the people in your life do, Tyler. Not the people in mine.

“A promise between parent and child is…well, it's sacred. You can't treat it lightly.”

He frowned. “You make it sound like an article of faith.”

“It is.” She took a breath, searching for the words that would make him understand. “I can't separate faith out from parenting. I know I can't be as good a parent as God is, but I have to try.”

Pain flickered in his eyes. “If I compared God to my father—” He stopped, shook his head. “Okay, I was wrong not to keep my promise. I don't have a good excuse. I'm still trying to figure out this parenting stuff.”

Meaning it was her fault he didn't have much experience as a father. They'd never get past that.

“I know.” She forced her voice to be steady. “This is one of those situations where you learn from your mistakes. But this one really hurt him.”

His mouth tightened. “Where is Sammy? I owe him an apology.”

“He's down at the dock. I'll go with you.”

He lifted his eyebrows as they started down the steps. “Afraid I'll make a mess of it on my own?”

“Not if you're honest with him.” How much should she push him? “Try to open up to him, Tyler. That's what he needs.”

For a moment she thought he wouldn't reply.
There was no sound but the crunch of their footsteps on the shell-covered path and the distant cry of a gull. Sammy's small figure perched on the end of the dock, the channel beyond him turning purple in the setting sun.

“There's not much call for opening up in my life,” Tyler said finally. His gaze was fixed on Sammy. “I'm probably not good at it. But I'll try.”

Please, Lord,
she prayed as they reached the dock.
Please let them hear each other.

Tyler's movements were slow as they approached their son, as if Sammy were a wild creature, not to be startled. “Hi, Sammy.” He squatted next to him.

Sammy pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. “Hey,” he mumbled.

“Okay if we sit down?”

He got a shrug of the shoulders in answer but seemed to take that for a yes. He sat on the dock next to Sammy, not quite close enough to touch.

Please, Lord.
Miranda sat, folding her legs.
I'm not even sure where Tyler stands in relation to You now. I don't know if he's asking for Your help. But I'm asking. Please help him.

“I'm sorry I missed your practice today.”

Another shrug. “It's okay.”

But it wasn't. Her heart hurt for him.

“I wanted to be there.”

Sammy looked at him, his small face set. For a moment she saw the resemblance between them so clearly that she could hardly bear it.

“If you wanted to, you would have.”

The logic of a seven-year-old was direct. To do him justice, Tyler didn't try to argue with it.

“I guess you've got a point there. I didn't set out to miss it, but I got busy talking to someone, and I forgot.”

Open up to him, Tyler. She thought the words so strongly she almost felt he could hear them.

Tyler leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. She spared a brief thought for what the rough planks were probably doing to his dress trousers. He didn't seem to care.

“You know, Sammy, I guess I haven't quite figured out this father stuff yet. But I remember…”

He paused, glanced at her. She nodded, trying to look encouraging. He couldn't give up now, even though Sammy wasn't responding.

“I was probably a little older than you are. My school had this program where kids' parents came in and talked about their careers.”

“Career day,” Sammy muttered without raising his head. “We have that, too.”

“I was at a boarding school, where you actually live at school. My father said he'd come for career day. It was the first time he'd ever promised something like that. He'd always been too busy before.”

Tyler seemed to look into the past, to the boy he'd been. “I was really excited. I told all my friends he was coming. I remember the teacher even had me make a name sign for him.”

The timbre of Tyler's voice had deepened. She heard it and knew she was hearing genuine emotion.

Sammy seemed to recognize it, too. He looked up, fixing his gaze on his father's face. “What happened?”

Tyler shrugged. “He didn't show up. The other parents came, and they sat at a long table with their name signs in front of them. I sat there the whole period and looked at my father's sign and his empty chair.”

“You felt bad.” Sammy's loving heart filled his voice.

“Yes.”

She didn't think Tyler would say anything more. Then he cleared his throat.

“He hadn't forgotten. Something else just came up that he thought was more important. He never even said he was sorry.”

His words pressed on her heart. She knew what Sammy didn't—that the story he'd told wasn't just an isolated incident. Tyler's father had never been there for his son.

Why hadn't she realized the effect of that on Tyler when they were married? Guilt swept over her.

No wonder it had been so important to him to take over after his father's heart attack. He'd still been trying to prove himself, and she hadn't understood that.

Did that lonely little boy still lurk inside Tyler? He'd built his life around not being emotionally involved with anyone, but maybe he needed family more than he thought he did.

“Sammy, I want to do better than my father did. I'm sorry I let you down. I hope you can forgive me.”

Sammy's eyes were suspiciously bright with tears, but he wouldn't let them fall. He nodded, then stuck out his hand. They shook hands solemnly.

Her eyes were wet. Miranda blinked rapidly, trying not to make a fool of herself. Neither of them would thank her for crying over them. Seeing the two of them bond with each other wrenched her heart. This was the way it should have been from the beginning. Maybe it would have been, if she'd only had the courage to try harder.

 

Tyler hadn't felt this much relief when a risky business gamble had paid off. He smiled at his son, hoping he wasn't going to disgrace himself by tearing up. He wanted Sammy to like him, not to feel pity for him.

“Thank you, Sammy.” The feel of his son's small hand in his gave him a visceral surge of totally unexpected love, knocking him completely off balance.

Of course he'd thought he'd love his son. He'd assumed it would come slowly, growing as they got to know each other.

He hadn't anticipated this overwhelming emotion, sweeping everything else aside with its power, so strong he didn't know what to do with it. Wherever this relationship was taking him, there was no turning back.

He put his hand lightly on Sammy's shoulder, afraid to give in to the longing to hug him. “You're a better person than I was. I guess we have to thank your mother for that.”

He looked at Miranda. She leaned against the rough wooden post, her gray sweatshirt blending into it. The setting sun made her hair blaze like a flame, and her green eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

“Sammy's a good kid. I've had good stuff to work with.” Her voice trembled just a little, and he knew she didn't want their son to hear that tremor.

His hand still rested on their son's shoulder, and he didn't want to let go. “What do you say, Sammy? You think I could make another try at going to T-ball practice with you?”

Sammy nodded. “Next practice is Thursday after school. Okay?”

“Sounds great. I'll be there, no matter what. I promise.”

“Speaking of school…” Miranda sounded as if she had herself under control.

Sammy's nose wrinkled. “It can't be my bedtime already.”

“It will be by the time you have your bath and your story. You scoot on up to the house, sugar. We'll be up in a few minutes.”

The boy scrambled to his feet. “Okay, Momma.” He turned toward Tyler. “Good night…Daddy.”

Before Tyler could respond, he darted off, running full tilt toward the house.

He'd had the wind knocked out of him. “He called me Daddy.”

“Yes, he did.” Her smile shimmered on the edge of tears.

“That's a pretty decent reward for forgetting my promise.”

“It wasn't for forgetting. Or even for apologizing. It was because you shared yourself with him.”

He hadn't heard that gentle, loving note in Miranda's voice directed at him in a long time. It rocked him nearly as much as hearing Sammy call him Daddy, and it made him grope for something solid to hang on to.

“Believe me, it wasn't hard to come up with a time when my father let me down. They were too numerous to count.”

“I'm sorry. I wish…”

“What do you wish, Miranda?”

He moved next to her, watching the way the light touched her skin with gold. On the waterway a boat arrowed toward the distant shore, darkening as the sun slipped lower. They were alone.