Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) (22 page)

No
.

Laney's conscience pulled her up short. What was she doing, seeking relationship advice from a woman whose manicures lasted longer than her marriages? More importantly, what was she doing ignoring the fact that Jeb didn't believe in God? She might have temporarily strayed from the path of righteousness, but she would never consider marrying a man who wasn't a Christian.

And if marriage to Jeb wasn't a possibility, then she had no business kissing him. Love wasn't a game.

She aimed a vague smile at Sarah Jane. "Listen, I don't think I'm ready for this, after all."

Sarah raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Sensing her friend's benign amusement, Laney self-consciously poured herself a cup of tea she didn't want any more than she'd wanted the first one.

"It's just that these feelings are so new," she said lamely. "I could even be mistaken about them."

"It's just a kiss, Laney. You don't have to marry the man."

"I'm not a casual kisser, Sarah Jane."

"Well, that's the difference between you and me," Sarah Jane said lightly. "So I guess that's that."

Yes, that was that. Laney sighed and drank her tea.

A
t two o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, Jeb stood at one of his tall kitchen windows in jeans and bare feet, his unbuttoned plaid shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. Halfway through his third mug of wake-up coffee, he was staring at the brown blanket of fallen leaves covering his back yard and wondering what Laney usually did about it.

Hired someone, probably. She enjoyed yard work, but she didn't have much time for it these days.

Jeb yawned and scratched his bare chest.
He
had time, and some physical activity might calm his restless spirit.

He slugged down the rest of his coffee, then finished dressing and headed outside.

He found an electric leaf-blower in his garage, but it seemed wrong to use something so noisy on such a crisp, beautiful afternoon. He chose an old yard rake and set to work, humming made-up melodies as he dragged the crackling leaves into neat piles. It took him a couple of hours to finish his own yard, and then he started on Laney's.

He was working next to her front sidewalk, stuffing the last man-made mountain of leaves into the biodegradable paper bags he'd found in his garage, when a red Corvette roared past him and slid into Laney's driveway. It jerked to a stop mere inches from the Explorer's back bumper.

Jeb recognized the flashy car and its driver, a muscular blond man who emerged from the vehicle wearing a gray suit and carrying an armful of cellophane-wrapped flowers.

Muttering a word he knew he'd have to apologize to God for later, Jeb dropped his rake and stalked over to inform Laney's ex-boyfriend that she wasn't home.

"Hello, Bell." Tom Johansen's face stretched into a patently counterfeit smile. "It's been a long time."

Not nearly long enough. And had the guy taken a bath in cologne, or what? Quashing his impulse to fan the sissy stench away with his hand, Jeb switched to breathing through his mouth. That was as much consideration as he was willing to give a guy who had failed to treat Laney like the princess she was.

"She's not home yet," he said. "And she's no longer interested, anyway." So Tommy boy could just climb right back into his little red rocket and blast off.

Tom's faux-friendly expression morphed into a sneer. "You don't own her, Bell."

"I am aware of that." Jeb felt a muscle begin to tic in his jaw. "But I won't stand by and let you hurt her again."

"I didn't hurt her," Tom shot back. "We just disagreed about a few things, and then that other guy happened along before I could work things out with her. But I hear he's out of the picture now, and there hasn't been anyone else for me, so
 
.
 
.
 
."

So he thought he would just slide right back into her life? Jeb folded his arms to stop himself from going for the presumptuous jerk's throat. "You had your chance and you blew it," he bit out. "She deserves better than you."

Tom scraped him with an appraising look. "I suppose you think you're better," he challenged.

"You suppose wrong," Jeb said through clenched teeth. He didn't need reminding that he'd never be good enough for Laney. "But you're still leaving."

"She's expecting me." Tom smiled again, this time in smug triumph. "She said she'd be here by six."

Reflexively, Jeb glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes to six.

His heart dropped into his belly. If she had agreed to go out with Tom, the guy must still mean something to her. Why had she pretended otherwise?

And had she forgotten this was Tuesday? The singles' thing would be starting just over an hour from now.

She'd forgotten. There was no other explanation for this. And Jeb had no desire to stick around and wave goodbye as she drove off into the sunset with her boomerang boyfriend, so he turned abruptly and headed for his garage.

No, walking away wasn't the polite, Christian thing to do. But neither was slamming a fist into Tom Johansen's supercilious face, and at the moment it was all Jeb could do to resist that temptation.

He hauled his canoe out of the garage and shoved it up onto the Explorer's roof racks. He secured it with some rope and then hurled himself into the driver's seat.

With the '
Vette
hugging his back bumper, Jeb was compelled to make a U-turn and plow through a dormant flowerbed in order to reach his own empty driveway. If Laney's beloved pink and purple tulips failed to come up in the spring, he'd make it up to her somehow.

Carefully avoiding eye contact with Tom, he ripped past the '
Vette
and out onto quiet Mulberry Street.

If Tom was what she wanted, he'd find a way to accept that. But why hadn't she told him she was giving the guy another chance? How was he supposed to help her find a husband if she wasn't going to tell him stuff like this?

It was close to sunset when he arrived at Clear Lake, so he left his canoe on top of the Explorer and trudged down to the water's edge. Sitting cross-legged on the scrubby grass, elbows on his knees, he held his head between his hands and fought the bitterness spreading through his spirit.

Why did it have to be Tom?

Sighing, he dropped his hands, tipped his head back, and stared hopelessly at the bare, wind-whipped tree branches above him.

"Why can't it be me?"

The plaintive question startled him because he had always understood and accepted that Laney deserved to marry a truly good man—and he would never be one of those.

Sure, God had forgiven him for his wicked past. But the fact that he was now headed to heaven didn't change where he'd been before. And Laney deserved better than a guy who'd left nothing but destruction in his wake.

Tom Johansen wasn't perfect, but at least he didn't have a past that shocked and disgusted decent people. So if Laney wanted him
 
.
 
.
 
.

A cold wind ruffled Jeb's shirt and found its way under his collar, stroking his back like icy fingers. Clenching his teeth, he shivered with perverse satisfaction.

He could stand this. If there was one thing besides music he was good at, it was enduring situations he didn't like but couldn't change.

Learning that lesson at a very young age had preserved his sanity. When he'd realized that crying into his pillow at night wouldn't get him a dad who took him fishing or a housekeeper who hugged him and made cupcakes for his birthday, he'd dried his tears and toughened up. Life simply was what it was; there was no point in whining about it.

He shivered again, and his hand went to his shirt pocket before he remembered he didn't smoke anymore.

He was staring moodily at a flock of mallard ducks paddling some ten yards from the water's edge when his phone rang. He was in no frame of mind to talk to Shari again, or to any of the band guys, but habit made him check the display to see if Laney was trying to reach him.

She was, so he answered.

"Jeb, where are you?"

"Clear Lake," he said. "Where are
you
?" And what had happened to her date? If that jerk had abandoned her somewhere—

"Where do you think I am?" Her tone carried a hint of impatience. "I'm at home."

At home? Was she cooking supper for Tom, then?

She sighed. "Jeb, you said you wanted to go to the singles' meeting."

"True." He spotted a fist-size rock next to his right knee and closed his hand around it. "But I'm not the one who accepted a date with good
ol
' Tom." Rearing back, he pitche
d the rock as hard as he could.

It sailed far over the mallards' heads before dropping into the water with a resounding plunk, but
it ticked them off. W
ith fluttering wings a
nd outraged nasally quacks, they
moved their party f
a
rther down the shoreline.

"A date with Tom?" Laney sounded almost as annoyed as the ducks. "Where did you get a crazy idea like that?"

"Well, let's see." Scowling at the red sun caught in the treetops on the other side of the lake, Jeb groped the ground beside him until he found another rock. "Maybe I got that idea when I saw him wearing a suit and holding a bunch of red roses and heading for your front door. Or maybe I got it when he said you were expecting him at six o'clock. Or maybe—"

"I was expecting him, Jeb, but not for a date. What are you so irritated about?"

"We've been over this, Laney." He threw his rock so hard and with such sloppy form that he nearly dislocated his shoulder. "Tom's not the right guy for you."

"So you took off because you thought I intended to go out with Tom."

She hadn't asked a question, so Jeb didn't reply. Besides, he'd just spotted a half-buried rock that looked like it might be even bigger than the first one after he worked it out of the packed dirt.

"That's insulting, Jeb. I can't believe you thought I was ditching you to go on a date."

He gave up trying to dig out the rock and closed his eyes. "I didn't think you were ditching me," he admitted. "I just figured you'd forgotten what day it was."

"I didn't forget, Jeb." Her tone had softened; Laney was always quick to understand and forgive. "And Tom was just doing a favor for his sister. She's getting married, so she asked if she could borrow some of my etiquette books. She lives in St. Paul, and Tom's going to see her tomorrow night, so he stopped by to get the books. That's all it was."

"That's not all it was." Jeb wasn't going to let her kid herself on that score. "Princess, the guy was wearing a quart of cologne and he was holding a bunch of 'let's put the past behind us' roses. He intended to take you some glitzy restaurant and—"

"All right, so he asked." She sounded peeved again. "But I turned him down."

Because she didn't want him, or because she already had plans for the evening?

"Okay." Jeb figured he'd better back out of the argument before she told him she was entertaining thoughts about giving Tom another chance. If that was true, he didn't want to know it until he'd regained the self-control he'd lost when Tom had given him that smug look. "I'm sorry I misread the situation."

"And I'm sorry for being snippy," Laney said. "But I have to go now. Unless you want me to wait?"

"No, go ahead and leave." Jeb pushed up to his feet. "I'll miss part of the Bible study, but I'll get there as soon as I can."

Laney felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see Jeb sliding into the chair she'd saved for him.

"That was quick," she whispered. "And we started late, so you haven't missed much."

Realizing what she had just said, Laney looked away from him and bit her lip. It wasn't as though Jeb would regret missing a Bible lesson. Still, he was here. And maybe if he kept coming
to
these things for her sake, some of the truths he heard would begin to seep into his cautious heart.