Together With You (25 page)

“I-I'm fine,” she murmured.

They took a few steps together, but the almost-kiss haunted them with a silent demand to be taken and enjoyed. Those feelings needed to be pulled out by the roots, so he stopped Carly at the gate. “We both felt something.”

She inhaled softly. “Yes.”

“It was just nature. Let's forget it.”

“Of course,” she said, a little breathy. “Like I said before, it's a ridiculous idea.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Ryan opened the gate, and Carly went ahead of him, leaving him to ponder the almost-kiss that wasn't ridiculous at all. Ryan had a problem and he knew it.
They
had a problem. He didn't know how they were going to fix it, and for once in his life he felt
outmatched, because all the self-control in the world couldn't stop his heart from loving her.

Carly dropped down onto her bed, rolled to her side, and buried her face in the pillow with the hope of clearing her mind, but nothing could wipe away the sensation of Ryan's hand in her hair, his breath caressing her cheek, that smoky look in his eyes as he leveled his face over hers. If he'd kissed her, she would have kissed him back.

But he didn't do it. Instead he'd written off the almost-kiss as just nature, when to Carly it would have been special and forever.

He didn't understand her. And he never would . . . unless he changed or she did. Carly would never go against her most basic beliefs, but was there room for compromise? If she demanded that Ryan share her faith before they moved to the next step, did it mean she was close minded, even self-righteous? She didn't know what to think at the moment; she only knew she loved him and wanted to make a life with him.

But what kind of life?

The pool pump hummed, and she wondered if Ryan was sneaking a cigarette at the back fence. Curling into a ball, she begged God to change her feelings or to change Ryan, because she couldn't bear the pain of loving a man who didn't know how to love her back.

A
s promised, Ryan hired Brie McCarty to search for Allison. A retired LAPD detective in the Juvenile division, Brie was an expert in runaways and sex trafficking. She went to work immediately. Over the next two weeks, she updated Carly and Ryan with several e-mails, though the news was generally disappointing.

Ryan and Eric made plans for Anacapa. It was Monday now, and tomorrow they'd head out on the trip. Seated at the desk in his office, Ryan started up the laptop, intending to pay a few bills. In a little while, Denise would pick up Penny, and tomorrow he, Carly, and five teenagers would take the Cal-Island charter boat to Anacapa for a one-night stay.

Everyone was excited, but Ryan was in a quandary. He and Carly bantered when the kids were around, but otherwise they avoided each other. In spite of his efforts to be friendly in a normal sort of way, the feelings between them were as strong as ever. Someone had to compromise, and he didn't want that person to be Carly. Between her naïve faith and his realism, he preferred the effects of her faith,
even if he didn't share it. He was willing to accept their differences, even change for her, but he couldn't make himself believe in God.

While the computer started, he glanced around the office. His gaze went to his mother's Bible, so he picked it up, carried it to his desk, and skimmed through the dog-eared pages like he'd done a month or so ago.

Nothing caught his eye until he saw a note in his mother's handwriting. A little melancholy, he read his name written in the margin and surrounded by four dates—his thirtieth birthday, the day of his divorce, the day he told his mother about Penny, and a date that shamed him, because it was
her
birthday, and he'd forgotten it. When he sent flowers a week later, she told him they were even more special because they made her birthday last another week.

That was his mom. Always thinking of others. Forgiving them. Loving people even when they let her down. Wishing he could fix that mistake and everything else, Ryan read the verse underlined in purple ink.
“Let us therefore
come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.”

There was no way he could go boldly to a throne of grace, or a king he didn't understand. When Ryan messed up, he went to the individuals he hurt and tried to make things right. He wasn't a Christian, but he was a moral person and took responsibility. When it came to behavior, he and Carly were very much alike. He could easily live with their differences. Why not build a life on what they had in common?

A knock on the doorjamb pulled his gaze upward, and he saw Carly looking shell-shocked. Forgetting the Bible, he launched to his feet. “What's the matter?”

“I can't believe this.” She held up her phone as if she'd never seen it before. “I just talked to Allison's great-aunt. Her name is Velma. She lives in Cumberland, and Allison is with her.”

Ryan gave a silent salute to Brie McCarty. “So she's safe.”

“Yes.”

He came around the desk, gave Carly a hug, then pointed at the loveseat. She dropped down on the thick cushion and so did he. Their knees bumped, touched again, and this time stayed close. “Tell me everything,” he said.

“Brie sent an e-mail last night. It said she had news and wanted to talk. We set a time for later today. But then twenty minutes ago, my phone rang. I saw the Kentucky area code, and would you believe I almost didn't answer? I figured it was a wrong number.”

“But it wasn't.”

“No, and the news couldn't have been better. Allison is living with Velma.”

“That's great. Did you get to talk to her?”

“Not yet. She's away at a church camp for kids with special needs. She's a counselor for girls Penny's age. Adults oversee everything, but what counts is that she's there and being useful. Velma took my number, which Allison had lost. And now I have Velma's number.” Carly clutched at his hand and squeezed. “I can't thank you enough—”

“You just did.” He turned his palm to match hers and held tight.

Their breathing synchronized, and they turned their heads at the same time. The moment called for a celebration, so he brushed his lips against her cheek. Then, being the man he needed to be, he went back to his desk but stayed on his feet.

Carly gazed at him, adoration in her eyes and her face bright with the joy of finding Allison, or maybe from that brush of his lips on her cheek. When he remained silent, she pushed off the loveseat. “I better get back to the laundry. I just wanted to share the good news.”

She took a step toward the door but stopped to look at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The office was Ryan's private domain, even more private than his bedroom, because she did laundry and put his socks in his drawers. Carly didn't come in here at all.

She tilted her head like a curious bird. “You have more books than the Boomer County library.”

“Most of them were my father's.”

She ran her fingers down the spines of the science and history books, then the biographies and accounts of true crime, each a testament to his father's fascination with the human mind. After browsing Ryan's paperbacks—mostly adventure stories and mysteries with dark covers—her gaze dipped to the bottom shelf where he kept his mother's books. A gap revealed the spot reserved for the Bible now open on his desk. Ryan hurriedly closed it and moved to slide it under the morning paper, but before he finished, Carly turned.

Her gaze flicked to his face, her expression unchanged. If she spotted the Bible, she chose not to mention it. Instead, she turned to the shelves. “Your parents had very different tastes.”

“That's right.”

“I'm curious about something.”

Aside from the news about Allison, it was the first time in days she'd started a conversation. Pleased, he leaned his hips on the edge of the desk. “Ask away.”

“Did your father share your mother's faith?”

“Not at all.”

“Did they get along?”

It was a nosy question—unless she was asking Ryan if he thought
they
could get along. He hoped so, because he very much wanted to find that middle ground. “My father called himself an agnostic. He was brilliant, and he let everyone know it. My mother's religious streak embarrassed him.”

“Oh.” She nibbled her lip. “That's too bad.”

“It doesn't have to be that way. Two people can have different opinions and still respect each other, don't you think?”

“Of course. It's just . . .” She fluttered her hand. “Never mind. It's none of my business.”

“Tell me.”

She glanced back at the upper shelves, the ones with the medical books. “I have to wonder if respect is enough, or if it
would
have been enough for them . . . in marriage.”

Her stammering charmed him. It also told him she was thinking the same way he was. They just had to find a middle ground. “Respect is a good place to start.” They were alone. The office was private. Should he tell her he was reading the Bible out of respect for her? He was considering it when the doorbell rang.

“That must be Denise.” Carly hurried down the hall.

Ryan followed in her wake, but his mind stayed in the study where books with conflicting ideas sat on different shelves but in the same room. From his perspective the differences between Carly and himself were merely philosophical. As far as everyday life, they could do things her way. So what did that mean?

Marriage, definitely.

Church on Sundays? Sure, why not?

Children? He hoped so, and he had no qualms about good-night prayers and Bible stories.

An idea formed in his mind, one that skipped dating and went straight to wedding rings. With Carly, there could be no in-between, because their relationship affected his entire family. It was all or nothing. And Ryan wanted it all. The sooner they got married, the better. But some conventions had to be observed, like meeting her father. As a father himself, Ryan knew what
he'd
think of a man proposing to his daughter without the guts to introduce himself first. He'd think that man was rude or a coward.

Ryan was neither. As soon as he finished with Denise, he'd call Reverend Paul Mason and invite him to surprise Carly with a visit. Ryan hoped the man wouldn't be overwhelmed by either Los Angeles or Ryan's sophisticated lifestyle. Los Angeles was a big change from Boomer County, especially for a small-town preacher.

He also hoped they could agree on how to make Carly happy,
because mentally, Ryan added a final item to his SOS list. It was just two words:
Marry Carly.

Carly handed Penny off to Denise with a kiss and a hug. Ryan walked them to the car, and she fled to the laundry room. There were shirts to hang or they'd wrinkle, but mostly she needed to breathe without smelling Ryan's tangy aftershave or thinking about that brush of his lips on her cheek.

Or that open book on his desk, the one he had tried to hide.

Just before he shoved it out of sight, she had noticed the hole on the shelf between
Redeeming Love
and
My Utmost for His Highest,
two of her personal favorites
.
Intending to ask him about it, she turned just in time to see him slide a thick book under the morning paper. It had to be his mother's Bible.

With her stomach churning, she reached into the spinning clothes dryer, snatched one of Ryan's shirts, and draped it on a blue plastic hanger. He'd picked up the Bible for a reason—maybe because of his feelings for her. She straightened the shirt with trembling fingers, smoothed the sleeves, and wrestled with the question that had plagued her since that almost-kiss. Was respect for her faith enough? She longed to say yes, but doubt squirmed through her. Maybe she'd call her father for advice. But what would she say? “
Daddy, I'm in love with Ryan. He doesn't
believe in God, but he loves me and respects my faith. Surely that's enough.”

With another of Ryan's shirts hot in her hand, her mind leapt to a future where she went to church alone, worshiped alone, then tucked their children into bed with a prayer their father didn't understand.

“Carly?” It was Eric.

“What's up?”

“I'm packing, and I can't find the T-shirt my dad bought at the museum.”

She reached in the dryer, found the shirt with the Science Center logo, and handed it to him. He wore it constantly. “This one?”

“That's it!” He took it and left but turned at the door. “Thanks for doing laundry . . . and everything else, like driving me around.”

“It's my . . .”
job.
But she couldn't say that and didn't want to say it. Working for the Tremaines was more than a job. She loved them, though she knew better than to say
that
to a thirteen-year-old boy. “I'm happy to be here.”

“Cool, 'cause I hope you stay a long time.”

He darted back down the hall, leaving Carly with the scent of dryer sheets in her nose and a hole in her heart. She loved this family.
Loved them all.
She loved them too much to ever leave, even if it meant visiting Kentucky instead of living there permanently. That's what women did for love. Men too, sometimes. Geography was the least of her worries. The real differences between herself and Ryan were cosmic and personal.

Gloom as thick as dryer lint muddled her thoughts. Fighting it, she hung up Ryan's navy polo shirt, then buttoned the collar so it would hang straight, because that's what he liked. It annoyed her to do it, but it was a matter of respecting her boss's wishes.

Marriage, too, required compromise. But what if she married Ryan and they drifted further apart? If he respected her faith, she'd be obligated to accept his lack of it. But how could she? The path he chose would set the compass for his immortal soul. How could she possibly hold her tongue when the stakes were so high?

With her heart aching, she finished hanging up the shirts, closed the dryer, and went to her room to beg God for wisdom.