Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected Cowboy\His Ideal Match\The Rancher's Secret Son (49 page)

He scowled, and Emma bunched the cuffs of her hoodie in her hands. Max used to have that same expression when pushed past his emotional limit. It was the same scowl she'd seen when his friend got sick in the backseat of his truck the day after he'd vacuumed it out for their first date. And the same scowl he wore when he saw Emma talking to a guy from her church youth group at the grocery store about a week later.

Did he recognize the expression at all? Would anyone else notice the similarities? Their matching cowlicks, identical eyes...

Max broke apart from the team and approached Cody, and her heart squeezed. He bent slightly to talk to him privately, clearly instructing him on how to better grasp the bow. He demonstrated, and Cody mimicked the motion with concentration.

The could-have-beens and should-have-beens paraded through her mind in sickeningly slow motion. Max and Cody batting a whiffle ball. Max and Cody teetering on a two-wheel bike without training wheels. Max and Cody in grease-stained jeans, bent over the hood of his truck.

He'd missed all those opportunities to be a dad. And Cody had missed all those opportunities to experience a father.

Emma tore her gaze away from them as Max jogged aside, allowing Cody space to prepare for his next shot. Cody raised the bow with a much steadier arm and frowned downwind as he focused on the target. Jarvis whispered something and nudged the guy next to him, and Emma chalked it up to the Lord's grace in Jarvis's favor that she didn't catch what it was.

Cody continued to hold his position, the lines of his face more determined than she'd ever seen. Her heart stammered, and she desperately wanted to pray. For him to hit the target. For him to find what he was so desperately seeking. For him to get through this entire experience in one piece.

For him and Max both to forgive her once they knew the truth.

She held her breath as Cody's amateur grip released. Her hopes soared along with the arrow as it shot straight and true in a steady arch toward the bull's-eye.

And landed just short of the target.

Chapter Thirteen

“Y
ou are allowed to take breaks, you know.” Max put down his pen and studied her over the rim of his reading glasses, the likes of which Emma still couldn't get used to. The small black frames alluded more to college professor than cowboy, but the contradiction only added to Max's appeal. He made any look seem attractive.

Unfortunately, she was supposed to be concentrating on brainstorming new group projects with him—not admiring the way his hair curled slightly at his neck or the way his button-down work shirt strained slightly at the buttons, as if his broad chest couldn't be fully contained.

Definitely not.

“I'm on a break now.” She straightened from her spot on the tan suede sofa, resisting the urge to stretch despite the kink in her neck. They'd agreed—reluctantly on her part—to work together in the living area of the main house while the kids enjoyed their recreation time. They were nearby if the other counselors needed them but were still situated privately enough to discuss upcoming events without overeager young ears.

And without being
too
private.

She fought a blush, hoping he couldn't read her thoughts as easily as he used to. “Faith is with the girls.”

“I know where she is.” Max grinned, and she quickly looked back at her notebook, which sadly held very few usable ideas. She just couldn't concentrate with Max so painfully close. Not after finally admitting to herself what his proximity did to her, even this many years later. But after all they'd experienced and shared together, how could she be immune?

If she could concoct an ex-boyfriend antidote, she'd be a billionaire.

“I just meant you're still working right now, helping me out like this, even if it's not directly with the kids. Whenever Faith relieves you, it's totally fine for you to go have some alone time, or visit your mom, or whatever you want.” Max leaned forward from his position in the recliner across from her and reached for his canned soda on the end table. “I know this job can be exhausting. I just don't want you to feel trapped.” He winced. “Especially since you're not getting paid.”

Good thing she wasn't, or she'd have to refund every penny at the rate she was going. Maybe she'd covered some ground with Tonya originally, but she still hadn't been able to confirm anything one way or another, despite days of surveillance.

As for her progress with Stacy, well, Emma didn't know if anyone was capable of breaking down that stony exterior. At least she had Katie, who continued to be a bright spot in the camp.

“I'm not trapped.” The words felt like a lie leaving her mouth, and she drummed her pen against the notepad in her lap. She was, in so many ways. But that wasn't really Max's fault. “I mean, I know I
can
leave. I just don't—” She caught herself before admitting she didn't want to visit her mom. She cleared her throat. “I prefer to stay.”

The momentary smolder in Max's eyes hinted at his seconding that particular choice, and she blinked quickly to bat it away. Glimpses of the old Max, the one she fell for so many years ago, kept sporadically popping to the surface, catching her heart unaware. Just when she felt her guard was firmly in place, he'd make an inside joke from back in the day or shoot her that wink that had once left her breathless, and just like that, her armor chinked. “Besides, you needed my help with this.”

Unless it was just an excuse to spend more time with her. She wouldn't put it past him—the old Max had been incredibly crafty and manipulative when he wanted to be. Had that personality trait gone by the wayside when he'd cleaned himself up? How much personality went away when one made such dramatic life changes, anyway? Or did God just tweak it to be used for good instead of bad?

Good questions. Too bad God didn't seem prone to give her direct answers anymore. She'd severed that connection with Him years ago, when she chose sin over what was right. When she succumbed to the same temptations she once judged in her peers.

When she was left to pay for the consequences all by herself.

Loud laughter suddenly rang out from the rec room down the hall, and warmth spread across Max's expression. “That's always nice to hear.”

“Yeah. Unless they're laughing
at
someone.” Her stomach clenched, remembering the way Jarvis had teased Cody during the archery competition the afternoon before. It still riled her inside, and worst of all, made her feel helpless.

She could handle fear. Rejection. Abandonment. Anger. Insecurity. Bring it on.

But helplessness? Her least favorite. She wanted to
act
. Fix. Be. Do. And at Camp Hope, she might as well be watching from behind a two-way mirror. All visual, zero interaction.

Helpless.

Again.

Max frowned as he set his soda can back on the table. “They don't pick on Cody 24/7, despite how it might look to you.”

“Jarvis has pulled some kind of stunt with him every time we're in the group projects.” Emma wanted to draw a big line through the list of ideas she'd come up with on her page. If the group projects were what made the camp harder for her son, she'd rather just eliminate the whole thing.

“He's acting out for the girls. It happens like that at every camp.”

Emma frowned. Max almost looked more amused than concerned. And there was nothing funny about it. “I don't think it's that simple. Something tells me Jarvis is more hard-core than that.”

“Jarvis will realize it's a wasted effort soon enough, trust me.”

He wasn't listening. “Sure. And meanwhile, my son is sacrificed.”

Max arched an eyebrow at her. “Not fair.”

He was right. It wasn't. She drew a deep breath and tightened her grip on her pen. She was lashing out because she had no control. Over Cody—or even her own heart. She might have seen warning signs in the past over guys like Jarvis, but Max probably had, too. And he was in charge of this one, not her.

“You're right.” She glanced down at her notes, the words swimming as her vision blurred. “So, what about incorporating art into the kids' schedule?” She fought to keep her tone level and free of emotion. “For expression.”

Max's mouth opened and shut twice, as if debating whether or not to push their previous topic, but he finally nodded. “Sounds good. Some of the teens would probably think it a chore, but I bet several would enjoy it. Could be helpful.”

“And interesting, to see what they'd paint if they had complete freedom.”

“Good idea.” His eyes lit at the possibilities. “Maybe it'll open some doors into their subconscious for us.” Before she could argue, he got up and joined her on the sofa, forcing her to scoot sideways several inches to avoid being sat on. “I'll set that up for tomorrow. It'll be a good Saturday project.” He looked down at her notes, tilting his head sideways to read. “What else you got there?”

As much as it meant to her that he valued her opinion, she almost covered her list with her hand from embarrassment. At least she had scratched out where she'd accidentally doodled his name earlier. “Nothing much.”

“Trust exercises?” Max pointed to an entry halfway down her sheet, under where she had drawn a line through
relay races
. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know, all the cliché, old-fashioned stuff they used to make us do at church youth camp.”

He stilled, and she hesitated, not sure if she'd offended or just brought up a bad memory. She'd forgotten—Max hadn't gone to youth camps. He didn't grow up in the church with her—or any church, for that matter. “I don't know, actually.”

She sidestepped the conversational pothole she'd created and rushed forward. “Where you pair off into teams of two and take turns leading each other verbally through an obstacle course. Or falling backward on a short stool or chair to be caught by your partner.” She'd always hated that one. Guess she had trust issues from way back.

He nodded, but his guarded gaze kept her from determining if he'd let go of whatever negative emotion had momentarily stirred. “I like that. Let's add that to the schedule, too.” He met her eyes, and slowly the wall evaporated into a sincere smile. “You're good at this.”

“I have a degree in this.” She shrugged.

“No, it's a gift. Really.” He reached over and brushed her hair off her shoulder. Her body stiffened on instinct, and she tried to relax to keep from letting him know how much it affected her. “You're a natural.”

Then why was Cody still immune? Why was Tonya shutting her out from her problems? Why did Stacy attempt to shoot daggers with her eyes? She should say “thank you” to be polite, but she wouldn't mean it. Couldn't sincerely accept the compliment. So she stayed silent, wondering what she'd do if Max touched her again.

Wondering what she'd do if he didn't.

The heater kicked on, and the gentle whirring noise blended with the sound of the kids interacting down the hall. She edged a few more inches away, under the pretense of closing up her notes. “Let me know if you need help getting the art supplies. I could run into town tonight or in the morning for the paint and brushes. We'll need canvases, too, and easels, unless you just want to—”

“What happened with Cody's father?”

Her stomach constricted like she'd been punched. She sucked in air, but it didn't refresh. Rather, it stuck in her nose, her throat, choked her. She coughed, lungs aching. Or maybe that was her heart.

Max held up both hands. “I know that was left field. But I've been wondering for a while now, and well...I didn't know if that was a sore subject or not. I'm sorry.”

He didn't sound very sorry. She inhaled again, and this time, the oxygen revived. Her blood pulsed through her veins, and she twisted to face Max on the couch, pulling one of her legs up between them. If she could have this conversation from across the room without raising more suspicion, she'd try it.

That is, if her dramatic reaction hadn't already given her away.

“Sore subject?” She echoed, unable to say more. If he only knew. But no, he couldn't know, because of the typo. She pulled in her lower lip. Could Max hear her runaway heartbeat? How could she lie to him flat out? Maybe she'd been doing that for years, but doing so from a distance felt a whole lot different. Maybe she hadn't been responsible for that typo, but she hadn't corrected it, either. “It's not a great one.”

“I've been trying to talk to Cody about it.” Max shrugged, looking pained. Maybe the conversation was more awkward for him than she thought. Especially if Max's feelings for her were as strong as Rachel had let on. Did he assume she'd married, or kept up her less than pure ways as she'd had with him? But he'd been her only.

“He's pretty shut down,” Max continued, rubbing at a callous on his palm. “I've hit a wall, and I thought any information you could share would help.”

She fought back a sarcastic snort and turned it into a cough. Oh, the irony. “There's not much to say.” Much she
could
say, was more like it.

“So I take it Cody has never met his dad?”

He was twisting the knife and didn't have a clue. She pressed her hand to her chest, the pressure of his words as tangible as a weapon. How could she answer without lying?

He must have taken her silence for a confirmation. “Is that your choice?” Max frowned, clearly confused. “Or the father's?”

Tears sprung, and she fought to keep them below the surface. “All of those, I guess.” Not true, though. The real father had had zero choice in the matter, but the choices he
did
make had left Emma with none. She clenched her hand into a fist. Such a complicated, confusing cycle.

“I don't know your situation. But I know a boy's relationship with his dad is crucial, and that void—”

“No!” Emma leaped off the couch, unable to sit that close another second with her secret weighing so heavily. She stared down at Max's stricken expression, feeling her heart crumble into dust at her feet and helpless to stop it. “Just drop it, okay?”

His features morphed into a careful, practiced mask. One she knew from experience—she donned the same one when dealing with irate clients in her office. “Look, if it's a bad situation, I understand. But anything you can tell me about this guy—”

“There's nothing you need to know about him.” She had to stop this conversation now. What if she accidentally said “you” instead of “him”? The pressure building inside her head threatened to explode. She jabbed her fingers into her temples and briefly closed her eyes. “Just trust me on this. It's for Cody's own good.” Not that he had any more reason to trust her than she did him.

Max rose and stood before her, reaching for her hands. She jerked them away, avoiding the hurt in his eyes. “Emma. Talk to me.”

No. If she said anything else, she'd say too much. Especially with the tenderness in his voice, the compassion in his gaze. The sincerity in his touch.

Time to leave.

“I'll be back in a bit.” She grabbed her notebook from the couch, stuck the pen behind her ear and marched to the kitchen door before she—or he—could change her mind. “I'm taking that break you mentioned.”

Visiting her mom had never seemed so appealing.

* * *

Max stared out the window into the afternoon sun as Emma bolted to her car, spraying gravel in an exit worthy of a Golden Globe nod. How did they go from having a comfortably quiet time together, to a really productive talk about the campers, to Emma running out nearly in tears from the room? From the entire ranch, for that matter?

Cody's father must have hurt her worse than he'd imagined.

He probably looked like a real winner, too, dredging it all up. Still, he needed to know the basics, for Cody's sake.