Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) (11 page)

Celia was one strange baby momma.

Why hadn’t she, Ty wondered as he drove away from River Run, been trying to gouge him for money all these years? Isn’t that what baby mommas were known for? He would’ve been generous. People hit him up for money just about every day of the week—charities, fund-raising committees, friends and distant family members down on their luck, the Society for the Restoration of Holley. He had the funds to answer requests with signed checks. It made him happy to give people money.

Celia, though? His legal wife and the mother of his child? He could hardly
force
the stubborn thing to accept his help. It was downright insulting.

He stopped for a red light and pulled her list of rules for his day with Addie from the front pocket of his jeans. GMOs? He didn’t even know what that meant, but he was pretty sure that Celia wouldn’t approve of a cheeseburger and fries from McDonald’s, something he’d eaten plenty as a kid. What were the chances that he’d even be able to find a G-rated movie in Corvallis? Kneepads? Dangerous slides? C’mon.

When he reached his hotel room, he stripped off his T-shirt, boots, and socks. He found the remote under his reading glasses and an issue of
Investor
’s Business Daily
. Propped up in bed, he surfed channels, his head filled not with the shows on the screen,
but with Celia. Kind of the way he’d been surfing channels with his head full of her for the past month straight. Only worse, because he’d just come from seeing her.

For the first few weeks after he’d found out about Addie, he’d rolled resentment toward Celia around and around in his mouth the way he would a cough drop. She’d kept his child a secret from him, and it had felt good to stay angry about it. In time, though, the cough drop had begun to melt. She’d kept his child from him
because
he’d acted like a rotten jerk to her.

If he could feel a calm sort of kindness toward Celia, that would be good. That’s what he’d been going for tonight.

Instead, when she’d opened her door, pleasure had rushed through him at the sight of her. After years on the road, seeing her standing in front of him with a bright, good-smelling house behind her had felt like coming home. The kind of
home
that had nothing to do with her fool apartment.

He couldn’t help but like her fighting spirit. She was way smarter and more independent than she had a right to be. And all that cutting humor of hers could make him laugh, really laugh. Which was nothing like the fake chuckles he usually gave women.

He even approved of the nickname she’d given him. He’d have preferred something more masculine, but showboat was pretty funny. He’d pretended to hate it, because he knew anything less would have stolen her fun.

He hadn’t wanted to steal her fun, not when the sight of her cooking dinner had been one of the sexiest things he’d seen in years. The whole evening—the cooking, that little yellow shirt, her feistiness, their dinner with Addie—made him remember why he’d gone so stupid over Celia in Vegas in the first place.

See, this was what living like a monk for five and a half years did to a man. It made him nuts in the head. He was so starved for a girlfriend that he was lying in a hotel room in Oregon, wanting
Celia
. He couldn’t have Celia. She didn’t even like him. He couldn’t trust her. He sure as anything couldn’t do anything to hurt her again, ever. Not with Addie in the mix. And the cherry on top? An
attraction to Celia could ruin—again—any chance at a future with Tawny, who was the most perfect woman in the world.

He flicked past an educational show about the ocean, then a show about redneck alligator hunters, before stopping on UFC fighting.

Pushing a hand behind his head, he watched two guys beat each other up inside the octagon.

He knew women who were prettier than Celia. Women who wore lower-cut shirts and tight-fitting Western jeans. Women who were, heaven knows, a long shot nicer to him.

He’d do well to remember that Tawny was both sweet
and
a Grade A knockout. With her long brunette hair and athletic body, Tawny could have been a bikini model if she hadn’t decided to become a paralegal.

He’d finally earned the right to win Tawny’s heart. Which was exactly what he planned to do as soon as she broke up with her pediatrician boyfriend.

Unfortunately, he’d need to finish out the season before he’d have a block of time in Holley that he could use to romance Tawny. Tomorrow night he’d fly to Nashville for an event and after that Billings, San Antonio, and Boise.

His upcoming schedule left him cold. A lot of things had lost their shine for him over the years, but his bull riding never had. He was hard-core committed to it. His intense drive to win at it had shaped his whole adult life.

Until lately. Lately, his mind had begun to wander, and his competitive edge had started to dull. He’d come to care more about talking on the phone to a girl who tracked his travels on a US map that hung on the wall next to Celia’s laundry room.

Addie had told him about the map a while back, but seeing it had hit him in a soft spot. Him, whose body had been so hardened over the years, that he hadn’t thought it had a soft spot left.

Turned out his child was his soft spot, which he could live with.

But somehow, against all odds, Murphy’s Law, and flat-out common sense, Celia had the power to be his soft spot, too. And that, he couldn’t allow.

T
y arrived the next morning driving a shiny black Escalade. Celia could only imagine what it had cost him to rent a car like that from the airport. Enough to cover groceries for a month plus the new winter clothes Addie would need come fall, probably.

Celia had the booster seat ready. Despite feeling utterly sick to her stomach, she positioned it on one of the Escalade’s second-row seats. She helped Addie climb into the car. “Have a great time.”

“I will. ’Bye, Mom.” Addie looked every bit as excited as she would have if Ty were taking her to Disneyland.

Celia made herself shut Addie’s door. She glanced up at Ty, who stood next to her in the parking lot. “Did you read my rules?”

“Every one.” He let a few seconds pass. “You good?”

She nodded. “Will you be very careful?”

“Very.”

“Okay. Go on.”

He got behind the wheel. As the Escalade eased away, Celia waved at Addie through the tinted glass. In Addie’s whole life Celia had only left her at day care or with Uncle Danny. She had no practice trusting her to anyone else. Her lips formed a plastic
smile while her mind formed the thought
This
might be the last time I ever see my child
.

Her heart shriveled into a small and terrified ball.

An anxious mother was of no worth to her employer.

For the first few hours of her workday, Celia worried that Ty would abduct Addie. She’d seen too many news reports about mothers or fathers who let their child visit the other parent only to have that child stolen away to a foreign country. When she could no longer stand the horrible scenarios filling her imagination, she sent Ty a text.
How’s it going?

Good
, he answered right away. His response did not completely mollify her because she had no way of proving his location. He could be texting her from onboard a plane about to depart for Brazil.

Her phone buzzed.
We’re watching a really
bad Winnie-the-Pooh movie at the dollar theater
, he texted.

For the next few hours, Celia worried about Addie running into the street. Addie hadn’t tried to run into the street since she was two, but today might be the day she attempted it, and Celia hadn’t expressly warned Ty of that danger in her rules.
Everything
okay
? She hit Send on her message.

Yes. Sitting down
for lunch. After this, we’ll go to the park
.

For the next few hours Celia worried that Ty wouldn’t watch Addie closely enough at the park. Parent abduction wasn’t the only kind of abduction. A stranger could snatch Addie and . . . and sell her into the slave trade overseas. It happened. Before she could text Ty, he texted her.
We’re having fun. I’m being careful.

For the last few hours, Celia worried that they’d get in a car accident. It might not even be Ty’s fault. The most responsible of citizens sometimes got creamed by drunk drivers.
Doing well?

Yes. We’re shopping
for toys.

When Addie sees a toy she likes
, Celia typed back,
I tell her she can either earn money
to pay for it by doing chores or put it
on her birthday list.

I’m letting her buy
whatever she wants.

Celia regarded the message with horror. Her fingertips punched at her phone.
You may buy her one
thing
.

Five?

One!

Three?

Two. No more.

At the end of the day, Celia took up a position outside her apartment, phone in hand, waiting. When the Escalade turned onto the road leading to River Run, her hunched and knotted shoulders eased for the first time all day. The car appeared to be whole and was bringing Addie back a full ten minutes ahead of schedule.

As soon as the car came to a stop, Celia opened the rear door for Addie, helped her down, and hugged her.

Ty climbed from the driver’s seat looking like the definition of calm. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

The knowing light in his eyes told her he’d guessed at the agonies she’d been putting herself through. He crossed to the back of the SUV, popped the trunk, and took out two boxes. The huge one held a castle-shaped doll house for princesses. The flat, medium-sized one held a tablet computer.

When Celia opened her mouth to protest, Ty winked at her. “We only got two things.”

“But—”

He strode off, carrying the boxes. “Stay where you are. I’ll set these inside.”

“Isn’t he awesome, Mom?” Addie whispered. “He’s really awesome.”

“Did you have fun?”

In reverent tones, Addie updated Celia on her day until Ty rejoined them.

“I’ve got to take off for the airport, Addie. Can I get a hug?”

Addie moved into his open arms.

Ty embraced her respectfully, not too tight, not lifting her, not too long. “See you later.”

“See you later,” Addie agreed.

He straightened and faced Celia, a devilish cast to his expression. “Hug?”

He’d put her in a pickle, and he knew it. With Addie watching, she couldn’t very well shout, “No!” and bolt indoors. She gave him a stiff side hug, the kind one would offer a relative one didn’t like. He was warm. He felt like unforgiving muscle, looked like cowboy, and smelled like pine. “No touching,” she whispered into the space near the side of his neck. “Remember?”

“Must have slipped my mind.” He released her and crossed to the car. “’Bye, ladies.”

Celia and Addie watched the Escalade drive away. Just that fast, like the snap of fingers, Celia and Addie were alone again, returned to their regular, blissfully Ty-free life.

Needing to come down off her day of stress, Celia led Addie through the apartment and into the backyard. The two of them watered flowers, Celia with the hose, Addie with her watering can and with a stream of run-on sentences in praise of the movie, the lunch, the park, the shopping, and Ty’s character. “Mom,” she concluded, “I sure do like my cowgirl boots.”

“I know you do, Punkie.”

“I’ve always wanted a pair of cowgirl boots.”

Celia translated, in the way of mothers, exactly what her daughter had really just said. It wasn’t a pair of cowgirl boots that Addie had always wanted.

It was a father.

On her way out the door the next morning, Celia scooped up her keys. An unfamiliar weight plunked against her palm. The
Give Peace a Chance
charm had magically reappeared on her key ring.

She released a disbelieving huff. Ty had only been in her apartment last night for about a minute when he’d dropped off Addie’s
gifts. She couldn’t believe he’d had time to attach a new charm or to find and reattach her old one. But clearly, he’d managed one or the other.

Shaking her head, her lips curving into a reluctant smile, she pulled out the kitchen drawer that contained her miscellaneous junk. The old charm lay inside, where she’d tossed it when she’d stripped it off her key ring. She held the new charm next to it and compared the two. Identical. A matched set of
Give Peace a Chance
key rings.

Peace times two.

“Looks like you also need eggs, more yogurt, meat . . .” Celia jotted the items down, then went back to tapping her pen on her lip and surveying Uncle Danny’s open fridge. “You’re almost out of butter and also jelly.”

“This is amazing.” Uncle Danny swallowed a bite of the zucchini bread she’d baked earlier in the day. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Bless him, he praised her cooking every chance he got, and always with heartfelt sincerity. “Thank you.”

It was Saturday, and she and Addie had stopped by Uncle Danny’s house for their weekly visit. Each time she came by, Celia took stock of his fridge and pantry, crafted a grocery list for him, brought him up to date on his bills, tidied up, and poked around the house looking for things that needed attention (like ferns dying of dehydration, stale sheets, or overflowing trash cans).

Uncle Danny had founded an online surf shop and continued to manage its big-picture issues. But he had no head for details.

“Will you let me sell this zucchini bread online to my customers?” he asked.

“I’m not sure it makes much sense to sell zucchini bread and surf wax side by side.”

“Surfers appreciate food, C.” He lifted his slice of bread into the air; it was nubby with walnuts and flecks of green. “It’s a crime not to make this available to the public.”

There had been a time, long ago, when Celia had harbored hopes of making her cooking available to the public. “I’m glad you like it.” She closed the fridge door with her foot and set the shopping list and pen on his kitchen counter. “There’s that.”

“Did I tell you that I’m going on a lunch date tomorrow with Sandy?”

“Sandy?” Sandy’s American name didn’t bode well for her chances at a happily-ever-after with Uncle Danny.

“She’s one of the women from the Party Of Eight group.”

“I thought you told me they were all too old.”

“What can I say? I’m desperate.” He shrugged and took another bite of zucchini bread. His tan and sinewy arms protruded from an In-N-Out Burger T-shirt that dated back fifteen years. “Sandy wheels around an oxygen tank and has a tube that whooshes air up her nose, but I’m thinking, hey, maybe I can be down with that.”

Celia laughed. “You might want to schedule a trim before your hot date.”

“I need a haircut?”

“Yep.” She leaned into the dining room, where Addie sat playing a game on her new computer tablet. “Doing fine, Addie?”

Addie nodded without looking up, so Celia moved back through the kitchen, collected Danny’s mail from the basket by the front door, and took it with her to the living-room sofa. She made stacks on the coffee table—junk, letters, bills. Then she went to work opening it all.

Danny stood behind her, his attention snagged by the TV program that had been playing, a travelogue touting the wonders of Prague. “What time is it?” He patted his pockets, his chest, and even his head before remembering the Ironman Timex strapped to his wrist. “Ty’s probably riding right now. One of his rodeo deals is on.”

“Not you, too, Uncle Danny. You can’t possibly like bull riding, can you?”

“Yeah.
Oh yeah
, I like it. It’s sweet.” He located the remote and flipped channels. Sure enough, the BRPC meet in Nashville
appeared on the screen. “Addie told me back when she started following it. I started following it, too, and I’ve kind of gotten into it. I’m even recording them. Man versus animal, you know? The eternal struggle. Very cool.”

Celia couldn’t chastise Uncle Danny when she herself had grown into a furtive fan. After weeks of watching it, she’d come to know every rider and bull. She followed the Bull Riders Professional Circuit on Twitter and Facebook. And sometimes during work breaks, she scanned bull-riding-related blogs and read articles online. Her unwilling interest in the sport filled her with about the same level of guilt as did, say, bingeing on homemade desserts.

Celia craned her neck around. She could see Addie across the space, still at the dining table. “I don’t let Addie watch the rodeos live,” she said, pitching her voice low, “but so long as she’s entertained over there, we should be fine to watch it for a minute while we’re . . . um, working on bills.”