Her Minnesota Man (A Christian Romance Novel) (34 page)

If she reached up and grabbed him by the ears, his willpower was going to sizzle and evaporate just like the drops of water Willie threw on his griddle to test its readiness for pancakes.

Her flirty, confident smile wavered. She was about to ask what was wrong, and all Jeb could do was stand there stupid, paralyzed by panic.

She opened her mouth, but then closed it and gave her head an almost imperceptible shake. Sensing her mental shrug, Jeb guessed she had concluded he was too shy to kiss her in broad daylight on the sidewalk in front of Willie's.

Too shy! He might have laughed out loud if he hadn't been so relieved. As she pulled her handbag in front of her body and rummaged for her car keys, Jeb chewed the inside of his cheek and wondered if he could avoid being alone with her for a few days. Just until he figured out how to deal with all this excruciating temptation.

Producing her keys with a jingling flourish, she looked up and smiled again. "I'm still amazed that you got up so early just to have Willie's French toast."

"I didn't." Jeb croaked the words out of a mouth gone dry from watching her put on that lipstick. "I got up early to have Willie's French toast with
you
."

"Your voice sounds funny." She gave him another of those puzzled looks. "But I guess you're not used to talking this early in the day, are you? I'm sorry for being such a chatterbox in there."

"I like hearing you chatter." He waited for her to step aside, and then he opened Francine's door.

She tossed her coat and bag onto the passenger seat and was about to slide behind the wheel when two sharp blasts from a car horn drew her attention to the street.

As she straightened and waved and called a cheery greeting to the veterinarian, who was passing in his pickup truck, Jeb felt the familiar resentment twist his gut. But when she nudged his arm, wordlessly encouraging him to lift his own hand and wave, he actually did it.

Because she was right; it was past time to let go of the old grudge. Staring at the truck's brake lights as the veterinarian—okay,
Luke
—slowed for a turn, Jeb recalled what Jerry
DeSantis
, the head pastor of Laney's church, had said in yesterday's sermon:
The best way to demonstrate your gratitude for God's forgiveness is to forgive others.

"Ugh!"

Startled by the feminine exclamation of disgust, Jeb jerked his gaze back to Laney and found her scowling at her reflection in a dark-tinted window of the Explorer, which he'd parked next to Francine.

Finger-combing the sun-drenched curls surrounding her face, she muttered, "This hair is out of control."

She said that like it was a
bad
thing. If she only knew how ardently Jeb longed to push his own fingers into that delightful
riot of
curls.

"You look good," he said carefully. In fact, she looked
too
good. He needed her to be on her way before he forgot his noble intentions and kissed her breathless.

She expected to be home by five o'clock, and she'd asked Jeb to bring her back to Willie's for cheeseburgers tonight. That meant he had just seven hours to figure out how to make it through the entire evening without kissing her.

If only he could catch a cold. If he started coughing and sneezing all over the place, she wouldn't be so eager to swap germs with him.

She gave up trying to fix whatever she thought was wrong with her hair and turned to look at him. "Don't worry if you notice some activity at the tearoom. The real estate guy will be showing the building today." She nibbled nervously on her thumbnail.

"Are you okay with that?" Jeb asked.

She pulled her thumb away from her mouth and nodded determinedly. "It's time, Jeb. I have to let go."

He was so proud of her. He probably could have bought her tearoom with the wad of emergency cash he kept in his sock drawer in L.A., but she didn't want him bailing her out. She had courage, his Laney.

Making a loose fist, he brushed his knuckles against her velvety cheek. "You're going to be just fine, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened at the endearment. No, he'd never used it before, but after yesterday's kisses, why should it surprise her? He hadn't given her an
I love you
, not yet, and he wouldn't be in a position to offer marriage until he'd settled some questions about his career and had a better idea where he was headed in life. But hadn't she guessed how he felt about her?

"Jeb, I'm going to put the puzzle away." She spoke quickly, as though determined to get the words out before she changed her mind.

He didn't hide his surprise. "You don't want to hang it on the wall with the others?"

"No. I'm not even sure why I've kept it on the table all this time."

"You were angry," he said, understanding at last. "Mad at God for taking your mom."

It had been a long roller-coaster ride of hope and despair: Cancer and remission. More cancer. Another remission. And then Hannah had gotten sick for the third and final time.

"You're right." Distress puckered Laney's forehead and her beautiful blue eyes glistened with tears. "Leaving that puzzle on the table was a way of
 
.
 
.
 
. reproaching God." Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "Oh, Jeb, that's so wicked! How could I have—"

He stopped her words by gently pressing the pad of his thumb against her lips. "We can't do this now, princess. Save it for tonight."

"Yes." She nodded, getting control. "All right."

He simply had to lean down and kiss her. But remembering just in time that her mouth was off limits, he altered course and touched his lips to her cheek, instead.

Her mood changed in an instant. "Not much of a goodbye," she pouted prettily.

"Sorry." Jeb glanced at his watch. "But I'm due at the gym."

"Pastor Jerry!" she cried. "I forgot all about your meeting, and now I've made you late."

"Not yet, you haven't." Sliding a hand under her elbow, he urged her into the car. "Drive carefully."

"I will. And you go easy on Pastor Jerry, okay? He's a lot older than you, and—"

"I won't hurt Pastor Jerry, princess. Now hit the road." He waited for her to settle into her seat, and then he shut the door.

She blew him a flirty kiss and backed out of her parking space. And then she drove away, leaving him staring after her with a sappy grin on his face and a heart overflowing with joy and wonder and gratitude.

"Are you all right?" Standing in the center of the basketball court, Jeb tucked the ball under his arm and eyed his panting, beet-faced opponent with concern.

"You bet!" Pastor Jerry
DeSantis
wheezed cheerfully.

The guy had some skills, but he'd have to look over his shoulder if he wanted to see forty-five again. And although years of smoking hadn't done Jeb's endurance any good, basketball was still his game.

Even so, the head pastor of Laney's church had thrown his whole heart into their play, and Jeb admired that.

After yesterday's worship service, Jeb had spent thirty minutes closeted with the affable man whose face drooped like a bulldog's. They were just beginning to discuss some heavy issues when Jeb noticed the time and remembered his and Laney's promise to meet the Graces for brunch.

"I hear you know what to do with a basketball," Pastor Jerry had said as they shook hands in parting. "Care to show me tomorrow morning? We could play some one-on-one and then talk further."

Jeb had eagerly agreed.

So they'd met, and they'd played, and just now the guy had groaned and slumped forward, hands braced on his knees as he fought to catch his breath.

Jeb eyed him uneasily. "How about a break?"

"I'm fine, the pastor gasped. "I just wish you weren't so tall. And so fast. And so disgustingly young."

Jeb couldn't hold back a grin. "Let's go sit down," he suggested. "I can't kill Laney's pastor. She'd never forgive me."

Pastor Jerry nodded toward the bench on the sidelines where they'd left their gym bags. "Go have a seat. It shouldn't take me more than ten minutes to crawl over there and join you."

Jeb laughed and took the long way, dribbling several figure eights before lighting on the bench.

"Showoff." Pastor Jerry plopped down beside him with a grunt and then tugged up the hem of his T-shirt to wipe perspiration from his forehead.

"You've got some moves," Jeb offered.

"Twenty years ago, maybe." Pastor Jerry leaned over and rummaged in his gym bag. Producing a plastic water bottle, he sat up and popped the cap. "Now that I've proved I'm just an ordinary middle-aged guy who's losing his hair and gaining a paunch, let's move on to the counseling."

"Not until you stop looking like somebody about to have a heart attack," Jeb said, only half joking. "Drink your water."

While Pastor Jerry tipped his bottle and noisily rehydrated, Jeb tapped his fingers against the basketball he held on his knees and gazed up at the gym's steel roof joists and prayed for the poor old guy's health.

"Want to talk now?" Pastor Jerry asked after a minute.

"If you don't mind," Jeb said.

Pastor Jerry nodded. "Yesterday you indicated that you're confused about a number of things. Maybe you'd like to start with whatever's weighing heaviest on your mind right now."

"My music," Jeb said without hesitation.

Except for Laney, he had never had a confidant. But even though he'd known Jerry
DeSantis
for a mere twenty-four hours, he felt that he could tell the guy anything. The pastor had heard some very blunt talk yesterday morning—in a church, no less—but he hadn't even flinched at references to things like illegal drug use and sex with women whose names Jeb had never bothered to ask.

"Go on," Pastor Jerry urged.

Still holding the ball, Jeb slumped forward and propped his elbows on his spread knees. "I don't know how I'm going to spend the rest of my life without music."

"I'm not following." Pastor Jerry recapped the water bottle and tossed it back into his gym bag. "Yesterday you said you intended to call it quits with your band, but I didn't get the impression that you meant to give up music entirely."

"I thought I could let go of the band but keep making music," Jeb confessed. Staring at the basketball as he turned it around and around between his palms, he did his best to explain. "I thought, what about a different band? A band that wasn't so
 
.
 
.
 
." He twitched a shoulder, annoyed that he wasn't expressing himself better. "But last night I realized I've been thinking like an alcoholic who insists he can manage his drinking problem when everyone else knows he can't." He shook his head. "I can't manage this."

He was as close to tears as a guy like him ever got, but he made himself continue. "So I guess I'm afraid. What if I give up music and find there's nothing left of
me
?" He thrust the ball away from him, watched it bounce several times and then roll to the other side of the court.

"Why are you assuming God wants you to give up music?" Pastor Jerry asked. "What if he just wants you to make music that glorifies him?"

"Christian music?" Jeb pushed unsteady fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. "I thought about it. Briefly. But it could never work."

"Why not?"

Making no effort to conceal his irritation, Jeb turned to stare at his companion. "Come on, Jerry. You know what I am. Where I've been. A guy like me doesn't have any right to—"

"What you
are
is a Christian," Pastor Jerry said firmly. "As to where you've been—that's all forgiven now."

"I tried writing a few songs," Jeb admitted. "But it's clear I'm no preacher."

"You don't have to be. Just be honest."

Jeb sighed. "If only it could be that simple."

"It
is
that simple. Jackson, your talent is a gift from God. Don't close your mind to the possibility that he might be calling you to use it for his own purposes."

"But I'm not worthy. I've done awful things."

"We're all of us sinners, Jackson."

"Yeah, but my case is different." Staring at the wall on the far side of the basketball court, Jeb struggled to articulate his biggest worry. "I know God has forgiven me. But I've done a lot of bad things that can never be made right, and I'm still profiting financially from that old life."

"Are you talking about royalties from your records?"

At last, the guy was catching on. "I have three albums out," Jeb said. "I'm ashamed of them now, but they're insanely popular, and I can't stop them from being sold. So I'll just keep getting richer, and that's not right."

"I see." Rubbing his jaw, Pastor Jerry appeared to give that some thought. "If it were me," he said slowly, "and if I couldn't stop those records from being sold, I might think about giving my royalties to worthy causes."