Page 48 of Long Road Home

“Don’t lie, child. We may not be in the walls of a sacred church, but God still hears.”

I had never actually thought God had ever heard anything I’d prayed, begged, or pleaded for, but you didn’t correct Mrs. Whitman in the matters of God and church.

“I know who his father is,” I said quietly. “And so does Toby. You’re just the first to point it out so abruptly.”

“Too old to beat around the bush. This the reason for Rebecca’s party tomorrow night? I’m here buying more cherries for my pie.”

Party? Jordan warned me Rebecca could go overboard but inviting the Whitmans?

“Uh. Maybe?”

She laughed a twinkly, soft laugh and held out her hand to Toby. “I’m Mrs. Whitman, young man. Lived on the farm next door to the land your daddy grew up on. You’re a spittin’ image of him as a young boy, getting into all sorts of trouble. I’ve got a thousand memories about the shenanigans he used to pull. And I’m pleased, so very pleased to meet you.”

I pressed my hand to his shoulder, silently reminding him of his manners.

He looked at me, then at Mrs. Whitman, then her hand. He slid his hand into her waiting one, and my heart almost burst in a thousand fragile pieces as he asked, “Will you tell them to me?”

Her other hand came out and covered his, almost hugging his hand like I so desperately wanted to hug him. Not in the store, though. I’d wait until later.

“I’ll tell you all the ones my senile mind can remember. I promise. Tomorrow?”

She glanced at me for confirmation.

I sniffed away tears and nodded. “Tomorrow. Thank you.”

She stepped back, dropping Toby’s hand as she moved to her cart. “Have a blessed day you two. And I expect to see you sitting in church sometime.”

We waited until she’d moved down another section and Toby turned to me, eyes bright and wet while wearing a frown. “Do we have to do that?”

“No.” I laughed and pulled him to me briefly, forcefully, but quick enough he couldn’t get embarrassed.

“Is everyone coming because they know about me?”

Yeah, probably. I didn’t know if he could handle that. I mentally scratched a call to Jordan onto my list of things to do to double-check.

But then another thought popped into my head. One that was terrifying despite the thrill of excitement it slid down my back. One that could be better than a phone call.

“I’ll check,” I said. “Come on. Let’s finish this up, I have an idea for something else we can do.”

Sixteen

Jordan

Runninga business was no fucking joke. When I first started the Carlton Resort and Spa I assumed at some point, I’d be able to spend most of the time on the course, or talking up members at the restaurant. Instead, I spent most of the days dealing with vendors falling through on previously made deals and a management staff with little spine to force it through. Don’t get me wrong, my employees, all of them were fantastic people. Good-hearted, strong working Midwest American grit and bone. That didn’t mean they had guts when it came to standing up to someone deciding to jack our costs fifteen percent only a few months after signing on the dotted line.

Which also meant since this wasn’t Pam’s first time refusing to do this part of her job, I would soon be looking for a new Food and Beverage Manager.

Just what I needed after the week I’d had, trying to figure out what in the hell to do with Destiny and Toby. She was as beautiful as ever and every time I saw her a burn ignited in my chest, slowly spreading south of my belt.

Time to forgive her, to push through the carousel of luggage we had between us, wasn’t on my side.

She was still planning on leaving at the end of the summer which meant I had weeks to try to convince my skittish ex that taking a chance on me would be the best decision she ever made.

And then there was Toby. Every time I saw him or talked to him, it killed me to hang up the phone. How in the hell did I worm my way into the life of a ten-year-old kid who called me Jordan instead of Dad?

Parenting was so far outside my wheelhouse it wasn’t funny. Plus the fact he didn’t know I existed for the first decade of his life made it worse.

What I wouldn’t give to be outside, club in my hand and sweat trickling down my back where the irritation of a sand trap or misaligned putt were my biggest frustrations.

---