“I’ve mentioned it to a discreet, older lady from church. But you know I don’t like people knowing my business.”
Geri made a scoffing sound. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd? I mean, you are one of the most open, gregarious men I know. Yet you’re still keeping all of this to yourself.”
“I don’t imagine hearing about it would brighten anyone’s day.” It hadn’t brightened Janet’s by any means, but her grandson’s challenges with cystic fibrosis had built a strong bond between them.
“Maybe not, but you’re not allowing anyone outside the family to serve as a support system. Don’t you dare tell me doing that is ‘a guy thing.’”
Why couldn’t the females in his family leave him in peace? He shook his head and leaned over to turn on the nightstand lamp even though sufficient sunlight peeped in around the edge of the curtains to make it an unnecessary effort. “I don’t need a support system. I’m doing fine. God is good. Life is good. And I’m better than good.”
Considering what he’d been through, that was the truth. He was happy...for the most part. Enjoying life. No, maybe it wasn’t all he’d once dreamed of, but did anyone ever have it all? Doubtful.
“You still aren’t seeing anyone, are you?” Not surprisingly, her tone rang with accusation. “No one special, I mean.”
Special. That meant letting a woman get close enough that you cared when she walked out. “In God’s time, Geri. I’m in no hurry to run ahead of Him.”
He hadn’t even been much tempted to. No woman had caught more than his slightest interest in a long time. Unbidden, the image of Abby Diaz reading the Sunday school lesson to the kindergarteners slid into his sleep-fogged mind. He could picture how the kids sat rapt, listening to the animation in her somewhat husky voice—a voice that could get under a man’s skin real quick if he let it.
He ran a hand through his hair, dismissing the memory.
“Maybe you’ve barred the door to God’s plan,” his sister persisted. “Have you ever considered that?”
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the hardwood floor cool under his bare feet. He needed to replace the rug his overgrown pup, Elmo, had chewed up last week. “So now you’re evaluating my spiritual life?”
“Of course not. But a man who is looking for a wife—”
Where’d she get that idea?
“—doesn’t move to a town with a population of less than three thousand souls and hide out with his horse.”
He cracked a smile. “I lived in Phoenix for five years before coming here. Fifth largest city in the country, with probably half the population female.”
“And the whole time you were there you were hanging on to the hope Melynda would come back, so you didn’t date even then.”
“I was doing what I believed God wanted me to do.” Working full-time to pay off the medical bills and taking classes on the side didn’t cater to an active love life.
“If you hadn’t been funneling money to Melynda through her folks,” she chided, “maybe you could have paid the bills off sooner. Her folks blindsiding you with the news that she’d gotten pregnant and remarried proves she didn’t deserve your help.”
Brett held back the growl forming in his throat. Geri would have to remind him of Melynda carrying another man’s child. But helping his ex-wife financially was something else he’d felt led to do even though it hadn’t been a requirement of the divorce settlement. Up until two years ago when she’d remarried, he’d never thought of her as an ex. After all, he’d signed on for the long haul even if she hadn’t. He’d hung on to the belief that if she saw him living a convincing life of faith, walking in Jesus’s footsteps, she’d eventually give her life to God, too, and find her way back to her husband.
That had been his prayer anyway.
Hearing a robin’s insistent chirp, he moved to a window of the one-room cabin and pulled back the curtain to a day well on its way. His day off and he was already burning daylight.
“Face it, Geri. I could move to a planet populated entirely by women and not meet Ms. Right if it’s not in God’s timing.”
“You have to at least give Him something to work with. Canyon Springs is beyond remote.”
He let the curtain drop and headed to the kitchenette to get coffee started. “You’ve forgotten that Mom and Dad’s pastor met his better half on the mission field in Peru. God picked up another missionary and plopped her right down in the middle of that remote mountain village. When the time is right, it happens.”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not saying God can’t do anything He wants to. I’m just saying—”
“That you love me and you want me to be happy.” He picked up a ceramic coffee mug from the stack of dishes in the sink, rinsed it and set it on the counter.
Her voice softened. “You’re such a wonderful guy, Brett.”
“I know. I try not to let it go to my head.”
She snorted. “I’m serious. You deserve to have a woman who loves you. You’re so good with kids, too.”
“I’m an uncle times fifteen, does that count?” With six siblings, the youngsters had added up fast, now aged four through nineteen years.
“It counts, but...you were such a great dad.”
Silence hung momentarily between them as they reflected on unspoken memories of son and nephew.
“Thanks, Geri.” He’d like to think his child had a father he could count on, that Jeremy had known he was loved beyond measure. Yeah, he’d see his boy again when he himself departed this world, but he’d long harbored a dream that he might one day hold another of his children in his arms in the here and now. His sisters meant well but, unfortunately, tended to forget one critical factor.
He again picked up the coffee mug, scrutinized it, then rinsed it out a second time. “It’s awkward to bring up in casual conversation with a woman you’ve just met that you’re a carrier of the defective cystic fibrosis gene. Even harder to suggest it might be a good idea that she get tested before a relationship progresses too far.”
He’d tried that once with a classmate he’d become friends with after Melynda remarried—it hadn’t gone over well. But the truth of the matter was that if both partners were one of an estimated ten million who were carriers of the flawed gene—as had been he and Melynda—each time you got pregnant you had a 25 percent chance of having a child with CF.
He couldn’t lose another child like that again.
“I’m aware it’s a challenging situation,” Geri resumed with a gentler tone. “But I’m praying and so is the whole family, that you’ll find your Ms. Right. Soon. Sometimes when I pray, I feel such an expectation that it won’t be long.”
A smile twitched. “Even if I’m hiding in Canyon Springs?”
“It’s
