Mae Nunn - Mom In The Middle

Certain he was teasing, Abby searched Guy’s face for humor but saw only appreciation in his azure eyes.

“And I have to agree with what my daddy said. You’re a very kind man, Guy Hardy.”

“Your daddy actually said that?” Praise from her parents was more precious than diamonds and harder to come by.

“Yes.”

“About me?”

“Yes, about you.” She couldn’t help smiling at his disbelief.

“I admit hearing your daddy feels that way means a lot, but I didn’t compliment you out of kindness. Abby—”

Her face warmed with embarrassment. She waved away his words but he caught her hand, determined to finish what he’d started.

“Abby, while there’s no doubt you’re a beautiful woman, it’s your gift of spirit that makes you so attractive. You may be the most selfless and giving young lady I know.”

grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, she hung up her Texas spurs to become a Georgia Southern belle. Mae has been with a major air express company for over 28 years, currently serving as a director of key accounts. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill Books family, Mae summed up her response with one word, “Yeeeeeha!”

Mae Nunn

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I found the one my heart loves.

—Song of Solomon 3:4

This book is for Ron, my big brother, who chased me through the house, caught me and dragged me into the bathroom, put my foot in the toilet and flushed it. Many times! But he also took me to the drive-in with him and his girlfriends, made six-foot papier-mâché creatures for our homecoming parades, let me use his Corvette my senior year in high school and never ratted me out to our parents, even when he probably should have. I love you, Ron. Will you read my books now?

Mom in the Middle is also for Gail and Pam, my older sisters, who shared a bedroom and all of their dreams with me. For the times I was a brat, I apologize. For the times I wasn’t there for you, forgive me. For the times I borrowed your things and brought them back ruined, that was all your fault. You knew better than to loan me anything of value! I love you both more than you can possibly know.

My thanks to Brittany, a stunning Georgia cowgirl who answered all my questions about rodeo and barrel racing.

Let your beautiful light shine, honey!

Thanks also to Patrick, my friend and tour guide who reconnected me with the fabulous city of Austin and with Lake Travis. Hook ’em Horns!

Thanks to Kristy, Jennifer, Kristin and Candi, my priceless circle of friends who prayed me through a cloud of confusion and held my hand till I emerged on the other side. You ladies are my gift straight from God.

Thanks to my fabulous critique partner Dianna, who told me what was wrong and how to fix it.

Thanks always to my precious Maegan, who is my constant source of joy, encouragement and motivation.

Most importantly, thank you, Michael, for your boundless love and bottomless forgiveness. Without you to take care of me I’d never make it through the days. You are my rock, my anchor and you make it all worth while. I adore you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

“Mama!” Abby Cramer screamed.

Her mother had suddenly collapsed, one leg folded awkwardly beneath her thin body. Abby kept a hand on the shopping cart that held her toddler and dropped to her knees on the concrete floor of the new home-improvement center.

“What happened?” The young cashier bolted around her checkout counter and knelt beside Abby.

Her mother clenched her teeth against the obvious pain. “My foot slipped out from under me.” She twisted at the waist in an effort to get up, then fell back with a gasp. The character lines in her pale face deepened with the grimace.

Abby knew her very private parent would die of pain before she’d suffer the embarrassment of tears in public.

“Don’t worry about your little boy. I’m right here beside him.” A woman’s voice penetrated Abby’s concern. She nodded thanks, let go of the cart and turned full attention to her mother, who once again strained to sit up.

“Please lay still. You might have broken something.” Abby began the assessment she’d learned during first-aid training. The skills had served her well in her three years as an elementary school-teacher. Her mother’s hands fluttered like the wings of an angry bird, shooing away Abby’s efforts to feel for injuries.

“Oh, I’ve just aggravated my old sciatic back. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.” She held her breath through a determined effort to ease her twisted leg from its abnormal position. Finally giving up, she rested her head on the floor.

The store employee untied her apron, rolled the cloth into a pillow and maneuvered it beneath short-clipped, salt-and-pepper hair.

“Don’t move. I’ll get Guy,” the cashier insisted as her sneakers squeaked a fast departure toward the back of the new store.

Concerned onlookers stopped to offer assistance. Abby reached for her mother’s hand, only to be brushed away.

Being the late-in-life only child of Sarah Reagan was both a blessing and a curse. Responsibility and kindness were civic requirements of the woman who was more like a finishing school headmistress than a doting parent. While Abby’s mother expected her daughter to help others, Sarah generally refused aid at all cost.

Abby’s gaze darted from the scene on the slick concrete floor to her precious toddler son who perched in the shopping cart above her. Dillon’s chubby legs dangled as he leaned forward and frowned over the excitement below. She smiled to reassure him, mouthed a silent Thank you to the thoughtful female who hovered nearby.

“Where’s my purse, Abigail?”

“It’s still on the counter.”

“Well, hand it to me before somebody steals my wallet.”

Abby reached for the pastel spring bag and offered the other shoppers an apologetic shrug before placing the straw purse within her mother’s reach.

“I don’t want to worry your father about this so let’s not mention it when we get to the house.”

“Mama, we’re going to have to go to the hospital to make sure you don’t have a serious injury.”

“Nonsense,” Sarah insisted. But the word was hardly out when she yelped involuntarily, arching her back from the stab of pain.

“I have to agree with your daughter.” A man squatted beside Abby, his orange apron announcing the grand opening of yet another new Hearth and Home Super Center. “We’ve put in a call to a private ambulance service. They’ll be here any minute to take you to Brackenridge.”