Mae Nunn - Texas Miracle

“Joiner didn’t, either—I don’t think anyone did. I mean, it’s not like I was starving or anything. But food was pretty scarce.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult.”

“Yeah, it was. Those days are over now, though.” Jacqueline grinned as she patted her tummy and took another bite of her food.

“Can I ask you about your work with KARIS? Tell me more about it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you develop a passion for it? You said your focus was education for girls—how did that develop?”

Tiny butterflies erupted in her stomach at Mac’s serious expression. He seemed genuinely interested.

“Well, first, education has been so empowering to me personally. It was one stabilizing force in my life growing up, and then college broadened my horizons and opened up so many opportunities for me.” Jacqueline swallowed a sip of water. “One of those was travel abroad, and when I saw how girls in many places in the Middle East were denied this basic right, it broke my heart. I came to believe that helping girls get access to education was a real thing I could do to help the world.”

“That sounds so noble.”

Jacqueline frowned. “Not really.”

“Yes, really.”

“Mac, you have to think outside of Kilgore. At some point, I realized I could be any of those girls. The only difference between us is the geography of our births—nothing they or I chose. How could I not want to help them?”

“It’s still remarkable that you do.”

“I don’t think of it that way. I just think of it as human.”

Mac raised his glass of ice water. “Here’s to you, and Indian food, and being human.”

Jacqueline clinked her glass against his, but didn’t feel completely comfortable. Was he making fun of her? She didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

“What do you care about, Mac? Besides taxes.” She hoped there wasn’t an edge to her voice.

“I care about my brothers.” He paused after that, a little too long for her liking. “I care about hard work, and home, and my church.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve been trying for some time to restore honor to my family name, but I’ve not been very successful on that project.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must be the only person in Kilgore who doesn’t know the story of my pap, Mason Dixon Temple. He was a wildcatter who went to prison for stealing oil. After he got out, we never saw him again. He died somewhere out west, but his grave has never been found, so there’s never been any closure to his complicated life.”

“You’ve tried to find his grave?”

“Yes—I’ve even paid a private investigator—but so far we’ve not been able to come up with anything. Joiner says he’ll go out west with me so we can look for ourselves. But I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like that’s the last resort—what would I do if we went out there and didn’t find it? It seems impossible to think about having closure without certainty. I guess that’s because certainty might clear our name.” Mac sighed. “It’s just a mess.”

Jacqueline understood what it felt like to be an outsider because of one’s family. She never thought of Joiner and Mac that way growing up, but clearly, everyone had their own set of troubles. “I’m sorry, Mac.”

He drank the last swallow of his water. “It’s no big deal. I’m embarrassed, to be honest, after talking to you about all of this. My concerns must seem pretty small-minded to someone with your kind of vision for the world.”

The server returned to fill their waters and Mac asked for the check. When he paid, she noticed he gave the server a hefty tip.

Jacqueline’s heart softened toward Mac. They were as different as night and day, but he was a good person. And his simplicity was somehow refreshing to her. Steadying. “Not at all,” she told him. “It takes all kinds.”

He drove them back to the office. Dark had fallen early on the January night, and the streetlamps glowed with warm light. As they pulled into the parking lot beside her brother’s Prius, Mac said, “I’d like to follow you home, if that’s okay, just to see you in.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’m a big girl.”

“Still, I’d feel better. Humor me?”

Eyes the color of dark amber smoldered at her with what seemed like more than just concern. This guy could be pretty intense, it seemed, and she liked it. She raised her eyebrows. “You’re the boss.”

CHAPTER FIVE

MAC FOLLOWED JACQUELINE across town. She turned down what Kilgore locals called “Church Row,” a street that was home to the Episcopalian, Methodist, Presbyterian and First Baptist churches. Jacqueline pulled into the driveway of a tiny old stone house across from the Methodist church. The house was shrouded by a craggy oak tree in need of trimming. The porch light flickered a soft white, revealing a grapevine wreath on the door and green welcome mat. Mac pulled his truck in behind her.

Jacqueline got out of her car, but instead of going to the door of her house she walked toward his truck. He rolled down the window. “Since you’re here, you want to come in for a cup of decaf?”

“I don’t drink decaf.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. He felt unnerved, as though he’d insulted her somehow.

“But I would like to come in.” He slid out of his seat, worrying a bit about the appropriateness of what he was doing, but he quickly dismissed those thoughts. There was nothing wrong with being friendly.

She used her key to go in a side door, and they took their coats off and hung them on hooks. A small lamp illuminated the table by the doorway where she laid her keys. She flipped a switch to turn on another light and Mac followed her into a tiny kitchen. White cabinets framed a white stove, from which she grabbed a red teapot. She filled it with water and returned it to the stove, clicking the gas burner till it ignited. She motioned for him to sit down at a round ice-cream shop table with an oak top in the corner of the room. Then she brought two mugs and an assortment of teas to the table and sat down in the chair opposite him.

“Which one of these is best?” he asked, turning the teas and reading labels.

“I like the chai or the ginger peach. But the peppermint is also nice.”

Mac unwrapped a peppermint tea bag from its package and hung it over the side of his mug. When the kettle whistled, Jacqueline brought it and filled his first, then poured her own mug full of chai. She giggled.

He frowned. “What? What is it?”

“You don’t look very cozy in that chair.”

He smiled. His six-foot-four frame made the set seem like doll furniture.

She rose. “Come on. Let’s go in here where it’s more comfortable.”

Jacqueline led Mac out of the kitchen and down a short, narrow hall into the living room. She sat down on a horribly patterned sofa and he took the mismatched chair adjacent to it, putting his feet up on the pea green–colored ottoman. “That’s something nice,” he commented, settling in. The chair was surprisingly comfortable.

She laughed and the sound was like music. “Nothing but the best Kilgore Goodwill store had to offer.”

“I like it. The whole room is—creative.” Mac looked around, taking in the macrame design on the wall, orange shag rug and the beat-up coffee table where a wooden bowl full of pecans with a silver nutcracker sat. He tried to suppress thoughts of who the previous owners of this collection could have been, and what hygienic habits they might have been lacking. Breathe. He took a sip of his tea.

Jacqueline eased off her heels and put her feet on the table, wriggling her toes inside her gray stockings. “It was kind of you to follow me home.” Her eyes sparkled with warmth as she peered at him over her tea mug.