Glynna Kaye - Pine Country Cowboy

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 a long shot,” she teased back. “But like you said, God can do whatever He wants. Just promise me, Brett, that when your Ms. Right shows up you won’t sneak out the back door and hit the road running.”

Most of the women he’d met here in town were married, engaged or obviously not a good match for any number of reasons. Like Britney Bennett. Or they were tourists briefly visiting mountain country to escape the heat in other regions of the state or visiting family. Like Abby Diaz.

He’d heard at Camilla’s Café last night that Meg hadn’t come home from the hospital yesterday after all. Which meant Abby might still be in town today...

He leaned back against the counter, the scent of coffee in the making luring him closer to a waking state. His big sis wanted him to promise not to sneak out the back door and hit the road running, huh? “We’ll see.”

“Brett! You have to cooperate. You know God doesn’t strong-arm us into His will.”

Would not canceling his commitment to paint Joe Diaz’s garage today be considered cooperating? He didn’t have any designs on his friend’s sister, but Abby would only be here for another day or two at most. He still felt bad about ducking out on lunch yesterday. It wouldn’t hurt to check in on her.

“We’ll see,” he said again, tamping down an unexpected flicker of anticipation. “We’ll see.”

* * *

“Davy! Breakfast is ready!”

Abby poured a glass of milk for her nephew and set it on the kitchen table. Then she popped a striped straw into Davy’s glass and stepped back to view her handiwork. What would he think of the colorful table setting she’d thrown together? She’d woven a place mat from wide strips of yellow and lime-green construction paper and cut out the toast with a round cookie cutter to make a smiley face. A blueberry-eyed peeled banana now stood on toothpick legs.

Davy had been disappointed when Joe came home late yesterday afternoon only long enough to shower and head back for a shift of work. His mother hadn’t come home at all—the doctors wanted to keep her another night for observation. But maybe the whimsical breakfast table would start his day on a positive note and after school his mom would be home.

She could hear him bumping around upstairs, but she hadn’t let the dog in last night so that shouldn’t be the cause of his delay this morning. Is this how Meg always started her day? Trying to get out the door to work while rounding up a foot-dragging Davy? Nevertheless, Abby couldn’t help a twinge of envy. Meg was mother to an adorable stepson and soon to give birth to a baby girl. Would Jori have Joe’s smile? Meg’s eyes?

“Here I come!” Davy hollered, footsteps pounding as he clambered down the stairs. He dashed into the kitchen, then came to a halt in front of the table, eyes wide. “Is it your birthday or something, Aunt Abby?”

She laughed. “No. I thought you might enjoy an extra happy breakfast.”

“My toast has a jelly smile,” he pointed out as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Can I eat it?”

“Yes, you can eat it. I’ll dish up your oatmeal when you’re done with that.”

“Awesome. Is Brett coming to breakfast, too?”

She certainly wouldn’t invite Brett to breakfast, especially not after he’d turned down the invitation to lunch yesterday. She couldn’t decide if she was more disgruntled with him for not helping her out when she’d practically pleaded or with herself for looking to a stranger to ease tensions between her and Dad.

“What makes you think he’d be coming to breakfast?”

Davy leaned over to grasp the strings attached to the drapery rod and drew back the curtains of the French doors overlooking the patio. He pointed to the detached two-car garage at the rear of the spacious treed lot. “I saw him from my window upstairs.”

Sure enough, there was Brett, a cowboy hat topping his head as he hauled a ladder from the back of a gray pickup. What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be on his way to work?

“Maybe he’s hungry.” Davy took a bite of his toast. “Brett’s always hungry at the church potlucks.”

Abby looked down at the festive table, where she’d been about to join Davy. Toast. A banana. Soon-to-be oatmeal. Hardly enough to sustain a man the size of Brett.

She moved closer to the glassed door. “Where’s he going with that ladder?”

“Dunno.”

She watched a moment longer, then returned to the stove to stir the oatmeal. “Go ahead and eat. He won’t be expecting breakfast, and you need to finish getting ready for school.”

Davy took another bite of toast, then again leaned back in his chair for a better view of what was going on outside. “Oh, man, he brought Elmo.”