For Her Son's Love Page 7

  “I can have something delivered.”

  “To the park?” Daniel’s eyes widened.

  “Why not?” Andrew smiled at her over Daniel’s head but Miranda didn’t smile back.

  Of course he could. He was Andrew Noble. He could probably make a phone call and fly in a chef from Paris. Burgers in Winchester Park were the equivalent of the snap of his fingers.

  And what would he expect in return for his benevolence? Did he assume someone like her would be thrilled to have his attention? However short-lived?

  “It’s just lunch, Miranda.”

  She’d thought she’d become adept at hiding her emotions. Hal had taken a twisted pleasure in his ability to play with them, so she’d learned to keep her feelings to herself. Andrew’s quiet words told her she hadn’t mastered that harsh lesson as well as she’d thought she had.

  Andrew took her silence as a yes.

  Miranda might consider herself to be aloof but she didn’t have a clue her eyes reflected every thought and feeling.

  She didn’t trust him.

  Not that he blamed her. He’d spent years letting everyone believe he was the kind of man a woman like Miranda couldn’t trust. Especially if she’d been hurt before.

  There’d been a time in his life he’d naively believed his family background wouldn’t matter. That having the last name Noble wouldn’t be a liability to the man God called him to be.

  People hadn’t paid much attention to him as a teenager. In private school, he’d flown under the media’s radar. That had changed when he’d turned eighteen and received his full inheritance. All it had taken was one photographer from a popular magazine to snap a photo of him on the deck of a friend’s sailboat and declare that “Andrew Noble’s trust fund is free…and so is he.”

  He’d ignored it and gone on with his life. The next week, the same photographer had been waiting outside the little church he’d worshipped at every Sunday. The photo that had appeared in the newspaper had been strategically placed next to one of a popular club, filled with a drunken bunch of his former classmates. He hadn’t been there but it hadn’t seemed to matter.

  Andrew Noble Goes to Church on Sunday to Make up for Wild Party on Saturday.

  That was when he’d realized the dream he’d been praying about and fine tuning would be jeopardized simply because of his last name. Anything he was involved in would become fodder for the gossip columns.

  Even his faith.

  As a child, his abduction by a family employee had been a defining moment. He’d been too young to put into words what had happened during those four days of terror, but he knew his prayers had brought the God of the Universe into that basement prison to comfort him.

  By the time he’d inherited his trust fund, he knew God was calling him to do something a little risky. Something that would give innocent kids hope—the same hope he’d been given.

  If it meant he had to let people think he lived a life of no purpose to protect that calling, it was worth it. The kids were worth it. He didn’t have to prove himself to anyone, but he did have to be faithful to what God called him to do.

  He’d felt the cost of that decision over the years but he’d never been as burdened by it as he was now. The expression of mistrust on Miranda’s face said it all. She’d let her guard down and had fun. And now she regretted it. He could see the conflict in her eyes. She wondered if he expected something in return for something as simple as pizza.

  He blew out a silent breath, knowing he should let her go. But Miranda looked as if she could use a friend. So did Daniel. And Daniel didn’t care who he was; all he knew was that Andrew understood about baseball and superheroes and what it was like to be afraid.

  He made a decision. Right or wrong, they were stuck with him for the rest of the afternoon. Before Miranda could change her mind about lunch in the park, he slipped his cell phone out of his pocket and made a call.

  “Pizza or burgers?” he whispered to Daniel.

  “Pizza.”

  “Pepperoni or frog legs?”

  Daniel burst out laughing. “Frog legs.”

  Miranda grimaced.

  “Mushrooms? Green peppers?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

  She rolled her eyes. And smiled. The smile he wanted to see a lot more of. “I’m not picky.”

  “Oh, really?” Andrew frowned into the phone and shook his head at Daniel. “No frog legs today, bud. Does pepperoni work for you?”

  Daniel nodded vigorously.

  He topped the order off with sodas and bread sticks and then snapped the phone shut. “Half an hour.”

  “Let’s play some more baseball.”

  Andrew glanced at Miranda. He wondered if she knew how adorably rumpled she looked with her wind-blown hair and flushed cheeks.

  “I think we should find some shade for your mom.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” Miranda’s heartfelt sigh squashed any argument Daniel might have raised.

  That Daniel and his mother shared a close bond was evident in the way he slipped his hand into hers and cheerfully began to recite the highlights of another morning at Sonshine Camp. Andrew trailed along behind them, enjoying the sound of Daniel’s chatter and the sparkle in his eyes.

  “…and Andrew likes my name. It’s just like the man in the story Mrs. Fraser read to us.”

  “Daniel and the lion’s den,” Miranda murmured.

  “It’s Andrew’s favorite story, isn’t it, Andrew?” He looked at him for affirmation and grinned when Andrew nodded. “God closed the mouths of the lions so they didn’t bite Daniel. They could have, Mom, but Mrs. Fraser says they were like big kittens and Daniel probably used them as pillows.”

  Miranda’s silence and the sudden tension in her shoulders carved a hollow in the pit of Andrew’s stomach. He’d assumed that because Daniel was attending Sonshine Camp, he and Miranda worshipped at Chestnut Grove Community.

  Now he wasn’t so sure.

  “Can you imagine that?” There was an awestruck look on Daniel’s face. “Sleeping on lions?”

  Miranda forced a smile. “It’s a nice story.”

  Their eyes met and Andrew saw a mixture of cynicism and weary acceptance in hers.

  It’s a nice story. If it were true.

  Daniel’s chatter filled the awkward silence that fell between them as he clamored onto the bench of the picnic table.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t long before a black SUV pulled up next to them.

  A young woman hopped out, a scrap of pink silk tucked in the pocket of the tuxedo jacket she wore. With a wide smile, she snapped a linen tablecloth over the picnic table and put a white pillar candle in the center, which she lit with a dramatic flourish.

  Daniel watched in fascination as she set out a pizza the size of his bicycle tire, a crystal pitcher of soda and a basket of breadsticks.

  “Enjoy. I’ll be back to pick up everything later.” And she bounced back into her vehicle and drove away.

  “Did you order all this?” Gingerly, Miranda picked up one of the heavy linen napkins.

  Was this a trick question? Because she’d been standing two feet away while he’d placed the order. Then he realized what she meant.

  “Gabriella owns the pizzeria. She’s rather…dramatic.”

  He should have known Gabriella would assume his order for an impromptu lunch in the park would mean he was with a woman, so she’d pulled out all the stops to help him charm his “date.”

  It wasn’t Gabriella’s fault this was Miranda Jones, who was less than charmed as she stared at the transformation of the humble picnic table. She didn’t say it out loud but he knew what she was thinking. That he was spoiled. That all he had to do was crook his finger and people jumped to do his bidding.

  Even Daniel suddenly seemed subdued.

  Andrew suppressed a sigh and decided there was nothing he could do about it now except to make a mental note that, next time he ordered takeout from Gabriella’s, he’d tell her to throw the pizza in the cardboar
d box and leave it at that.

  “Do you mind if I ask a blessing for the food?”

  Miranda hesitated for a split second and then shook her head. Daniel folded his hands on the table and pinched his eyes shut.

  “Lord…” Andrew knew this wasn’t the time to pour out all the things in his heart that hammered to get out. Such as his confusing attraction to Miranda. The reality that she wasn’t a believer. The protective feelings he had for her and Daniel. He’d better keep it simple and uncomplicated. Although he had the feeling that uncomplicated wasn’t going to describe his feelings. “Thank you for the food you’ve provided and the beautiful day you’ve given us to enjoy. Thank you for Miranda. And Daniel—”

  “And for baseball,” Daniel chimed in.

  Miranda gasped and Andrew chuckled.

  “And thank you for baseball,” he added solemnly. “Amen.”

  Andrew opened his eyes and found Miranda watching him. For an instant, he saw the questions flicker in her expressive eyes. Was his prayer sincere? And if it was, how did it connect with the man she’d read about in the newspapers?

  I have just as many questions about you, Andrew thought. Maybe this afternoon we’ll find some answers to them…

  He poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” Her voice barely broke above a whisper.

  She gave Daniel a slice of pizza and added a bread stick to his plate, then handed him a fork.

  Andrew’s eyebrow rose and Miranda’s cheeks took on a fetching peach hue.

  “It’s messy.” She waggled the fork at him.

  “Pizza is supposed to be messy, not dainty.” Deliberately, he picked up a piece of pizza and took a bite, then winked at Daniel.

  Daniel imitated him, right down to the mischievous wink he gave his mother.

  The responding humor in her eyes and the subtle tilt of her lips said she’d given in. At least on the matter of fingers versus forks.

  Miranda was definitely a contradiction. Wary one minute, warm the next. Somehow, he sensed that her reserve wasn’t a natural part of her personality. It was something she held in place like a shield and he’d been fortunate to glimpse the real Miranda Jones when the shield had momentarily fallen away. Like during their impromptu baseball game.

  He wanted to know what made her tick. Just when he wondered how he could stretch out the day to spend more time with them, his cell phone rang. The only ring tone he couldn’t ignore.

  Andrew stifled a groan.

  “I have to take this.” He didn’t wait for Miranda to respond and he could feel the weight of two pairs of eyes on him as he strode toward the pond, out of earshot.

  “Are you available?” The voice on the other end of the phone was soft and smoky. With a core of steel.

  Genevieve. The voice and the name conjured up hot southern nights and bluesy jazz. The fact that both belonged to a petite, silver-haired grandmother should have brought a smile to his face. And it might have, except the only time Genevieve called him was when a child was missing.

  He looked toward the picnic table. Miranda had stopped eating. Daniel was plowing through another slice of pizza with the exuberance only a growing boy could display.

  Just when he’d been trying to convince her there was more to him than Andrew the Irresponsible, leaving her and Daniel in the middle of lunch—with no excuse—was going to prove to her that there wasn’t.

  And he couldn’t tell her the truth.

  “Of course I’m available.”

  Miranda couldn’t sleep.

  The air conditioner in the bedroom window had sputtered and died just after midnight and the muscles in her legs were still protesting the unscheduled baseball game she’d been coerced into playing that afternoon.

  She tried to convince herself that those were the reasons she was staring at the ceiling at two o’clock in the morning. But she knew better. What kept her awake was Andrew. Just about the time she’d started to think there might be more to him than fast cars and trips to Europe on a private jet he’d proved there wasn’t.

  She rolled over restlessly, hugging the pillow against her chest.

  “Is Andrew mad at me, Mom?”

  Daniel’s words still tugged at her heart.

  When Andrew had walked back to the picnic table, she’d known he was going to leave. She’d known it even before his lips had curved into that heartbreaking smile and he’d offered a casual shrug and told them simply that something “had come up.”

  Miranda wanted to be angry. She should still be angry. It would protect her from falling for Andrew’s roguish charm in the future. And she might have been successful if not for one thing. Regret. She’d seen it in his eyes—for just a moment—before he’d sauntered toward the parking lot.

  She tried to convince herself she’d imagined that brief, raw flash in his eyes that had appealed to her to understand.

  To understand what? That whatever or whoever had called him away was more important than a little boy’s disappointment?

  Or yours?

  Miranda tossed the question away as quickly as she did the cotton sheet draped over her legs. The darkness and the heat were stifling. She gave up on sleeping and padded down the hall to check on Daniel.

  Unlike her, he was sound asleep, his arm curled around Lily, the stuffed frog she’d given to him on his third birthday. She remembered with a smile how her little boy had carried the frog everywhere for a couple of years. Now, worn and well loved, it remained his bedtime companion, waiting faithfully on his pillow until the nightly tuck-in ritual they shared.

  She picked up the edge of the sheet he’d kicked off and noticed his pajama bottoms landed several inches above his ankle. Once again she was faced with the bittersweet reality that Daniel was growing up.

  She couldn’t believe how swiftly Daniel had attached himself to Andrew. Or that he’d confided in him. All this time she’d thought Daniel had no interest in playing sports, never realizing his classmates had slapped a label on him because of his studious nature.

  She shared the blame. When Daniel had shown no interest in sports, she hadn’t encouraged him. She’d told Andrew the truth about not wanting him to get hurt.

  Hal’s unpredictable nature had made her even more protective than most first-time parents. Especially because Hal had used Daniel as a threat to keep her in the relationship. Shortly after she’d broken up with him, she’d come home from work to find him sitting in her kitchen. He’d been in the apartment long enough to make dinner. What had terrified her the most wasn’t that he’d had a key made without her knowledge, but the fact that when she’d told him she had to go pick up Daniel from the babysitter’s, he’d smugly told her that he already had. She’d rushed into Daniel’s bedroom and found him sleeping peacefully.

  Hal had loomed in the doorway, watching as she’d gathered Daniel into her arms.

  “I can find him, Miranda. I can always find him. And then I’ll find you,” he’d said with chilling matter-of-factness.

  Two nights later, she’d taken Daniel and left Atlanta.

  Hal’s threat cast a shadow over her life that had never been lifted. There were two suitcases in the closet—packed and waiting—in case he found them again.

  At least the nightmare Hal had put her through had taught her something. It was up to her to protect her son.

  Chapter Eight

  “I guess we know why Mr. Tall, Dark and Restless hasn’t been here all week.” Darcy slapped the latest issue of the Gazette down on the counter.

  Miranda didn’t need to look down to know what Darcy was pointing to. She’d already seen it. A photo of Andrew Noble, his arm casually draped around the shoulders of a well-known singer. A beautiful well-known singer.

  “Did you check on table three?” Miranda ignored the unexpected stab of pain as she pushed the newspaper away and caught a glimpse of Andrew’s handsome face. According to the caption, the photo had been taken in Nashville the day after he’d left her and Daniel i
n the park.

  “They’re fine. Picky about the way their eggs are cooked, but fine.” Darcy wasn’t going to be distracted as she picked up the newspaper and gave it a dramatic shake. “Tell me why men always go for shallow and beautiful instead of deep thinkers.”

  Miranda, who happened to know the T-shirt Darcy wore under her uniform featured a bright transfer of a popular breakfast cereal, tried not to smile.

  “Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean she’s shallow,” Miranda felt the need to point out. In the interest of being fair.

  “Beautiful women are shallow because they can be,” Darcy argued. “There’s no pressure to have a nice personality—”

  “Are you only giving your opinion today, Darcy, or are you giving refills on coffee, too?” A man sitting at a nearby table raised his coffee cup.

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “Coming right up, Mr. Brewster. Did you know coffee isn’t good for people? Studies show it makes them cranky.”

  “That’s only if a person doesn’t get any. It’s called caffeine withdrawal. Want me to tell you the symptoms?”

  As Darcy and Mr. Brewster continued their banter, Miranda shoved the newspaper under the counter.

  Was the woman in the picture the reason he’d left so abruptly that day?

  She hadn’t seen Andrew since their picnic in the park and tried to convince herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t want him coming to the diner. She didn’t want to deal with Daniel’s hero worship of the man or the strange, mixed-up emotions he stirred inside her.

  Andrew was exactly the way the newspapers described him. The picture proved it. He lived in the moment. He only stuck with something until a better model came along. A single mother who waited on tables and a seven-year-old boy hadn’t kept his interest for more than an hour.

  “You can’t believe everything you read.” Sandra scooted around the counter and tapped the numbers on the old-fashioned cash register.

  The woman had eyes in the back of her head. But in this instance, Miranda knew Sandra was wrong.

  “Seeing is believing, Sandra.”

  “Sometimes our eyes trick us into believing what we want to see.”