Megan's Hero (The Callahans of Texas Book #3): A Novel (12 page)

Late that afternoon, Will drove her down a dusty ranch road to the camp house Dalton had vacated. It was a modest white wooden single story with a tin roof and a large chinaberry tree to shade it in the late afternoon. There were covered porches across the length of the front and back. The yard was mostly dirt. Trying to keep the sparse patches of grass watered and green probably hadn’t been a priority for a long time.

Will parked in the shade near the back porch and hustled around to help her out of the pickup. He’d done the same thing at the hospital. That time, having a hand to steady her had been appreciated, but she didn’t need it now. She had the door open by the time he reached it. “I’m not so far along that I can’t get out of a truck.”

“I know.” He held out his hand. “But my mama taught me to be polite.” He gave her a boyish grin. “Besides, holding a pretty woman’s hand is fun.”

Megan swung her legs around, took hold of his hand, and slid her feet down to the running board before stepping to the ground. “Smooth, Callahan. Did your mama teach you that too?”

“Pure natural ability.” He tucked her hand around his arm, pushed the door closed, and laughed. “I’m real modest too.”

She let the comment pass. “It looks like a nice house.”

“It’s been around a while. We remodeled it several years ago, but it’s still not fancy.”

“I don’t need fancy.”

He unlocked the back door and opened it, letting her go inside first. She was surprised to find the kitchen cool, with an air conditioner or two humming in the background.

“I asked Dalton to leave the air conditioning on so it wouldn’t be sweltering in here.”

“Thanks. This is a great kitchen. Lots of cabinets and counter space.” She shot him a smile. “I’m going to have fun cooking in here.”

Dalton had left an electric can opener, a coffeemaker, which she wouldn’t use until after the baby was born, and a toaster on the counter. She figured she’d put it to good use.

Opening a cabinet door, she found a set of dishes for four, twice that many glasses, and two casserole dishes. Another cabinet held a fry pan and a couple of saucepans. Silverware was in one drawer, and another held a spatula, one big spoon, long-handled tongs for barbecuing, a carving knife, and a paring knife. She smiled to herself. Was this a typical bachelor pad?

“What’s that little smile all about?”

“Does your kitchen look like this? Do any of you guys ever actually cook?”

“Hey, grilling is cooking. My kitchen is well stocked with equipment, though a little light on food. I also make a mean breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, cereal, toaster waffles—all the normal stuff, as well as the occasional cold or warmed-up pizza.”

She grinned and peeked in the pantry. Empty as expected. “I love pizza for breakfast, but not sausage or pepperoni. Can’t handle something that spicy, even when I’m not pregnant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I order us a pizza.”

Just the two of them sharing a meal was way too inviting. “So you don’t eat with your parents all the time?”

“Nope. Though I hang out with some or all of the family a lot, I try to give them some space.” He shrugged lightly. “Jenna and Chance have their own families now. Mom and Dad would never tell me to get lost, but I think they’re enjoying having more time as a couple.”

Which was another reason for her to live here instead of at the ranch house.

Was it hard for him to be the odd man out? He was older than she was, probably in his early thirties. A lot of men were married by that age. Did he want a wife and family? Or was he happy being single?

She had been in the happy-single category for a long time, slipped out when she met Ken, then crashed back into it when he turned out to be such a creep. But she had a feeling Will Callahan could make her yearn for companionship and love if she wasn’t careful.

She wandered into the living room, stopped, and smiled again. The blue flowered sofa, loveseat, and chair looked comfy, and the blue leather recliner would be a great place to put up her feet and relax. There were also end tables, a coffee table, and two lamps. None of it was new, but nothing was damaged or badly worn.

“I like the furniture, but other than the recliner, it doesn’t strike me as something a cowboy would pick out.” Unless he bought it secondhand.

“It belonged to the family who lived here before Nate. They had been here for forty years. Virgil finally retired when he turned eighty. He and his wife moved near San Antonio to be close to their kids and grandkids. New house, new furniture, so they left several things, including the washer and dryer. Nate left his bedroom set and the kitchen table and chairs. If there’s anything you need, let me know, and I’ll pick it up for you.”

She walked down the hallway, checking the rest of the house. Three bedrooms, a bathroom off the hall, and another off the master bedroom. There were towels in the bathrooms and linens and pillows in the hall closet. “When you said it came furnished, you weren’t kidding. I can’t see anything right off that I need to get.”

“I have a spare TV. I’ll bring it over tomorrow and set it up.”

Who had a spare TV? “Are you sure you don’t need it?”

“It’s just sitting in the closet. I bought a bigger one about a year ago.” He followed her back to the living room. “I’m assuming you’d like to live here, but if you’d rather stay with my parents, they’re cool with that too.”

“I appreciate their offer to stay with them, but it would be better if I had a place of my own. I get up a lot at night these days. I don’t want to disturb them.” She plopped down on the sofa. “I’ve been alone for eight years, Will. I don’t know how well I’d do living with someone else for more than a few days. I need some space too.”

“I understand. The folks will too, as long as you come by and see them real often.” He sat down on the other end of the couch. “So what did you think of church this morning? Besides Kim’s shenanigans.” Frowning, he stared across the room and shook his head. “That was so weird. That stuff happens at the honky-tonk, not at church.”

“You spend a lot of time at the honky-tonk?” She shifted around to face him and curled her legs up on the cushion.

He laughed and shifted too so he could see her easier. “No. Went in one in Abilene once just to see what it was like. Walked out five minutes later.”

“With a girl on each arm.”

He rested his elbow on the couch arm. “Reckon I could have, but those aren’t the kind of women who interest me.”

Megan practically bit her tongue to keep from asking what kind of woman did. Better go back to his question about church. “Some of the music this morning was livelier than I’d expected.”

“You expected dirges or chants?” he asked with a lazy smile.

“Maybe. Things I’ve seen in movies. I liked your music better. I like Pastor Brad. He seems like a very nice man.”

“He is. And very wise.”

She traced her fingertip around one of the blue flowers on the sofa. “Can I ask you something?”

At her hesitant request, his brow knit in a tiny frown of concern. “Sure.”

She almost chickened out, afraid he’d think she was stupid. “I know God protected me from the tornado.”

Will nodded. “That’s a fact.”

“Does God only do big things like that? Or does he help with everyday life too?”

“If you trust in Jesus, I believe God helps you constantly. I pray every day and ask him to guide me, to help me make the right decisions, to do the right things. I mess up sometimes, so either I don’t get the message or maybe I ignore it, but that’s not God’s fault.”

“How do you pray?” Her face grew warm under his scrutiny, but she plowed on. “Sorry, but this is all new to me. After the tornado, I promised God that I’d learn about him, learn what he wants from me. But I don’t know how to do it. Is there something special you say when you pray? Or some particular way you say it?”

“Don’t be sorry. This is a good thing.” His voice was gentle and reassuring. “I just talk to God or Jesus like I was talking to my dad.”

Well, that doesn’t help much
, she thought.
I don’t know how to talk to a dad.

“It’s like everyday conversation, but with the greatest respect, honor, and love thrown in. Even more than I’d show my own father. I don’t always agree with my dad, and sometimes I get ticked off at him. But I still love and respect him. It’s the same with God. I don’t always understand what he’s doing, or always like it, but I still love and respect him.”

He rubbed a spot in front of his ear, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t know if I’m explaining it well or answering your question. Just talk to him like he’s your best friend, because he is.”

She could relate to that. Mrs. Hoffmann had been her best friend—her only real friend—and they had talked a lot. Even some about God and Jesus because the elderly lady had believed in them. She’d invited Megan to go to church with her a few times, but Megan had weaseled out of it.

He met her gaze. “However you prayed last Thursday, God heard, so I’d say he approved of your method, whatever it was.”

“If you ask him things, does he answer?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Various ways. Though, I admit for me, sometimes his answers are clearer than at other times. They don’t always come right away. I might be pondering something and come across a passage in the Bible that gives me guidance or understanding about that very thing. He might even tell you where to read if you ask him.”

That was a little too weird for her. Megan frowned and shifted her position.

“I don’t mean he speaks to me out loud, though he could. I figure God can do anything he wants to. The way it works for me, a verse will come to mind, and almost always when I look it up, it’s pertinent to what I’m dealing with.”

“Not always?”

“Occasionally I don’t see a connection, though I expect he does.” He chuckled. “Every so often I think he’s given me a verse, and when I look it up, it isn’t there. The other day it was Zephaniah 3:25, and the book ends with verse 20. I don’t let it bother me. I’m not a scientist where everything has to be proven. I live by faith.”

“I need to get a Bible. Will they have one in town somewhere?”

“I don’t think so. But I’ll loan you one. I have several versions.”

“Versions?”

“There have been quite a few translations over the years. Some are easier to understand than others.”

“I’d better have an easy one.”

“Can do.”

That evening, he brought her three different Bibles, so she had a choice. After she retired to her bedroom for the night, she propped a stack of pillows against the headboard, crawled into bed, and picked up the first one from the nightstand.

She rested it carefully on her stomach, not sure where to begin. Mrs. Hoffmann had sometimes read things to her, but she’d jumped around all over the book.

Feeling uncomfortable and a little silly, she decided to take Will’s advice. “God,” she asked softly, “what do you want me to learn tonight? Where should I read?”

Psalm 18.

As the words ran through her mind, she swallowed hard. Was that God? Or just her? Like Will, Mrs. Hoffmann liked to read from the psalms. But Megan didn’t remember any one in particular.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she looked up the page number for Psalms in the table of contents, turned to it, and began to read.

I love you, O L
ord
, my strength.

The L
ord
is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge.

He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.

I call to the L
ord
, who is worthy of praise,

and I am saved from my enemies.

The cords of death entangled me;

the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

The cords of the grave coiled around me;

the snares of death confronted me.

In my distress I called to the L
ord
;

I cried to my God for help.

From his temple he heard my voice;

my cry came before him, into his ears.

Megan reread the passage, amazed at the instructions God was giving her and how appropriately it fit what had happened to her as well. Love him. Trust him. Let him be her strength, her shield, her stronghold. He was worthy of praise, so she would praise him.

She didn’t understand it all. What did “horn of my salvation” mean? Checking the footnote, she saw that horn symbolized strength. So he was her shield, the strength of her salvation, her stronghold. He would protect her from her other enemies—poverty, homelessness, fear.