Mom in the Middle by Mae Nunn Page A

than a voluntary invitation. Still, it was an opportunity that appealed to him.
    â€œUnder one condition.” Something made him take a bold chance.
    â€œAnd what would that be?”
    She folded her arms, closing herself off before she even heard what he had to say.
    â€œJust hear me out,” he cajoled. “Finish your committee stuff and make a run out to Lake Travis with me. Your dad says he had a favorite largemouth spot up there at one time and you know how to find it.”
    â€œYou’re a bass rat?” She squinted, looked at him differently, like he’d finally said something that might be of interest to her.
    â€œI was raised on the Mississippi, fished every chance I got just to get away from my sisters.”
    â€œThey didn’t fish?”
    â€œCasey did.” Of course. “But I haven’t fished in freshwater for years. I mostly compete in tournaments offshore when I work a job on the coast. Which is why I can’t wait to get down to Galveston on the next site.”
    Abby smiled. A real smile that plumped her cheeks and lit her cocoa-brown eyes. “That sounds like so much fun. I used to go with Daddy all the time but we haven’t been in several years.”
    Guy already knew that. Knew lots of stuff he probably shouldn’t, but there was no stopping Shorty when he was in the mood to talk about his baby girl.
    â€œThen it’s a deal?” Guy offered his hand.
    â€œDeal.” She gave him a quick, no-nonsense shake, jammed her hands into the hip pockets of her cutoffs and turned back to the house.
    The screen door banged behind her. With a shudder Guy realized he’d almost said date instead of deal. Shorty had dropped a warning, the mention of dating around Abby was a waste of breath. Something to be avoided at all cost.
    As if Guy hadn’t recognized the challenge by the cagey old daddy that his daughter wouldn’t agree to a date with the owner of Heart and Home in a hundred years, anyway.

Chapter Five
    A bby’s nose twitched. Guy smelled so nice.
    Like lumber and leather and lemon oil. Which made perfectly good sense considering he spent most of his time in a store that sold those things.
    Lord, please forgive me for letting something so mundane distract me from worship this morning. It just seems so long since the scent of a male meant anything to me besides Daddy’s foot spray and Dillon’s diaper-rash ointment.
    She redoubled her effort to concentrate dutifully on what the visiting pastor was saying. She tried to focus on Ken Allen and the missions update he brought from the Houston congregation that had planted New Harvest two years earlier. His message was an important one; the best exercise of the heart was to reach down and help somebody else up. But her senses continued to betray her, so she resolvedto pick up a recorded copy of the service so she could meditate on it during her drive to school that week.
    Today she was no better disciplined than her first graders. She sniffed again, enjoying the pleasant distraction to her left. Her ears still rang from the singing that had been so terribly off key, it had been oddly pleasing. Guy had joined in the praise songs as though he didn’t have a clue he couldn’t carry a tune if it had a wooden handle on it. And her eyes were still moist from the tears that had threatened as she’d swallowed down a giggle over the loud case of hiccups he’d suffered during a moment of silent prayer. Her daddy had nudged her and made a pinching sign with his thumb and forefinger, reminding Abby of her mother’s way of showing disapproval when her daughter fidgeted even the least bit in church.
    Abby shifted in her seat, twisted her back to Guy, blocking him from her peripheral vision. She reached her right hand across the low arm of the wooden pew where her daddy’s wheelchair was positioned in the aisle beside her. He smiled and wrapped her fingers with his, winked and