Justified (25 page)

Chapter Fifty-Two

Four weeks later, Ruthie and I sat on the Picketts' couch as the ending credits of
Runaway Bride
rolled across the television screen. In the morning, she would marry Dodd, so we were enjoying a mini-bachelorette party. It was only the two of us, but we had watched a string of romantic DVDs and eaten loads of sugar-filled treats.

“I wonder what Dodd and the guys did tonight,” Ruthie said.

I rotated my plastic cup, swirling the ice left in the bottom. “If I know JohnScott, football happened at some point.”

She tilted her head to the side. “And just how well do you know my cousin?”

I set my cup on a coaster and hugged a throw pillow. “Pretty well.”

“He's happier than I've ever seen him.” Ruthie's approval showed in her eyes, but then she faltered. “But what will that be like for you … if the two of you get together?”

“What do you mean?”

She sat on the couch cross-legged, her bare toes wiggling nervously. “I can't picture you in a double-wide. Sorry.”

“I know. I've been thinking about that for months—”

“For
months
?” The corners of her mouth teased.

“At first I couldn't imagine living like that. Not that there's anything wrong with a mobile home. It's just different—less—than what I'm used to.” I chuckled. “And that's only the beginning of the differences. But now that I know JohnScott better, and now that I know
myself
better … I don't care anymore. I want to be with him, and if he's in a mobile home, or a mansion, or a shack on the Caprock, that's where I want to be.”

She slurped her straw. “Well, it's not likely to be a mansion.”

I twisted the fringe on Velma's crocheted afghan and then smoothed it out neatly. “I don't need a mansion.” It had been a wild few months, and I had only recently begun to settle into a routine of school and work and baby love. The shattered pieces of my world had fallen into place, creating a patched and mended, uniquely beautiful work of art. I was learning to accept myself for me—who God wanted me to be—not what others thought I should be. And certainly not something as unattainable as what I had imagined I ought to be.

But still, a piece was missing.

Ruthie lowered her voice even though Ansel and Velma had gone to bed hours ago. “Has JohnScott asked you?”

“No.” I looked away.

“I bet he will soon.” She leaned over and hugged me. “And then you'll have everything. Just like me.”

I rolled my eyes, remembering my tantrum at the Laundromat. “I already have everything.”

“You always did.”

I chuckled again as the baby started to cry in the back bedroom. “I knew he would wake up soon.”

“Will he go back to sleep?”

“As soon as his tummy's full.” I set my cup in the sink and stepped toward the hallway. “Ruthie?”

“Hmm?” She leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Have fun tomorrow.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning.”

Ruthie was so different from me, yet so much the same. If we weren't careful, we might end up being best friends after all.

Slipping into the back bedroom, I fed Nathan in the cricket rocker Velma had dragged in. My thoughts wandered in the same direction they always took lately.
JohnScott.
Even though we had grown so close we could talk about almost anything—how Nathan should be raised, the messiness Tyler would smear on our lives in the years to come, even our own unconditional love for each other—we never discussed marriage. And I wasn't sure why we didn't.

I got the feeling he was old-fashioned. After all, he was Ansel Pickett's son. I wouldn't have put it past him to wait until football season was over. The Panthers were headed to the state play-offs, and JohnScott had enough to think about without planning a wedding, too.

Nathan's head lolled back in sound sleep, and I lifted him to my shoulder, rousing him to burp before he finished his midnight snack. I heard Ruthie straightening the living room, carrying dishes to the kitchen, flipping off the lights.

The curtains swayed from the gentle breeze coming through the open window, and I rested my head on the cushion of the rocker and rubbed Nathan's back. Life frightened and exhilarated me, but when I looked down at my son, I knew we would be all right. God wasn't angry with me, wasn't holding a grudge, wasn't waiting for me to prove myself. God was God. So I didn't have to be.

I laid Nathan down, giving the cradle a gentle nudge before I put on my nightgown. But when I crawled into bed, I heard a muffled commotion through the window. Stepping to the curtain, I peered through the screen. The holding tank lay fifty yards away, beyond Velma's garden. I could see JohnScott and Dodd, along with a few other men, standing on the side of the cement cylinder with the moonlight gleaming against their bare chests and legs.

They all wore underwear, mostly boxers, but a few sported white briefs that glowed in the brightness of the autumn moon. Even though they weren't close enough for me to see anything revealing, I felt like a Peeping Tom. I started to turn away when I heard a heckle.

Grady held his hand in the air as though signaling the start of a race, and two stragglers ran from JohnScott's double-wide, stumbling as they kicked off clothes. “A one!” called Grady, and then he said something I couldn't understand. “And a two!” He said something else, and several men made catcalls to Dodd. “And a three!” In unison, they cannonballed into the water, splashing a wave over the cement sides.

For a few minutes, I watched them banter and listened to their squealing protests about the freezing water. Then I crawled into bed, remembering the day I swam in the holding tank and bumped into JohnScott. So much had happened since then. So much had changed.

Something scratched against the window screen, and my heart fluttered when I heard JohnScott whisper loudly, “Fawn? You awake?”

I scrambled out of bed and pulled back the curtain. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you.” His breaths came in short bursts, and he looked over his shoulder to the holding tank, still swarming with bodies. He popped the screen off the window and leaned it against the side of the house.

“Should you be taking that off?”

“Done it a million times.” Water dripped from his hair and ran down his chest, and his teeth chattered slightly. He wore jeans, which were still unbuttoned.

“You shouldn't be here.” I said the words, but I smiled, not wanting him to leave. His presence tugged at a tender spot in my chest, and when he leaned through the window, sliding his hands around my waist and pulling me into a wet kiss, I leaned toward his shivering body willingly.

The pitch of his voice dropped. “I love you, Fawn.”

“I love you, too.”

“Marry me, then.”

I pulled back and giggled. “All right.”

“Thursday.”

“Thursday?”

“That's the first available date.”

His words whirled through my brain. “What?”

“Tomorrow is Dodd and Ruthie's day. Sunday the justice of the peace is closed. Monday is the first day we can file for a license, and it takes seventy-two hours. So we can go to the J.P. on Thursday.” He placed his palms next to mine on the sill and leaned with his face inches from mine. “I don't want to wait, Fawn. I want you sitting on my couch Thursday night and sipping coffee on my back porch Friday morning. And next week I want to look up in the stands at the state championship and see my wife.”

His gaze dropped to my gown, now wet, and then he glanced away, running his hands through his wet curls. “And if we work it right, I can get you on my insurance next month, and then Nathan's doctor visits will be covered.” He peered past me into the bedroom and lowered his voice. “Where is he? Is he asleep?”

I chuckled. “That's the most I've ever heard you say at one time. Except maybe that day you were harping on me for being a cheerleader.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

The moon filled the sky behind him, casting his face into shadow, but I could make out his eyes. “Yes. Thursday,” I whispered. “But not at the courthouse.”

“Then where?” His hands slipped over mine, and he drew them toward his lips and kissed my palms. “The Caprock, right?”

“Yep.” I ran my index finger through the curls above his ear, intoxicated by the knowledge that I would soon be able to fluff his hair whenever I wanted.

“Perfect.” He cupped my chin, and his thumbs caressed my cheeks, but just as he leaned toward me, a muffled whoop echoed behind him, and he was tackled by three wild animals, none of whom had taken the time to put on jeans.

I pulled the curtains shut and sat on the edge of the bed, listening to them wrestle. JohnScott's laughter sent joy ricocheting through my chest, and I laughed. Even though I knew I wouldn't sleep a wink, I peeled off my wet nightgown, settled down on the mattress, and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

And I sighed. Deeply. Thoroughly. Cleansingly.

My life remained upside down from what it had been last year, but I realized it would probably always be that way. One way or another. But God could work with it. He could take my mistakes and my messes and turn them into something good. Something worthy. Something beautiful.

He already had.

… a little more …

When a delightful concert comes to an end,

the orchestra might offer an encore.

When a fine meal comes to an end,

it's always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

When a great story comes to an end,

we think you may want to linger.

And so, we offer ...

AfterWords—
just a little something more after you

have finished a David C Cook novel.

We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

Thanks for reading!

Turn the page for ...

• Note to the Reader

• Acknowledgments

• Book Club Discussion Guide

• A Sneak Peek at Book Three:
Jilted

• About the Author

Note to the Reader

When I started writing, I never dreamed how much fun it would be to interact with readers. You guys are by far the best part of publishing, and I'm having a blast writing for you and interacting online and elsewhere.

This second story has been a challenge for me, probably because I'm like Fawn. I give myself a tough time and end up trying too hard. If you have the same tendency, I hope her story has helped you knock away some of those annoying, little expectations we place on ourselves. And I pray we can all accept the fact that
God is big enough
.

I wish I could have included a photograph of the Caprock Escarpment, because I know my feeble words don't do it justice. But really, pictures don't either. You've just gotta go there. So if you're ever in West Texas, drive north on Highway 84 and gaze over the rim. Then email me at [email protected] and tell me if you see God. I bet you do.

If you read both
Jaded
and
Justified
, you may have realized that Fawn was pregnant for slightly longer than a normal human. I regret that she had to go through that, but otherwise we wouldn't have gotten to enjoy her story during football season, and those chapters are fun reading. Thank you for your tolerance.

The next book in the Mended Hearts series continues the story through the eyes of Lynda Turner and Clyde Felton. My goodness, those two have been through a lot. So in a few months, meet me in Trapp, Texas (yes, it's a fictitious town), and we can read
Jilted
together.

In the meantime, find me online at varinadenman.com or one of the social-media hangouts. I'd love to meet you!

Thank you for reading,

Varina

Acknowledgments

What a crazy journey this second book has been. And just like the first, I had loads of help along the path. There's no way to sufficiently thank each of you, but I'd like to at least take this speck of ink and try.

To Don, for your constant encouragement and for propping me up while I learned to navigate publishing deadlines. Thank you most of all for loving me and liking me … even when I'm an unlovable, frazzled wreck.

To my kids: Jessica, Drew, Dene, Jillian, and Janae. And my kids-in-law: Colton and Kelsea. Thank you for your support during all the craziness. I apologize for the times I was a writer first and a mother second.

To Marci for taking on the role of
first reader
. What would this book have become without your eyes on the manuscript? Eww, I can't even imagine.

To Mom and Dad for sharing your expertise on all things Caprock and verbally traveling across Texas with me the past year. Let's do it again soon.

To Ron McWhorter for details regarding diamondback rattlesnakes and the Sweetwater Round-up. If not for you, I would have made many, many embarrassing mistakes. I probably still did, but if so, they are my mistakes and not yours.

To my Facebook friends who serve as a wealth of knowledge for random research questions. Thank you for assuring me Tyler's wreck could happen in the real world. And for helping me dress Fawn in designer brands I've never heard of. And for putting Susan behind the wheel of an Audi, which suits her so much better than an SUV. You guys are way more fun than an encyclopedia, and you know
everything
.

To my agent, Jessica Kirkland, for gently pointing out the lameness of my first draft. You literally made this story what it is, and I love seeing your fingerprints throughout its pages. I can't imagine ever writing a book without you.

To my developmental editor, Jamie Chavez, for convincing me
Justified
was not dreadful, and for doing everything in your power to make it better. If we ever meet in the real world, I'm going to give you a bear hug. Then a fist bump. Then a high five. Maybe even an air kiss.

To my copyeditor, Jennifer Lonas, for cleaning up the loose ends. If not for you, Rowdy's eyes would have changed color midstory and Labor Day would have been late in September. I'm amazed at the way you keep track of details across all three books. I can't even do that, and I wrote them.

And, of course, to all the folks at David C Cook who brought Fawn Blaylock to life. Ingrid Beck, for helping me through the flurry of publishing stages. Amy Konyndyk, for creating another beautiful cover. Helen Macdonald, for making sure the manuscript was spotless. Darren Terpstra, Karla Colonnieves, Lisa Beech, and Jeane Wynn, for getting it out there. And to Karen Athen, Nick Lee, and all the other marketing, editing, and production people whom I've never met and therefore never had the chance to annoy. You guys are the ones who actually make the magic.