A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,65
commentators lamented the lack of action in this second round opening game, while the aunties clucked over the time and Kaylie’s continued absence. Stephen made light of it, suggesting that Chester be called to help him upstairs.
“There’s really not much I can’t do for myself once I’m back in my room.”
It was true. While he ached in half a dozen places, his overall pain had faded to easily manageable levels, and Kaylie had organized his meds so well that he merely had to check the times she had written on those paper cups and toss back the pills. He could pretty well dress and undress himself and lever himself on and off the bed. Managing his meals and getting around would still be a challenge, but he could always call on Aaron or Chester or hire another nurse.
He didn’t want to do any of those things, though.
He wanted Kaylie. That he didn’t deserve her simply did not matter. His heart wanted Kaylie Chatam.
And he very much feared that tonight had somehow set her forever out of his reach.
Chapter Twelve
Kaylie argued until she was blue in the face—or rather, red—for she had never been so angry with her father. It took every bit of her self-control not to shout at him, for he was being ridiculously unfair.
“It’s a sport like any other.”
“Sports have their place,” Hub said, “but they’re not worthy of a grown man’s occupation.”
“Pro sports are a business.”
“What has that got to do with anything? There are many businesses in which I would not want to be involved.”
“But that’s you. The world does not agree that pro sports is a bad thing.”
“The world! Ah, yes, but we are called to stand apart from this world.”
“Many Christians, probably most Christians, would disagree with you!”
“Fist fighting!” Hub exclaimed, as if that alone explained his objections. “What other sport do you see that in?”
“Football, basketball…”
“Rarely! And never sanctioned. Why, prizefighting is less brutal.”
“They clear the benches to fight in baseball,” Kaylie pointed out. “Soccer is infamous for brawling.”
Hub shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t like it! I don’t like it because you lied to me, Kaylie.”
“I did not! You never asked what—”
“You let me think he was a broken shell, an older man, no temptation.”
That last word rocked her because it summed up Stephen Gallow for her perfectly. Temptation. He tempted her to womanhood and affection, to laughter and kisses, to a different life than she had ever imagined and a desperate, hopeful longing. He tempted her to want more for herself than her father wanted for her, and that realization hurt on several levels. He tempted her to love him, to risk even her relationship with her father for that love. It seemed unfair for her father to throw that at her now when she had struggled so to get it right, to do the right thing for everyone, the godly thing. Perhaps she had left out some of the details, but she had done so because she had known that he would overreact. So perhaps she had already dishonored her father. And perhaps that wasn’t all her fault.
“I think I had best go before we say things we’ll both regret,” Kaylie decided softly. “Good night, Dad.”
“Kaylie!” he admonished, but for once she ignored him.
She was an adult, after all, fully capable of and fully responsible for managing her own emotions. And she still had a job to do, a job she felt compelled to do. Just how to do it and honor her father, she did not know any longer. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to do, what God meant for her to do.
The dilemma became even more confusing when she arrived at Chatam House, let herself in the side door and made her way up the stairs to find Stephen sitting on the edge of his bed in gym shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, poking around a pill cup. He looked up, seeming unsurprised to see her standing there, and lifted the little paper container, balanced on the tips of the fingers of his left hand.
“This is right, isn’t it?”
Nodding, she came forward and took the cup from him, dumping the pills out into his hand. Then she poured him a glass of water from the carafe on the bedside table. He swallowed the pills and set aside the glass.
“Tired?” she asked, noting the shadows about his eyes.
He nodded, but he didn’t lie back. Instead, he met her gaze, asking gently, “Has it all changed somehow,