A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,70

brother Morgan Charles Chatam.”

Before he could take that in, a hand touched his shoulder, and Stephen twisted in his seat to find Kaylie and her father behind him. She beamed as she settled back, but the sour look on Hubner Chatam’s face made Stephen’s heart sink in his chest. Gulping, he faced forward once more as the small orchestra gathered below the dais began to play. From that moment on, it was a challenge to concentrate, and Stephen found himself, wonder of wonders, falling into silent prayer.

I know I don’t deserve her, Lord, or any of the other good things in my life, but I want to. I can’t do it on my own, though. No one can truly deserve Your blessing without forgiveness. Isn’t that why Your Son took up the cross, that we might be forgiven and forgive in turn? Even ourselves.

With song rising around him, Stephen finally let go of the guilt that had blackened his soul for so long. Afterward, he began to enumerate those good things with which he had undeservedly been blessed. It was a surprisingly lengthy list, not the least of which was the stilted and then progressively cozy talk that he’d had with his mother last night and the three elderly triplets who had opened their home and hearts to him. Somewhere in the midst of it, he got caught up in a prayer being led by someone else, and before he knew what was happening, he was leaning forward to catch every word out of the preacher’s mouth.

When the congregation rose for a final hymn, Stephen’s mind was racing with all he’d heard and how it supported what he had instinctively learned these past weeks, and then it was over, without him quite being ready. He felt as if he’d been plunked down in a strange place all of a sudden.

This new Chatam, Morgan, stepped out into the aisle and raised a hand to urge Stephen to follow. Without any sort of preliminary, he clapped that same hand on to Stephen’s shoulder and addressed him with the familiarity of an old friend.

“Hello, Stephen,” he said, his voice deep and resonant, as if it traveled up from a great distance. “Good to see you here. This way.” Turning, he led the way up the aisle. Bemused, Stephen slowly followed.

Kaylie fell in beside him as he passed her pew, leaving her father to walk behind with his sisters. “I’m so glad you came,” she told him through the brightest of smiles.

For some reason he blurted, “I called my mother last night.”

Kaylie gasped and hugged him, nearly knocking him off his crutches. “Oh, Stephen, that’s wonderful! How is she? What did she say?”

“She cried,” he confessed, “and then she scolded, and then we had a good talk. I promised to visit as soon as I’m able. She’s having my houseboat taken out of dry dock for me, in case I decide to spend a few weeks there during the off-season.”

“And will you?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, Stephen, I’m so proud of you! I knew it. I just knew it. I even told Dad that it would happen.”

“You’ve discussed me, then?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure discuss is the right word, but yes, we had quite an exchange last night.”

Stephen’s heart lurched. “And?”

“And,” she said gently, “I know God brought us together for a reason. It’s in His hands.”

Stephen gulped. In God’s hands. Nodding, he let her steer him up the aisle, praying that they were moving toward an understanding, a beginning for the two of them. Together.

Chapter Thirteen

Ahead of them, Morgan beckoned, clearing the way through the throng. “Come on, you two,” he called loudly, “or we’ll never get out of the parking lot.”

“I see you’ve met my brother,” Kaylie said, sounding amused.

“I guess you could put it that way,” Stephen replied softly. “Does he have to approve of me, too?”

“Oh, Morgan approves of everyone,” Kaylie said gaily, “but if you want to impress him, you have to love history.”

Stephen sighed.

“I suspect you’re talking about me,” Morgan said good-naturedly, holding one of a pair of heavy, arched doors open for them. Stephen and Kaylie passed through, and Morgan immediately abandoned the post, staying to Stephen, “I assume sis has told you that I’m a history professor.”

“Uh, not exactly.”

Morgan clapped him on the shoulder again. Though shorter than Stephen by several inches, he was a solidly built man and packed quite a wallop. “She hasn’t exactly told me about you, either, but I’m pretty good at