The next morning, Noah met one of Pastor Roger’s old seminary friends for lunch. Apparently, the guy had numerous connections. Very generous connections.
“After you.” He held the door of Wilma’s Café open for Mr. Brown. “You ever had one of Wilma’s famous char-grilled, Wagyu-beef burgers?” Stepping in behind the man, Noah scanned the dining area. His gaze landed on Kayla, looking so studious and beautiful, sitting hunched over a laptop and a bunch of documents. Dressed in a powder blue blouse and black slacks, she alternated between chewing the end of her pen and staring at the screen in front of her.
“Do we seat ourselves?”
Noah’s face heated at Mr. Brown’s question and the realization that he’d been standing there, staring at Kayla, for much too long. Especially considering he was here to make a good impression on the man.
He gave a slight cough. “How about over there?” He motioned to an empty booth near the back.
Sally Jo, the owner’s daughter, passed by with a pitcher of sweet tea in one hand and a steaming coffeepot in the other. “Good afternoon, fellas. I’ll be with you in a bit.”
Noah nodded and led the way to his favorite table, tipping his hat at Kayla en route. Her eyes widened, and the most adorable blush colored her cheeks. She offered a nod and slight smile, which was tinged with a hint of sorrow, or perhaps caution, before she returned to her work.
“So I should order the burger, huh?” Mr. Brown’s question once again jolted Noah back to the present.
Noah smiled. “Best burger east of the Great Divide.”
“You’ve sold me.”
They ordered and sipped the sweet tea Sally Jo brought them while they waited for their food.
“Pastor Roger says you’ve got quite a thing going at that ministry of yours.” Mr. Brown slid aside his place setting and folded his hands on the table. “Tell me more about it.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Why’d you launch the ministry in the first place?”
“I was a problem teenager. Started going to parties—wherever I could find liquor, really—midway through my freshman year of high school. Got into bull-riding pretty young, and didn’t do too bad for myself. I traveled the country competing in one rodeo after another.”
“I’ve heard that can be addicting.”
He nodded. “I loved the rush.”
Sally deposited their food with a smile.
Mr. Brown picked up his fork. “And the ladies?”
Noah chuckled. “That was a perk, for sure.” Like with any sport, bull riders had their share of groupies—women who followed cowboys around, batting their eyes and acting all cute.
“So why’d you quit? You get hurt?”
“Plenty of times, but not even a set of broken ribs could keep me down for long. But then I lost one of my friends. He flew off a bull and snapped his neck. At first, that only drove me to the bottle and the next competition. But then, not even a week later, I landed myself into a coma. I woke to find my mama sitting at my bedside looking so...broken.”
“How long had you been out?”
“Long enough for my mom to think she’d lost me. I know she’d worried about that before. I can’t imagine the nights she spent up, praying for my safety, wondering if I’d return home paralyzed or worse. Never really bothered me before, least not enough to change me. But this time was different, because I knew what it felt like to lose someone you love.”
“Your friend?”
Noah nodded. “I realized I couldn’t do that to my mama anymore.”
“So where does your ministry fit in?”
“After that accident, I moved in with my mom and stepdad, and he immediately put me to work making furniture. Said I needed to earn my keep. At first I was pretty ticked about the whole deal. I’d been making bank riding bulls, and here I was, working for a steak sandwich and a place to crash. But then I saw the results of all my labor. First thing I made was a jewelry box for my mama.”
The pride he’d felt, sanding down the edges, carving out intricate flowers and vines. And seeing her face when he gave it to her. She’d been even more touched than he’d envisioned. “When I gave it to her, she hardly could get a word out. Just started crying and hugging me and crying some more.”
“Because you’d made something just for her.”
“That, and I think she understood what was going on inside me even more than I did. In helping me create something beautiful, my stepdad was breathing life and hope into my soul. And that’s what I want to do for the men we serve. I want to see the life in them and call it out.”
“Impressive. And y’all sell what your guys make to fund the ministry?”
“In theory.” He took a swig of his drink. “Problem is, seventy percent of our guys are in training.” That alone, lawsuit not included, would’ve been enough to spike his blood pressure. If they didn’t figure out a way to bring in some major income soon, the ministry wouldn’t survive.
“Which means inventory is low.”
“Lower than we’d like.” Their work was too important to let the place tank.
“And that’s where Team Missions comes in, correct?”
“We would like your organization to partner with us as donors, yes.”
While Noah shared his organization’s vision and philosophy, he tried to remain focused on the conversation, but his thoughts kept drifting to Kayla. The way she laughed whenever Timber mispronounced something or zoomed about the room. The loving way she gazed down on Sophia, whenever she cradled the infant in her arms. And now the inner strength and determination her features displayed, as she worked through whatever documents she’d laid before her.
She was hardworking, compassionate, traits any man would want in a woman.
Not that he was looking. Though he might want to consider finding a wife eventually, for the kids’ sake, seeing how he was raising them and all.
“Well...” Mr. Brown crumpled his napkin and tossed it on his nearly cleaned plate. “You’ve given me a good deal to think about.” He pulled out his wallet and dropped two twenties on the table.
“This one’s on me.” Noah tried to give them back.
Mr. Brown shook his head, then Noah’s hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
After he left, Noah stood, hesitated for half a breath, then ambled over to Kayla’s table. “Mind if I join you?”
She looked up, and a shy smile brightened her face. “Not at all.”
He glanced at the papers spread before her. One page listed contacts, which looked like potential or past clients. Some names were highlighted and others scratched out. She also had what looked to be promotional material for furniture stores. “Did you find anyone in need of a dozen or so rustic dining sets?”
“Actually... I don’t have any clients looking for what you’ve got, but I did have an idea.” She pulled a yellow legal pad covered in handwritten notes out from under the website pictures. “I’ve got connections with some high-end furniture stores in Seattle. I bet they’d carry your pieces, especially if we market the humanitarian angle. High-dollar shoppers love buying ethically.”
He struggled to contain his grin. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“So what’s the next step?”
“Any chance you can find someone to create promotional material for you?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not sure, but Faith Owens, Drake’s wife, might be able to. She’s quite the artist, and I’m pretty sure she knows how to do graphic-design stuff. Another buddy’s married to a writer. She can probably help, too.”
“Great. I’ll send you an email with some specifics, to sort of guide you both on what to include. Ask her to create some preliminary brochures, and we can set a time for the three of us to get together to formalize everything.”
Though this was the best lead he’d ever had, the process felt so long. What if it didn’t pan out in time? “How long will all this take, from pitch to sale, do you think?”
“I’m not sure. I realize you’re in a crunch. I’ll push for them to buy the pieces outright, rather than on commission. They’ll probably want a bigger cut or to know the furniture is returnable. Would that be a problem?”
“Not at all.”
It might be a good idea for him to start working on inventory, as well. Maybe his old football buddy Jed, Drake and the rest of their crew could help him out on that front.
Her phone pinged. She opened it and read a text, then met his eye. “You know, there are foster-parenting classes. Just east of Houston.”
Had she been talking to Roger? “I’m aware.” He swallowed. “Are you saying you want to raise Timber and Sophia?”
Her gaze faltered. “Not necessarily. I just thought, with all the transition they’ve experienced, and the loss of...” She took in a slow breath. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt for me to get educated on how best to help them.”
“I’ll go, too.” And if she fell in love with those kids as deeply as he had and wanted to keep them? He’d deal with that when the time came. Until then, he’d pray God wouldn’t let that happen.
“They meet tomorrow night.”
“I could pick you up and we could drive together if you want.”
“That sounds great. Thank you.” The way she looked at him in that moment—with a mixture of admiration, appreciation and hope—turned his insides to jelly.
Which meant inviting himself along on the trip had been a terrible idea.
A long, quiet drive to Houston, just the two of them?