Call Me Irresistible (Wynette, Texas #5)(123)

Ted understood exactly what it meant. It meant these tall, good-looking Korandas had circled their wagons against him just as his friends had done against Meg. Lack of sleep, frustration, and a self-disgust that was tinged with panic made him lash out. "I'm a little confused. Aren't you the same family who cut her off four months ago?"

He had them. He could see the guilt in their eyes. Until this exact moment, he'd never suspected he had a spiteful nature, but a person learned something new about himself every day. "I'll bet Meg never told you everything she went through."

"We talked to Meg all the time." Her mother's stiff lips barely moved.

"Is that right? Then you know all about how she was living." He didn't give a damn that he was about to do something grossly unfair. "I'm sure you know she was forced to scrub toilets to buy food? And she must have told you she had to sleep in her car? Did she mention that she barely avoided going to jail on vagrancy charges?" He wasn't telling them who'd nearly sent her there. "She ended up living in an abandoned building with no furniture. And do you have any idea how hot a Hill Country summer is? To cool off, she swam in a snake-infested creek." He could see the guilt dripping from their pores, and he bore in. "She had no friends and a town full of enemies, so you'll forgive me if I'm not impressed with your notions of how to protect her."

Her parents had gone ashen-faced, her brothers wouldn't look at him, and he told himself to back off even as the words kept coming. "If you don't want to tell me where she is, then the hell with all of you. I'll find her myself."

He stormed out of the house, fueled by rage, an emotion so new to him he barely recognized it. By the time he reached his car, however, he regretted what he'd done. This was the family of the woman he loved, and even she believed they'd done the right thing by cutting her off. He'd accomplished nothing except venting his anger on the wrong people. How the hell was he supposed to find her now?

He spent the next few days fighting a grinding despair. An Internet search failed to yield any clues about Meg's whereabouts, and the people most likely to have information refused to talk to him. She could be anywhere, and with the whole world to search, he had no idea where to start. 

Once it was obvious the Korandas hadn't been the high bidders in the contest, the identity of his matchmaker should have been immediately clear, but he still didn't figure it out right away. When he finally put the pieces together, he stormed to his parents' house and ran his mother to ground in her office.

"You made her life hell!" he exclaimed, barely able to contain himself.

She tried to wave him away with a flick of her fingers. "A dreadful exaggeration."

It felt good to have a target for his anger. "You made her life hell, and then suddenly, without warning, you turn into her champion?"

She regarded him with injured dignity, her favorite trick when she was backed into a corner. "Surely you've read Joseph Campbell. In any mythic journey, the heroine has to pass a series of difficult trials before she's worthy enough to win the hand of the beautiful prince."

His father snorted from across the room.

Ted stalked out of the house, afraid of this new anger that kept erupting. He wanted to hop on a plane, to bury himself in work, to slip out of the skin that had once fit him so comfortably. Instead he drove to the church and sat next to Meg's swimming hole. He imagined her disgust if she could see him like this-see what was happening to the town. With the mayor's office sitting empty, bills weren't getting paid and disputes were going unsettled. No one could even authorize the final repairs on the library that his mother's check had made possible. He'd failed the town. He'd failed Meg. He'd failed himself.

She would hate the way he'd fallen apart, and even in his imagination, he didn't like disappointing her more than he already had. He drove into town, parked his truck, and forced himself through the door of City Hall.

As soon as he stepped inside, everybody started toward him. He held up his hand, glared at each one of them, and sealed himself in his office.

He stayed there all day, refusing to answer either the ringing phone or the repeated knocks on his locked door as he shuffled through papers, studied the city budget, and contemplated the sabotaged golf resort. For weeks the seed of an idea had been trying to break through his subconscious only to wither in the bitter soil of his guilt, anger, and misery. Now, instead of gnawing over the ugly scene at the landfill, he applied the cool, hard logic that was his stock-in-trade.

One day passed, then another. Homemade baked goods began to pile up outside his office. Torie yelled through the door, trying to bully him into going to the Roustabout. Lady E. left the complete works of David McCullough on the passenger seat of his truck-he had no idea why. He ignored them all, and after three days, he had a plan. One that would make his life infinitely more complicated, but a plan nonetheless. He emerged from his seclusion and began making phone calls.