Книга - Lakeside Reunion

Lakeside Reunion
Lisa Jordan


A Town Full Of MemoriesBed-and-breakfast owner Lindsey Porter prays she won’t run into Stephen Chase when she returns to Shelby Lake. Five years ago, the cop jilted her to marry another woman, and Lindsey fled town. But no sooner does she hit city limits than Stephen pulls her over for a broken taillight.Despite the past, he’s still able to stir up Lindsey’s old feelings for him. Now a widower and single dad, Stephen recognizes a second chance when he sees one. And he’ll do anything to make Lindsey trust in God and take a risk for love—again.












“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.


“I remember the ones you and your dad used to share.”

Lindsey peered at Stephen over the edge of her mug, and then looked away. She would not cry in front of him … again.

“Man, I’m batting a thousand today. I didn’t … I mean … I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth.”

“No, no, not your fault. It’s just that, well, those were special times. Since Dad’s death, I haven’t found a good enough reason to have breakfast.” She traced the wood grain in the oak trestle table with her finger. “You must think I’m such a dork.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Her finger stilled, and her breath caught.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Stephen walked to the door, turned and gave Lindsey a long look. “You’ll find someone special to share breakfast with again.”

Problem was, Lindsey didn’t want just anyone. She wanted Stephen.


Dear Reader,

Twenty-three years ago, a handsome marine stole my heart, promising never to give it back. That marine dreamed of becoming a police officer like his dad. Just before his enlistment was up, though, I begged him to give up his dream. I was terrified of losing him in the line of duty. Lindsey and I have a lot in common—we didn’t trust God to protect those we loved.

Lakeside Reunion is a story of forgiveness, trust and having a second chance at love. We draw close to those we love and trust, just as God wants us to draw close to Him. When we put our faith in Him, He restores our relationship and helps us overcome those fears that keep us from living. God always promises to be by our sides, no matter what trials we experience.

Stephen and Lindsey are dear to my heart, having been rattling around in my head for over a decade. I’m so thrilled you took the time to read this story of my heart. Don’t be a stranger to Shelby Lake. I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me at lisajordanbooks@gmail.com or visit my website, www.lisajordanbooks.com, to learn what’s next for the residents of Shelby Lake and my writing.

Lisa Jordan


Lakeside Reunion

Lisa Jordan






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart

and with the full assurance that faith brings,

having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us

from a guilty conscience and having

our bodies washed with pure water.

—Hebrews 10:22




Dedication


How does someone thank the one person who sacrificed his dream for the woman he loves, while being a continual supporter of hers? A lifetime of gratitude and love goes to Patrick Jordan, my incredible husband, who gave up his badge for a scared, insecure wife over twenty years ago. I love you more than words can ever express. You are my real-life hero. I’m honored to be your wife. Semper Fi.

For Scott and Mitchell. You inspire me to be a better mother and a better writer. Thank you so much for reheating leftovers and loading the dishwasher so I could write. I love you forever. Thanks to the rest of my amazing family for your constant encouragement. I love you all.

For the men and women in law enforcement who put their lives on the line daily for our safety and for their families who support them.

For Your Glory, Lord. Without You, none of this would have been possible.




Acknowledgments


When a book takes over a decade to go from an idea to a published novel, many people have a role in the story process.

Thanks to my agent, Rachelle Gardner, of WordServe Literary Group and my editor at Love Inspired Books, Melissa Endlich, for taking the story of my heart from dream to reality.

Thanks to writing mentors who have shaped me into the writer I am today: Linda Leshinski taught fiction fundamentals to an idealistic freshman at UPB, Dorice Nelson measured me for my first alligator skin in Word Slingers, Ruth Logan Herne taught me how to move past rejection, and finally the My Book Therapy dynamic duo, Susan May Warren and Rachel Hauck, brainstormed life into Stephen and Lindsey’s story, teaching me to dig deeper by constantly asking “Why?” I’m so blessed to call you mentors and friends.

Thanks to Patrick Jordan and Mark Mynheir for answering U.S.M.C. and law enforcement questions. Thanks to Dr. Richard Mabry, Dr. Ronda Wells, Leslie Pfeil, Laurie Sherriff and Gerry McIntyre for their medical advice. Any mistakes are mine.

Thanks to the Word Slingers, the Penwrights, the Writer C.H.I.C.K.s and the Tough Cookies for their very helpful feedback. Thanks to The Ponderers, the Coffee Girls, Susan Saar, Jo Moore, Carolyn Vibbert, Sara Patry, Amanda, Marie-Anne Mouthaan, Roxanne Sherwood, Beth K. Vogt and Reba J. Hoffman for your prayers, friendship and encouragement. I’m so grateful to have all of you in my life.




Chapter One


Any moment now, Lindsey could put the car in Drive, touch the gas pedal, drive past the green-etched Welcome to Shelby Lake sign and return to her past. Another hundred feet and she would be back.

Visitors traveled to the northwestern Pennsylvania lakefront community to get away. She escaped to put her life back together.

Center Street unfurled like black satin ribbon under a canopy of evergreens and multicolored maples and oaks that would take her right down memory lane. Past the elementary school where Mom taught kindergarten. Past Aunt Claire’s sewing shop. Past Mrs. Lawson’s pink-sided house with the plastic yard goose she dressed each holiday. Past the church where Lindsey almost said “I do.”

Mom, why did you have to fall down the stairs?

Lindsey gripped the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against the powder-blue fuzzy cover. Maybe banging her head against it would knock some sense into her brain. She’d made promises that never, ever, not in a thousand years would she return to Shelby Lake.

But promises didn’t account for widowed mothers who might slip on a dirty sock on the stairs to the laundry room.

Next to her, on the seat of her friend’s borrowed Taurus, her cell phone chimed. She read the display. Perfect—Granddad checking in. He probably expected her to hedge at the city limits, weighing the pros and cons.

Like for the past half hour.

She answered the call. “I’m on my way, really.”

“No doubt in my mind, sweetness. Your mama’s been taken to X-ray. She’s asking for that quilt—you know, the one with all those circles—off the recliner near the davenport. Could you pick it up on your way?” Granddad’s voice betrayed an edge of stress—playing family watchdog for the past five years whittled any visible panic from his voice. “Can you hurry?”

“Yes … sure. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes or so.” She ended the conversation and clenched the phone.

Quilt with circles, Granddad had said. The wedding ring quilt on the recliner near the couch. Dad’s recliner. Closing her eyes, she could picture him sitting there—feet crossed at the ankles, hands tucked behind his head. An ache pinched her chest. But she would do it. For Mom.

She imagined her mother, fragile, her eyes wide with pain, maybe even fear as she lay puddled at the bottom of the stairs, or trying to drag her broken body toward a phone. If Lindsey hadn’t swept the Shelby Lake dust off her feet, she might have been there. Might have heard her cry out. Or rather, might have been the one carrying the laundry downstairs.

She glanced at the sign again and released a loud sigh. Okay, so the town had fewer than five thousand people. Entering city limits didn’t guarantee she’d see him. Or his son. Or run smack into the humiliation of being left at the altar.

It felt that way. Come on, who calls off a wedding a week before the big day?

Still. No one really lived down being jilted for another woman. Especially when they married within a month of her broken engagement. She couldn’t stand the looks of pity that would follow her like a stray pup.

Can you hurry?

She’d grab the quilt, pop into the hospital to check on Mom, make sure someone from the church signed up to serve meals and then head back to her small country inn in Maple Valley.

Where she belonged.

In, out, fast, simple, and with any luck she wouldn’t bump into the man who had left her heart in pieces, scattered across Shelby Lake.

Clouds resembling curdled milk smudged the morning horizon. Raindrops pinged her windshield in a lazy-Sunday-afternoon manner. A sliver of sunlight sliced through the tree limbs, over the rooftops of the houses lined up like first graders, beckoning her, calling her to come closer.

If she didn’t do it now, she’d end up putting her car in Reverse and making the two-hour return trip to Maple Valley without looking back. But she couldn’t disappoint Mom. Not this time.

She shifted into Drive and checked for traffic. None, of course. She had just coasted over the county line into Shelby Lake when she heard the blip of a siren.

What—?

A cruiser pulled up behind her.

Seriously? She was barely moving, let alone speeding.

Putting the car into Park, Lindsey dragged her fingers through her hair and rested her elbow against the door.

Maybe the officer would be one of the older guys. One of Dad’s buddies.

Please, God.

She used to have the entire force on her Christmas card list, but, life had taken a detour the morning her father had been shot during a routine traffic stop and died a couple of hours later. And a girl had a right to close the door on a chapter of her life and start over, right?

The door to the cruiser opened. Lindsey squinted in the rearview mirror to see if she recognized the officer. With his head turned, she saw only dark hair cut above his collar. He paused to talk into his radio.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Come on. Come on.”

He approached the car. She leaned over to scrounge through napkins and ketchup packets in the glove compartment for the vehicle registration and insurance card. Of course her car—a silver convertible that she would have preferred driving for this foray into her past—sat in the shop, getting the brakes replaced.

A girl should have at least a month’s notice before she returned to her former life—lose those extra five pounds, get her hair cut, a decent manicure and definitely get her hard-earned sporty wheels detailed.

Still, Rita’s ancient beater had saved her hide. And again, it wasn’t as if she’d run into anyone she knew.

A rap on the driver’s window sent her heart skidding. Lindsey cranked the window open with one hand while trying to free her driver’s license out of its plastic holder with the other. A rain-scented breeze frisked her cheek.

“What’s the matter, Officer?” Eyes glued on her wallet, she tried, oh, how she tried, to keep the annoyance from her voice. “I was barely moving.”

“Ma’am, did you know your left taillight is out?”

Oh. She’d turned her lights on during the rainstorm. Busted. “The car’s not mine. Belongs to a friend.”

“I need to see your driver’s license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance, please.”

For the first time, she heard, really heard, the voice. Deep, with threads of humor around the edges, and the finest sense of control. A man of patience, of honor.

She closed her eyes. Really, God?

He was so not on her side.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, just a minute.” Stephen. Or maybe Officer Stephen Chase. She ground her teeth, focusing on the fake pine-tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror.

“Stephen.” His name slid out as a strangled whisper. Then, because she had to, she hazarded a look. And yes, God certainly knew how to spear her in the heart, because if possible, Stephen had only become more handsome.

Apparently that’s what marriage and fatherhood did to a man.

Clearly five years wasn’t enough to get over those blueberry-colored eyes, that dark, wavy, run-her-hands-through-it hair, the devastating cleft in his chin. His smile belonged in an ad for men’s cologne. And still managed to send her heart into a tailspin.

Now, he just roamed about in her dreams, in the hours between waking and sleeping when she had no defenses.

Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. Just to make sure. Nope, he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

Stephen’s eyes had widened even as his mouth dropped open. Good. She shouldn’t be the only one squirming here.

Unfortunately, he recovered more quickly. “Lindsey Porter. It’s been what? At least five years?”

“Something like that.” Five years, two months and three days, if someone bothered to count.

“This is not your vehicle.” He stood with hands on his lean hips and feet shoulder-width apart.

“I believe I mentioned that.” She refrained from adding “Captain Obvious.” No need for sarcasm. He was only doing his job.

Because, you know, apprehending hardened taillight-defying criminals would certainly solve the world’s problems. Or find her father’s killer.

“Mine’s in the shop. Borrowed this from my assistant manager.”

He nodded and then crossed his arms over his chest. The stretched navy fabric of his uniform emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. She averted her eyes.

ABBA came on the radio, belting out “Take a Chance on Me.”

Lindsey flicked off the radio. So not going to happen.

“I should probably give your friend a ticket. It’s dangerous to drive around without taillights—especially in weather like this. You just missed a downpour that came through here. What if the cars behind you couldn’t see you slowing down or turning?”

“What cars? And no, I didn’t miss it—drove through it, thank you. Without an accident, even. Imagine that.”

He stared at her, and she seemed to see the words linger outside of her body, as if she wasn’t sure where they came from. In the wake of her sarcasm she wanted to slink into her seat, maybe climb under it.

His cheery demeanor vanished. “I’m serious.”

She blew out a breath, staring at her whitened knuckles clenching the steering wheel. Schooled her voice. “Sorry. Look, I know. I’ll be sure to let Rita know, okay? Write me a ticket or whatever, but please hurry. I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

Suddenly she needed her mother.

“If you were in such a hurry, why did you idle near the sign for the last thirty minutes?”

“You were watching me?” She fought to keep the squeak out of her voice. She didn’t expect any spectators while she psyched herself up to cross the county line. Should have known better.

“Someone called in suspicious activity. I had to check it out.” He frowned, but the hard set of his jaw relaxed. “What kind of emergency?”

Blinking back sudden, crazy tears, Lindsey forced herself to hold Stephen’s gaze. “Mom. She fell down the stairs and broke her leg.”

Stephen relaxed his stance, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and softened his tone. “Linds, I’m sorry. That’s tough. How can I help?”

How could he help? How about making sure she didn’t run into him the first twenty-four hours she was in town? How about picking up the pieces of her broken heart, pasting them back together? How about telling her that he’d been wrong for choosing Bethany over her?

No, she didn’t want that. Not anymore, at least.

“Let me go so I can get to the hospital.” And out of Shelby Lake as fast as possible.

He stepped back, nodding. She waited a moment for a “nice to see you” or even “want to get a cup of coffee?” But it didn’t come.

It would never come.

Because some things simply couldn’t be fixed.

Stephen jammed himself behind the wheel of the cruiser. Thunking his head against the headrest, he groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face.

The life he put back together piece by piece during the past five years scattered like Ty’s bucket of Legos with a single glimpse of her.

Seeing Lindsey stole his breath. He expected a middle-aged woman driving the late ‘80s blue Ford Taurus. Not his former fiancée.

Wow. She looked amazing. Time had only done her favors. Her hair still looked like the sunrise over the lake, and how he longed to touch it. Weave it through his fingers. It was shorter, although he liked it above her shoulders. Made her look less like a teenager, more like a woman. A woman who hated him. He needed to keep that fact in the center of his thoughts.

The police band chattered in the background, reminding him to radio dispatch and let them know he was back in service. But he tuned it out for a minute. He needed to regroup—force his hands to stop shaking and bring his thudding heart under control. A cold sweat slicked his face. He lowered the window. The crisp breeze fanned his clammy skin.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip. He released it from the belt holster and glanced at the display. His sister. He flipped it open. “Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

“Stephen, why are you answering your phone? You’re on duty.”

“Uh, you called me?”

“An eye for detail, as always.”

“Mel …”

“Okay, okay. Listen, I didn’t expect to talk to you. I mean, I called, but I figured I’d get your voice mail. Nate and I are grilling tonight. With friends. Why don’t you and Ty join us?”

“Which friends? It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

“The patio is covered. Bring a sweatshirt. Oliver and Amy are coming. And, well, Ginger, a new girl in our morning Bible study who could use someone to show her around.”

“Isn’t there a church rule that says pastors’ wives are forbidden to torture their brothers with their not-so-subtle matchmaking schemes?”

“Hey, I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

“Leave the matchmaking to the Tea Grannies, Mel.” He referred to the group of five ladies in his church who felt it was their God-gifted mission to make sure the singles in the church were paired up—whether they wanted to be or not.

“I just thought … well, it’s been almost a year.”

“Forget it. Not. Interested.” Knowing she was only trying to help, he softened his tone so he didn’t sound so much like a jerk. “Thanks, anyway. I need to get back to work.”

“Well, stop by and grab something to eat.”

“Maybe.” He hesitated, not sure if he should say anything yet, but she’d find out soon enough. “Hey, Mel. Uh, Lindsey’s back in town.”

“What? When? How do you know?”

“Someone called in a lurker down by the welcome sign. Had to check it out. Turned out to be Lindsey. Apparently Grace Porter fell and broke her leg.”

“You’ve seen her. Oh, Stephen … I’m so … How are you doing? I mean, seeing her must have been … wow, like a total shock or something.”

“That would be the understatement of three lifetimes. Listen, I really have to go. Call Ma, will you? I’m sure she’ll want to know about Grace.”

“Yeah, sure. As soon as Nate’s done with his sermon prep, we’ll head to the hospital to check on Grace. Maybe I can catch Lindsey. Call me later if, you know, you want to talk or anything.”

Stephen snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat beside him.

Life couldn’t be easy, could it?

Today was supposed to be like every other—wake up, drop Tyler off at school, head to the station. Since his wife’s death almost a year ago, juggling his responsibilities—single parenthood, law enforcement officer, upholding the family honor—without screwing up too badly consumed his waking hours.

And now Melissa had it in her head that he needed to date again. Was she crazy? He could barely keep his head above water as it was. Forget about romance.

Unless …

Stephen shook his head. Don’t even think about it. Lindsey hated him. He could see it in her thick-lashed, look-at-me green eyes. She had every right to never want to see him again.

Five years was a long time. She was probably involved with someone. Possibly even married. No, he would’ve heard if that had happened.

The thought of her with another guy twisted his gut. Yet, he had no right. His stupidity was the reason they weren’t together anymore. What she had been up to for the past five years was no longer any of his business. Plus, it wasn’t as if he would have been at the top of her must-see list. Girls really didn’t like to hang out with the guys who crushed their hearts.

He was an idiot. Of gigantic proportions.

He needed to get a grip. He had a job to do.

His cell phone vibrated again. Probably Melissa letting him know she talked to Ma. He grabbed it and answered. “Chase.”

“Mr. Chase, this is Carolyn Patry, the school nurse at Shelby Lake Elementary. I’m afraid there’s been a little accident.”

“What sort of accident?” A child wailed in the background. Familiar sobs that knifed his insides. “What’s wrong with Tyler?”

“He and another child collided while playing indoor soccer in gym class. Tyler fell and hurt his arm. I’m afraid it may be broken. He needs medical attention. Would you like me to call the paramedics, or do you want to take him to the emergency room?”

“I’ll take him. I’m on my way.” He ended the call, radioed the station to let them know where he was headed and shifted the patrol car into Drive. He pulled away from the shoulder, spitting gravel beneath the tires.

A broken arm wasn’t life-threatening. But the poor kid’d had a rough year and didn’t need anything else to make it worse. Especially a trip to the hospital—a place they’d come to know all too well and hated.

What if he ran into Lindsey in the E.R.?

Second chances didn’t come along every day. Now that she was back in town, maybe, just maybe he could make amends—fix what he had broken in the past. Next time she left town, it wouldn’t be because of him. Or maybe, God willing, he’d make sure she never wanted to leave again.




Chapter Two


Lindsey rushed into Shelby Lake Memorial’s emergency department. Her feet stopped at the edge of the rubber mat. The automatic doors hissed open and closed behind her. Her brain told her to move. But her legs … well, they refused to cooperate.

The stench of antiseptic saturated the air, coating the back of her throat and unleashing a flood of memories. Sea of blue uniforms swarming the waiting room. Mom’s body hunched in repetitious prayer. The waiting for word about Dad’s condition … praying for a miracle.

Beads of sweat dotted her upper lip and forehead. Inside her skin, her muscles tightened, nerve endings pulsed. Chills crawled across her flesh.

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t go back to the exam rooms, only to have the doctors say how sorry they were, but there was nothing more they could do. She couldn’t bear to listen to Mom’s griefstricken howls. Except, this time, those cries would be hers.

Ringing.

From the registration desk. Focus, girl.

Lindsey blinked a couple of times.

Emergency department.

Right.

Mom hadn’t been rushed to the O.R. with a bullet in her chest like Dad had been. She’d be fine. After all, who died from a broken leg?

Lindsey scanned the room, searching for Granddad’s steel-gray crew cut or Grandma’s cotton-colored curls.

Instead, she locked eyes with an elderly woman wearing a pink-and-white crocheted hat that resembled a toilet-paper cover. She wore a stretched-out white T-shirt, green polyester pants with a snag in the knee, white ankle socks and blue knockoff Crocs. She clutched a wicker purse with a beaded handle. Her jaw worked a piece of gum like one of Granddad’s Holsteins.

Realizing she was staring, Lindsey pulled her attention away from the woman and hurried to the registration desk. A woman with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders looked up from a computer screen and smiled. “May I help you?”

“My mother, Grace Porter, was brought in by ambulance with a broken leg.”

The woman set her glasses on the bridge of her nose and clicked a few keys. “Please have a seat, and I’ll get someone to speak with you.” She left the desk and disappeared behind a closed door.

Lindsey turned away from the desk and perched on the edge of one of the rose-colored vinyl chairs. The same chairs formed a horseshoe around the same glass table as they had five years ago. Dog-eared Sports Illustrated, Good Housekeeping and Parents magazines lay tossed on the chairs like missing socks. A morning show played on the wall-mounted TV, but the woman’s perky voice grated on her nerves.

“You gotta go potty?” A little girl about four with lopsided ponytails, a dirty face and a heart-melting smile stood in front of Lindsey holding a worn Dr. Seuss book.

“Excuse me?”

“When I hafta go potty, I do that.” She pointed to Lindsey’s knee.

Lindsey looked down and realized she had been bouncing her knee. She stilled her leg and shook her head. “Oh. No, I’m fine. Nervous habit.”

“What you got to be nerbous about?”

“My mom broke her leg. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“That musta hurt. My mommy drinked too much and had a accibent. My daddy yelled at her and she cried. I don’t like my daddy. I’m sposta stay with Nana, but she’s talking to Jesus. Do you talk to Jesus?”

At one time, she did. Thinking she had a direct line to Heaven, Lindsey prayed for a miracle. But apparently, God screened His calls.

Instead of answering, Lindsey tapped the book cover. “I like your book. My mom has Daisy-Head Mayzie and reads it to her class.”

The little girl looked at the front of the book a minute, then hugged it against her chest. “My teacher read it to us, too. Mommy buyed it for me. She likes daisies. She said I was special like Daisy. I like my mommy. She’s nice when she don’t smell funny.”

Smell funny? Booze? Drugs? Worse?

If life hadn’t taken a sharp U-turn … well, maybe Lindsey would have had a child by now. Possibly about the same age as the little girl. She couldn’t dwell on the way reality derailed her dreams.

She tucked her hands beneath her thighs to keep from pulling the girl into her lap and cradling her against the unfairness of life. Of course, after she burned that stained polka-dot dress and dunked the child in a tub full of bubbles.

The girl should be watching Dora the Explorer, playing dress-up and serving tea to bears and pink unicorns. Not wandering the emergency-department waiting room, trying to decide which parent she loved more.

“Molly! Get on over here. Don’t bother that nice lady.” The elderly woman with the crocheted hat slapped the empty seat beside her. “Sorry ‘bout that. Molly’s a little chatterbox.”

Lindsey held up a hand and smiled. “She’s no bother. Really.”

Molly shuffled her grungy yellow flip-flops to her grandmother and hopped onto the chair beside her. “Nana, my tummy’s hungry.”

“Well, you will just have to wait. I ain’t got no money. Who knows how long your worthless mother is going to keep us here? Why, I have half a mind to—” The woman mashed her withered knuckles against her lips and stared out the window.

Lindsey dug through her purse and pulled out a blueberry cereal bar. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to intrude, but I have a granola bar. Molly’s welcome to it.”

Molly’s eyes sparkled. She slid off the chair, but Nana grabbed the child’s arm and pulled her back. She shook her head, causing the crocheted rose on her hat to flop around like a hooked trout. “We don’t take charity. We ain’t got much, but we got our pride.”

Lindsey wanted to argue. To let her know it was no imposition. But Nana’s thrust chin and crossed arms left little room for debate. Molly’s bottom lip protruded. Lindsey’s heart pined for the child. How many times had Dad given food to needy families? Even strangers.

Whatever you did for the one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.

Maybe she could slip the nurse a twenty and ask for food to be brought to Molly and Nana.

A hand settled on her shoulder. She jumped to her feet and whirled around. She found herself looking into kind brown eyes set in a weathered face as lined as a topographical map.

Her grandfather, Graham Matthews, smiled and opened his arms.

“Granddad!” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. The softness of his red-and-black checked flannel shirt caressed her cheek. The faint odor of cow manure and hay settled in the threads of the fabric, whisking Lindsey back to a place where problems were solved with hugs, homemade oatmeal cookies and lazy walks along the creek. “How’s Mom? Where is she?”

“One question at a time, sweetness. Come with me and then we’ll talk. Did you grab that quilt she asked for?”

Lindsey thunked the heel of her hand against her forehead. After the fiasco with Stephen, stopping to pick up the quilt slipped her mind. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot. I’ll get it as soon as I see Mom.”

“No worries, sweetness.”

No worries. Right. Something as simple as a blanket to bring her mother comfort, and she couldn’t even manage that. One more way of letting Mom down. Definitely out of the running for Daughter of the Year.

Granddad tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and tightened his hold as if he knew she wanted to bolt. She trailed behind as he guided her around the registration desk, past the nurses’ station. Each footstep plodded, yet her brain screamed, “No! No! No!”

She must have spoken out loud because Granddad turned to her. “No what?”

Her stomach gurgled and pitched. Bile slicked her throat. She swallowed hard. “I can’t do this.”

“Being in this hospital again is tough on you, sweetness. On all of us. Gracie may be nearing fifty, but she’s still our little girl.” Granddad released her arm.

Oh, how she longed to have wings. To fly away. Out of the hospital. And back to her inn where life was safe. But she couldn’t.

Not this time.

Mom needed her.

Cupping her shoulders, Granddad looked at her—eyes full of compassion and never leaving her face. “You can do this. You have your mama’s strength. She will be fine. It’s only a broken leg.”

Hadn’t she chanted that mantra already? Somehow her brain tuned it out.

They stopped in front of one of the exam rooms. Lindsey’s heart slammed against her rib cage. No going back now.

She grabbed Granddad’s hand. He gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze and then rapped on the door with his knuckles. He stepped back and motioned for her to enter.

They’ll cast Mom’s broken leg, send her home with crutches and pain pills. She’ll be fine.

Lindsey dredged up a smile. She peered around the door frame. Dressed in a generic hospital gown, Mom lay against the snow-white pillows with her eyes closed. A thermal weave blanket covered her from the waist down but did little to disguise the puffy mound around her right leg.

Her grandmother, Madeleine Matthews, sat in a pea-green vinyl chair in the corner, knitting. The rhythmic clicking of the needles told Lindsey Grandma wasn’t as calm as she appeared. She always knitted when she was stressed. Said it calmed her nerves.

“Some people will do anything to get out of doing laundry.”

Grandma looked up and smiled. She dropped the yarn and needles in her purse at her feet and stood, opening her arms.

Lindsey rushed into her gentle embrace, breathing in the familiar lavender scent. “Hey, Grandma. How are you doing?”

“Oh, my girl, it’s so good to see you.” Grandma squeezed her, and then held her at arm’s length. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”

“It’s great to see you, too.” She pulled away from Grandma and edged toward the bed. “How’s Mom doing?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out for yourself?” Mom’s sleepy voice drifted toward her. She turned, giving Lindsey full view of the reddish-purple bruises and abrasions streaking the side of her face.

Lindsey bit back a gasp as she sat on the side of the bed.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

She caressed her mother’s swollen cheekbone. “Stairs one? Mom zero?”

“Something like that. I told them not to call you. It’s only a broken leg.”

“Actually, it’s a little more serious than that.” A petite, dark-haired woman dressed in a white lab coat over green scrubs with a folder tucked under her arm knocked on the partially opened door before entering the room. She crossed the room and shook hands with Granddad, Grandma and Lindsey. “Rachel Warren, attending physician.”

Lindsey shook the doctor’s hand. “Just how serious?”

Dr. Warren leafed through the pages in the folder and turned to Mom. “Mrs. Porter, your blood work looks good, but I wish I could say the same about your X-rays. You have a compound tib-fib fracture near your ankle joint. I’ve called in Dr. Geis, our orthopedic surgeon. She had a cancellation and will be able to do surgery right before lunch.”

“Tib-fib?” Mom tried to sit up, but sucked air between clenched teeth.

Dr. Warren laid a hand on her arm. “Please lie back and try not to jostle your leg. Tib-fib refers to the tibia and fibula— the bones between the knee and ankle.” Pulling back the blanket and using a pen as a pointer, she ran it along the front of Mom’s left calf. “Your fracture occurred in the lower portion of your leg, close to the ankle. With this serious of a fracture, surgery is necessary to be sure the bones heal properly.”

Granddad and Grandma asked more questions, but Lindsey’s thoughts swirled like a shaken snow globe. Surgery? People died on the operating table.

Lindsey wandered to the window. She stared at the ugly blue parking garage that grew out of the asphalt and towered above the two-story hospital. Cars the size of ladybugs crawled into parking spaces. She pulled her BlackBerry out of her purse and scrolled through the list of events for the rest of the month. One by one she deleted them from her calendar.

“Lindsey, is everything okay?” Grandma placed her hand on Lindsey’s arm.

She forced a smile. “Of course.”

A few minutes later, Dr. Warren left and a nurse came in to prep Mom for the move to the surgical wing. Lindsey returned to the waiting room with her grandparents.

Molly and Nana were gone. Maybe they were eating in the cafeteria. But Lindsey couldn’t think about them right now.

Granddad struck up a conversation with a man next to the coffee machine. Grandma sat and resumed knitting.

Lindsey paced, clenching her hands as a million thoughts ran through her head. Leaving Shelby Lake was definitely out of the question now. She couldn’t abandon Mom right before surgery. She needed to call her assistant Rita and give her a heads-up.

And, oh, yes, the quilt.

That meant heading out to Mom’s house—the house where Lindsey spent her first twenty-two years. The house so full of memories that she hadn’t returned in five years.

Grandma reached for Lindsey’s hands and pulled her down to sit in the empty seat beside her. She rubbed a thumb over Lindsey’s knuckles, forcing her fingers to unclench. She stared at Lindsey with her faded aquamarine-colored eyes as if reading the thoughts racing through her head. “Everything is going to be fine, honey. You can spend the night at the farm, if you want. Or I’ll come to your mother’s house with you.”

Part of her wanted to pounce on Grandma’s offer, to curl up next to her in the queen-size bed with the iron headboard, fluffy down pillows and handmade quilt like she did when she was a little girl. To hide herself inside the big farmhouse, with its creaky wooden floors and lingering scents of baking bread and cinnamon. But if she were going to be back in Shelby Lake for any length of time, she’d have to return home sooner or later. Better to do it now on her own terms without an audience.

She laid her head on Grandma’s shoulder. “I’m a big girl, Grandma. I can stay by myself.”

Grandma slid her arm behind Lindsey and gathered her close. “Oh, I know. It’s just … well, going home may be a little difficult.”

Getting a loan for her inn was a little difficult. Finding a certified contractor on a Sunday was a little difficult. Going home was … well, that was beyond difficult. She had to suck it up and do it.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine hanging out here until Mom is out of surgery.” Lindsey stood and adjusted the butter-yellow cardigan she wore with her yellow-and-lavender floral skirt. Her open-toed heels were killing her feet. She longed for a hot bath and comfy pajamas.

“While they’re prepping Gracie for surgery, I’m going to see if Granddad wants to go to the chapel with me to pray. Would you care to join us?”

“No, thanks. I’ll wait here until I can see Mom before her surgery.”

“They gave her a pretty strong painkiller. She may sleep for a while.”

“That’s okay. I just, well, I need to be here. In case she needs me.”

“I understand.”

Grandma gathered her yarn. Lindsey touched her shoulder. “Grandma? What if …” Lindsey hesitated, not wanting to go there, but a girl had to face reality. “What if something goes wrong? Like with Dad.”

Taking Lindsey’s hands into hers, Grandma squeezed them lightly. “Honey, you are not alone. Remember that. We’re here with you. And so is God. One of my favorite verses from Psalm reminds us, ‘When I am afraid, I will trust in You.’ The Lord will guide the surgeons and keep your mom safe. Put your trust in Him.”

Lindsey tugged on the cuff of her sweater. “Where was that guidance five years ago? How can I trust a God who takes great people like Dad, yet lets his killer roam free? Praying would be a waste of time. God tuned me out years ago.”

Stephen rested his head against the back of the vinyl chair and shifted Tyler in his lap. The kid was supposed to be lying on the bed, but comforting his son was more important than following hospital protocol.

Ty whimpered and snuggled closer, cradling his head in the crook of Stephen’s arm. “I wanna go home.”

“I know, partner. As soon as the doctor finds out what’s wrong with your wrist, we’ll be out of here.” Stephen adjusted the ice pack on Tyler’s left wrist and prayed the ibuprofen started working soon.

Ty didn’t fight the nurse who took his vitals or gave him pain meds, but when Dr. Warren touched his wrist, the kid let out a scream that sliced through Stephen like a scalpel. More than anything, he wanted to fix it. Take the pain away. Make his son happy again.

His ears still rang from Tyler’s screams upon entering the emergency department. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was in pain or if the hospital brought back memories. Maybe a little of both.

Ty cried every time they visited. The beeping monitors scared him. He complained about the smell. His childhood needed to be filled with baseball games, skinned knees, climbing trees—not death.

Bethany’s face swept into his head. Her final days, lying in the bed, struggling for her next breath as the melanoma ravaged her frail body. Skin stretched across bone, she had become a shell of the woman he cared about. Her strawberry blond hair had been destroyed by chemo and radiation. Even her freckles appeared as washed-out as the hospital bedsheets. Not even thirty when she died, but she appeared closer to sixty.

Stephen brushed the curls off Tyler’s forehead. The kid needed a haircut. Bethany had been so good with all that. Even when she felt like crud from the chemo, she made sure Ty was well cared for. He could barely remember to check Ty’s homework, let alone make hair appointments. But he’d do better. He had to. Ty depended on him. He wasn’t going to let his son down.

He counted the ceiling tiles for the second time and made it to twenty-eight when someone knocked on the door before pushing it open. Dr. Warren entered the room. Over her shoulder, Stephen caught sight of a woman with honey-blond hair and wearing the same yellow sweater as Lindsey.

Oh, right. Grace Porter’s fall.

Ty’s injury had pushed aside this morning’s events, but seeing that hair brought everything back in a rush.

Should he go after her? Check and see how her mom was doing?

No, he couldn’t leave Ty. Plus, it could have been someone else. And then, he’d look like an idiot.

“Officer Chase.”

Stephen looked at Dr. Warren and realized the middle-aged physician had been talking to him. And he hadn’t heard a word she said.

“I’m sorry. My brain was in left field. Mind repeating that?”

She gave him that pitying “I know you’re a single dad now, so I’ll treat you with kid gloves” look he’d seen so often in the past year. “Good news. Tyler’s wrist is not broken. He does have a grade two sprain, though. Because he’s such an active kid, I’d like to splint it and keep it in a sling for about a week. It will help with the pain and minimize further damage.”

She explained to Tyler what was going to happen and gave him time to ask questions. Stephen appreciated the way she included his son in the conversation.

Thirty minutes later, Stephen hugged a now-smiling Tyler goodbye, being careful not to jostle his splinted arm. “You’re going to hang out with Papa until I get home. Take it easy with that arm.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, too, buddy.”

Giving his dad a one-armed hug, Stephen said, “Thanks for keeping him. I’ll grab him after work.”

“No rush. You should have called sooner. We’re here for you, son. This rain kept me in the house instead of at the construction site, so I’m glad I could help. I’ll keep the little guy entertained.”

They headed out the door. If he paid a nickel every time his parents bailed him out, he’d be a poor man. Thank God for them. Otherwise neither he nor Ty would have made it this far.

He returned to the nurses’ station and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the discharge form his cousin, the E.R. nurse on duty, put in front of him. He slid it across the counter to her. “There you go, Roxanne. Thanks.”

She scanned the form and then smiled. “Looks like you’re good to go, Stephen. I hope Ty feels better soon.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Fishing the keys to the cruiser out of his pocket, he headed for the emergency-entrance parking lot. He rounded the corner and about knocked over a woman coming from the opposite direction. His chin grazed the top of her head. He gripped her upper arms, dropping his keys in the process. “Whoa, easy there.”

The woman’s purse sailed out of her hands and landed upside down on the floor. Loose change clattered against the tile. A metallic tube rolled under the water fountain.

“Sorry.” The woman looked up and stared at him with stormy green eyes.

Lindsey.

Judging by the thinness of her lips and clenched jaw, she wasn’t happy to see him. She glanced at him, then down at his hands. Her focus seemed to be centered on his left hand. On his wedding band. His heart took a nosedive.

Stephen released his hold, wanting to hide his hands in his uniform pockets. “You okay?”

She nodded. Without a word, she bent down to clean up her stuff. She tried to hide her fingers, but he noticed a slight tremble. So, he wasn’t the only one affected by their collision.

Stephen retrieved the tube under the water fountain and realized it was her lipstick. He scooped up two dimes, a quarter and a few scattered pennies and jingled the loose change before handing it back to her.

She didn’t want to take it—didn’t want to touch him. He could tell by the way she hesitated before opening her hand and allowed him to drop the coins into her palm.

The tips of his calloused fingers caressed her skin. Baby soft. An electric charge pulsed through his hand.

Lindsey tossed the change in her purse. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stood, shielding her purse over her heart. “Sorry for bumping into you. I wasn’t watching where I was going. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Mom.” She tried to brush past him.

“Hey, Linds, hold on a second.” Stephen cupped her elbow. “Sorry for barreling into you like that. How’s she doing?”

She closed her eyes and backed out of his reach, bumping into the wall behind her. “I really need to go.”

“Lindsey.” He spoke in a soft, patient tone that warned she wasn’t going to win this one.

“Stephen, why are you here? Why do you even care? We’re history. Remember?” Her voice cracked on the last syllable. She cleared her throat and looked at him.

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a half smile that his grandma used to claim could charm the gruff off a goat. “I’m not stalking you. My son fell and hurt his arm. And what happened between us doesn’t mean I don’t care … about your mom.”

“I’m sorry about your son. I hope he’s okay.”

“Thanks. He’s a tough kid.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if I can help. With anything.”

Lindsey shrugged off his hand. Eyes blazing, she glared at him as if he was something disgusting she found on the bottom of her shoe. “You can help by not touching me! You have no right. You lost it the day you chose her over me. I’m sorry she d-died. No one should have to deal with that. But still … you have no right.”

Her words ping-ponged off the walls in the corridor and hovered over them like dust-covered cobwebs. Heat scorched his cheeks as if she had physically slapped him. He was only trying to help. Problem was, she didn’t want his help. He needed to get that through his thick head.

Lindsey clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, but not before he saw the welling tears. She sagged against the wall.

Stephen shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out for her again. Her vulnerability sucker punched him in the gut. Seeing her was an answer to many whispered prayers, but he had hoped for different circumstances. Grinding his teeth, he prayed for strength. For years, he fought to keep her memory from crippling him. Now he was going to be tested?

He forced himself to breathe. He had to fix this. Make it right. Rubbing a thumb and forefinger over his eyelids, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’re right. I’m … sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean and hurtful.” A tear squeezed between her lashes and drifted down her cheek.

“Don’t worry about it.” He lifted his hand, then hesitated, not sure if she’d slap his hand away again or not, but she looked as if she needed a friend. He thumbed away her tear and let his finger linger a second longer than it should have.

Lindsey turned her face away from his hand and took a step sideways. She tripped over a large potted plant next to the water fountain.

Stephen grabbed her before she fell. Before common sense could kick in, he drew her against his chest. “Take it easy.”

He breathed in the fruity scent of her shampoo, craving the fragrance like a junkie desperate for a fix.

They belonged together.

Only they didn’t.

He had no claim on Lindsey anymore. He chose another woman. They shared a child.

The overcooked coffee he drank while waiting for Ty’s X-rays to come back soured in his stomach. A yearning for the past tangled with regret and blew through his veins, nearly dropping him to his knees.

He shouldn’t be hugging Lindsey. For a moment, though, it felt so right. Holding her for even a brief moment edged out a sliver of longing.

She leaned against him. Then, almost as if she realized what she was doing, she stiffened and pushed out of his embrace. Her warmth evaporated, leaving him with a sudden sense of loss.

“Thanks for your help, but I—I just can’t … can’t deal with you right now.” Without a backward glance, she fled down the hall.

A viselike grip constricted his chest. He didn’t want her pity. Or her gratitude. He wanted something she would never trust him with again.

Her heart.




Chapter Three


Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

How could she have let him get under her skin like that?

Of all the …

No.

Stop thinking about him.

As if she could.

She needed something, anything to take her mind off this morning’s fiasco in the hallway. But like a thief in the night, images of him crept through her thoughts. Why did he have to be so nice? Made it harder to hate him. She sighed. She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t. But still, her heart couldn’t take being around him so much.

Lindsey snatched a worn Ladies’ Home Journal off the low table in front of her and flipped through it. Not caring about another diet tip or fashion secret, she tossed it back on the table. The nubby fabric of the cushioned chair embossed the backs of her legs. She shifted positions and grabbed a different magazine. Halfway through, she realized she had no interest in learning how to land a tarpon or tie saltwater flies.

Dropping the fishing magazine on the empty seat beside her, Lindsey stood and paced. The wall clock showed ten minutes had passed from the last time she checked.

Grandma peered over the top of her bifocals at Lindsey. “You’re going to wear a path in the carpet.”

Lindsey stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. “How long does it take to operate on a broken leg?”

Grandma clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Patience, dear. These things take time.” She dropped her knit ting in her purse and rubbed her joints. Standing, she smoothed her pink sweater over her hips. “I’m going to see if Granddad wants to take a walk. Why don’t you come to the cafeteria with us? It’ll take your mind off the surgery for a little while.”

Lindsey’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s slice of cold pizza and a couple of slurps of tea left from the lunch she set down and forgot about. But she couldn’t leave. Just in case. “Thanks, but I’ll wait here in case there’s any word.”

“Okay, then. Can we bring you anything?”

“Good news about Mom?”

“All in due time.”

“I’d trade my favorite designer handbag for a chai latte and fresh blueberry muffin.”

“Not sure if the cafeteria has any of that fancy tea, but I’ll check.”

“Thanks. If not, I’ll be fine.”

Grandma pulled Granddad away from the sitcom he was watching. They left the surgical lounge, arm in arm.

Now that she was the only one in the room, the canned laughter from the wall-mounted television sounded too loud. Lindsey snatched the remote and shut off the TV.

Her thoughts roamed free as the conversation with Stephen replayed itself for the hundredth time. Then her klutzy trip over that blasted planter landed her in his arms.

She breathed in the faint scent of his cologne that lingered on her sweater. It signaled memories—sunrise picnics at the lake, long walks in the park, stolen kisses in her backyard.

What was she doing? Acting like a sixteen-year-old with her latest crush. Ridiculous. She had more important things to worry about.

Her cell phone chimed. She dug it out of her purse. The low-battery signal flashed. Great. Her charger was back at the inn.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Lindsey. Hello. I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you called. The Andersons called and asked if they could come in a day earlier, so I was making up their room.” Rita, her assistant manager at the inn, sounded out of breath.

“Where’s Amanda?”

“She called off. Her daughter has strep. Poor thing. I called in Cheryl and Lynn to help for the rest of the afternoon. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“None at all. Sorry to leave you with one more thing to deal with. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“Don’t think about that for a single minute. We’ll manage. Your mama needs you. Have they discharged her yet?”

Lindsey shouldered the cell phone and straightened the magazines on the table. She told Rita about her mother’s surgery.

“Gracious sakes, Lindsey. Don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing. Paul and I will take care of everything. Stay with your mother and help her to get better.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Rita. I’d be so lost without you. Don’t forget the Topliffs are arriving later this afternoon. Mrs. Topliff is allergic to flowers, so be sure to switch out the fresh flowers with silk ones from the supply closet. Ask Paul to fill the birdfeeders with that new sunflower mix I bought last week.” A beep sounded in her ear. “My cell phone is about to die and the charger is in my office. Is there any possible way you could call Tony at the garage and find out about my car? Depending on what’s happening with Mom, I may be able to swap cars this evening if my convertible is done. Call Mom’s house and leave a message, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, not at all, doll. I’ll do it right awa—” The rest of Rita’s words were cut off as the phone died. Lindsey tossed it into her purse.

She strode to the window that overlooked the parking garage. Kicking off her pumps, she dug her toes into the nubs of the industrial-grade berber carpet. How long before she could take that hot bath, put on warm pajamas and crawl into bed for about twelve straight hours of sleep?

Scalloped clouds crowded out the September sun. What there was of it. As the afternoon wore on, rain had returned and assaulted the sidewalks with a raging force. Rivulets raced down the pane and bounced off the window ledge. Lightning slashed the sky like an impatient sword as thunder echoed between the buildings, rattling glass and brick.

Lindsey closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Come on already. She needed some news. Any news.

Someone tugged on her skirt. “Lindsey?”

She turned. A woman sitting in a wheelchair smiled at her.

Lindsey dropped to her knees and threw her arms around the woman’s bony shoulders. “Aunt Claire! When did you get here?”

“About fifteen minutes ago. I met Mom and Dad in the hall and chatted with them for a few minutes. I would’ve been here sooner, but work was crazy today.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you own the trendiest boutique in Shelby Lake. Loved the pictures you emailed. And the fab website. Not bad for being open a year.”

“Yes, I’ve been blessed. Enough about me. How are you doing? Honestly.”

Lindsey tucked her feet under her and shrugged. “Tired of waiting.”

“I know, hon.” Aunt Claire reached for Lindsey’s hand. “Waiting is the toughest part. I’m sure there will be news soon. In the meantime, keep praying. Your mom’s in God’s hands.”

“Right.”

Aunt Claire laughed. “Could you be any less convincing?”

“Dad was in God’s hands, remember?”

Aunt Claire smiled and finger-combed Lindsey’s hair behind her ear. “When I lost Ben to that drunk driver and learned I’d never walk again, I hated God. He took my fiancé. Bound me to a life as a cripple. I wanted nothing to do with Him. In fact, I threatened your grandma that if she prayed over me one more time, I was moving out.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But you’ve been preaching to me for years that God is in control. What changed?”

“Twenty-five years of prayer. But it wasn’t always that way. When I first learned I’d never walk again, I had to attend therapy sessions to learn how to use my upper body. I met a woman—Kathy Armstrong. She lost both legs to infection. She wheeled over to me, invited herself to my pity party and told me something I’ll never forget for the rest of my life.”

“What’s that?”

“She looked at my lifeless legs, back to where hers used to be and quietly whispered, ‘At least you can wear shoes.’”

“Reality check is the worst guest at a pity party, isn’t it?” Here Lindsey was feeling sorry for herself while Mom was in surgery, her aunt in a wheelchair and that lady went through life without legs. Oh, yeah, and now Stephen’s son may have broken his arm. Great reality check.

“Yeah, I realized how fortunate I was to be alive. Little by little, those tough times drew me closer to God. It was no walk in the park, mind you, but He softened my heart. I realized others had it worse. I could move my hands and arms, so I put them to use.”

“Your sewing.”

Aunt Claire nodded. “Faith and trust, hon.”

“It’s not easy.”

“Oh, girl, no one said life was easy. Give it time.”

“Time. The healer of all wounds.”

Grandma and Granddad returned to the surgical lounge. They stood in the doorway talking to a silver-haired man. Maybe he was the doctor with news. Lindsey’s heart picked up speed. Until she realized how he was dressed—jeans, a light blue polo shirt and a distressed leather jacket. Not exactly surgical garb.

“Aunt Claire, who’s that guy talking to Grandma and Granddad? He doesn’t look like a doctor.”

“That’s Max, silly.”

“Max who?”

“What do you mean, ‘Max who?’”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

Aunt Claire stared at her as if she had just announced she was going to perform her own lobotomy. “Oh, honey.” She lowered her gaze and twisted the diamond ring on her right hand. “I didn’t realize Grace hadn’t told you about him.”

“Tell me what?” Judging by Aunt Claire’s expression and tone, Lindsey knew—beyond a shadow of doubt—she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear.

“Max has been courting your mom for the past six months.”

“Courting?” A dull throb pounded behind Lindsey’s eyes. She massaged her forehead. “She’s been dating him for six months? And never told me? Unbelievable.”

Really, Mom? Not a single “By the way, I met someone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lindsey waved away the apology. Tears scalded her eyes. “Don’t be. Not your fault.” She laughed without finding humor in the situation. “This day keeps getting better and better.”

Stephen grabbed a clean tack cloth and wiped it over the curved headboard of the red oak cradle. A puff of sanding dust sailed to his nose, making him sneeze. The Christian radio station blared in the background as he worked, competing with the noise of the rain pounding on the garage roof.

A gift for his soon-to-be niece or nephew, the cradle needed to be ready for Melissa’s baby shower next week. He’d promised Ma.

At one time, his promises were empty statements used to entice until he got what he wanted. But he was a man of God now—a man of honor who kept his word.

The cradle would be ready. Even if he had to stay up late to finish it.

Satisfied that the cradle was clean and dust-free, he ran a hand over the wood, checking for any rough spots. Finding none, he stroked the finish. Smooth as a baby’s cheek. Or Lindsey’s skin.

No, don’t even go there.

But thoughts of her were embedded in his brain. The pain and anger in her eyes as she told him to leave her alone sliced through him like a band saw.

Why hadn’t he apologized and kept on walking? Or at least kept his hands to himself? Seeing her again was like giving a thirsty man salt water to drink.

He’d keep his distance like she asked.

If only it were that easy.

Stephen ripped a section of a faded blue cotton bedsheet with more force than necessary, folded it into a small square and pulled on a pair of surgical gloves. As he uncapped the shellac, the acrid scent rose from the can like an escaping genie. It singed his nostrils and glazed the back of his throat. He took a quick gulp of lukewarm Mountain Dew to wash away the bitterness.

He applied shellac to the folded pad. Beginning at the bottom of the cradle, he slid the pad along the surface in long, uniform strokes, appreciating the way the liquid seeped into the wood and brought out the rich reds of the oak.

Tires crunched the gravel in the driveway.

Probably Dad bringing Tyler home.

Thunder cracked again. Soccer practice was canceled, so there was no rush bringing Ty home. With his bum arm, he may have to sit out the rest of the season. That would be the icing on the kid’s cake. He had aspirations of being the next Beckham.

A door slammed. Stephen paused, expecting to hear two doors, but the second one didn’t come.

Someone rapped on the door frame. He looked up. Oliver Kendall, his partner and friend, stood in the doorway, shaking rain out of his gelled hair. Kendall dried his hands on the legs of his jeans. “Hey, man. ‘Sup?”

“Working on the cradle. Waiting for Ty to come home.”

With the first layer finished, now was a good time to stop. He had to wait a couple of hours for the cradle to dry anyway before starting the next step. He dropped the used pad into a jar, tightening the lid so it wouldn’t dry out.

Stephen peeled off his gloves with a snap. Grabbing his Mountain Dew, he wandered to the open doorway to where Kendall leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “You can come in. Want a soda?”

Kendall shook his head. “No, thanks. Can’t stay. Amy and the twins are waiting for me to get home so we can head to Mel and Nate’s. Heard about Ty. Sorry, man. Just dropped by to check on things … and give you some news.”

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? What’s the news?”

“Dude, don’t play me like that. You were engaged to the chick. You see her for the first time in five years and you’re fine?”

“How’d you hear about Lindsey?”

“Duh. Your sister is married to my brother? Remember that?”

“Right. What’s this news?”

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play it—”

Stephen held up his hands and shrugged. “What do you want me to say, man? Just as I was getting my life back on track, seeing Lindsey knocked me to my knees? Okay, fine. I can’t get her out of my mind. You know how that makes me feel?”

“Human?”

“My wife hasn’t been gone a year yet, and I can’t stop thinking about Lindsey.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, man. You honored your wife. Cared for her deeply. But she’s gone. You need to move on.”

“So easy for others to say.” Stephen rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyes, and then realized his mistake. His eyes stung from sawdust. He sighed. “I miss Bethany’s friendship. You know? And Ty’s laughter. How long before my son learns to love life again? We’re taking it one day at a time. The last thing I need is being reminded of my past mistakes. Seeing Lindsey, thinking about her, brings all that back.”

“Stop beating yourself up over it. It’s in the past. God forgave you. Why can’t you forgive yourself? Are your standards so much higher than His?”

“No lectures, Kendall. Not today. Okay?”

“All right, man. Whatever you say. I gotta head out anyway. I heard a rumor that Lieutenant Delaney requested a transfer, so Chief Laughton needs to fill his spot in the next few weeks.”

Stephen shrugged. “You know I don’t go for rumors. I’ll wait until I hear something concrete. Or straight from the chief.”

“Delaney told me himself. Figured you’d want to know.”

“Are you applying for it?”

“You kidding, man? I’m nothing but a lowly corporal. Not enough seniority or street time. You’re the sergeant. With your Corps experience, you’re more than qualified to move up the ladder.”

That stopped Stephen. If this wasn’t just a rumor—something with substance—then maybe he had a shot. He’d have to talk to the chief first thing in the morning.

If he were promoted to lieutenant, then he’d be the first in line when Chief Laughton decided to retire in a few years. Becoming chief would show his family that he was an honorable man. Worthy of their trust and respect again.

“Why’s Delaney leaving?”

“Not my place to say. That’s Delaney’s story.”

“Fair enough. So why tell me about him leaving in the first place?”

“He said to let you know. I guess he knew you wanted to work your way to the top.” Kendall fished his keys out of his pocket and twirled them around his finger. “I gotta hit the road, man. Catch you tomorrow.”

Stephen nodded and lifted his hand in a wave as Oliver jogged through the storm to his yellow-and-black ‘67 Mustang. He guzzled the rest of his soda.

Water ran off the roof and gurgled into the gutters and down the eave spouts. Rain forced the heavy-headed sunflowers alongside the house to bow to its force. Bethany and Tyler planted them last summer before Bethany’s cancer forced her to bed. Death snatched her last breath at the end of October.

Behind him, a singer on the radio crooned about his stains being washed away when grace fell on him like rain.

Unfortunately, some stains were permanent. Forever. No matter how much of a wash they went through.

If he had made better choices while in the Corps, instead of being a cocky jarhead, his life would have turned out differently. One night of drinking had changed his life. A week before his wedding to Lindsey, Bethany had showed with their two-year-old son—the kid he hadn’t known existed. He’d been forced to choose between love and honor.

Stephen chose honor.

Losing the one he’d loved, he married the one he dishonored by getting her pregnant. Even though sleeping with Bethany happened years before he and Lindsey had started dating, his choices at that time ended up turning his life upside down.

Lindsey’s heart wasn’t the only broken one when he ended their engagement. He prayed someday she would understand his choices and forgive him. But judging by the way she reacted to seeing him today, forgiveness was not coming anytime soon.

Her eyes held so much sadness. He was good at fixing things. Broken chairs, old china closets, warped cabinets. But sad eyes? Or broken hearts? Nothing on his workbench could fix those. He had tried before. Not with tools, but with promises. He had failed miserably.

Stephen pushed away from the doorway and pitched the empty bottle into the recycling bin in the corner of the garage.

Headlights flickered through the square panes on the garage doors as someone else pulled in the driveway. A door slammed, followed by another. A moment later, Tyler and Stephen’s father, Jared, appeared in the doorway. Rain dampened their hair and dotted their shirts.

“Dad! I’m home.” Tyler dropped his Spider-Man backpack near the door and crossed the room to the workbench. He scuffed his shoes through a small pile of sawdust. “Can we take flowers to Mommy today?”

Stephen gave Tyler a one-armed hug. “Not tonight. It’s raining and it’ll be dark soon.”

“But you promised.” Ty yanked on Stephen’s arm.

Stephen pried his arm out of his son’s constrictor hold and picked up Tyler. He set him on the workbench. “I didn’t promise. I said maybe. Let’s check the weather tomorrow, okay?”

“I guess.” The boy’s shoulders slumped.

Stephen trailed a finger along a dark brown stain on the front of Ty’s red T-shirt. “Let me guess—chocolate ice-cream cone?”

Ty nodded. “Papa said I could have anything I wanted. I had one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of bubble gum. Hey, did you know bubble gum was invented in 1928? It was called Dubble Bubble. There was a sign at the ice-cream shop.” Ty turned to his grandfather. “Papa, were you alive back then?”

Dad laughed and ruffled Ty’s hair. “Just how old do you think I am?”

Ty cocked his head and stared at Dad, lips twitching. “At least a hundred.” He giggled.

“If I was a hundred, could I do this?” Dad scooped up Ty and tickled his ribs.

Ty’s laughter seeped through Stephen like shellac over wood, filling in every gouge and crevice of his heart.

Dad set Tyler on his feet and playfully twisted one of his ears. Tyler leaned against him.

Stephen crouched in front of Ty. “Why don’t you take your backpack into the house and get started on your homework? I’ll be in shortly. I need to talk to Papa about something.”

“Okay. Thanks for the ice cream, Papa.”

Dad leaned over and wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging and lifting him at the same time. “You’re welcome, Ty.”

Ty grabbed his backpack and shot through the open doorway, dodging puddles as he ran for the house. As soon as he heard the back door slam, Stephen crossed the garage to the old-fashioned refrigerator with pull-down handle, opened it and grabbed a bottle of iced green tea and another Mountain Dew. He handed the tea to Dad, and then wiped his damp hand on his dusty jeans.

“Thanks for bringing him home, Dad.”

“No problem. Cradle looks great.” Dad nodded toward the workbench.

Stephen glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks. Any word on Grace?”

“Your ma called Grace’s folks, but there was no answer. Heard you had a run-in with Lindsey.”

“Which time?”

“There was more than one?”

Stephen drained a third of the soda bottle, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He gave Dad a quick rundown of both events. “I didn’t expect her to freak out when I touched her arm.”

“Maybe she misread your intentions.”

“Seriously, Dad? I have a son who cries nightly for his mom. If it weren’t for Ma’s cooking, we’d probably starve. Between Ty, work and stuff around here or Ty’s school, when do I have time for romance? Bethany hasn’t been gone a year.”

Dad held up his hands in surrender. “No need to get all defensive on me.”

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck. “She just—I don’t know—looked lost. I thought she could use a friend.”

“Your heart was in the right place, son, but you two didn’t exactly part as friends.”

Stephen grabbed the push broom and swept the sawdust Ty had scattered into the corner by the stack of two-by-fours. “I had to do what was right.”

“And broke a sweet girl’s heart in the process.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He leaned the broom against the wall. Dropping into a frayed lawn chair, he kicked the metal frame of another, signaling Dad to sit. “What if she leaves before I can talk to her, make her understand why I did what I did?”

“It’s tough, son, I’m sure, but you need to understand seeing you was as much of a shock to her as it was for you. That gal will be around for a while. She won’t up and leave her ma in a lurch.”

Stephen frowned. “I doubt she’ll be friending me on Facebook anytime soon.”

“If you were given a second chance, and Bethany hadn’t been dying, would you do things differently?”

“Would I still marry Lindsey, knowing Beth and I had a son together?”

Dad nodded and sipped his tea.

Stephen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared out into the yard. The rain had finally stopped. Slowly, he shook his head. “I doubt it. As much as I love … loved Lindsey, my son needed a father. I made my share of mistakes, but this was one I could fix.”

Dad stood, placing a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You’re a good man. And I’m proud of you.”

Stephen’s throat thickened. He didn’t deserve Dad’s affirmation. Maybe Dad thought he had come a long way, but Stephen still had far to go. And so much to make up for.




Chapter Four


Was she out of her mind?

What possessed Lindsey to make an illegal U-turn in the middle of Center Street—good thing Stephen wasn’t around—and head up Cemetery Hill, instead of going to her mother’s house?

After Aunt Claire spilled about Max, Mom’s surgeon came in with an update about her surgery. Once they moved Mom out of recovery and into her room, Lindsey sat with her for a while. She watched Mom sleep and replayed the conversation with Aunt Claire in her head.

Granddad forced Lindsey to leave the hospital to get some rest. She argued she’d sleep in Mom’s room, but when they reminded her Mom needed her rest, too, Lindsey relented. And now here she was.

Taking a deep breath, Lindsey cut the engine and climbed out from behind the wheel. She closed the door quietly behind her and walked across wet grass to a corner lot beneath a shedding oak tree, her footsteps silent as the tombs.

Granite markers formed symmetrical rows like soldiers in formation. Fiery reds, golden yellows and brilliant oranges splashed against the melancholy sky like colors splattered from an artist’s palette. A gust of wind blew the leaves from their knobby limbs. They whirled, twirled and landed in a kaleidoscopic pattern on the ground.

Kneeling on the wet grass in front of Dad’s headstone, Lindsey brushed away soggy leaves. The damp earth seeped through her skin. She reached out and traced the letters engraved in the cold marble.

Thomas Andrew Porter

Husband, Father, Friend

Loved by All

May ninth. The day her life changed. Forever.

While at college, she had missed sharing breakfast with Dad. That was their special time. She had decided to surprise her parents by coming home a day earlier than expected. She’d fix breakfast and attend church with them. Bacon fried and draining, she scrambled eggs, expecting Dad to walk through the door at any minute.

As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety had grown as cold as the eggs. Something was wrong. Dad always called if he was running late, especially on a Sunday morning. Always. A promise he made with Mom upon graduating from the academy. To keep her from worrying.

When Stephen knocked on the door, Lindsey knew she’d never see her father again. Tears glistening in his eyes, he asked Lindsey to wake her mother. After hearing the news that Dad had been shot during a routine traffic stop, Lindsey scraped their breakfast into the trash and hadn’t eaten the meal since.

“I miss you, Dad.” If she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could dredge up the sound of his barrel-chested laughter from one of the locked corners of her memory. Or the way his arms felt around her. But she didn’t allow herself to indulge in that decadent pool of memories. For a while, after his death, she wanted to float around inside those memories and never resurface to reality.

The words on the headstone blurred. Lindsey thumbed away a stray tear and wiped it on the hem of her skirt. Crying wasn’t going to bring him back. She stood and brushed wet leaves from her clothes.

The wind picked up and she shivered. She rubbed her arms to generate some heat as she trudged to the edge of the cemetery, which overlooked Shelby Lake.

The bluish-green water of Shelby Lake bordered the horizon. On a cloudless summer day, the lake blended with the sky.

A splinter of sunlight fractured the cloud cover and reflected off the jeweled stained-glass windows of the Shelby Lake Community Church where Mom and Dad had been married. Dad’s funeral was the last day she visited the church.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing through the valley. Dark, threatening clouds lumbered across the sky, bullying the scant rays. Raindrops splattered as Lindsey dashed to her car. She slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. She flicked the heat to high, hoping it warmed her frozen toes quickly.

Peering over her shoulder, Lindsey backed down the drive. She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and stepped on the brakes.

A quick scan showed a child kneeling in front of a headstone. She shifted the car into Park, left the engine idling and hurried across the grass. A boy about six or seven years old pushed dark curls off his face, smearing dirt across his forehead. He picked up a bouquet of raggedy-stemmed wildflowers, shoved them into a dirty quart jar and placed the flowers at the base of the headstone.

What kind of parent left a child unattended in the cemetery? And in the rain?

Seriously?

Raindrops stung Lindsey’s cheeks. The sky blackened. Someone needed to get this kid home. She called out to him, “Hey, it’s beginning to rain.”

The boy started. He jumped to his feet and brushed off his jeans. Pushing hair away from his face again, he turned as if to bolt faster than a baby jackrabbit.

“Do you need a ride home?”

He shook his head, mumbling a response.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“No, thank you. I rode my bike.” He pointed to the edge of the grass where a mud-spattered bike lay on its side. No helmet. Even better.

“You’ll get your sling wet if you ride your bike home in the rain. I can throw it in the trunk of my car and give you a lift to your house, if you want.”

How did he manage to ride the bike one-handed in the first place?

He shook his head, covered his left arm with his right hand and looked down at his shoes. He kicked at the grass with the toe of his muddy sneaker. “My dad says I’m not allowed to talk to strangers or take anything from them.”

“You’re smart to listen to your dad. You can use my cell phone to call him.”

The child thrust out his chin as he eyed Lindsey suspiciously. “My dad is a cop. And he said strangers will do anything to get kids to go with them.”

He said it with the same edge as if he was on the playground playing a round of “my dad can beat up your dad.”

Lindsey understood his hesitation, but the longer they stood in the rain, trying to keep him dry wouldn’t be an option. She pointed to the sky. “I didn’t make it rain so I could give you a ride home. If you’d rather ride your bike, that’s fine.” Lindsey shrugged and turned to head back to the car.

“Wait. What about my bike?”

Lindsey stopped. “I’ll put it in my trunk, but we’ll have to hurry.”

Thunder cracked like a gunshot. Lightning flashed, fingering the ground with charged tentacles. The boy trembled, his eyes as large as the bicycle tires. He darted across the lawn and retrieved his bike. He tried to wheel it to her car while keeping his left arm pressed against his stomach, but the bike wobbled and kept veering off course.

Lindsey kicked off her heels, tossed them on the floor of the front seat and ran over to help him. She lifted the bike and shoved it into the trunk. She wiped her muddy hands in the grass and dried them on her already-filthy skirt. They rushed into the car and slammed the door as the sky deluged the cemetery.

“Phew, that was close.” Lindsey laughed as she ran fingers through her soaked hair. Water dripped down her back. The heater blasted her face with hot air, warming her nose and cheeks.

The little boy snapped his seat belt into place and stared out the window. “So much for my flowers.”

“Flowers don’t mind the rain.” She longed to push the damp curls back from his face and give him a hug. He looked so sad and lost.

“What’s your name?”

“Tyler.”

“Do you have a last name?”

The boy hedged, then nodded.

“Will you tell me?”

He shook his head and rubbed dirt from his fingers.

Lindsey pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She turned it on and groaned. Dead battery. And she didn’t have the charger. “Listen, Tyler, my phone died. Do you still want me to give you a ride home? It’s getting dark. I’m sure your parents must be worried.”

Tyler stared out the window and shrugged his small shoulders. “If you were going to kidnap me, you wouldn’t ask, would you?”

Lindsey’s heart melted. “Nah, I’m not a kidnapper. In fact, I grew up here. I came home to visit my mom. My dad used to be a police officer in town.”

Tyler perked up. “He was? What’s his name? Maybe my dad knows him.”

She pictured her dad dressed in his neatly pressed dark blue uniform. Her heart squeezed with pain. “He died five years ago.”

“Do you miss him?”

“More than anything. What’s your address? Will someone be home? I don’t want to take you to an empty house.”

His expression was a mixture of sadness and wistfulness as he gave Lindsey directions to his house.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lisa-jordan/lakeside-reunion-39932506/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.