Week #7: Love, Lies, and Fireflies by Jan Elder

 

Love, Lies, and Fireflies

 

 

Didi O’Brien is engaged—at least she was an hour ago. Now she’s not so sure.  Her fiancé, the suave Kevin Cabot, has just revealed that he’s been unfaithful, and he’s not even a little bit sorry. Reeling from the betrayal, with her plans for a happily-ever-after life in doubt, she prays for direction. The answer comes as a complete surprise. God has someone better in mind.

 

Middle school teacher, Jake Montgomery, is struggling with some issues of his own. Sadly, a year previously his fiancée had been killed in a car crash. Battling anger and despair, in a mountain-top experience, Jake wrestles with the Almighty, and is ready to live again. In his youth, he’d felt an unmistakable call to the ministry but, like the prophet Jonah, since then, he’d been running hard in the wrong direction.  

 

Through a crisis of faith, and glimpses of mercy, Didi and Jake find each other. But can they find the strength to resolve the many obstacles that conspire to keep them apart?

 

 

1st Chapter:

 

“But, Kevin, I don’t understand. What do you mean you went out with another girl? What girl?” Didi O’Brien’s swiped at eyes brimming with tears.

 

Kevin Cabot sipped his single malt. “Her name’s Mindy, and she relocated here from the Midwest a few months ago. She’s a Pilates instructor at my gym.” He squirmed in his chair and shrugged. “Look, she’s just a kid of twenty-four, and she doesn’t know anyone here in the area.”

 

Stomach churning, Didi shoved her dinner away, barely noticing when the sauce from her beef bourguignon splashed onto the white tablecloth. She swallowed, words refusing to come.

 

Kevin continued in a monotone. “It’s not like I planned it. I was just being a nice guy and showing a stranger around town. You know, being neighborly. Believe it or not, she’s a real nut for baseball, and last night the Nationals were playing the Cardinals….”

 

“You took her to a baseball game? Last night?” Didi managed to squeak out the words despite the block of granite in her throat.

 

“Oh, come on. Stop getting so defensive here. You don’t even like baseball. When I saw her last Friday….”

 

“You went out with her last week, too? On a Friday?” Didi’s voice started out shaky but managed to rise over the conversational hum of the other diners.

 

“Shhh. Pipe down. Don’t go getting all ‘female’ on me.” Kevin picked up his fork and speared a green bean almondine. “So what if we’ve been to a baseball game, the museum, and had coffee a few times? Last Friday, the Smithsonian had this cool special exhibit on the life of Roberto Clemente. You probably don’t know this, but he’s a Hall of Famer who won the National League’s Most Valuable Player in 1966. He led the league in batting average.”

 

“Have you slept with her?” She had to ask, though she didn’t really want to know the answer.

 

Kevin didn’t deny it. Instead, he growled, “So what if I did? I told you it’s not serious. Plus, you had some ridiculous church thing going on last Friday, so you weren’t available.”

 

Her breath caught as she lowered her voice. “That’s hardly the point, Kevin. Did you tell her you’re engaged?”

 

“Why would I?”

 

“I’ll take that as a no. Do you love her?”

 

“Of course I don’t love her, and I’m getting tired of this tête-à-tête. I knew you were going to overreact. Mindy’s a cute kid from Dubuque who needed someone to show her around, and now you’re getting all weird on me, when I was only being considerate.”

 

Glancing down at his Rolex, Kevin huffed out a sigh. “Maybe we should talk about this after you decide to behave like an adult.” He flagged down the waiter and signaled he was ready for the check. “I decide to be honest, as a courtesy to you, and you put me through a Spanish Inquisition.”

 

With a hot flush pricking her cheeks, Didi slipped out of the booth, storming toward the exit. She refused to hear any more of his flimsy excuses.

 

Dodging the other patrons leaving the restaurant, Didi sprinted across the asphalt to her car. She fell into the driver’s seat, jammed her key into the ignition, and zoomed out of the parking lot. She had to get away from that man! On autopilot, she drove through town, barely remembering to stop at the stop signs. Leaving Chez Monte Carlo far, far behind, she headed to the safety of home.

 

She came to a fork in the road. In no mood to dally, she chose the shortcut home, veering left onto Deer Hollow Road.

 

Bad decision.

 

She drove way too fast, but right now, she didn’t care. Sliding on shallow gravel down the first steep hill, she missed the deep ditch on the right side of the road by a narrow margin. Instead, she slammed into a mud-drenched pothole, skittered sideways, and careened toward an ancient oak.

 

Stamping hard on the brake, she yelped as the car jarred to a halt. Maybe she did care after all. “Please, Jesus, help me get home in one piece. And if Kevin’s still on the road, crash him into the biggest tree you can find!”

 

~~~~~

 

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Week 53: A Boulder Creek Christmas (Mary Manners)

A mischievous Christmas angel is determined to have her way this holiday season... 

Alani O'Dwyer offered her heart to Ryan Connolly years ago, and he tossed it aside without so much as a backward glance. Though the town of Boulder Creek dubs him a hero, she vows she'll never again fall victim to his charms.

Ryan Connolly captains a raucous crew of firefighters at the Boulder Creek Fire Department, yet he's unprepared for the adventure of falling in love with beautiful and headstrong Alani O'Dwyer.

But when a meddling angel at the annual Fighters for Hire charity auction brings Ryan and Alani together, even regrets from the past can't thwart Ryan's plans to make her his own.

1st Chapter:

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them? Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.” 

~ James 2:14-17 ~

Alani O’Dwyer swept locks of trimmed hair into a pile on the tile floor as she hummed along to the melody of White Christmas that drifted from the salon’s surround-sound speakers. Outside the shop’s front window, snow flurries danced through the air as traffic eased along Main Street. With Thanksgiving a mere memory, December had pranced in and Christmas now perched nicely on the holiday horizon. The increase in clientele at Lani’s Styles and Smiles Salon over the past several days claimed proof of Boulder Creek’s excitement over the impending celebration.

“Here comes your five o’clock,” Chloe Connolly called from the wall-length front display window as she laced a strand of mini-lights around a showcase of upcoming advertised products. “And he looks like he can use a bit more than a trim and shave.”

“He?” Though it was not unusual for men to frequent the salon, Alani didn’t recall adding anyone of the male persuasion to the appointment register for this afternoon, nor did she remember penciling in any clients past the four-thirty slot. Friday evenings were usually light as far as customers went, and she could almost always count on closing up shop before dark. “Who booked him?”

“I did.” Chloe positioned the last of the lights around pair of jumbo-sized color-shield shampoo and conditioner pump bottles and then turned from the window to face Alani. Her dangly earrings caught the overhead light, enhancing wide set eyes the color of faded denim. Dark, choppy bangs slipped across her forehead to frame an oval face. “He called in a few minutes ago and I just couldn’t say no. He’s a hardship case.”

“A hardship…” Alani lifted her gaze to the glass and her breath caught at the sight of Ryan Connolly loping along the boulevard. Long limbs moved fluidly as he slanted his head slightly right, then left and right once more in a cursory check for oncoming traffic before he stepped from the curb and crossed over to the salon’s walkway. Midnight-black hair—a little too much on the longish side for Alani’s taste, peeked from beneath a toboggan that set off the electric-blue of his eyes. “Oh, no…you’ll have to take this one, Chloe. After all, he’s your brother.”

“No can do…not today.” She shook her head as she glanced toward the closest mirror, briefly studying her reflection. “I’m expected at the convention center in an hour to prep for the fundraiser tonight, and I still have to head home first to get glammed up.”

“But you can’t leave me in a lurch. I can’t…I won’t—”

“It’s a haircut and a shave, Lani.” Chloe shook her head as she lifted a hand to inspect the shimmery-red polish on her nails. “Good grief, I don’t know which one of you is more hard-headed than the next. You know Ryan has a thing for you. Why don’t you just give him a chance?”

“A thing?” Alani lowered her voice so as not to distract Mrs. Wexell, who was flipping through a magazine near the coffeemaker as her salty-gray hair adapted to the hairspray shield Lani had applied to ensure each strand remained in place until next week’s visit. Mrs. Wexell proved as steady as the morning sunrise; Lani could count on fixing her hair every Friday at 3:00 sharp. “I did give him a chance—once—and you know how far south that ship sailed.”

“That was years ago, Lani. People change.”

“I know, because I’ve changed, and I’m not going to fall for your brother—or any other guy—again. FYI…I’m not interested in a thing—or a fling—or anything of the sort. I’m…I’m…”

“Blushing.”

“Chloe…” Alani swept the tufts of clipped hair to the central vacuum panel as Mrs. Wexell glanced their way, grinning ruefully, as if drunk on every word of the conversation. Lani activated the vacuum motor with a tap of her foot, and the surge of a whirr sucked up the mess. As she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the wall-paneled mirror, she realized Chloe was right; a ribbon of crimson tinged both cheeks, rivaling the color of her hair. A slow-moving swath of heat merely punctuated her condition as, like a wave, it rolled up and crested the nape of her neck. She cleared her throat, searching for an even tone as the rush of her pulse betrayed her. She lowered her voice, turning her back to Mrs. Wexell’s prying eyes. “I wish you would give up your quest to play matchmaker—Ryan and I…well, it’s just not going to happen. Ever.”

“Ever is a very long time. And who said anything about matchmaking? It’s just a haircut, Lani…and it looks like my brother can use a bath, as well, but that will have to wait until later. Must have been a hard day at the office.”

Alani knew good and well Ryan’s office was the fire hall directly across the street. He’d volunteered there through high school, and had been hired on full-time the day he turned eighteen following graduation their senior year of high school. Now, nearly a decade later, he’d climbed the ranks to Captain of the Boulder Creek Fire Department, overseeing a raucous and hardy crew of a dozen full-time and twice-as-many volunteer firefighters.

A bell over the door chimed as Ryan strode through. The woodsy scent of smoke followed him like a halo. His face was smudged with soot, and when he tugged the hunter green wool toboggan from his head, heat-singed bangs fell across his forehead to frame eyes as blue as cobalt.

“What happened to you?” Mrs. Wexell called from her seat near the drink station before Ryan could get a word in. Her voice rang with the aged rasp of someone who’d seen the downhill side of seven decades and carried the wisdom to prove it. “You look like something the cat didn’t even bother to drag in.”

Chloe covered her mouth with the palm of her hand to stifle a snicker as Alani pursed her lips. Mrs. Wexell would sure have something to talk about when her daughter returned from Jenkins Five and Dime down the street to drive her home.

“Brush fire over on Twelfth and Magnolia got a little out of hand, Mrs. Wexell. No worries, though. We got it under control.” Ryan nodded as if to emphasize the point. “You’re looking rather lovely this afternoon. Who did your hair?”

“Alani, of course.” Mrs. Wexell lifted her hand to pat the lacquered ’do as a smile spread across her face, enhancing deep laugh-lines at the corners of her rheumy eyes. “Thank you for the compliment, son. I wanted to look dapper for the gala tonight. It’s a mighty generous thing you and your crew have been organizing to help bolster this town. A community garden is a fine idea. God will surely smile on your giving heart.”

“It’s nothing.” Ryan stuffed the toboggan into the side pocket of his jacket. “My crew and I enjoy giving back to the people of our community. You’re the real hero, Mrs. Wexell…funding the lion’s share of the library arboretum last year. I’ve heard nothing but positive feedback concerning that project.”

“How did you find out about my funding?” She jabbed a finger his way. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

“Well, secrets don’t usually last long around here.” Ryan made a locking motion along his lips and then mimed tossing the key over his right shoulder. “But it won’t go any farther than me…and this room.”

“Fair enough. Now, I suppose Alani ought to get to work on you. It’s going to take an act of God to restore your singed hair to anything presentable and to scrape that…that sooty rug of fur from your face.” Mrs. Wexell nodded with one quick tip of her head and then made a flicking motion with her hand as if to brush off further conversation as she turned her attention back to the magazine. “Go on…get to it now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ryan’s soft laughter rumbled like the roll of a distant thunderstorm as he brushed snowflakes from the collar of his jacket. They swirled through the air before sinking and melting into the tile around his feet. His gaze drifted right, and a smile curved his full lips. “Hello, Lani. How’s business?”

The shortened version of her name slipped off his tongue like hot chocolate drizzled with rich fudge. Others called her Lani, but somehow, it never sounded quite as endearing as when Ryan employed the nickname.

“Good…fine.” Alani turned away as flames licked her cheeks. She placed the broom back in its spot along the wall at the corner of the station as she murmured, “Did you get hurt today?”

“Hurt?”

“By the brush fire?” She ventured a glance back over her right shoulder, chastising herself for even caring. She shouldn’t. Caring for Ryan would only lead to heartache. Oh, how she knew that firsthand. Even so, she continued. “Your hair…as Mrs. Wexell so aptly pointed out, is scorched.”

“Oh, that…” His hand went to the ragged strands. “No, I’m good…it’s nothing a long, hot shower won’t cure when I make it home. But, for now, I just need a trim and a shave, if you have the time.”

“Well…” Lani busied herself straightening product along the shelves that lined the wall. “As a matter of fact I was just about to—”

“Take care of you,” Chloe cut in, crossing the room to turn the faux-leather chair at Alani’s station to face Ryan. “Have a seat, big brother.” She used the endearment though Lani knew, as twins, Ryan stood merely twelve minutes Chloe’s senior. “Time’s not going to stand still for you. And it’s not going to stand still for me, either, so I’m out of here while you two do your thing. Catch you both on the flip side.”

“Bye, sis. Be safe.” Ryan settled into the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “This snow has the roads a little slick.”

“Of course.” She flashed a smile as she snatched her coat from a hook on the wall and slipped into it. Her purse, stashed in the bottom file cabinet drawer behind the check-out counter, came next. “Y’all have fun now. Play nice.” She positioned the purse strap over her shoulder as she nodded toward the drink station. “Keep an eye on them, Mrs. Wexell.”

“Oh…I am.” Mrs. Wexell glanced up from the magazine with a knowing smile. “And the Good Lord is, as well. No worries there. Trust me, dear.”

“Of course I do.” Chloe lifted the hood of her coat to shield her head from the snow as she made her way to the exit. The door closed softly behind her, bringing a jingle of the overhead bell to signal her parting.

“Well, all I have to say is that playing nice is no fun…no fun at all.” Ryan shrugged from his jacket, tossed it into the empty seat beside him, and stilled as Lani secured a towel around his neck. “Ahh…this is the ticket. Just take a little off the top, Lani, and trim it up. And the shave…”

She reached for the electric shears. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I do. I have to look my best tonight. The auction starts in a few hours.”

“Auction?”

“You know…Fighters for Hire to raise money for the Boulder Creek Community Garden. It’s this year’s community service project.”

“Oh, right…of course. How could I forget?”

Her tone betrayed her, and Ryan’s slanted look told her he sensed the truth; the auction was all she had thought about for several days now…the better part of the week since the plans for the garden garnered final approval. It would be planted on the North end of the town center, midway between the fire hall and Styles and Smiles.

Since Ryan had become Captain of the fire department three years ago, he led his crew in an annual Christmas holiday service project aptly named Fighters for Hire. Each member of the crew volunteered to be auctioned out for a day’s worth of hours during the coming year, completing a list of honey-do projects for the highest bidder. The fundraiser proved wildly popular, and its success was renowned across a five-county radius. Copycat auctions sprang up across the region, and news reporters flocked to cover the event, headlining it on all four local channels during the nightly eleven o’clock slot.

Three years ago, funds went to Children’s Hospital, two years ago they were earmarked for the local animal shelter, and last year the Boulder Creek Senior Center benefitted. This year the community would benefit from a community garden and greenhouse meant to supply vegetables to town residents via the local food ministry…if the funds proved to be enough to carry the project.

“Really…how could you?” Ryan winked. “I’m sure Chloe’s mentioned it at least a hundred times. She was on the planning board.”

“I know, and yes.” Alani could almost feel Mrs. Wexell’s stare burning a hole through her back as she worked to tame Ryan’s unruly hair. She lowered her voice. “She has mentioned it a time or two…or ten.”

“So you’re coming?”

“No…not this year.”

“Why not?” He frowned as disappointment shadowed his eyes. “You’ve never missed the festivities.”

“I know but this year I have…other plans.” Alani reached for the spray bottle and, with a few quick pulls of the trigger, dampened his hair. The extensive media coverage assured that, despite her absence from the gala, she’d get her fill of Ryan in his tux, his rugged good looks groomed to perfection while the cobalt tie and cummerbund enhanced the blue of his eyes. The camera loved him, and women flocked to him, falling over themselves in their attempts to garner undivided attention. 

Face it—everyone loved Ryan Connolly. He rescued children and puppies from burning buildings on a weekly basis and had a smile that could melt ice off a snowman’s hat. Yet he’d stolen Alani’s heart, and then cast it aside without so much as a glance in the proverbial rearview mirror.

Even so, by all accounts Ryan remained the town sweetheart…an angel by popular decree.

But he wasn’t Lani’s angel...not by a longshot. And he’d never be, not as long as she had a breath in her. Once bitten, twice shy. And she remained a self-professed, virtual recluse when it came to Ryan Connolly.

So this year she’d put her foot down and stay far away from him on his night in the eye of the media storm. She didn’t want his attention. She’d had that sort of attention a handful of years ago, and it had brought only heartache.

“Other plans, huh? Well, is that so?” Ryan’s voice dipped and danced with the holiday music as he cocked an eyebrow and studied her reflection in the mirror. “What sort of plans…if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I do… mind, that is.” Alani took up a comb, tugged the close-set teeth through the thick waves of his Ryan’s hair with a little more force than necessary. Water dripped along the nape of his neck and his slight grimace brought a prickle of satisfaction. It was small compensation for the misery he’d caused her over the years. She’d trusted him once, with her heart and her future, and he’d shattered that trust; she wouldn’t again make the mistake of trusting him.

Even so, how could she begin to explain that for three years running at the Fighters for Hire auction her heart had faltered with waves of disappointment as she’d watched him go to the highest bidder? Last year the victor was some bleached-blonde in a low-cut sequined number who’d traveled from two towns over for the sole purpose of snagging Ryan’s handy-man services. Alani could blame no one but herself—pride kept her from bidding because, after all, when it came to Ryan Connolly good sense dictated she would be best-served by keeping her money—and her heart—tucked away deep in her pocket.

Nonetheless, Alani could use help with a few projects around the small, aging house that she’d inherited from her grandmother when Grandma Cora passed away a year ago; it was laden with character and warm memories, yet falling apart at the seams. But she’d have to figure out how to accomplish at least the most pressing projects on her own, because she’d never be able to pay Ryan—or anyone else, for that matter.

So, what was the point of going to the auction? She’d write a check for a modest donation to help support the community garden—an amount she could afford to part with—and call it a day. Spending the evening tucked away with a paperback and a cup of hot chocolate was the smartest move she could make…affording as much distance as possible between her and Ryan Connolly.

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Week 39: Whispers at Willow Lake (Mary Manners)

Book 1, The Willow Lake Series

Whispers reveal a single act of recklessness…and a lifetime of forgiveness.


With a father known as the town drunk and a mother who fled when he was only six, Ryder learned early on that the world can be a cold, unforgiving place. Only two people in his life have ever understood him: "Mama" Stallings and sweet Ali Maclaren. But after a tragic accident, guilt chases Ryder from the town that's labeled him trouble, and from Ali.

Seven years later Ryder returns after Mama Stallings's death and finds that Ali is considering marriage to a man with a mean streak he masterfully hides from all but Ryder, a man who'll do whatever's necessary to remove Ryder from Willow Lake, and Ali's life, forever.

Can Ali find a way to forgive Ryder and can Ryder forgive himself before another tragedy occurs?


1st Chapter:


Sirens shrieked over the roar of Ryder’s Honda ST1300 as he leaned hard to the right, taking a switchback curve with a tilt that kicked his pulse into overdrive. Ice-blue warning lights slashed from behind, slicing across pavement as dusk settled along the foothills of the Smokies. Exhaust fumes battled with the crisp scent of pine and sweet, impending rain.

“Pull that piece of junk over,” a voice commanded through the PA of the cruiser in pursuit. “You have ten seconds. Don’t make me shoot you.”

Shoot me? Ryder bristled as he recognized the owner of said voice—John Larder. So the idiot had finally been graced with the keys to a police cruiser. Miracles did happen. But Larder certainly wouldn’t keep those keys long if he spoke this way to everyone he pulled over, even if his family did own half of Willow Lake.

The high-pitched wail grated. “I mean it. Pull over—now.”

Ryder could easily outrun the cruiser. The lights of Willow Lake beckoned in the distance, casting a hazy glow along the cloud-ravaged sky. Home waited…and he knew he’d find Ali nestled somewhere along the lake. She, like him, had always been drawn to the water.

At least until the accident that had claimed her brother’s life. Now, Ryder wasn’t so sure. It had been years since he’d seen her, months since they’d exchanged so much as a quick text message. He’d tried his best to maintain distance…for her sake, more than his.

Sweet Ali. The thought of her nudged Ryder’s pulse to short, explosive bursts. Time melted away, and he was back at her side, soaking up summer sun along the lake shore as if it would never fade away.

But it had faded…painfully. They’d once been friends…much more than friends. Yet, in the end he’d hurt her badly. Now Ryder aimed to make things right, no matter the cost.

Blue lights continued to flash. The shriek of the siren shredded what was left of his patience.

Ryder swallowed an oath as he eased the cycle down one gear, then another, until it came to rest along a jutted outcropping of the slick, silver-gray mountain face. Against his better judgment, he killed the engine; this section of road offered a dangerous curve not meant for loitering. But with the blues flashing and the siren tearing up the impending darkness, Ryder supposed they’d be hard to miss. He also assumed Larder had planned it this way in hopes the whole town cruised by for a look-see. The thug had been a cocky know-it-all in high school, confident in the fact that his father—then acting police chief—turned the cogs that made the small town hum. Appeared not much had changed in that department, except a few years ago, Larder senior had suffered a massive heart attack, leaving the reins to his reportedly inept son.

Ryder removed his helmet and set it on the cycle’s seat. He braced himself as the cruiser door clicked open. A quick glance in the rear view mirror coupled by the staccato tap of boot heals along the pavement told him Larder approached with a cocky swagger.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t Ryder Hawkins. Where’s the fire?” Larder’s hand held steady at his hip, cradling the holstered gun, and as Ryder turned to face him the badge pinned to Larder’s chest flashed in the cruiser’s blues.

“That’s the best you can do?” Ryder slouched against the cycle and raised his voice to be heard over the siren. “Wanna play tough guy? Go right ahead. Just kill that siren, first. It’s offensive to my ears.”

“Thought you’d be used to the sound by now, with your history.” Larder made no move to silence the screech as he unlatched the holster, his fingers clenching. His bony Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled for a menacing tone. He’d always been on the scrappy side and used his family ties as muscle instead of his anemic biceps. “Don’t tempt me, hotshot.”

A decade ago, the words might have incited a wildfire of temper. But the years—and a plethora of humbling experiences—had taught Ryder restraint. He drew a deep breath and lifted his hands in surrender, easing into the conversation from a different angle. He lowered his voice, softened the tone a bit. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, John. I just want to get to town.” He thought of Mama Stallings, the kind-

hearted grandmother of a woman who’d saved his life so many years ago. “I have someone waiting on me. It’s urgent.”

He’d received a call from her two days ago, a simple message on his voicemail. “Come home Ryder; it’s time.” So, he’d tied up loose ends on the naval base in Virginia, packed a bag, and come.

“Business, first.” Larder removed wire-rimmed Ray-Bans, revealing sludge-brown eyes. His nose, once broken by Ryder, sloped like an alpine ski course. His cheeks were slightly sunken, his skin a bit sallow beneath the veil of blue light. “Hand over your license and registration.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Despite his attempt to hold his temper in check, Ryder’s resolve to remain sensible crumbled. He took a step forward, flexing his fingers. “What’s the charge?”

“You zipped that straightaway at the mile-marker going fifty-five.” Larder jabbed a finger down the road to the east. “That’s ten over the limit.”

“You’ve lost your mind. We raced this stretch of road back in high school, Larder—”

“That’s Sergeant Larder, to you.”

“Sergeant Larder, if I remember correctly, I kicked your—”

“We’re not in high school anymore, Hawkins.” He flipped open a citation pad and reached into his shirt pocket to retrieve a pen, clicking it with a flourish. “And, if I remember correctly, you’re not a deputy, and definitely not the one in line to be the next police chief.”

“You’re only in line because your old man bought off half the town.”

“That kind of talk won’t earn you any favors. At least my old man didn’t waste his days saddled in some two-bit bar trying to drown the memory of my cheating mother.” Larder extended the hand with the pen. “Now, hand over your license and registration.”

“So this is how it’s going to be?”

“Just upholding my sworn duty to keep Willow Lake safe from riffraff.”

“I see.” Even with the passage of time, with all he’d accomplished, Ryder would not be allowed to forget how his father had spent a good chunk of days tipping back mountain lightning after his mother hightailed it. Her departure was one of Ryder’s earliest memories—the scent of her perfume as she rushed by him carrying an overstuffed suitcase, tears and shrieks of blame aimed at his father, the door slamming behind her. The look in her eyes—dark and wild—had haunted Ryder’s dreams for years afterwards. His father marked her exit with his first week-long bender, leaving Ryder to fend for himself.

“I’m waiting, Hawkins.” Larder tapped one polished black boot as thunder rumbled in the distance.

“You’re lucky I’m in an amicable mood.” Ryder delved into his back jeans pocket to retrieve his wallet and hand over what was requested. He needed to move on before the storm hit and the road turned treacherous for his bike. “Here you go, Sergeant Larder.”

“This is expired.” Larder examined the front and then flipped the card over to give the back a cursory glance. “Nearly a month.” His gaze swept to the plate mounted to the back of the cycle. “Tags are expired, too. You’re in violation.”

“It couldn’t be helped. I’ve been out of the country.” Ryder scratched his stubbled jaw as he studied the backdrop of the Smokies in the distance. The reflection of Willow Lake snaked lazily along the foothills while the sun, battling storm clouds, gave a final goodnight kiss to the horizon. He wondered if the inn was still in operation. And, if it was, would he find Ali tucked safely inside? “I haven’t gotten around to renewing, but it’s at the top of my to-do list now that I’m back.”

“Running from the law?”

“Hardly.” Ryder’s stance remained nonchalant, though his gut clenched with the realization that Larder had lost none of his arrogance, and even seemed to have acquired more—in spades. The guy remained as annoying as the screech of fingernails across a chalkboard. “Been taking care of business.”

“What kind of business?”

Ryder winked and reached for his license. “Top secret.”

“Is that so?” Larder jerked the license away from his grasp. The smirk that settled over his lips threatened to split his face wide open. “In that case, I’m going to have to take you in to the station. Hike toward the cruiser, Hawkins. We’re going for a ride.”

Ryder’s temper boiled to a flashpoint. “OK, the party’s over. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He took two large steps toward Larder, easily boxing him in against an outcropping of rocks. “I have a good reason for the expired license and tags.”

“Too late, Hawkins. You had your chance to explain and now I’m not interested in your flimsy excuses.”

“Be reasonable, Larder.” He approached another step, careful to keep his hands at his sides and his voice steady. “I told you I have somewhere to be. You know Mama Stallings—”

“Mama?” Laughter erupted. “That old hag? She always did have a soft spot for you, though her reasons are beyond my comprehension.”

“You’re on dangerous territory, Larder.”

“Well, Mama Stallings is going to have to wait.” Larder scooted to the side, but not before Ryder glimpsed a flash of fear in his eyes. “Because this is hardly nonsense.” He tapped his badge with an index finger before he reached for the pair of cuffs hanging from his utility belt. “You’re dealing with the law now, Hawkins.”

“Then, the law better get out of my way.” Ryder’s gaze narrowed as his voice lowered to a growl. “There’s no reason to cuff me, you idiot.”

“Are you resisting arrest?” Larder’s hand slipped back to the holster. “Because it would give me a tidy reason to shoot you.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Ryder weighed his options as lightning ripped the sky. Rain pelted in fat, sloppy plops, slipping beneath the collar of Ryder’s jacket in an icy drizzle. “I’m just trying to get to town.”

“Oh, you’ll get there all right.” Larder’s eyes glittered and his lips stretched into a thin, white line. “But, when you do, I have a holding cell with your name on it until we get this little mess straightened out.”

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Week 36: Simple Blessings (Mary Manners)

1st Chapter:


“I know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  ~Jeremiah 29:11


Charlene Cammon gazed through the cabin’s wall of palladium windows to an expanse of dew-kissed Smoky Mountains beyond. Lush evergreens danced in a perfectly-synchronized ballet as a summer breeze sang through arms outstretched to the cerulean sky. After days of rain, not a single cloud hinted. Through the window, the scent of pine swirled to nibble her nose. Beyond the open pasture, like a fragrant green carpet rolled open, the gentle serenade of a lazy river soothed as rivulets turned to diamonds beneath fingers of light.

If Charlene trained her line of vision hard enough through a small grove of trees flanked by a splash of wildflowers, and then continued on down along the river’s edge for a quarter mile or so, she could barely glimpse the outline of another cabin. But that was the extent of the population around here—well, that and the squirrels and an occasional possum she’d noticed on her drive in late last night—that surrounded her. No traffic, no crowds, and no Internet, except for what she was able to access on her iPhone. And that, thankfully, proved to be iffy, at best. If she stood on the front porch with her arm stretched toward the sky, facing slightly east, and the air was clear…

Anyway, there was nobody bombarding her day and night for interviews, book-signings or battles over edits. Just coffee and the plethora of thoughts scrambled in her brain like a jigsaw puzzle without all the pieces.

The setting here in the Smokies of East Tennessee proved to be beautiful, pristine…all but perfect. So, why did she suffer from an oddly uncomfortable churning in her belly? What was the problem that seemed to follow her wherever she went lately?

Charlene tore her gaze from a flock of birds that swooped in on a cacophonous symphony of chatter to alight in the grove of trees. She turned back to the laptop she’d opened and queued on the desk in front of her. The screen stared back at her, filled with a single page as empty and white as a Siberian crevasse. Things were not exactly going as planned. She’d expected to awaken this morning to ideas that had somehow magically been infused into her brain while she dreamed. She’d write the next great American novel—or at least the inspirational romance she’d been contracted to crank out—in record time and then head back to the city. The book would prove to be another bestseller, right?

Wrong. Forget the bestseller status. As things now stood, it failed to be even a glimmer on the radar. Instead, Charlene struggled to type a single word onto the page. This morning she woke to find there was no magic—nothing—waiting for her to discover. Not even a shard of coal in the proverbial stocking.

Absolutely, positively nothing had come to mind as she slept—nor did it now, three long and painful hours later. Not a single creative thought—not one fleeting idea. The story Charlene had so painstakingly mentally plotted and planned months ago when she’d pitched the anemic synopsis to her editor was now dead before it even hit the hard drive. The intention to finish (actually, to get started) was there but the words Charlene was looking for…well, they just refused to cooperate.

Charlene figured it was sort of like craving the most scrumptious chocolate layer cake complete with indulgent fudge filling, a light buttercream frosting adorned with slivers of chocolate, and perhaps a handful of ripened cherries nestled on top. With an award-winning recipe located and the go-ahead given, production soon commenced. But, upon further inspection of the necessary supplies, no vanilla extract could be found in the pantry, no cocoa powder and only one egg instead of three. And the chocolate shavings...well, they would be AWOL, as well. Forget the cherries.

And, to top things off, in this baking scenario all the stores are suddenly and inexplicably closed—no, they’ve gone out of business—so there’ll be no blue-ribbon chocolate layer cake unless things get very creative in the kitchen.

Creative…not happening in this kitchen and not in the office—well, technically Charlene assumed it was not an office but actually a loft because of the sofa-sleeper tucked into one corner—either. Not here and not today, at least as far as she could tell.

So, instead of the story waiting to be written, Charlene’s thoughts drifted back to the city—and to Tom. What a heel he’d turned out to be. With thoughts of the man she’d dated for nearly a year came a sharp jab of pain. She knew now what it felt like to be dumped. For nearly half-a-decade she’d sprinkled the heart-tugging heroine-gets-jilted storyline into her romances here and there, but she’d never experienced such a heartbreaking debacle firsthand.

Until Tom.

The clipped, stabbing words he’d so carelessly slung at Charlene crashed through her mind…

“You’re busy all the time now, Charlene. Your nose is always buried in a notebook, and even when it’s not, that faraway look…well, I can practically hear the story wheels spinning. Your deadlines have trumped our relationship and you have, in effect, sliced me right out of the picture. And now you have a string of book-signings coming up.” He’d shaken his head at her, his gaze cold and condescending. “It’s just not working for me anymore. You’ve changed…”

He didn’t want her to do the book-signings? Charlene had been blind-sided by the realization. In the beginning, at the onset of their relationship, he’d been loving and supportive. But slowly he had begun to resent her writing and all that it brought.

It had been a lot of work to get where she now stood—to climb the mountain, so to speak. Had the success changed her?

Since the night Tom walked out on her six months ago, Charlene’s muse had gone dry as the Sahara Desert, which wasn’t working for her at all. Writing was her lifeblood, her job for goodness sake. She’d taken a leap of faith and quit her day job as kindergarten teacher to make it happen. She had no intention of returning to the classroom, yet a lack of written words equaled no book releases and thus, no income.

Hello runny noses and untied shoelaces. Bring on story time and the scissors and glue.

No, though she’d loved the time she’d spent in the classroom and there were days she missed sharing stories and instilling a love of learning in the children who crossed the threshold into her room, she couldn’t go back. Because even more meaningful than the income, writing made her feel alive. Why couldn’t Tom understand that—any of that? Why hadn’t he tried just a little bit harder to figure her out?

Because he didn’t fully love her, that was why. At least that was her best friend Brynn’s take on things when Charlene stumbled onto the doorstep of the apartment they shared downtown, sobbing, to pour out the story. As the shock cleared, Charlene realized Brynn was right and Tom’s jilting didn’t really come as a surprise at all. The signs had been revealing his lack of commitment for weeks, maybe even months. Charlene had just been avoiding the obvious. Now she saw through new eyes and she was thankful to have learned the lesson earlier rather than later.

Once her tears had dried, a thin veil of anger set in. As the CEO of an investment company, Tom hadn’t had any trouble leaving Charlene behind as he jetted to the corners of the country on business trips several times a month. Yet Charlene always managed to welcome him back with open arms and a hot meal. She’d supported him at every turn, looking toward what she hoped would be a bright future together. She had offered him her heart and her love but, in the end, he had failed to do the same for her.

No point in mulling it over now. The relationship had fizzled and died…end of story. Not exactly the happy ending had expected.

Yes, the implosion of her and Tom’s dating life would make a neat little twist to the plot. But the twists and turns made up Charlene’s real-life story—not the one waiting to be written.

An impending deadline loomed and Charlene needed to hustle. At the rate she was going, she’d never finish another book ever again.

The thought sent chills through her, and she reached for her coffee mug. More java…she needed more. That was it, the caffeine would help. Perhaps another cup of coffee and a brisk walk along the river would get her creative juices flowing. The mountains…the river seemed to call to her. Why not take a break and clear her head. Sitting here was doing no good at all.

She closed the laptop and pushed back from the desk, stretching kinks from her back and neck as she rose. Both maladies came with the writing territory and usually she didn’t mind suffering through them because a sore neck equated to a higher word count. But today there was nothing to show for the stiffness along her spine—or the soreness in her backside—so she merely grimaced and sighed.

As she turned from the window a flash of red caught her eye through the glass. Near a grove of trees along the river’s edge she saw something skitter across an outcropping of rocks. She watched, holding her breath. Was it a bear? Brynn had cautioned that black bears made their home here, and deer as well, but Charlene had yet to see either.

Of course, she’d arrived merely a dozen hours ago following her final book signing of the most recent tour, and had pulled into the drive in the dark of night.

She expelled her breath, laughing out loud. Of course whatever she’d caught a glimpse of—if indeed her eyes weren’t playing tricks with her—wasn’t a bear. After all, bears didn’t dress in red—or anything else, for that matter. There was nothing to be afraid of. A walk would do her good.

Charlene padded down the stairs and into the kitchen. She found her hiking boots strewn at the back door where she’d kicked them to the side last night. One small suitcase sat on the kitchen table and she knew two more waited in the living room while a fourth rested at the foot of the bed she’d slept in last night. She’d packed with plans to spend the summer here—or at least as long as it took for her to finish the book she was working on.

Sort of working on…right? And at this rate it might take a year.

Thank goodness for Brynn and her gentle—OK, not so gentle—nudge to get away from the city for a while. She’d found this cabin for Charlene and had even worked out the details of the booking. Apparently she had connections with the owner through her work as an ER nurse at County General. Merely one day ago she’d handed Charlene the keys and paperwork for a two-month lease with the option to remain for a third month, and said good bye to her with a not-so-gentle shove through the apartment door.

The rest was history. Well, not yet, but it would be soon enough.

Charlene tugged on the boots, laced them and then took a moment to run her fingers through her unruly mass of hair. She’d slept hard on it and now the curls that spilled nearly to her waist were a bit tangled and matted. Not that it mattered…chances of running into anyone on her walk were about one in a million.

She filled her coffee mug with what remained in the coffeemaker’s glass carafe and carried the ceramic with her as she went. Thank God for the homey accommodations of a full kitchen and a small but sufficient laundry closet set off to the side. Perhaps later she’d indulge in the garden tub, complete with jets, she’d discovered in the master bath.

The cabin was a winner, and the price was more than reasonable. Given the cost, Charlene had half-expected to find a dump. But Brynn had hit a grand slam when she booked this place. Charlene checked the counter where her cell phone sat, charging. She’d have to give Brynn a call later and thank her.

But, for now, Charlene locked the cabin’s front door and tucked the key into her pocket. She did a perfunctory sweep of the pasture-like yard—just in case a bear decided to say a morning hello—before setting off toward the river.

****

Gage Kenner tossed fishing tackle to the side as he searched for the perfect materials for today’s fishing jaunt. Catching flathead catfish could be tricky, especially this time of year, and it took a strong line and a sturdy hook to do the job. Today, Jenna wanted to join him. Maybe sitting along the river together—if Gage could get the kid to sit still long enough—would give her the chance to open up to him a little. She said she wanted to come along, and she’d spent the morning digging up night crawlers and then dumping them into a plastic container that had holes poked into the lid. He’d see what she was made of when it came time to bait the hook.

When it came right down to it, since Jenna had mentioned she’d like to cast a line, fishing was just about the only thing Gage figured he had in common with his eight-year-old niece. So he was doing his best to gather the tackle together and get going. But the last guest who’d stayed here in this cabin had made a mess of things in the equipment room, so it was taking a bit longer than he expected. Usually he and Scott made rounds once a month or so to check on things at the pair of cabins they owned together, though the drive was quite a haul from the city, but a lot had changed over the past several months—too much—and Gage had neglected the inspections. He’d been,

to put it mildly, too otherwise occupied to keep tabs on things around here. He and Scott both liked to keep the cabins in order, but Scott was gone now—the realization brought a stab of pain—and life had gotten in the way.

Boy had it. In Gage’s wildest dreams—scratch that, nightmares—he could have never imagined the turn of events his life would take. Who knew a trip to the obstetrician would send his brother and sister-in-law to their early graves and his niece to live with…him? Three years ago, when Scott and Sarah had mentioned they’d drawn up a will, making him Jenna’s guardian in the event of their demise, it had seemed an unnecessary formality—not something that might actually ever come to fruition. But indeed that was exactly what had happened—nearly four months ago.

A lifetime ago.

Jenna still cried herself to sleep without fail every night, and when she wasn’t crying lately a sullen look usually masked her freckle-dusted face. Gage just couldn’t seem to connect with her and at every turn he felt like a failure. The grief counselor said to give it time; there’s no handbook for uncles who become built-in daddies overnight.

Daddies…he was now a daddy. It was sort of like living in an alternate dimension. Daddy was a word that had been banned from Gage’s vocabulary up until the fourteenth of February—Valentine’s Day. Now it had morphed to a living, breathing reality. Gage oscillated between being furious with his older brother for dying and leaving him here alone to sort out the pieces of this mess—and heartbroken because he missed Scott so terribly that at times it seemed nearly impossible to breathe.

Yet Gage had to be strong for Jenna. Tears might be shed, but, barring the funeral, Gage chose to mourn privately. Public bouts of sobbing were Jenna’s alone—at least as far as the kid knew. Seeing Gage’s tears would do nothing but set her back, and that was the last thing either of them needed.

Gage craned his ear toward the yard. Was the kid crying now? She’d woken up with wet streaks running along her cheeks, but had still somehow managed to devour the bread he’d toasted and slathered with strawberry jam. Then, without so much as changing out of her pajamas or combing her hair she’d dashed off through the yard with Bandit barking at her heels. What a contrast the two made…Jenna small, slim, and delicate for her age, while the hulking tan and black Mastiff lumbered behind, herding her like a stray calf. Gage was thankful for the intelligent and kid-friendly beast who’d come to live with him nearly two years ago. Even if Gage himself had failed to make a connection with Jenna, Bandit had somehow managed the next-to-impossible in merely an instant.

“Jenna!” Gage called toward the doorway. She’d been quiet for a while, and Bandit was nowhere to be seen, either. That usually signaled both were into something they shouldn’t be. He just prayed this time it didn’t include chasing and corralling skunks. Gage could understand Bandit’s curiosity concerning the wildlife found here in the cove. But little girls were supposed to be preoccupied with dolls and tea parties and princess movies, weren’t they? Not Jenna…no, his niece was a whirling dervish—full-speed-ahead and into everything, twenty-four seven with no slowing down in sight.

Gage was in serious need of a vacation—a grown-up vacation, not one with an eight-year-old tagging along. His niece should have come with a homing device and a beacon. That would certainly make it easier to keep tabs on her. Each day he respected—and missed—Scott even more. How had his brother managed to keep his wife happy, work, and raise a child without losing his mind?

Gage had no wife, he was on leave from his job, and as far as raising a kid, well, he still hadn’t found his rhythm in that department.

“Jenna…Bandit!” Gage dropped the tackle onto the workbench and side-stepped toward the doorway. He peered out, scanning the yard and then veering off toward the tree line that skirted a section of the river. About half-a-mile down he glimpsed the second guest cabin that he’d owned with Scott—and now managed on his own—nestled into a ridge at the foot of a grove of pines that opened to crisp, summer-green pasture. He’d meant to run by there this morning and check on the guest who had arrived late last night. Most of the people who came to stay were couples who wanted a weekend getaway. But word had it this one had arrived alone and the contract Gage had issued was good for up to three months. Odd…but Brynn Rodale, the ER nurse he’d spent some time working with at County General, had mentioned the friend she’d requested the rental for was some kind of writer named Charlie something-or-other. Cammon, that was it—Charlie Cammon.

Go figure…this Charlie guy was probably one of those weird artsy-fartsy types—a loner who had difficulty making face-to-face conversation and didn’t know the first thing about fishing or sports or…well, fill in the blank. He’d probably keep to himself, which was perfectly fine with Gage. Anyone who spent their life making up stories had to be an odd sort, for sure. Gage, well, he had a hard enough time keeping up with the details of his own life without making them up for someone else’s…especially someone fictional.

Yep, getting over to the cabin wasn’t ranking too high on his list of priorities at the moment. He’d check on Mr. Spin-a-Story later.

Way later…after he located Jenna and Bandit. Now that was quickly shaping up to be a priority.

Where had the kid and the wayward beast-of-a-mutt wandered off to? It wasn’t as if they’d get abducted out here in this stretch of wilderness—beside the second guest cabin down the road there wasn’t another rental place or even a residence, for that matter, for miles.

But the outdoors might prove to be an enemy, Gage realized as a ripple of fear coursed up his spine. Hadn’t he warned Jenna time and again to stay far away from the river while she was playing outside alone? The water level was high right now from a recent deluge of rain and small areas of rapids could be dangerous—especially since Jenna liked to climb the rocks. And, Gage remembered, he’d spotted a black bear while hiking through the backwoods yesterday. Mostly the creatures avoided people unless food was involved—or unless they were provoked by a curious eight-year-old.

Not to mention the snakes and wasps and whatever else might be skulking about. Was Jenna allergic to bee stings? Gage had no idea. He’d learned about her allergy to shellfish when he’d introduced her to shrimp one evening a few weeks ago. That had resulted in difficulty breathing and a harrowing trip to the County General ER.

Good grief. What had Gage been thinking to bring a child—a little girl—out here to the cabin for the entire summer?

Gage jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and drew a deep breath. As an emergency medical pilot and paramedic he’d learned long ago not to panic over anything. He reminded himself that he’d come here with Jenna because she needed time away with him—and his attention—in order to find a path through whatever emotional damage had been wrought by losing not just one but both of her parents in a single, senseless accident. And Gage needed the time to get his head on straight and figure things out. Like it or not, both his and Jenna’s future had been irrevocably detoured to new and unexpected destinations. Somehow, some way, Gage had to unravel a trail that joined the two back together—and he prayed he’d find one sooner rather than later.

Yes, he’d prayed…over and over again. God seemed to be unavailable to his calling. He’d try again later and hope for a different result.

But the praying had to wait. First he needed to locate Jenna. Temper flaring, Gage told himself when he found her he’d shelf the gentle talking-to meant to remind her that it was wrong to wander off. That manner of discipline, for all intents and purposes, had proved to be woefully ineffective. No, this time he’d give her something that would insure she’d remember to keep her feet firmly planted in the vicinity of his vision—where she’d be safe.

Because if anything happened to Jenna, Gage could never forgive himself. He’d given his word to Scott and Sarah that he’d watch over her. He’d promised…

“Bandit, come back here!” Gage took off toward the river, yanking his hands from his pockets to cup them around his mouth as he bellowed once more, much louder, “Jenna!”

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Week 34: Light the Fire

A choice, a tragedy, and life-altering consequences...


1st Chapter:

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.  ~Hebrews 6:19


“Hurry, Rena. We’re going to be late.” Kelsie tossed a tennis shoe across the room.

Rena caught it, but hesitated before slipping her foot in, halfheartedly tying the laces. “I-I think I’ve changed my mind.” Rena’s stomach turned over, the cereal she’d choked down for breakfast along with two cups of muddy-black coffee roiling unmercifully.

“You can’t change your mind.” Kelsie’s tone left no room for argument. “We’ve already committed to helping. We can’t let everybody down.” Another shoe careened toward her head, and Rena ducked.

She sighed as she slid an arm into her baby blue windbreaker. Kelsie was right.

She reached for the second shoe. “Remind me again why you roped me into doing this.”

Kelsie’s perky blonde curls bobbed as she paced Rena’s living room. “Because the church needs help building this house. They’re a good family, Rena. Their home burned to the ground and they didn’t have insurance. Plus, you’re good at slinging a hammer. In fact, you do it better than most guys I know.”

Burned to the ground. The words startled Rena. Her heart went out to the family. How could she just sit here and refuse to help when she had the means and the knowledge needed? Guilt nudged her as she zipped her jacket, staring into the distance before turning back to her friend. “It doesn’t hurt to have a dad who’s a builder. He’s taught me a lot. I even have my own tool belt, a birthday gift when I turned sixteen.”

“I remember. I was there.” Kelsie’s car keys jingled as she twirled them on a forefinger. “That’s one of the reasons we need you.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Never mind.” She handed Rena a sack lunch she’d prepared and nudged her toward the door. “Go to the car.”

“But—”

Kelsie plastered manicured hands over her ears. “I can’t hear you.”

Rena groaned, but opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “OK. I’m going.”

The sun’s wispy magenta arms embraced an awakening sky as they drove toward the building site. Despite her growing reservations about getting involved in this building project, Rena enjoyed the beautiful backdrop of the Smoky Mountains at dawn. She’d always been an early riser and reveled in the solitude of daybreak while the rest of the world lay slumbering.

“Kyle and I are going to the movies tonight.” Kelsie yawned as she braked for a light. “He has a friend he’d like you to meet. I thought we could double date.”

“No!” She’d rather have a root canal without the anesthesia. No way was she going to get mixed up with another self-centered smooth-talker who thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. “I mean, thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested. You know my track record, Kel. It’s hopeless. Guys are off limits—for good.”

“Nonsense, Rena. You can’t hide forever. Eventually you’ll have to plunge into the dating world again.”

Rena cringed at the thought. “Plunge? I prefer to…wade.”

“No, you prefer to sit on the beach with your nose in a book, oblivious to all the guys passing by. Just think about it, will you?”

“I already have, and I’m just not interested. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Kelsie frowned. “Rena, the world is full of nice guys.”

“Sure it is. And maybe someday I’ll win the lottery and retire a multi-millionaire.”

“But you don’t play the lottery.”

“And I don’t date—at least not anymore.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They turned into the work site and staccato hammering filled the air as Kelsie parked her Honda beside a mud-splattered black pick-up.

“Let’s go.” Kelsie unlatched her seat belt and grabbed the sack lunches. “Daylight’s burning, and there’s a lot to do.”

Rena sighed and drew in the musty-sweet scent of freshly sawn wood. She wished she shared Kelsie’s enthusiasm. As she eased from the car, flakes of sawdust settled like new-fallen snow across the damp earth. They brought back fond childhood memories of the many times she’d accompanied her dad on building projects. Those had been good times, before he’d become semi-retired and turned most of his days to leisurely games of golf with his grizzle-haired buddies.

“Where’s the party?” Rena stepped over a bag of concrete mix. “This place looks like a war zone with no survivors.” Broken cinder blocks and torn nail boxes littered the ground.

“Kyle’s over there.”

At the far side of the block foundation, Kyle lifted a two-by-four into place, but it was the guy hammering beside him that caused Rena’s breath to catch. Dark, unruly hair kissed broad shoulders. The thin fabric of his navy T-shirt strained over a terrain of muscles as he struck each nail neatly into place with a single, confident blow.

His strength caused her heart to lurch and her pulse to quicken. Rena tore her gaze away. She’d seen enough guys like him in New York City—handsome guys convinced they were a gift to every woman within a five-hundred mile radius—when all they really excelled at was breaking hearts.

She tightened the tool belt around her hips and hop-skipped through an obstacle course of construction supplies toward the two-by-four frame, ready to drive a nail. The quicker she got to work, the quicker she could get out of here.

Suddenly the thunderous crash of a stampede filled the air. As she spun to look, Rena was tackled by what felt like a runaway freight train. The breath rushed out of her as she flew airborne, and then slammed to the ground. A finale of fireworks exploded in her head. She sputtered for air.

Footsteps pounded as someone sprinted over gravel and jumped pallets of brick. A deep male voice shouted, “Sammy, no. Bad dog. Sit!”

Stunned, Rena shook her head to clear the fireworks and came face to face with a massive, drooling dog. Jowls drawn to expose spiked teeth, he loomed as if he intended to devour her for breakfast. Her heart pounded and her cries ripped the air. “Help! Kelsie!”

“It’s OK.” The male voice slid over her like warm molasses as the guy who’d been helping Kyle set down the two-by-fours and then dropped to his knees beside her. “It’s just Sammy. He’s harmless.”

“Yeah, right.” She dipped her head and attempted to shield her face with the collar of her windbreaker as the dog buried his meaty snout in her tangled hair. “Just get him away from me.”

He frowned and gave the dog’s collar a yank. “Sammy, no. Bad manners. Bad dog. Sit. Stay.”

Rena gasped and fought to bring her breathing under control. She sputtered, “T-that’s not a dog. It’s-it’s a bear.” She scooted through damp grass to put distance between them. As if to mock her, Sammy followed. He sniffed her hair and then lazily licked her face, leaving a trail of warm, sloppy saliva across one cheek.

“Yuck, I’ve been slimed.” She swiped a forearm across the gooey moisture and tilted her head to stare into the most soulful pair of doggy eyes she’d ever seen. Now that she could breathe again, he didn’t seem so menacing. “What’s your name, big boy?”

“My name’s Cody.”

A nervous giggle erupted, and she covered her mouth. “I meant the dog.”

“Oh, right. Meet Sammy.” Cody offered a hand and she sat up cross-legged, brushing slobber-matted hair from her eyes while she waited for the dizziness to pass. “He’s a Saint Bernard who thinks he’s a toy poodle. He forgets he weighs as much as a truck.”

Calluses mingled with her clammy palm and reminded her he still held her hand. She quickly let go. “Haven’t you heard of obedience school?”

“For me or the dog?”

She wiped her hand on her jeans. “Maybe you should check into a buy-one-get-one-free program.”

“Point taken.” He grazed fingertips over each of her arms, searching for cuts, and then brushed a smudge of slobber from her cheek with his knuckles. Rena shivered, and turned away. His voice gentled. “You OK?”

She shrugged and buried her hand in Sammy’s thick fur. “I’ll live. Are you sure he won’t bite?”

“He’s toddler tough, I promise. The worst he’ll do is drown you in slobber.”

“Been there, done that.” Rena scratched behind Sammy’s ears and his tail swept wildly across the ground. A cloud of sawdust erupted. Rena stroked the dog’s fur and murmured, “Hey, Sammy, you’re just a big, playful baby, aren’t you?”

“He’s a stinker. Sorry he knocked you down. He’ll get a timeout when we get home.” Cody shook a finger at the mutt. “It’s the doghouse for you, buddy.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Rena laid a protective hand on Sammy’s massive back. “He just scared me. There’s no need to punish him. I’m OK now.”

“Are you sure?” Cody grasped Rena’s hand again and helped her to her feet. The world swirled and turned gray for a moment before coming back to life.

“Yes.” She felt a bruise forming on her hip but dismissed the pain. She’d had much worse while living in New York. The realization was sobering, and reminded her she’d sworn off men for now…most likely for good. She tugged her hand from Cody’s and brushed blades of grass from the seat of her jeans. “Besides, I like dogs...most of the time.”

“Good thing, because Sammy likes to hang around the building site. He’s become a sort of…mascot.” Deep blue eyes studied her. Rena found herself dwarfed by his broad-shouldered, six-foot-something frame. She took a step back as he continued, “I’m Cody Jamison. And you’re...?”

She hesitated, but his gaze pierced her. The rush of her pulse was irrational, she knew, yet she couldn’t seem to bring it under control.

“Rena…” she finally murmured, and turned from him to Kelsie, who had sidled up to her. “We’d better get to work. It looks like a storm might be rolling in.” The breeze had picked up, and concrete dust swirled over the ground. Beyond the foundation, a row of willows danced.

“Well, OK...for now.” Cody reached for Sammy’s collar and grimaced as he jabbed a finger at the mutt. “Come on, you mangy beast. Go lay down. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

They sauntered across the yard and Rena watched as Sammy chased his tail in a trio of circles before settling beneath one of the willows with his massive head nestled on two meaty front paws. Cody turned back to grin at her, and shook his head as if to say the dog would cause no more trouble.

She nodded. The whine of a circular saw pierced the air and exhaust fumes drew her attention as other workers arrived in a variety of pick-ups and sedans. Rena shook wooziness from her head as she reached for the hammer hanging from her tool belt. She wondered if her dizziness was caused by Sammy, or if Cody’s gentleness and humor had somehow dislodged a piece of the wall she’d so painstakingly erected to guard her heart.

She sighed as her gaze was drawn to Cody once more. Of course, it was the dog.

****

Cody aimed for the nail and missed. He stifled an oath as the hammer grazed his thumb.

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” Kyle snorted. “Better keep your eyes on your work…instead of Rena.”

“You’re a real comedian.” He reached for another nail, held it in place and sank it with a single blow. “But she is…appealing.”

Kyle laughed. “I thought you swore off women.”

“I have…but there’s always room for adjustments to the game plan.”

“Game plan?” Kyle quirked an eyebrow as he lifted another two-by-four into place. “This isn’t football, my friend.”

“I know.” He glanced away from the lumber long enough to find Rena once more. The baby-blue windbreaker stood out among hues of brown and gray building materials, and her long blonde hair lifted in the morning breeze as she and Kelsie worked together to lay two-by-fours along the foundation. “She’s a friend of Kelsie’s?”

Kyle nodded. “Since they were kids.”

“Wow, she swings that hammer like a guy.” He whistled appreciatively. “Wonder where she learned that.”

“Why don’t you ask her?” Kyle handed him a nail. “It’s a good place to start.”

“I don’t know…maybe.”

“She volunteers at the rec center, you know, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe you could come out and help with the basketball program. Who knows, you might run into each other there, too.”

“Smooth way of roping me in to volunteer.”

Kyle grinned. “If it works…”

Cody’s gaze locked with Rena’s as she walked over to get another box of nails. She smiled slightly, and motioned to Sammy, who slept beneath a tree at the edge of the site. When she held up one hand and formed her index finger and thumb into the OK sign, he grinned and nodded back.

“The rec center…on Tuesdays, you said?” He turned to Kyle.

“And Thursdays, like clockwork.”


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