by Dana Wayne
Secrets Of The Heart
Mail Order Groom
Whispers On The Wind
Chasing Hope
Book Liftoff
1209 South Main Street
PMB 126
Lindale, Texas 75771
This book is a work of fiction. Therefore, all names, places, characters, and situations are a product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Dana Wayne
Book design by Champagne Book Design
Cover design by Just Write.Creations
Library of Congress Control Number Data
Wayne, Dana
Chasing Hope / Dana Wayne.
1. Contemporary—Romance—Fiction.
2. General—Romance—Fiction.
BISAC: FIC 027020 FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | FIC 027000 Fiction / General.
2019901371
ISBN: 978-1-947946-49-1
www.danawayne.com
www.bookliftoff.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by Dana Wayne
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Letter from the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Recipes
About the Author
Books by Dana Wayne
Preview of Whispers On the Wind
As always, I am very grateful for the many people who have supported, encouraged, challenged and celebrated my writing efforts. My critique partner and friend, Patty Wiseman deserves a special thank you. Your mentorship means more to me than I can ever say. Thank You is not nearly enough but thank you I do.
I am also deeply thankful for my fellow writers in ETWA, NETWO and ETWG who made me believe I had some talent after all. Thank you, guys! I could not do it without you.
And last, but by no means least, my wonderful, understanding and supportive husband. I would not be here without you. I love you.
Dear Readers,
When I first got the idea of Chasing Hope, I wanted to address in some fashion the effects of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) on a soldier. The more I researched the subject, the more I decided that a romance novel wasn’t the place to do it, at least not to the extent the subject warranted. Therefore, the hero, Max Logan, has been in treatment for almost a year and a half and has, to a good extent, developed skills to address the effects of PTSD on his life. While we discuss the subject some in the story, that is not the focus; that belongs to Max, Sky and Maddie.
The way in which I chose to address PTSD in no way diminishes how devastating this disease can be on a person. Anyone who has lived through a traumatic event can suddenly find themselves experiencing emotional challenges long after the event has taken place. Although it’s common for people to experience some emotional effects after the event, these symptoms can lessen over time as they go through the healing process. Those who suffer from PTSD, however, find themselves experiencing symptoms that continue to inflict significant distress and can range from minor to severe and affect every facet of their life and relationships.
I was surprised to learn that around eight million people in the US are living with some form of PTSD, and it’s estimated that about seventy percent of adults have experienced some sort of traumatic event in their lives. However, it’s also important to note that most people who experience such events will not develop PTSD.
I found several websites that provide information on PTSD. This one from the VA, while designed for veterans and their families, has some great information that anyone can use. www.ptsd.va.gov/public/index.asp
All that being said, I do hope you enjoy Max’s story.
Thanks for reading!
Dana
The first bullet grazed his cheek, followed by searing pain and the acrid smell of singed flesh and gunpowder. “Sniper! Three o-clock!” He shouted to the small band of Marines clustered behind the disabled Humvee. “Stay down.”
Jenkins, a kid from Idaho so green his boots weren’t even scuffed, looked at him with worried eyes. “What’ll we do, Gunny?”
Before he could reply, all hell broke loose. One sniper became six. Pinned down, they waited. And prayed. The whistle of a mortar pierced the roar of a shitload of automatic rifles a split second before Jenkins disappeared in a haze of blood and mangled flesh.
Max Logan jolted awake from the nightmare, a scream lodged in his throat. Heart racing, gasping for air, he threw off the sheet and sat on the side of the bed. The last nightmare happened nearly a year ago. He thought he was over it.
Evidently not.
Control your breathing, lower your heart rate. The shrink’s instructions ran through his mind as he struggled to escape the hellhole that nearly destroyed him.
Recurrent pain in his left leg, compliments of shrapnel from the IED, was another reminder of his brush with death. He pushed off the bed and limped to the window.
Must have been my conversation with Big John today. That’s what stirred up the memories. He pressed his head against the cold glass. Not for the first time, he asked himself why. “Why am I alive, and they’re all dead?”
A sudden light from the kitchen next door ended his introspection and drew his gaze to the woman who paused in the middle of the room, arms straight at her side.
Her name was Skylar Ward, though everyone called her Sky. She worked at the local diner where he took a lot of his meals. Their conversations rarely went beyond did he want the daily special or his usual burger and fries, but something about her piqued his interest. Gut instinct said the awareness was mutual, yet he hesitated to test the waters. He’d come a long way in the last sixteen months but couldn’t bring himself to take the next step. Not yet.
A single mom, she had the cutest and smartest little girl who never missed an opportunity to engage Max in conversation at the diner or when they were outside at the same time. Truth be told, the child did most of the talking, usually in the form of a gazillion questions, but he didn’t mind. Especially if it meant an opportunity to chat with the mother as well.
He straightened when Sky swiped her cheeks with one hand and dropped into a chair at the small table near the window.
He glanced at the bedside clock, 0430. There were no curtains on the window and the narrow driveway between their houses in this older neighborhood allowed him to see her in sharp detail. She sat drill-sergeant straight, hands clasped together in her lap, auburn hair disheveled, loose-fitting pajamas boasting an animal, maybe a cat, on the front.
It wasn’t the first time he’d observed her in the wee hours of the morning. Not that he was a wacked-out Peeping Tom, either. He wasn’t. He
just had trouble sleeping at times and prone to be up at all hours of the night. Lately, so was she.
Sometimes, she just sat there. Sometimes, she made coffee or did paperwork.
Tonight, though, something was different. She was different.
Rigid as a poplar, she ran slender fingers through shoulder-length hair, then gripped the sides of her head, face contorted as though in agony. She tilted her head back and rolled it side to side. Her chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. She crossed her wrists on the table and sat frozen for the space of a heartbeat before her shoulders slumped, and she lowered her head. Her slender body shook with the force of her sobs.
“I know how you feel, ma’am,” he whispered to the darkness, “I know just how you feel.”
Skylar Ward hated crying. It never solved anything and left her with red, puffy eyes that no amount of makeup would hide. So what if the rent was due, her car hovered one crank away from the scrap heap, and Christmas loomed a month away? That wasn’t reason enough to host a pity party for one. Yet here she sat in the predawn hours blubbering like the world just came to an end. Who knew? Maybe it had, and she didn’t know it yet.
Never one to feel sorry for herself, at least not for long, Sky wondered what sparked this infrequent event. The upcoming holidays? Maybe. But in her heart, she knew it went beyond that, beyond monitoring her young daughter’s health or pinching pennies.
She loved Maddie more than life itself and did not regret the steps she took to ensure her health and happiness. But more and more lately, she missed not having someone to share her life with, to snuggle on the couch and talk about anything or nothing. She was so tired of watching life from the sidelines, doing everything, facing everything alone, with no one to watch her back or hold her close in the darkness.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” she mumbled when the waterworks ceased. “It’s not like you have a lot of options.” She got up from the table and splashed her face with cold water. A quick glance at the wall clock produced another groan. No point in going back to bed now. She started the coffee maker, then leaned against the counter, arms braced on either side. Surrounded by a sense of imminent doom and a loneliness so profound it bordered on physical pain, she sucked in a ragged breath.
I’ve been alone practically my whole life, why is it bothering me now?
Her father died when she was young. Her mother was a physical therapist, and they lived in a modest yet comfortable home. A drunk driver turned her once vibrant, happy mother into an invalid a week after Sky turned sixteen. The only relative was a grandmother whom she hadn’t seen since her father died, so Sky left her carefree life behind and became her mother’s caretaker, working after school and on weekends at a local pharmacy to make ends meet. Despite the burdens she shouldered, she managed to graduate from high school and then enroll in nursing school.
Memories of those dark days threatened to initiate another round of self-pity, and she gave herself a mental shake.
Deal with the problem at hand—how to pay the rent this month—and save the rest for another day. Mr. Jenkins was a kind-hearted older gentleman, but kindness only went so far when money was involved.
A tingling on the back of her neck pulled her to the window where only darkness and the house next door loomed. The occupant, Max Logan, had moved in about six months ago and was a frequent customer at the diner where she worked. Maddie had more conversations with him than Sky, and when they did talk, it rarely went beyond casual conversation. His demeanor, heightened by tips that exceeded the norm and covert looks cast her way, indicated more than casual interest. Sadly, as a single mother barely making ends meet, she focused on getting through the next crisis, which left no room for a personal life, no matter how badly she wanted one.
Max was the only man she’d met in Bakersville to even halfway draw her attention, and she briefly considered encouraging him. The few men who had expressed interest up to now quickly cooled when they discovered she had a child. Max, however, didn’t seem to mind. He would patiently answer Maddie’s multitude of questions and occasionally encouraged more. He appeared to enjoy their interactions, which provided Sky an opportunity to get to know him better.
Her friend and neighbor, Gail Brown, said Max was a former soldier. She didn’t need that last piece of information since everything about his bearing screamed military.
She guessed him to be a little older than her thirty-three years. Tall, maybe six-three or four, his well-muscled body moved with an easy grace, despite a slight limp. He wore his dark chestnut hair in the traditional buzz cut favored by soldiers, and heavy brows rested above unsmiling, coffee-colored eyes. His features were hard, chiseled like an unfinished sculpture, and he possessed an air of authority that commanded attention.
The beep of the coffee pot brought her back to the counter, where she filled a mug and, with only a brief hesitation, scooted a chair near the window and sat down, calling herself a pathetic fool for pretending she wasn’t alone.
“Hurry with your breakfast, Maddie,” urged Sky as she gathered her purse and jacket, “we’re going to be late.”
“Almost through.” Seven-year-old Maddie shoveled another bite of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “You told me not to eat fast, or I’d get sick.”
“I also told you not to lollygag around.”
The impish smile made Sky’s heart lurch. She’ll be a beautiful woman one day.
“Yes, you said that, too.” A last bite of eggs, a gulp of juice, and she slid from the chair. “I gotta brush my teeth and get my backpack. After I put my dishes in the sink.”
“Make it quick. We need to get going.”
A few minutes later, Maddie followed Sky out the door. “Think Ole Blue will start today?”
Her daughter’s question mirrored the one making Sky’s anxiety soar. The old Taurus teetered on the edge of done-for, and there was no money to fix it. “Keep your fingers crossed.”
The brisk November air cut through her lightweight jacket as they hurried to the car. It wasn’t locked since no one in their right mind would want the beat-up old clunker. Once behind the wheel, she said a silent prayer and turned the key.
Nothing. Not even a click.
She gnawed her lower lip. No, no, no. Please…not this.
She tried again.
Silence.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
She stifled a groan. “I’m not sure—battery maybe.”
“Do we have another one of those?”
“No. We don’t.” Consumed with dread, she unbuckled the seat belt. “Stay put. Let me take a look.” Like I have a bloody clue what to look for or could fix the damn thing if I did.
Her stomach threatened to purge its meager contents of toast and coffee. Please, God, please. Give me a break. Just one small break. That’s all I ask.
She propped open the hood and peered inside. Yep. There’s the motor and the little oil thingy. There’s the doo-hickey I put window washer fluid in before it sprung a leak. Yep. It’s all there. Now what?
“Something wrong, ma’am?”
Startled, she squealed and jumped back into the rock-solid wall of a man. Strong hands clamped around her waist kept her upright.
“Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
His warm breath washed over her cheek. She twisted around and found herself face to chest with Max Logan. She jerked her gaze upward, chilled body sucking the heat radiating from him like a sponge.
“Ma’am? Are you okay?”
The intensely male voice penetrated the stupor robbing her of speech, and she stepped back. “Y-yes. I’m fine. You just surprised me.”
He nodded toward the car. “Won’t start?”
“No, and I have no idea why.”
“Mind if I try?” He folded his huge frame in the front seat without waiting for a reply, only to exit a moment later. “Battery’s dead.” He walked toward his shiny new F-150 crew cab parked a little farther up the narrow drive.
It took
a moment to process what had just happened. Okay. He tried to crank the car, it wouldn’t start, and he just walked off. What the heck? “Well, um, okay. Thanks for trying.”
Before she finished the sentence, the huge engine roared to life, and he backed up. Once even with her car, he got out with the motor still running and pulled long, thick wires from behind his seat.
Jumper cables? Maybe. I think.
Once he had them connected to each vehicle, he looked at her. Didn’t say a word. Just stared.
She stared back.
One bushy brow kicked up.
Duh. Crank the car, you idiot.
Slow to respond, Blue did, finally, thankfully, start.
He waited a moment, then unhooked the cables and moved to the driver’s side. “Where are you going?”
His question was gruff, and she bristled, about to tell him none of his business, but her mother’s ancient speech about manners stifled the impulse. And he did crank her car. And was a good tipper. “I have to take Maddie to school.”
“How long will that take?”
She gritted her teeth. “Twenty minutes.”
“Don’t kill it, or it won’t start again.”
You could’ve started with that statement. “Oh. Okay. Thank you, um, Mr. Logan, I—”
“Max. No mister.” Hands braced on his hips, the inquest continued. “Are you working today?”
“No. I’m off every other Friday.”
“Honk when you get back, and I’ll hook up a battery charger. But you’ll probably need to replace it soon. It’s old, and cold weather is hard on them.”
Lips pressed together, she swallowed hard. She could barely pay her bills now. A new battery was out of the question. “How much do they cost?”
“Depends on the battery.”
She counted to ten. “Ball park?”
One shoulder rose then fell. “A hundred give or take.”
“Dollars?”
His jaw muscles moved, whether to smile or grimace, she couldn’t tell.
