Bratwurst and Bridges

by Baganz, Susan M. ;

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other books by Susan M. Baganz

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  BIOGRAPHY

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  Bratwurst and Bridges

  Orchard Hill Romance #5

  Susan M. Baganz

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Bratwurst and Bridges

  COPYRIGHT 2017 by Susan M. Baganz

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contact Information: titleadmin@pelicanbookgroup.com

  Quoted Scripture, unless otherwise indicated is from the English Standard Version of the Holy Bible.

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  Prism is a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  The Triangle prism logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  Prism Edition, 2017

  Paperback Edition ISBN 978-1-943104-95-6

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-943104-94-9

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To David Mundt and Ken Nabi.

  You both believed in God’s calling for my writing long before anyone else.

  I am grateful and blessed to have been led by you both.

  Other books by Susan M. Baganz

  Orchard Hill Contemporary Romances

  Pesto & Potholes

  Salsa & Speed Bumps

  Feta & Freeways

  Root Beer & Roadblocks

  Bratwurst & Bridges

  Doughnuts and Detours (coming soon!)

  Black Diamond Christian Gothic Regencies

  The Baron’s Blunder (novella)

  The Virtuous Viscount (coming soon)

  Lord Phillip’s Folly (coming soon)

  Historical Christmas Novellas

  Fragile Blessings

  Love’s Christmas Past

  Gabriel’s Gift (coming soon)

  Short Stories

  Little Bits ‘O Love

  PROLOGUE

  Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell.

  Emily Dickinson

  January 2013

  Smoke filled the air. Dan bolted into the house dropping his keys as he rushed to the kitchen. “Sharon!” he yelled through a cough. On his mad dash to grab the flaming pan on the stove, he almost tripped over her. He opened the sliding glass door off the dining area and tossed the metal, flames and all, into the snow with a resounding hisssssss.

  He ran back to his wife sprawled on the kitchen floor. “Sharon?” He checked for a pulse. None. Panic seized him as he fumbled for his phone and called 911 while beginning chest compressions. “Yes, my wife’s not breathing. I started CPR. Send someone, please.”

  The phone dropped to the floor as he counted out compressions. Under his breath, he repeated the chorus to Staying Alive to keep a rhythm, broken only by coughing as the hovering smoke continued to assault him.

  Don’t be dead. Come on, sweetie. I need you. You’re too young to die. Tears fell onto her cotton shirt. Minutes dragged on like hours until a paramedic pulled him off. Dan stood by in disbelief as they too failed to revive her.

  The coroner arrived.

  Dead on the scene.

  The words spoken to dispatch by the paramedic pierced his soul. He listened to his voice answer questions, but it was as if he hovered above it all. People came and went in a haze. They covered up the body of the woman he loved and carried her away to the morgue. The morgue?

  Unreal.

  When the house was empty again a chill reminded him of the open sliding door. He went out to retrieve the pan and tossed it in the garbage outside. He shut the door behind him in a daze and collapsed on the couch.

  She was gone. His wife of ten years. He grabbed his phone, dialed her parents, and broke the news. He repeated the process with his own before calling Pastor Andrew.

  “Sorry to bother you so late.”

  “That’s fine, Dan, what’s up? You don’t sound good.”

  “Sharon’s dead,” he choked out. “I don’t know what happened. I came home from worship rehearsal and she was…dead. The paramedics, coroner, and police all just left. I tried to revive her…”

  “I’m coming over,” Andrew said.

  “No. It’s late. I just wanted you to know.”

  “I’m coming over. No arguments.” The call disconnected.

  His stomach growled. Sharon often prepared something light for him on rehearsal nights. Even if he ate earlier, he always came home hungry. He rose and headed to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he found his favorite dessert, homemade apple pie. He stared at it, realizing it was the last act of love his wife showed him. He slammed the door shut as his gut rebelled at the thought of food.

  Soon Andrew arrived along with Tony, Simon, and Nick, the members of his accountability group. They surrounded him.

  The men laid hands on Dan, and Andrew prayed. “Heavenly Father, You knew Sharon’s beginning and end, and You understand Dan’s grief at losing his beloved wife. Wrap Your arms around him now in the wake of this loss and sustain him through the days to come. We won’t pretend to understand why You’ve chosen to do this, Lord. But we still love You and bless Your holy name.”

  Dan had no more tears to cry. “Thanks. I’ve called our parents and now you. Can you let others know?”

  “Sure. Come on. You’ll stay with us tonight.” Andrew pulled Dan to his feet.

  He nodded. Any energy to protest went out the door with his heart. A house of memories surrounded him and he wondered if he could live through this. There was no way he could sleep here tonight.

  He trudged to the bedroom and stared at the bed where they had slept together, cried together, loved. He shoved some clothing in his gym bag and hauled it back to the living room. Opening the front door, he followed his friends out and locked it.

  ONE

  Mourning is love with no place to go.

  Anonymous

  January 2014

  The last box was dropped on the stack that lined the wall of the two-bedroom apartment. “Thanks, Tony.”

  “Call if you need anything, OK?”

  Dan nodded. The door shut behind his friend and he took in the space around him. A new bed was in the bedroom with new nightstan
d and dresser. There was a new sofa and loveseat, kitchen table. Even the dishes, pots and pans, and silverware were new. He’d sold almost everything that reminded him of her—except for a few boxes tucked in the closet of the guest bedroom containing pictures and memories of the children they’d miscarried, her journals, and a few other items from their ten-year marriage. Her photo was on the nightstand by his bed and even looking at that was torture.

  Next to his apartment door was a small office that shared a wall with the apartment across the hall. One wall of that room had the hallway on the other side, the room butting up against a similar office in a similarly designed apartment. A wall in the hallway spanned the distance between their doors which mirrored each other in the hallway. He’d make that his home office. The other two apartments on this floor were at the other end of the hall with windows facing the parking lot.

  One year had passed. He stopped by the cemetery yesterday and trudged through snowdrifts in the subzero weather for the reminder that this was his reality. That was when he finally took off his wedding ring. At thirty-four, he was a widower. An unmarried pastor at a church meant he needed to be extra careful as he worked and served. He had no wedding ring to keep the more forward single women from approaching him and making suggestions.

  Right. Like I’m some “catch.” In reality, he’d buried part of himself in that cemetery. Hopes. Dreams. The one person who’d understood him best…

  A bang on the wall adjoining his apartment to the one across the hall startled him. Then a cry. Some softer words and a shout. Great. His neighbor had kids. Loud kids. Well, it was probably a good thing he spent so much time at work, then…and that his bedroom was on the far side of the apartment away from that wall.

  Except he was on a forced leave of absence. He might appear put together on the outside, but inside he was numb. He’d sold the house he’d shared with Sharon and was on the cusp of an unknown future. For the last year, Andrew, his boss and senior pastor, had suggested he take time off. He’d resisted.

  Finally, Andrew sat him down and insisted he take time off to heal. He mentioned “unresolved grief” and the need to rest and adjust. Andrew was right. As a pastor, Dan counseled mourning families often. So why had he been so blind and resistant to his own need to process his loss? Once Sharon was in the ground, he’d buried himself under the needs of ministry and the hurts of the people coming into his office. It had seemed safer than looking inside his own heart.

  The calling to ministry had grown heavy now that he’d been barred from work. He wondered, was it time to quit? Move on to what his father called “a real job?” What would he even be good at? Ever since accepting Christ at fifteen, he’d only ever wanted to be a pastor.

  Bang! Bang! Crash!

  Dan stood up and went to the door, opened it, and strode across the hallway. He gave the wood three firm raps.

  The door swung open and a child ran headlong into him. Dan stumbled backwards, finding support against the hallway wall that ran between the two apartments. The child ran past him into his own apartment.

  A young woman appeared in a snug tank top under an unbuttoned flannel shirt falling off one shoulder…and shorts and silly fuzzy pink boots. “Quinn! Get back here!”

  She pulled up short at the sight of Dan. Her stormy gray eyes suddenly struck him. Red hair pulled up in a sideways ponytail with bangs à la Valley Girl from the 80s provided a contrast with her pale skin.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” her voice was low and husky, and he took note of the piercings on her face. “My son—”

  “—just ran into my apartment.” Dan straightened to his full six feet in height. Instant thoughts condemning this scatterbrained mother and her unruly children raced through his brain. Stop it. You don’t even know her. Shaking his head, he said, “Is that your only child, or should I be expecting another any minute?”

  A little head framed in fuzzy orange curls and bright brown eyes, peered out from the side of the door.

  The woman glanced down. “I only have the two, and she’s not as prone to mischief as her brother. I’m terribly sorry. They are always a bit wild when they return from a visit with their father. May I come in and search for Quinn?”

  Dan nodded. The woman picked up the little girl and straddled the child on the hips of her low-rise jean shorts. He led her into his apartment, leaving the door open.

  “Quinn?” The young woman called as she started to inch around the space. She turned and shot a hand out at him. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Skye. My son Quinn is our rabble-rouser and Meghan here is my little mouse.”

  “I’m Dan. I just moved in.” He let his hand grip hers in a quick shake before letting it drop.

  Skye turned and quickly resumed searching the apartment with Dan trailing her.

  ~*~

  Skye took a deep breath and hoped her face hadn’t turned beet red. It was a terrible look for her and she was embarrassed that this was how she managed to meet her handsome new neighbor. She’d watched him moving in and couldn’t help but drool over his modelesque appearance. Blond hair, the soul patch and nerdy glasses made him even more swoon-worthy. Hey, I might be divorced but I’m not dead. In an empty second bedroom, she found Quinn hidden in a closet next to boxes labeled Sharon.

  Another woman held this man’s heart. Better to realize that now. But he wore no ring on his finger. A white line where the ring would have been told her there used to be one there…until recently.

  She grabbed Quinn’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. “That was a bad job, Quinn. Now you apologize to Mr. Dan here for trespassing in his home.”

  The little boy with the dark hair and blue eyes stared up at Dan. “I’s sorry, Mr. Dan.”

  “I am terribly sorry too, for the noise and the disruption in your day.” Skye half-swung, half-dragged Quinn. She noted the frown on her neighbor’s face. Obviously, she failed to impress him. Without another word, the door shut behind her. She went to her own apartment, released her kids, and closed the door firmly.

  The tears came unbidden. She didn’t think she was unattractive, but obviously her ex, Riley, disagreed. The names he called her when he was high on drugs still bounced around her brain. She wasn’t going to let any magazine model, no matter how cute, make her feel bad about herself or her parenting.

  She did that well enough on her own.

  “Time for naps, kids.” She followed them down the hallway to their room and got them settled in their beds.

  Returning to the living room, she looked at the mess Quinn left. The paints she set up to use were scattered all over. Thankfully, none spilled on the carpet. She picked up her supplies and righted her canvas and easel. She wanted to try her hand again at another painting since she’d heard from a gallery that was interested. She tried to set up before the naps to give her more time to actually paint before she needed to deal with the kids…obviously, that hadn’t worked today.

  Since the divorce, she’d gone on state insurance and food stamps. Her husband failed to support them even though the state garnished his wages. He often called in sick or was sent home for being hung over. She was surprised he even still held a job much less supported his drug habit. Better not to think about that though. She started to paint and dark colors mixed with red reflected her mood after meeting her grumpy neighbor.

  Can you blame him? Her kids were wild and Quinn hid in his home. A single man wouldn’t be used to the kind of chaos she lived with on a daily basis. This was mild compared to what she used to experience when she was married.

  Never again.

  Never again would she trust a man.

  Especially not a good-looking one.

  She painted and shushed the part of her brain that tempted her to consider the possibility.

  Dan. Dang, but he sure was attractive. She’d be keeping an eye on his comings and goings.

  Maybe there was a way to beg his forgiveness for their disturbance. They, whoever “they” were, always said a way to a man’s heart
was his stomach. She longed for him to see her as more than a falling-apart single mother.

  ~*~

  The knock on his door that evening shocked Dan out of his somber reverie. He opened it to find a different woman than the one he’d seen earlier. She was wearing actual jeans now instead of the shorts. Her hair was down, combed, and longer than he expected. She sported black frames that highlighted her gray eyes. Eyes that looked into his, searching for something.

  “Good evening, Skye. Can I help you? I don’t think Quinn has returned to hide in my closet again.”

  “No, Dan. I brought this for you as an apology for earlier and well, to welcome you as a neighbor.”

  She held up a pan and the scent of warm apples and cinnamon wafted up to make him salivate. He swallowed hard as he took the plate. “Thank you.”

  She handed him a potholder. “It’s kind of hot.”

  He shoved it under the pan and rushed to set it on the table. He returned to the door where she stood, with the potholder and handed it back to her. “There.”

  “OK.” She glanced down at his naked feet.

  His gaze followed hers. “I’m new here but was wondering where you go to church?”

  “Church?” Skye shook her head. “I’ve no use for God. He’s never been there for me when I needed Him.”

  “Really? What happened?” Dan leaned against the doorjamb. He was curious about this woman.

  “Long story. But I’m OK now. The kids and I are doing better than ever.” Her eyes looked at him with a new wariness. “Well, I’d better get back. Quinn is always into mischief.”

  “Yeah. Thanks again for the pie.”

  She turned and walked away, and he admired the view. He shook himself as he closed his own door and flipped the lock. He shouldn’t consider the attractions of any woman. Not that there was a place in his heart for one. The scent of apple pie drew him to the table. He remembered the one Sharon baked for him before she died. He’d never been able to eat it and finally his sister tossed it away when she came to clean up for him. He’d avoided apple pie ever since.

  As if baking that pie killed her? He stepped into the kitchen to grab a plate, spoon, and knife. He sliced a piece of pie and put it on the plate. He got some vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and put a scoop next to the steaming hot pie, grateful he’d gone shopping since Quinn’s visit. Soon a white soup surrounded the pie. Just the way I like it. He sat down and broke off a piece with some ice cream. The spoon hung in midair as he contemplated taking the bite. It is not a betrayal of Sharon to eat a piece of pie. You need to get over this. He shoved the pie into his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed, letting the warmth and the flavors mix. He swallowed.