“I don’t know about that.”
He sat down on the couch beside her. “Well, then how about this? You are going to give me the most special gift of all, the most precious gift a person can receive, our baby.”
At times like these, she felt like there weren’t enough words in the dictionary to try to convey her feelings. But maybe that was the point.
Sometimes one’s heart was so full that no words were necessary or needed.
Because he was right. God had given them the most wonderful gift of all. A future so bright and full of hope that few things could ever compare.
“Here,” she said at last, holding out the croissant. “Come share my breakfast, Kyle.”
He took a bite from her hand, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and propped his feet on the ottoman next to hers.
Together, they sipped her mocha latte and ate chocolate pastries and watched the morning light break through the clouds on the horizon.
No, life wasn’t perfect, but it was very, very good.
Precious, even.
A precious, beautiful gift.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I never meant to write this story. It wasn’t in my contract, it wasn’t in my schedule, and I really didn’t have time to write even a very short novella like A Precious Gift. But sometimes the characters in a book seem to take a life of their own. That’s what happened with Gabby and Kyle!
Gabby and Kyle were secondary characters in The Loyal One. I only created their story line to add some depth to The Loyal One’s hero, Harley Lambright. But by the time I finished the book, I felt like they had their own story to tell, too! First, I asked Lynne, my beta reader, what she thought. It turns out that she had already written on her notes to me that she wanted to know what happened to them ASAP. :)
That’s when I asked Marla Daniels, my editor at the time, for a phone call. When we talked, I rambled on about my ideas and she listened very patiently. Then I asked if I could please write one more novella in the series. She did some thinking and some checking, and before I knew it, I was given permission to write A Precious Gift.
As things happen in publishing houses, I was passed on to another editor, Molly Gregory, by the time I finished this story. So it’s Molly who helped me fine-tune this story into something that actually made sense. Now I have Sara Quaranta, a third editor, who has been championing this story as it goes through final stages into publication.
I’m so grateful for the whole team at Gallery for taking the time to help bring A Precious Gift to life. No book of mine ever gets published without a great many people behind it, and this story is a good example of that.
So with that, I’d like to officially thank Marla, Molly, and Sara, three editors who made this author feel so very blessed.
Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next heartwarming installment in the Walnut Creek series from New York Times bestselling author Shelley Shepard Gray
THE
PROTECTIVE ONE
Available from Gallery Books in January 2020
PROLOGUE
MAY
Funerals and marriages. Elizabeth Anne had once heard her mother proclaim that these two events always brought people together.
As she stood off to the side in the vestibule of Marie Hartman’s—now Marie Byler’s—church, E.A. reckoned her mother had been right. She might have been standing by herself, but she wasn’t alone. The space was filled with longtime friends and both John’s and Marie’s families. And in the midst of all of them she could easily spy the rest of her best friends in the world known as the Eight.
This time, they’d all come together for a wedding or two of their own. But not too long ago, they’d gathered together for a far more heart-wrenching occasion: Andy Warner’s funeral.
That day had been painful in so many ways. They’d each been grief-stricken by Andy’s sudden death and perhaps were feeling far more alone, because his funeral had accomplished what their best intentions never had: it had brought all of them together for the first time in years.
Still remembering that stark sense of loss like it was yesterday, E.A. shivered. It had been July. Scorching hot, and they’d all been wearing black. But as she’d stood with the rest of the Eight on Andy’s parents’ front lawn, she’d been chilled. Only seven of them stood together. They would never be a true “Eight” ever again.
It hadn’t surprised her that everyone else felt the same way. Standing there on that lawn, they’d all vowed to stay in better touch. Yes, a lot of those promises had stemmed from guilt, because Andy had committed suicide.
However, those promises had also come from someplace else. Someplace deep and true. A place that had as much to do with true long-lasting friendships as private losses. With the fact that their friendship had transcended everyone else’s expectations about how so many different people could remain so close for years and years.
It was during that moment on the lawn that they’d all promised to each other to be better friends. And, amazingly, in the past eighteen months, that had happened. Marie had moved back to Walnut Creek. John B. and Will had stopped putting their careers first and now never said no to group gatherings. All of them had let their guards down and shared secrets that they’d previously only kept to themselves.
And now, here they were, celebrating a wedding. Marie, their very own English homecoming queen, had just married John Byler, who’d grown up Amish.
It seemed that love really did conquer all.
Now E.A. was cooling her heels in the vestibule before it was time to go into the reception. Looking down at her pale pink bridesmaid dress, she couldn’t help but frown again. Though it was a pretty dress, and rather modest, she never would have picked it. No freckle-faced redhead would ever willingly choose to wear pink.
“What’s got you looking so irritated, E.A.?” Katie asked as she walked toward her with her husband, Harley. Harley was wearing a black coat and black trousers, looking like a slightly spiffier version of his usual self. Katie was wearing a dark blue dress that she’d sewn herself. Harley and Katie were both Amish, and while they were also in the bridal party, Marie had been respectful of their preferences for conservative dress.
Though it was vain and selfish, E.A. couldn’t help but look at Katie’s gown with longing. The blue dress matched Katie’s eyes. It would have matched her eyes, too.
“Oh, nee. Was I truly looking that irritated?” She really hoped Marie’s mother hadn’t seen her looking like that. Mrs. Hartman had a lot of expectations about this day, and that included how her daughter’s bridesmaids acted.
“A little bit,” Harley murmured. His lips twitched—it was obvious he was fighting off a smile.
“Sorry. It wasn’t about anything important. I was just thinking about how much I hate to wear pink.”
Katie gave her a sympathetic look. “You look nice in that color.” When E.A. raised her eyebrows, Katie blushed. “I mean, it ain’t that bad.”
“Come on. This color is somehow managing to make me look both washed-out and sunburned at the same time.”
“It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been orange.”
And just like that, all of E.A.’s sudden worries about being on Mrs. Hartman’s radar vanished. She burst out laughing. “You’ve got me there. An orange dress would have looked worse.” Folding her arms over her chest, she asked, “So, what’s going on? Does Mrs. Hartman need us to do something?” Marie’s mother hadn’t been shy about telling the bridal party what to do.
“Oh, nee. Nothing like that.” After sharing a small smile with her husband, Katie said, “Harley and I came over here to ask you something.”
“What is it?”
Harley answered, “Elizabeth Anne, me and the guys were just talking about who was going to give a proper wedding toast for John and Marie.” He paused.
When he didn’t say anything more, E.A. looked at Harley curiously. “All right … that makes sense. So, who is going to speak?”
“Well, no
w . . .” He cleared his throat. “You see, we started talking. After a bit, we came to a decision.”
“Yes?”
He folded his hands behind his back. “We think you should do the honors.”
Her? No way. She was good at organizing things. But standing up in front of everyone and giving a speech? It honestly made her feel a little ill. Hoping to keep her expression neutral, E.A. said, “Katie, you are Marie’s matron of honor. Plus, everyone knows how good you are at telling stories. Shouldn’t you do it?”
Katie looked sympathetic but stayed unwavering. “I would, but everyone is thinking of a specific tale to tell, you see.”
“A specific story? Wow. So, um, which one are you all thinking of?” she asked, though it was all an act. There was only one really good story she could tell about Marie and John.
Harley grinned. “You know which one I’m referring to. The night Marie got her crown.”
She’d been afraid of that. That episode didn’t exactly put her in the best light. Sometimes she didn’t think it put any of them in the best light. However, it really was a perfect tale to highlight Marie’s and John’s longtime affection for each other.
“Do you really think it’s the best story to share on their wedding day?”
“Yep.”
Even though she was dallying, E.A. added, “Even in front of their parents?”
Make that “in front of all the Eights’ parents.” Oh, her mom was going to be so mad.
“Come on. You know we’re right.” Katie, all five foot two inches of her, looked up at E.A. “Please?”
What could she do?
“All right.”
Katie started to smile. “Really?”
“Really.” Thinking about standing in front of two hundred people, telling an embarrassing story while also wearing an unflattering pink dress, didn’t exactly make her feel good, but this day wasn’t about her, anyway. It was about Marie and John. And the Eights’ long-standing friendship. “I can’t promise that I’ll do a great job, but I’ll try my best.”
“You’ll do fine, E.A.,” Harley said.
Katie grabbed her hand. “Come on. Let’s go tell the others.”
E.A. let herself be tugged. But even though her feet were moving, the rest of her wanted to hedge a bit. “Do we really need to go right this minute?”
“Oh, for sure.” Harley nodded. “Sorry, E.A. The reception is about to start.”
Elizabeth Anne let herself be dragged down the narrow hallway to the large fellowship hall where the reception was being held. Catching sight of Logan and Will, she gave them a little thumbs-up.
Logan grinned and put both of his thumbs in the air. Throwing one arm around Logan’s shoulders, Will smiled broadly at her.
Suddenly, all her doubts and fears drifted away.
It didn’t matter what she was wearing, or how good she was at speaking in front of large groups of people.
All that mattered was the memory of one night, almost eight years ago, when she’d gotten a frantic phone call from Marie. And how she, in turn, had done something that turned one quiet night into an adventure none of them would ever forget.
Now she simply had to hope that she wouldn’t leave a single part of it out. If she was going to tell this story, one thing was certain: she had to do it right.
ONE
“Hi, everyone. My name is Elizabeth Anne Schmidt, but most everybody calls me E.A. I thought I’d share a favorite story with you about Marie and John B.
“I think the first thing you ought to know is that our Marie here was named homecoming queen her junior year of high school. You should also probably know that until that evening, John B. had no idea that such things even happened.”
JULY
There were more fireflies dotting the fields around her house than Elizabeth Anne could count. But still she tried. She’d once read that people believed wishing on them, like the stars, might make dreams come true. She’d always thought such a notion was foolish.
But lately?
Well, lately, Elizabeth Anne was beginning to think she’d been going through life a little too resolutely. Perhaps she would be happier if she took more time to daydream and wish on fireflies.
She was a twenty-four-year-old Mennonite, had a job at the fabric store that was rather boring, and was anticipating a proposal from a man who had never made her pulse race or her heart sing.
Though having both employment and a beau should have given her a feeling of fulfillment, she felt empty. Like a firefly that had no light.
But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t that kind of woman destined for fierce longings or challenging jobs? Were some women simply more romantic and apt to blush and fuss more than others? Perhaps the problem was that she’d never felt such things. Perhaps she wasn’t capable of such.
She sighed. The action rocked the swing a bit, jarring the man sitting next to her.
“Elizabeth Anne, you’ve sure been quiet for a while,” David blurted from her side. Looking her over like a doctor might look at a sprained ankle, he continued. “Is everything all right? Are you ill?”
“Am I ill? Oh, nee.” She was simply bored.
Folding his hands over his chest, David sighed. “Well, then … what have you been thinking about?” Impatience was in his voice now. “You know it’s only proper for us to sit together on the porch swing for thirty minutes. We should make the most of our time.”
Elizabeth Anne almost rolled her eyes. Because that, she feared, was the problem. Here they were, a courting couple sitting alone on a porch swing on an early summer evening. The air was warm and comfortable, fireflies were twinkling in the distance, and the faint scent of honeysuckle floated in the breeze.
No one else was around, and even if someone were, no one in her family would so much as blink if David had his arm around her shoulders. Not even if they were kissing. They’d been courting a long time now.
But they weren’t doing any of that. Nothing even close to it. And they never had.
“I’m sorry.” Looking at handsome, wholesome David, with his brown hair, brown eyes, full cheeks, and rather thin lips, E.A. wished yet again that there was some kind of spark between them. “I was just looking at the fireflies.”
“What about them?” He turned his head to stare out at the soybean field that seemed to go for miles on either side of them. As if they were pleased to have his attention, the hundreds of fireflies danced and sparked. The sight was mesmerizing.
“I read once that people used to make wishes on them,” she said softly, hoping to instill a bit of whimsy in their conversation.
He looked back at her and wrinkled his nose. “Wishes?”
“Jah. You know, like on stars.” When he still gaped at her, she cleared her throat. “Do you think that’s true?”
Turning to the field again, he shrugged. “I have no idea. Honestly, Elizabeth Anne, I’ve given up trying to understand why other people do the things they do.”
Elizabeth Anne. David always called her by her full name. Never E.A. like her best friends. Or her parents, or her sister, Annie. Even her teachers had called her E.A. on occasion.
She didn’t think calling her any sort of pet name had ever entered David’s mind. Ever.
Thinking about that, about how David didn’t see anything in the distance but a bunch of bugs, she pressed her lips together. “Hmm.”
His voice sharpened. “Come now. You know I’m right. Why, lots of folks do strange things, things that people like you and me couldn’t even begin to contemplate.”
“I guess that’s true,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure if his statement actually was true. Especially since she was contemplating all sorts of things at the moment.
Staring back at the dancing fireflies, she ventured, “You know what? Maybe we should play a game.”
“Out here in the dark?”
“It’s not all that dark.”
“It’s too dark to play any sort of game.” He sounded shocked. So s
hocked she couldn’t help but egg him on a bit.
“David, how about the two of us make some wishes right now?”
“Um . . .”
“Come on, it will be fun. I mean, look at all those lights! Why, it looks like Christmas in July. Don’t you think it’s the perfect night to make a wish or two?”
“Nee.”
“No?” That was it?
“Elizabeth Anne, you and I both know that no good ever comes from making wishes that won’t come true. It’s best to concentrate on what is possible.” Before she could comment, he continued. “That’s what I’ve always admired about you. You don’t waste your time dreaming about things that could never happen to a girl like you.”
“A girl like me?” Why did that sound extremely unflattering?
“Jah.” He waved a hand. “You are smart.”
She knew she was. She’d been smart enough to graduate at the top of her high school class. Yes, the Lord had truly blessed her with a good mind.
But being smart wasn’t only what she was. Did he see that?
He kept talking. “You are also strong. Jah, you have fortitude.”
She was at sea. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Sure you do.” While she gaped at him, he nodded. “You never contemplate selfish acts.”
Everything he was saying sounded awfully old-fashioned. “David, what is on your mind?”
He crossed one leg over another, like a proper old man from the Victorian age. “Come now, you know who I’m thinking of.”
His look, even in the dim light, was pointed. She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know what you are referring to.”
David pushed off the swing and stood in front of her. “Not what. Who.”
“Hmm?”
“Of course, I’m talking about that man.”
“What man?” She was becoming exasperated.
“That man you used to know,” he said impatiently.
She decided to match his tone. “Stop speaking in riddles.”
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