by Lisa Carter
Dear Reader,
Like Jax, have you ever struggled with guilt? Which have you found harder—to forgive someone else or to forgive yourself? Neither are easy.
Or like Darcy, have you ever felt second best or second choice?
But when Darcy embraces the person God made her to be and pursues the dreams God placed in her heart, only then does she gain real freedom and peace. Whatever dream God has placed in your heart, I pray you, too, will find the courage to pursue it.
Whenever you’re feeling second choice, read Isaiah 43 to see how much God loves you. He has redeemed you and called you by name. You have a place all your own in God’s heart. You have been chosen—you are His.
And what about dealing with guilt? True guilt drives us to repentance and helps us find our way back to what is right. False guilt, however, brings only condemnation, with no way out. True guilt leading to repentance brings freedom and healing. False guilt paralyses and enslaves.
This is a heavy burden we were never created to shoulder. Jesus took the heavy load of sin on the cross so that you don’t have to. He is the only one who can be our burden-bearer. It is in the laying down of our burdens that we find rest and peace in Him. I hope you will accept His invitation to come so that you, too, might experience true freedom, healing and restoration.
May we all find the strength to finally accept what is past, to fully embrace the present and to look to the future with hope-filled eyes.
Thank you for allowing me in this series of books to share with you a very special place and people dear to my heart on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.
I hope you have enjoyed taking this journey with me, Brody, Darcy and Jax. I would love to hear from you. You may email me at [email protected] or visit www.lisacarterauthor.com.
Wishing you fair winds and following seas,
Lisa Carter
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An Unexpected Family
by Jenna Mindel
Chapter One
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Rose Dean ruffled her eleven-year-old son’s brown hair. Soon to turn twelve, the kid was growing like a weed.
Greg jerked away. “Awww, Mom, cut it out.”
She watched him pad his way to the industrial fridge of the diner she’d inherited in Maple Springs, Michigan. Greg was tall like his father and she hoped the resemblance to her ex-husband remained outward. Refilling her coffee mug with freshly made brew, she said, “I like your hair.”
“It’s longer than yours.” He finger combed his bangs away from steely gray eyes as if erasing her motherly touch.
“That’s true.” Her son had never liked her short hair. But for Rose, it made things easier.
Three weeks ago, a few days before Memorial Day, they’d moved up north away from her steady job as an events manager at a conference center. Away from the steady influence of her parents, into a small town with a small high school that hopefully held smaller chances for trouble.
Rose wanted to be on her own. As much as she loved her parents and was grateful for everything they’d done for her, she didn’t ever want to move back in with them. She wanted her own home. Her own life. Independence.
She could model that independence only so much for her son. Greg needed strong male role models—maybe now more than ever, living away from his grandpa—but Rose wanted a good man. A man of his word. Maybe in this pristine lakeside town there might be a good teacher or coach who Greg could look up to. Staring out the window at some of the flashy cars parked along Main Street, Rose had her doubts, but she still prayed that God would deliver.
She straightened the stack of morning receipts and stuffed them into the bottom drawer of the cash register along with her fears. She needed to trust God on this one. Easier said than done. Coming here, Rose had taken a leap of faith. She believed that the Lord had given her this opportunity, so she needed to believe He’d take care of the rest.
Hearing grumbles, she looked at Chuck and muttered under her breath, “Now what?”
A grumpy cook had come along with her inheritance of Dean’s Hometown Grille from her mother-in-law, Linda Dean. Evidently, the terms of the will had been very specific. Rose did not just inherit the building; Linda had stipulated that Rose run the diner herself until such time Greg could take over. Rose had had no idea the woman intended to leave her anything. Why would she? Linda’s eldest son had abandoned Rose and Greg years before he died.
Chuck cursed and threw the spatula across the stainless-steel grill.
Rose glanced at the few remaining breakfast patrons seated near the sunny window overlooking Main. They didn’t appear to hear anything. Chuck’s colorful language had become more commonplace since Rose took over, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Chuck hadn’t liked her directives to rein in his tongue, either. Firing the cranky cook without a replacement wasn’t an option. She couldn’t cook.
Rose sighed. “What happened?”
“Burned my thumb,” the cook growled.
She glanced at Greg. Her son rolled his eyes and drained his glass of milk. Chuck was no role model. He wasn’t the kind of man she wanted Greg around. Rose had recently signed her son up for a summer program during the week. Although this little café was his legacy and more than likely the only reason Rose had inherited it, she couldn’t fill all her son’s summer vacation days with busing tables.
He was too old for day care, and Rose couldn’t make Greg stay indoors upstairs until the restaurant closed at two in the afternoon. Nor did she want her son roaming around Maple Springs on his own. Not yet anyway, not until she knew more about their new hometown. Even tiny resort towns held dangers for unsupervised eleven-year-olds soon to be twelve.
The bell over the front door rang, announcing more customers. This morning had been busy. Since she had taken over the diner, they’d been busy nearly every day. Except for Sunday. Rose had started something new by closing the diner on Sundays. That had earned more complaints from the cook. Linda never closed the diner.
Well, Rose wasn’t Linda. Despite carrying the last name, Rose wasn’t a Dean. She hardly knew the family she’d married into twelve years ago, but then she’d ended up divorced five years later.
A man and woman walked inside and their laughter snagged her attention. The two greeted people they knew. The man was handsome, broad shouldered and tall with disheveled blond hair, but his bright blue eyes captured her interest. They shone like gemstones from all the way across the small dining area.
Those brilliantly colored eyes locked onto hers, and he smiled, showing off near-perfect teeth. It wasn’t a pleasant, hello-how-are-you kind of smile, either. He reacted with a lazy, I-can-show-you-a-good-time smile. This man recognized a lonely woman as if he could see straight through to her heart and the secrets locked th
ere.
Rose ignored the hiccup of her pulse rate and looked away. What a jerk! Making eyes at her while he was with another. She nearly tore her order pad apart flipping over to a clean sheet.
Grabbing a couple menus, Rose approached their table. The woman was equally fine with long, straight blond hair and perfectly manicured nails. Figures.
“Are you the new owner?” The woman looked up and smiled. Her blue eyes were the same brilliant shade as the man’s. Now, what were the chances of that?
Rose smiled. “I am. In fact, this is my second Saturday.”
The woman held out her hand. “My name’s Monica. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Monica. I’m Rose Dean.” She shook the woman’s hand, liking her instantly even though she felt sorry for her bad taste in men. Rose had been there, done that.
Monica dug in her purse. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Everyone loved Linda and she’ll be sorely missed. If I may, here’s my card. Linda never wanted a website, but as a new owner, if you’d like to consider an online presence, let me know.”
“Oh.” Rose took the card and pocketed it. She wasn’t sure she could afford to hire anyone for a website. She hadn’t had a chance to go over the financials with more than a cursory glance. She didn’t know what to look for and that meant hiring an accountant to find out. Another expense she wasn’t yet sure she could afford.
“Nice sales pitch,” the man drawled.
“Just trying to help.” Monica forced another smile. “This is my brother, Cam Zelinsky.”
“Oh.” Maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as she’d first thought, but Rose knew his type and didn’t take his offered hand. She gave him the menu instead. “Nice to meet you both. Our lunch special is a grilled Reuben with fries, and we serve breakfast till we close at two. Can I get either of you something to drink before ordering?”
Cam narrowed beautiful eyes. “An iced tea, no lemon.”
“Just water for me, with lemon,” Monica said.
Rose nodded. “Be right back.”
While she was filling their drink orders, more people came in. The bell rang again, announcing a few more. Rose checked her watch. Eleven o’clock seemed awfully early for the lunch crowd, but then, this was mid-June. Summer was in full swing and many folks vacationed up north.
Although she’d never lived here before, she knew northern Michigan was a destination for vacationers and summer residents alike. Her ex-husband had once explained that nearly three-quarters of this town’s residents lived here primarily in summer. In winter, Maple Springs rolled up and died.
Rose looked forward to that slowdown. But for now, she loaded her tray with more ice waters and got to work greeting customers and taking orders.
* * *
Cam took another bite of his grilled Reuben. He’d tasted better. He’d made better. Chuck was slipping, but then, without Linda Dean to keep him in line—
“Write so I can read it!”
Cam jerked his head toward the new owner, curious to see how she handled the cook’s rudeness. Rose. What an apt name for a woman with such a fresh face. Her skin flushed pink, looking as soft as a petal from the flower bearing her name.
He cringed. He’d never compared a woman to a flower before.
“I don’t recall seeing her at Linda’s funeral.” Monica watched her, too.
Dean’s Hometown Grille was a small place. It had been closed for only a couple of weeks after Linda’s untimely death. A restaurant couldn’t afford to close their doors for long and hope to survive. Poor Rose. After giving the cook a stern look, she darted from table to table, taking orders, putting them in, picking them up. She looked overwhelmed. A gangly young kid cleared the empty tables and wiped them down.
Cam sipped his iced tea. “I remember two of the Dean boys from high school, but not the oldest. I don’t remember them having a sister.”
Monica shrugged. “Maybe she’s a cousin or something. Word on the street is that Linda’s boys aren’t happy.”
“With what?” Cam asked.
“Her getting this.” His sister made a sweeping gesture.
“The street? Really, Monica?” Cam chuckled.
Maple Springs was far from city life. The only thing remotely urbane was the people that flooded the area for a few months in summer and the winter ski season. And the trendier restaurants that came and went hoping to capture high-end patronage. Maple Springs needed this hole-in-the-wall, fifties-styled diner for the locals. It had been here for as long as Cam could remember.
The clattering sound of a plate hitting the floor followed by language he didn’t often hear in public brought Cam’s head up fast.
“Chuck, that’s enough!” Rose hissed.
The customers fell silent as the cook stripped off his white apron and threw it at Rose. “Fine.”
“Where, where are you going?” Her voice wavered.
“I’ve had enough of you and your scribbles. Get someone else!” With that, the cook stormed out the back with a slam of the screen door.
Rose’s face flamed. She turned to the boy who had hurried to her side ready to do battle and whispered something in his ear. The kid nodded, grabbed a pitcher of water and made the rounds.
Conversation picked up slowly. A table of four that had waited too long for their orders to be taken got up and walked out while Rose cleaned up the shattered plate.
“Ow!” He felt a sharp pinch to his forearm. “What?”
Monica poked him again. “Go help her.”
Cam rose to his feet with a sinking feeling. This was what becoming a better person meant. Helping someone in need. Trouble was that Rose Dean looked like a woman with a deep well of need and Cam was a shallow pan.
Her back was turned while she washed and then dried her hands. She moved to the grill and stared at it, lost.
“Do you have another apron?”
She turned to him, her eyes big and shiny. This close, he could see they were grass green. Her hair was clipped too short for his taste and its drowsy color lay somewhere between blond and brown. “What?”
“An apron? I know how to cook.” He knew what needed done and he had some time to kill. Not much, only a few days before heading for the first of three qualifying bass fishing tournaments.
The bell jingled.
She glanced at the door as more people flooded inside. The lunch crowd rolled in with a vengeance. “Uhh—”
“Hey, kid, apron?” Cam went to the sink and washed his hands.
The boy disappeared in back for a second and returned with a fresh one, but scowled as he handed it over.
“What’s your name?” Cam asked as he pulled the strings around his waist and tied a bow in front.
“My son, Greg.” Rose stared as if either he’d lost his mind or she had. Probably a little of both.
“Those people want to order.” Cam nodded toward the dining area.
Rose scurried off.
Greg stared him down as if weighing in on Cam’s motives.
Truly, he didn’t have any, other than a recent promise he’d made to God. “It’s okay, kid. I’ve done this before. Go help your mom.”
Greg not only looked satisfied with that answer, he smiled and then hurried to bus a table while Rose took another order. Cam spotted Monica sliding a few bills into the pocket of Rose’s ruffled red-checkered apron before waving goodbye as she left.
“Let’s see here.” Cam looked over Rose’s order slips and grimaced. This was going to take a minute to figure out.
euR w/ y’s.
ɹo /ʍ qɔ
Chuck had been right. Her scribbles resembled the periodic table hanging on the wall in his high school science class. Fortunately, he’d muddled through math and science. He’d worked in enough restaurants to figure out scribbled order tickets, too, even though it took time. Time he didn’t
have.
He glanced at Rose, remembering the specials she’d told him earlier and the letters finally made sense. A Reuben with fries and a cheeseburger with onion rings. Relief washed through him but it wasn’t sweet.
He had to get back on the bass pro circuit. If he didn’t qualify for next year’s schedule, he’d be a goner. Without fishing, this was the best he could ever do and even that was tough when it came to reading order tickets.
He looked around, found the prep fridge and got to work making that hot grill sizzle.
* * *
It was nearly closing time and Rose made change for their last customer and laughed at something the old guy said. She had a great laugh—deep and rich sounding. Nothing fake or put on.
The front door opened with a jingle. Two men entered and Cam’s stomach turned when he recognized them as Karl and Kory Dean. They raked him over with arrogant smirks reminiscent of high school days. They’d always looked down at him and called him stupid—
“Well, if it isn’t Cam Zelinsky. Aren’t you supposed to be fishing somewhere?” Kory didn’t bother hiding a sneer.
Cam’s professional fishing career was no secret, especially in Maple Springs. He’d been a guest on local outdoors shows and a few articles had been written about him in the local paper. It had been a few years since he’d won big, but no matter how well he’d done, there were always guys like the Deans who thought he was a waste of skin, wasting time chasing fish.
Wiping his hands on the front of his apron, Cam came out from behind the service counter. “Just taking a break.”
“You work here?” Karl’s eyebrows rose.
“Filling in.” He wasn’t about to let on that Chuck had defected. That guy might cool down and come back.
“Hmm.” Karl looked around, as if he couldn’t care less what Cam did. “Is Rose here?”
Cam scanned the diner. Rose walked the customer she’d made change for to the door and then flipped the Open sign over to show Closed. Hadn’t these guys ever met her before? She was family, wasn’t she? “She’s right there.”
