Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2)

by Julie Lessman

  A weary sigh feathered her lips as she slumped back in her chair, heart aching for this man who was so desperate for love, yet so clueless as to how to go about it. “But that’s just it, Sam,” she said quietly, “you’re not free. You’re trapped in a cycle of rejection. Jasmine rejects you, so you reject her back, then you turn right around and reject every woman you use to fill the hole in your heart.”

  “You’re crazy—I don’t reject anybody,” he snapped. “Especially Jasmine. For crying out loud, I’m so crazy in love with her, I’m sitting here in my kitchen with the room spinning and a sledgehammer pounding my brain, talking psycho-babble with some girl I just met.”

  “Sorry, Sam,” she said, brows sloped in a look of sympathy usually reserved for skinned knees and hurt feelings in the classroom. “But that’s not love.”

  “Really.” It was more of a statement than a question as he hiked a leg up on the rung of the next chair, one thick brow jutting high. “Then what’s your definition, Einstein?”

  Shannon drew in a cleansing breath, closing her eyes to focus on the only kind of love she would ever settle for again. “‘Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth.’” She opened her eyes, her heart flooding with the assurance that this was exactly what God wanted for her too.

  And for Sam.

  Her smile was pure peace. “‘Love bears all things, Sam, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.’ And you know why?” She stood and pushed in her chair, that very same love she espoused now spilling from her gaze. “Because ‘love never fails,’ Dr. Cunningham, which is the best news I could possibly give you right now.”

  She lifted the strap of her purse off the back of the chair and slung it over her shoulder, heart bleeding for this man who had so much potential—and need—for love. “Because if you apply that kind of love in your relationship with Jasmine and every other woman, you won’t fail either, Sam, in finding the kind of love that will truly make you happy.” Her lips twitched with a near smile as she employed her sternest teacher tone. “Now I’m going home, Dr. Cunningham, and you are going straight to bed, understood?”

  “Yeeeesssss, Miss O’Bryen,” he said in a sing-song voice à la Eddie Haskell. He grinned with a wide stretch of arms before shuffling to his feet, fingers suddenly clutching the back of the chair when he started to sway. “After I walk you out to your car.”

  “No, sir.” She marched around the table, waving him off on her way to the door. “You look like you can barely walk to your room, much less to my car, Doc, so I should be carrying you to bed.”

  “Mmm … not a bad idea,” he said with a rakish waggle of brows that produced an immediate wince in his face. “Ow—that hurt.”

  “Aw …” She fluttered her lashes in sympathy before delivering a dry smile. “Good.” He followed her to the foyer, hand to his head, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “Pain, puke, and the promise of a hangover.” Hand on the knob, she turned at the front door with an arch of her brow. “Tell me, Doc, does anything stem the player in you?”

  He mauled the back of his neck with a cringe, his smile appearing to be in as much pain as him. “Well, the point-blank truth tends to suck a bit of the wind out of my sails.”

  She couldn’t resist a chuckle as she opened the door, lobbing a grin over her shoulder before she slowly shut it again. “Good to know.”

  Chapter Four

  A player, yes, but a sweet one. Shaking her head, Shannon yanked the door closed with a smile, squealing when it bounced back with a clunk and a groan.

  “Owwww! First you bludgeon my heart, and now my arm.” Sam moaned, rubbing his wrist while he sagged against the doorframe. “Okay, that settles it—you’re not a third-grade teacher, you’re a sadist.”

  Eyes wide, Shannon put a hand to her mouth, as much to stifle a giggle as from shock. “I am so sorry,” she said, backing down his brick serpentine walkway when he started to follow, thinking that even sulking, he looked adorable. “But I did tell you to go to bed, did I not?”

  “A bossy sadist at that,” he muttered, padding behind her in his bare feet, hands in his pockets as he gingerly stepped over acorns and sticks.

  “You haven’t seen ‘bossy,’ mister, if you don’t get your butt back inside right now.” Keys in hand, she rounded her car and opened her door, pausing to sear him with a threatening look completely ruined by her flicker of a smile. “Goodnight, Sam—again.” She slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, groaning when a familiar grinding occurred. The engine refused to turn over as she pumped the accelerator to no avail. “Nooooo,” she moaned to herself, cheeks heating as she tried to remember what Jack had done to start the car when she’d flooded it at home, before the Memorial fundraiser. The smell of gasoline wrinkled her nose as she tried it again. “Come on, baby, I know you’ve endured drool, puke, and Sam Cunningham, but please don’t take that out on me …”

  Tap. Tap.

  Smothering a groan, Shannon looked up when Sam opened the passenger door, brows in a bunch as he ducked his head in. “What’s wrong?”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, figuring she’d given Doctor Love enough grief for one night. “It’s been flooding lately, so now it won’t turn on.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, Teach.” A slow grin slid across Sam’s face as he shut the passenger door and ambled around to the driver’s side, opening her door with a wink. “I happen to have a lotttttt of experience in turning things on, young lady.” He bumped her shoulder. “Move over.”

  Succumbing to an eye roll, she scooted over on the cloth bench seat of her mother’s Impala to let him in.

  “Whoa! How short are you anyway?” he asked, fumbling for the lever to adjust the seat. “My knees are in my nostrils.” He jerked it back hard and immediately groaned, plying his fingers to the sudden pain in his head. “Man, shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You should be in bed,” she said with a sigh.

  “I know,” he said, heating her cheeks with a wayward smile that caused her to inch further away. Pressing his bare foot on the accelerator, he kept it there while he turned the key, head cocked to listen to the starter. “Come on, baby,” he whispered in a husky tone, alarming Shannon when the sound purled heat in her tummy, “I know you can do it.” With a rhythmic grind that seemed to go on forever, the engine finally roared to life, drowning out her loud sigh of relief.

  Sagging back in the seat, Sam slid her a sideways smile. “The trick is to keep your foot on the accelerator with no pumping, young lady, then keep grinding and pray like the devil.”

  Her mouth crooked. “The devil preys, but not that kind.” She huffed out more air, lips pursed in a tight smile as she shooed him toward the door. “Okay, then, it’s off to bed with you, Doc, but thank you, truly, for starting my car.”

  He didn’t move, smile gentle as his gaze roamed her face, her hair, hitching her pulse when it drifted down her body and back. “You’re not the one who should be thanking me, Shan,” he said quietly, “I should be thanking you.”

  She smiled, going for casual as she shuffled back a tad. “For adding to your headache with opinions you didn’t want to hear?”

  His face faded to serious. “Yeah, for that. Because I have to admit, though you ticked me off pretty good a couple of times” —those chocolate eyes held her captive, probing as if she were a mystery to solve— “for some strange reason, I feel a whole lot better than I did before, and I’m not exactly sure why.”

  Her smile was warm. “Because the truth is the cure for heartache?”

  He stared, eyes in a squint. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just that good as a friend.”

  Her eyes softened, his words so sweet, she had to fight the urge to give him a hug. “I hope so.”

  “Me, too,” he said, reachi
ng to skim a finger down the curve of her jaw.

  Before she could react, he leaned in and brushed a kiss to her cheek. It startled her so much, she jerked, which inadvertently aligned her mouth with his, barely inches apart. Heat coiled in her stomach as she froze, his shallow breathing mingling with her own. And then her oxygen ceased altogether when he slowly bent in, closing the distance as his eyes sheathed closed.

  No! But her limbs and voice refused to work, the caress of his lips paralyzing all protest. Against her will, a low moan slipped from her throat, his kiss so achingly tender, her body felt drugged as it melted into his arms. Oh, Lord, help me—it’s been so long …

  “Shan,” he whispered, his breath warm in her ear, easing her down on the seat so gently, she was barely aware. “Stay with me …” With a playful tug of her lip, his mouth took hers, disarming her with a dangerous warmth that swirled heat in her belly.

  Stay with him.

  Spend the night with him.

  So he can take another piece of my soul.

  Her mind seized, and then her heart. “No!” she screamed, shoving him away with such force, he bumped his head on the dash. “Out, get out, you … you … slimy letch!” She flogged him with her fists, not feeling a bit bad over the nasty knot he would have.

  “Shannon, wait—” He raised his arms to protect himself, but she only whacked him all the harder, furious she’d been dumb enough to be played by a player. Especially after Jack’s warning.

  “He can charm the spots off a kid with measles, which makes him all the more dangerous. So I need someone mature and levelheaded, with an immunity to players …”

  Yeah, right. Apparently an “immunity to players” doesn’t inoculate one against “stupid.”

  “Shannon, let me explain, please—”

  Chest heaving, she jerked one of her high heels off and bullied him with her size five-and-a-half stilettos. “The-only-ex-pla-nation-I-want-from-you-bucko,” she hissed as she bludgeoned him but good, “is-how-to-get-you-out-of-my-car!”

  “Hey, that hurts,” he moaned. He clutched his stomach as he scrambled out, finally toppling into the street.

  “Good!” She lunged to slam the door, too angry to gloat when he furiously scuttled back before she could take off his big toe. Shifting into gear, she spared him one last glance to make sure he was clear, satisfied to see the fear of God in his eyes. “I hope your stupid tie stinks forever,” she shouted, moisture stinging as she gunned away from the curb.

  Just like my judgment in men.

  Chapter Five

  “You’ve been a godsend, Cam.” Carrying two tall, frosty glasses of her famous peach iced tea out to her patio, Tess O’Bryen placed one in front of Cameron Phillips—the uncle of her daughter-in-law, Lacey—who had just taken her out to lunch. “I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve been.”

  “My pleasure, Tess.” Cam hoisted his glass in a toast, his smile solid, steady, and warm, like the friend he’d been to her the last five months since her ex-husband Adam passed away. “I remember all too well the grief of losing Susan to cancer, which is one of the reasons I’ve spent so much time at sea on various naval commissions. Despite the fact it’s my job, it was one of the few ways I found I could cope. So trust me—I count it a privilege to be here to help you shoulder your grief.”

  Offering a grateful smile, she sank into her white wrought-iron chair, welcoming the comfort of the heron-blue striped pillows that were beginning to show wear and tear. Like me, she thought, shamefully exhausted from their trek through the cemetery, where she and Cam had attended a Memorial Day service before lunch. They’d both put flowers on Adam’s and Susan’s gravesites. She laid her head back on the chair and closed her eyes, grateful that Cam understood her moments of silence and didn’t press her to talk.

  She’d only officially met Cam briefly last August at his daughter Nicki’s wedding. And then again at her son Jack’s and Lacey’s wedding the next month after he’d finished his naval commission on the USS George H. W. Bush. So when he showed up at Adam’s funeral, she’d been surprised. And so utterly grateful! Somehow, she hadn’t expected her ex-husband’s death to affect her so, especially since she hadn’t seen him for two years prior to last summer, when he’d come back to make amends to his family.

  Amends. Tears pricked her eyes. And then some. The pastor husband who had left her almost eight years ago after an adulterous affair with her friend and neighbor, Karen—Cam’s sister—had somehow managed to burrow into his family’s heart all over again. He’d been a changed man on a mission—to heal the wounds he’d inflicted before God called him home. And, oh, how he had! Becoming a best friend to her all over again and an unlikely hero to his children, making the last five months since his death oh, so hard.

  And yet, oh, so wonderful! Knowing he was now in the presence of His Savior while his family no longer bore the burden of bitterness.

  Only grief.

  She took a sip of her iced tea, gaze trailing into her once-lush garden and yard, which now suffered neglect as much as she. But she hadn’t expected Adam’s death to bruise her so badly, imposing an awful malaise that was so unnatural for a woman Ben Carmichael once called “annoyingly perky.”

  Ben.

  Loneliness struck with such force, a flash flood stung at the back of her eyes. With two daughters, two sons, a brand-new daughter-in-law she adored, and a crotchety blue heron who resided in her oak as an unofficial pet, she shouldn’t be lonely. And yet, from the moment Ben—her crotchety neighbor, Lacey’s father, and now love of her life—had kissed her goodbye in that empty hallway before Jack and Lacey’s wedding last year, a hint of loneliness had crawled into her heart.

  “So help me, Tess,” he’d said, nudging her to the wall with an agony that had shocked both of them to the core. “I am so in love with you …”

  Her answering moan had melted into his mouth before she gently pushed him away, the same torment in his face that she felt in her own. “Ben, I’m in love with you too—desperately—but this is not the time nor place.”

  And so he had left after the wedding, one of the country’s top cardiac surgeons opting for a six-month medical missionary trip a friend had been badgering him about for years. To give her time with Adam and then time to grieve. Only six months had turned into eight, so when his once frequent letters and emails tapered off to only here and there, her loneliness had spread like the vile disease that had taken Adam’s life. A sharp stab of pain wrung more moisture from her eyes. What if he had changed his mind about marrying her? What if he’d met someone else? What if he didn’t need her anymore like she needed him?

  Oh, Ben, where are you?

  “Tess.” Cam’s voice was gentle as always.

  Her eyes jerked open, so lost in her thoughts that she had to blink several times before Cam’s face came into view. “Yes?”

  She startled when he reached across the table to tenderly brush a tear from her cheek. “You know I don’t mind the moments of silence between us because I understand.” He slowly sat back down, kind eyes probing hers with a concern that had been a balm to her soul these last five months. “Because the silence is comfortable, like our friendship.” He paused, a crease above a classic nose on a face most women considered attractive, she supposed, although she’d been too depressed to notice. One side of his full lips lifted into an off-center smile that popped a dimple, and she blinked, suddenly caught off-guard by military-short sandy hair and hazel eyes the exact shade of Ben’s. “But when the friend I’ve come to care for starts shedding crocodile tears …” He cuffed the back of his neck with an adorable grimace that made her smile. “Well, I tend to revert to Navy mode, and the Rear Admiral in me takes over.”

  She caught her lower lip with her teeth, a glimmer of the former “Miss Perky”—Ben’s nickname for her—twinkling in her eyes, no doubt. “Uh-oh … should I salute?”

  He grinned and rose, downing most of his iced tea before pushing in his chair. “That might be best sin
ce we’ll be at sea.” He rounded the table and hooked her arm, plucking her up.

  “What? W-Where are we g-going?” she stammered, too aware of his commanding hold as she stumbled along while he led her down her driveway.

  “To test-drive a boat.”

  She skidded to a dead stop, her one-inch pumps digging into her red paver driveway now crisscrossed with moss. “Are you crazy, Cam? I’m not dressed for a boat.”

  He scanned head to foot and back. His slow perusal of the way-too-short pencil skirt Cat talked her into and her sleeveless lavender silk blouse was so deliberate, it toasted her cheeks. “I’ll wait. Go change.”

  She blinked, mind racing in a hundred different directions, none of them along the lines of grief counseling with a friend. He turned to buff her arms, thumbs slowly grazing the crook of her elbow. Her throat went dry as her neck craned up, up, up to a handsome face sporting a patient smile.

  Good grief, when did he get so tall?

  “It’s Memorial Weekend, Tess, and you’ve been in a funk for five months now. The sun and sea air will do you good and who knows?” The hazel eyes twinkled like topaz. “You might even have a little fun.”

  “B-But … but …”

  He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment at 1500 hours—three o’clock your time—so we have to cut and run, Mrs. O’Bryen, because I’m never late.”

  “But you’re not dressed either,” she said, swallowing hard as she did a quick scan of his crisp shirt and tie and neatly pressed Dockers.

  He grinned as he tugged off the tie, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt with a wink. “I have shorts, Sperrys, and a Polo in the back seat, along with drinks and snacks in a cooler.”

  She crossed her arms with an open-mouthed smile. “Why does this sound premeditated, Admiral Phillips?”

  “Because it is,” he said with a swagger as cocky as his smile on the way to his Land Rover, “so get crackin’.”