Copyright
ISBN 1-59310-077-9
Copyright © 2004 by Lynn A. Coleman and Rachel Hauck. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
One
Elizabeth Lambert rushed through the kitchen door and hustled up the back stairs to her room, taking them two at a time.
“Dinner’s on the table, Beth,” her grandma said when she scurried past.
“No time,” Elizabeth called over her shoulder. “Sinclair’s wants me to come in as soon as I can.”
In her room, she shoved the door partially closed and slipped from the slacks and blouse she’d worn to Lambert’s Furniture into her uniform for Sinclair’s, the department store where she worked several evenings a week.
From the bottom of the stairs, Grandma admonished her, “You can’t work seventy hours a week without taking time to eat a healthy meal.”
“I’ll get a burger on the way,” Elizabeth replied in a clear, loud voice.
With quick, short strokes, she ran a comb through her hair and pulled it back with a red ribbon. A subtle knock caused her to turn toward the door. “Enter,” she said.
Grandma pushed the door open and stood in the doorway, her hands on her ample hips. “A fast-food burger is not a healthy meal.”
Elizabeth laughed and started to hang up the clothes she’d worn to the office. “I’m used to it.”
Grandma settled on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you take a break from all this work? There’s no need—”
“You know I didn’t want to come to White Birch in the first place,” Elizabeth interrupted, tossing her low-heeled pumps onto the closet floor in exchange for a pair of white sneakers. “But if Dad insists I take a break from school to learn the value of money and good, hard work, then work is what I’m going to do.”
She plopped onto the floor and stuffed her feet into her white leather sneakers. “Besides, I’ve been living at this pace since my freshman year at college. Grabbing a burger on the run is nothing new.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Elizabeth looked at her grandmother’s wise, gentle face. “I appreciate your concern, but right now, eating a wellbalanced meal is the least of my concerns.”
Grandma stood and smiled. “You better run along, or you’ll be late.”
Elizabeth hopped up, then grabbed her backpack and car keys. In a soft tone, she admitted, “I know I don’t seem grateful, Grandma, but I do appreciate all you and Grandpa have done for me.”
“We know life in White Birch is a far cry from the life you can live in Boston, but we love having you here.”
Elizabeth leaned over and kissed her grandma on the cheek. “Well, if I have to be someplace other than Boston, being with you and Grandpa is a pretty cool alternative.”
Grandma beamed. “Well, hurry, or you won’t even have time for a quick burger.” She made a shuffling motion with her arms and feet.
Elizabeth chuckled and darted down the stairs with a quick glance at the large hall clock. She would barely make it on time even if she didn’t stop for a burger.
Her father’s classic 1973 Volkswagen Super Beetle sat on the edge of the driveway; its candy apple red paint glistened in the evening light. Tossing her backpack into the passenger seat, Elizabeth slipped in behind the wheel.
The restored car, a graduation present from her parents, came with a condition: Spend a season working in the family business in White Birch, New Hampshire. When she balked at the idea, they sweetened the deal, offering to pay all of her graduate school tuition if she agreed to their proposal.
Shifting into fourth gear, Elizabeth zipped through the center of White Birch. The quaint New England town looked to her as though it’d grown from a Norman Rockwell painting.
Remembering the discussion with her parents set her on edge. After all, at twenty-three, she had the right to make her own decisions about life. But in the whole vast scheme of things, she decided a summer in the quaint town was a small price to pay for an all-expense-paid ride to grad school—plus the title to the red classic car. She’d wanted to go to grad school for about as long as she wanted to inherit her father’s vintage car.
To her surprise, Elizabeth enjoyed the few weeks she’d spent living with her grandparents, though their devotion to the Lord exposed her unrequited faith. The senior Lamberts sought God at every turn, over every issue. Even the decision to let Elizabeth live with them came after several days of prayer.
How could anyone depend on God so much? Elizabeth preferred to chart her own course in life, depending on reason instead of the ethereal world of prayer.
All at once, a loud bang resonated in her ears and the little car swerved hard to the right. Elizabeth gripped the steering wheel tighter, and with one foot on the brake and the other on the clutch, she slowed the car and forced it safely to the shoulder.
Trembling, she got out of the car and examined the outside. “Great,” she mumbled, the flat right tire testifying to her problems. She knelt to inspect the damage. Pieces of shredded tire littered the road.
I’m going to be really late. She sighed, making her way to the front of the car. She popped the VW’s round trunk and peered inside. Figures. No spare. She let the trunk close with a bang.
Propping herself against the trunk lid, Elizabeth contemplated her next move. She had her cell phone in her backpack, so she knew she could call one of her cousins for help. But calling on a Lambert meant the whole family would somehow become involved in this minor incident. During her short time in White Birch, Elizabeth had quickly learned that nothing seemed sacred or private among the Lambert clan.
I’ll handle the problem myself. She stepped around to the passenger side, fetched her backpack, locked the doors, and started jogging toward Sinclair’s.
❧
Kavan Donovan focused his binoculars and scanned a local camping area from the top of the run-down White Birch fire tower.
Aerial surveillance replaced most of the forest ranger’s manual chores, but Kavan still climbed the tower to survey the area. Something about the ancient tower enchanted him. In fact, he’d persuaded the forestry division to invest money in its renovation.
A light June breeze tickled the treetops and scattered the thin trails of smoke rising from campfires. The hushed wind stirred his spirit. “God, You’re so good.” His gaze surveyed the beautiful peaks of the White Mountains.
A couple of young men hiked into his magnified view, and Kavan watched as they made their way along the mountain path.
Setting the binoculars aside, he checked the sky overhead. Clear and blue, no sign of rain. When did it rain last? Six weeks, maybe, he thought. It was a little too dry for his liking.
A flash of light nabbed his attention, and with calculated motion, he reached for the binoculars.
A flare. Kavan zeroed in on the area with the binoculars. The white smoky trail led to the general location of the hikers. He grabbed his radio.
“White Birch, this is Donovan. We’ve got hikers in trouble on the south ridge, 150-foot line. Clear.”
The voice of Rick Weber crackled over the radio. “They climbed that high? Go ahead.” He sounded dubi
ous.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“I’ll send out the chopper. Weber clear.”
“Donovan clear.” Kavan searched the mountainside for a glimpse of the hikers.
“Kavan,” Rick called back in a low voice. “Switch to channel eight five.”
Kavan clicked the dial on his radio. “What’s up?” he asked.
“When you come in, be ready to rescue yourself from Travis. Rumor has it he’s on the warpath over the expenses you submitted.”
Kavan exhaled and lowered his arm, letting the binoculars dangle from his right hand while gripping the radio in his left. With a shake of his head, he said, “Thanks. I’m on my way in now.”
He took one last glance around the venerable tower before starting for the steps.
Ever since he’d started working on the fire tower refurbishment, his boss, Travis Knight, had scrutinized all his expense reports with a critical eye.
Driving down the mountainside, Kavan recalled the debate he had had with Travis. “You’ve barely started the project and already I’m getting heat from the division about the expense.”
“Travis, I’ve ordered several hundred board feet of pine and a few large-cell batteries for energy.”
“Large-cell batteries? You’re wasting division money.”
“I planned for the energy cells in the refurbishment budget. Otherwise, we’d have to run power lines to the tower.”
Travis shook his head. “I won’t have it look as if my office is frivolous with expenses.”
“Frivolous? Pine board and batteries are not frivolous.” Kavan tried to reason with him, but Travis turned a deaf ear and ordered him to hold off on any more expenses.
Kavan hated the memory of that day. Now, arriving at the office, he dreaded a second confrontation. He addressed Travis’s secretary when he entered.
“Hi, Kavan,” Cheryl said sweetly, winking at him with mascara-laden lashes.
“Evening, Cheryl. Travis around?”
She tipped her head toward the office door. “Careful, he’s in a mood.”
“So I’ve heard.” Kavan knocked lightly on the director’s door.
“Come in,” a deep voice bellowed.
“Evening, Travis,” Kavan said, shutting the door behind him.
Travis Knight looked up, the skin under his chin jiggling like jelly. His dark eyes glared at Kavan, and he tossed some papers on the edge of the desk. “What’s the meaning of this?”
❧
Elizabeth jogged toward Sinclair’s, determined to make it on time. When the short, loud blip of a siren sounded behind her, she jumped off the road with a yelp.
The passenger-side window of a White Birch police car slid down. The officer leaned over and peered up at her. “What are you doing?”
Elizabeth scowled at yet another member of the Lambert family. “Going to work,” she said, then added with a thump of her fist on the car door. “What’s the big idea of scaring me half to death?”
Her cousin Jeff Simmons gave his wide, teasing grin. “Sorry, Beth, just messing with you.”
“You about gave me a heart attack.”
“Get in.” Jeff pulled the handle and pushed the door open. Elizabeth tossed her backpack inside.
“Why are you jogging to work?” he asked, starting in the direction of the Sinclair’s super department store.
Elizabeth hesitated to answer. She loved her cousin Jeff, but if she told him about the tire, he’d do the Lambert family thing and fix it for her. She gave him the first excuse that came to mind. “I need the exercise.”
He laughed. “Yeah, right. I saw your car on the side of the road back there.”
Elizabeth looked over at her cousin and confessed. “The right front tire blew.”
“Ah,” he said.
They rode in silence for a minute before she said softly, “Thanks for the lift.”
“Lamberts stick together.”
“So I’ve noticed.” A wry smile touched her lips.
“A little overwhelming, is it?” Jeff asked, his tone understanding.
“Just a tad. Everywhere I turn, there’s a Lambert family member, or worse a family friend, watching me. It’s like living in a fishbowl.”
“No one’s watching you, Beth. The folks in White Birch are just friendly and interested.”
“You mean nosy,” Elizabeth retorted.
“No, I don’t mean nosy.” Jeff gave her a sidelong glance. “You like your privacy, don’t you?”
Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “Just a little.”
Jeff continued. “I was the opposite when I went to college. Didn’t know anyone, struggled with that alone-in-a-crowd feeling. I hated those first few months on campus. I never told anyone, but I think Grandma always knew.”
A picture of bighearted Jeff wandering the campus alone caused a wave of mercy to splash Elizabeth’s heart. But his situation didn’t compare to hers. “I’m the opposite. Grad school can’t come soon enough.”
Jeff shook his head with a chuckle. “It’s the next hill to conquer, is it?”
She twisted her lips to hide a wry grin. “I wouldn’t put it like that. . .exactly.”
Jeff laughed. “I hope you get the school you want.”
“There’s no doubt I will,” Elizabeth said, confidence rising within her.
“How do you like working for Lambert’s Furniture?” Jeff asked, slowing to turn into Sinclair’s giant parking lot.
Elizabeth shrugged and looked out the passenger window. “It’s a job.”
Actually, she enjoyed working at the family business, though she would never admit it. Seeing the business from the inside, she gained a new respect for Lambert ingenuity and vision.
He stopped near the front entrance of Sinclair’s. “Here you go.”
Elizabeth grabbed her backpack and hopped out of the car. “Thanks, Jeff.”
“Anytime, Cousin. Would you like a ride home?”
“No, thanks.” She hurried inside and ran past the store’s café-style grill. Breathless, she paused long enough to order a grilled ham and cheese. The sandwich waited for her when she came down from the employee locker room.
She ate as she walked toward the front. The evening manager, Joann Floyd, met her in the main aisle. “Take over the customer service desk.”
“All right.” Elizabeth swallowed the last of the sandwich.
“And can you stay and help me close? MaryAnn called in sick again.” Joann fell into step with Elizabeth.
“Sure,” she replied, stepping behind the counter and signing into the register. In the past few weeks, the twenty-nine-year-old Joann had become more of a friend than a boss. Elizabeth hated to refuse her request, knowing the extra work would fall to the dedicated manager.
A smile of relief lit Joann’s oval face. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “What else is there to do in this dinky town?”
Joann answered without preamble. “Meet a nice man, fall in love, get married, have a few kids.”
Elizabeth groaned. “You’ve gone crazy from too much work, Jo. When have you ever heard me talk about love, marriage, and kids?” She shook with an exaggerated shudder.
Joann laughed. “Well, I’ve never heard you talk about it, but it’s got to be more fun than grad school.”
“You’d rather I stay in White Birch and forget about my plans,” Elizabeth said, picking through the basket of returned items.
“Oh no, I don’t want you to forget about your plans. I want you to change them.”
Elizabeth chuckled at Joann’s forthright confession. “Nothing doing. I’m getting my master’s in nuclear engineering, maybe a Ph.D.”
“And then what?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said as Joann headed off to check on a price for a register customer. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she muttered to herself.
For the next hour, the grad–school–bound Lambert handled refunds and sorted the return items.
Occasionally Joann walked by, whispering words about love or romance in her ear.
“There are other things in life besides romance,” Elizabeth whispered in response.
“I need to return these.” A smooth, baritone voice rose from the other side of the counter.
Elizabeth looked up into the chocolate brown eyes of a handsome, uniformed forest ranger. The sparkle in his eyes caused her heartbeat to quicken. Her voice wobbled when she asked, “Do you have a receipt?”
“Right here.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the thin register tape. “After you do the refund, I need to purchase these items again.”
Elizabeth peered over the counter and into his cart. It was loaded with all kinds of kids’ crafts: poster boards, paints, colored paper, balloons, and sparkles. With an upward glance, she asked, “Whatever for?”
Two
For a moment, Kavan felt lost in her large blue eyes. Sapphires set against pure white silk. Realizing he stared, he shifted his gaze and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She laughed. “You said you wanted to return these items and then purchase them again?”
“Right.” Kavan’s gaze met hers, and he smiled. “Seems the New Hampshire Division of Forests and Lands can’t afford a few balloons and poster board.”
Surprise sparked in her eyes. “So you’re buying them with your own money?”
“Fun tools make it easy for me to teach the kids about fire safety.”
“And our tax dollars don’t pay for it?” she asked, incredulous.
Kavan shook his head and said woefully, “Politics.”
The lovely brunette behind the service desk recoiled. “Politics? Over kids, crafts and a few balloons?”
“No reasoning for the whims of the politically minded.”
“Oh,” she said, her lips forming a perfect O.
A distinct desire to get to know the woman behind Sinclair’s service counter stirred in Kavan. Casually, he read her name tag: Elizabeth.
About that time, a lighthearted male voice said from over his shoulder, “Here, Beth.” A brown paper bag slid across the counter.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking past Kavan to the man behind him.
Lambert's Pride Page 1
