Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances

by Kimberly Rae Jordan

  “I have to work tomorrow.”

  “I’ll cover for you. Nothing happens on Fridays around here, anyway. Take a long weekend off.”

  “You think I should attend the meeting,” Ryan said.

  “Especially when the flier says, ‘Stand Up Against Ruttledge Yamada Urquhart, Savannah History’s Nightmare.’”

  “It says that? Let me see.” Ryan motioned for Hiroki to hand him his iPad.

  “Ah, she’s taking it personally.” The flier said worse things about Ryan. “I could sue her for defamation.”

  “One block of ramshackle buildings,” Hiroki said, refocusing Ryan’s thoughts.

  Ryan nodded. “Yeah. How hard can it be to knock them down?”

  How hard can it be to get past sweet Tamsyn?

  Sweet?

  Did I say sweet?

  What’s wrong with me?

  Chapter Two

  “What’s wrong with him?” Tamsyn Pendegrast asked aloud as she stacked up her handouts on one of the tables in the upper deck dining room of the Caleigh Pendegrast riverboat.

  There was supposed to be a chartered cruise tonight, but the clients had canceled it, and since nothing else was scheduled onboard the riverboat this evening, Dad had let Tamsyn hold her meeting there.

  The dining room was surrounded by a wide swath of windows. Outside, the city lights of Savannah sparkled in the wispy April evening all the way to a brightly lit Talmadge Memorial Bridge.

  There was no rain tonight, and Tamsyn hoped for a big turnout.

  It was an important event.

  Hopefully not to only me…

  Her friend, Heidi Wei-Flores, smiled. “Education, Tam, will bring him around.”

  “We say that because we were both history majors way back when, but that guy flunked American History in high school and in college.” Tamsyn shuffled through her notes, highlighting her talking points.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Ming, who else?” Tamsyn glanced at the clock at the back of the dining room. If anyone had asked, she wouldn’t admit she was anxious, but God knew she was.

  “You asked my brother to look him up?” Heidi slid onto the seat next to her. Against her back, the second-floor dining room windows reflected the Savannah riverfront heading toward sunset.

  “Yeah. All Ming wanted was my famous turkey chili.”

  Heidi laughed. “No wonder my brother’s PI company isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know how he keeps getting paid in food, and not cash.”

  “Well, he has plenty of business elsewhere.”

  “True.”

  “And I told him I’d put the Savannah River Investigations logo on my company fliers for the next six months.”

  “Clever.” Heidi shifted in her seat. “About this Ryan dude, what else did my brother find out for you?”

  “That’s all I got for a discount. I googled the rest.” Tamsyn had committed it all to memory. “He only designs sleek, futuristic, steel-and-glass office complexes, from that award-winning three-hundred-floor tower in Dubai to the two-hundred-acre corporate headquarters for the Hot Dupree sauce company in Louisiana. He doesn’t design anything that looks like the past or has any historical meaning.”

  Tamsyn stared at the wall clock. The meeting had been rescheduled to 7:30 p.m. It was almost time, and yet she and Heidi were the only ones there.

  Had she lost the battle before she had begun?

  Tamsyn blinked away a speck—or something—from her eyes.

  Where were all her other tour guide friends? They had indicated they would come. But a Thursday night was not the best time to schedule an emergency meeting. It was April, after all, a busy season for garden and candlelight tours, both day and evening.

  Of all the times of the year, Ryan Ruttledge had to pick a fight with her in the spring. At least it wasn’t the summer, when tourism peaked in Savannah.

  Yet, never one to shrink from a fight, Tamsyn was ready to take him down.

  If only the entire city of Savannah were with her.

  As long as Rosa Pendegrast Lane remained a favorite venue of vandalism and an avenue of unoccupied buildings, there was little hope for her to keep her family home unless she had an infusion of cash.

  Maintenance was key, but it was too late for some of those buildings.

  However, if she could persuade the owners of the two other unsold homes to hold on to their properties, they might have some traction.

  “Why doesn’t the city stop him?” Tamsyn’s frustration rose. “All they have to do is tell him no, and the entire block is saved from destruction.”

  “Money, Tam. Money,” Heidi said.

  “And the city thinks that Rosa Pendegrast Lane is a blight to its reputation.” Tamsyn jostled the keys out of her purse.

  “Having the highest rate of vandalism in Savannah doesn’t help.”

  “That’s a law enforcement problem.” Tamsyn walked toward the old wooden double doors to the dining room. She unlocked the doors with care, as if the bolt and lock would fall right off if she used force. It was, after all, an old riverboat.

  Dad had been loath to part with it because he had met Mom here. She had passed away some eight years before, but Dad was still grieving. Living on the riverboat was his way of dealing with his loss, Tamsyn supposed, but how long was he going to live there? He had donated the other riverboat to Riverside Chapel.

  Tamsyn had invited Dad to move back into their family home on Rosa Pendegrast Lane, but he had refused. He had a point. Mom’s signature was everywhere in that house.

  She wondered if Dad would show up tonight. He had told her that she was fighting a lost cause, but that he would stand with her.

  Those old homes on Rosa Pendegrast Lane were as good as razed. Some called them charming, and some called them an eyesore.

  It’s history to me.

  Heidi shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s safe for you to live there.”

  “I lock my doors.” She remembered when the area around her family home hadn’t been this bad, but the economic slump in the previous decade hadn’t left her neighborhood.

  “That’s not enough.”

  Tamsyn knew Heidi was right, but she’d think about that later. She had grown up with the people in the area, and they knew one another. They wouldn’t hurt her.

  “My neighbors aren’t the problem. Ryan Ruttledge is.” Tamsyn opened the doors, breathed in the Savannah River air, and expelled a big sigh. “Seriously, what’s wrong with him?”

  Stomping shoes coming up the ramp connecting the riverboat to the Savannah waterfront stopped Tamsyn from complaining further.

  Complain? Did I?

  Several tour operators greeted Tamsyn, grabbed the evening’s program from a nearby table, and took their seats. Tamsyn swiped her iPad to check off the attendees. Dad should be coming up soon from his cabin downstairs.

  She checked her email. A quick note from Piper Peyton said she couldn’t make it tonight. Busy evening at the café. Nadine Saylor couldn’t make it either. She had to work as well.

  Someone else walked in. And then another. Citizens. Business owners. Tour guides. Local historians with vested interest in the non-profit organization that Tamsyn and Heidi had formed.

  For Save Old Savannah to survive and to be taken seriously by the city, they needed more diversified support than local philanthropists and twenty members.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to win this,” one of the tour guides said.

  “Tamsyn could write a book about Rosa Pendegrast,” another said. “When are you going to finish that book, Tam?”

  “Working on it,” Tamsyn replied from where she was standing at the door. Sure, she had been working on that book for years. Never mind that she hadn’t gotten past chapter two.

  “Have you met this Ryan Ruttledge?” someone else asked.

  “The fifth!” a booming voice added.

  Dad!

  Somehow, Tamsyn’s spirit lifted. She was glad Dad had chosen
her meeting over his TV shows.

  “The fifth, I say.” Dad stepped into the dining room. “Ryan Ruttledge V.”

  “I haven’t met him in person,” Tamsyn explained. “But we’ve videoconferenced and talked on the phone.”

  Their last encounter had been this morning when she hung up on him. She hadn’t stuck around to find out why he had called.

  “I saw him in the news,” Heidi said. “He’s kinda cute.”

  “The pit bull?” Tamsyn walked toward the crowd. “Cute?”

  An unexpected male guffaw followed her.

  “I’ve been called many things, but never a cute pit bull.”

  Tamsyn froze at the voice.

  She turned around slowly, and came face to face with none other than Ryan Ruttledge V. He was only several inches taller than she was, which meant he was about six feet to her five nine.

  He looked different in person from those videoconference calls. Out of his usual oxford shirt and tie, in a plaid button-down and rolled-up sleeves, and with his brown hair tousled, why, he looked rather—

  Attractive?

  Eeeeeek…

  “Should I trademark it?” Ryan continued.

  “Trademark what?” Tamsyn tried to remain calm. Remember that he is the enemy.

  The enemy!

  “The Cute Pit Bull.”

  Tamsyn didn’t smile. “If you’re looking for the comic relief meeting, this is not it. We’re serious here. We’re trying to save old Savannah from history haters like yourself.”

  “I don’t hate history. I love making it.”

  Tamsyn rolled her eyes. “Why destroy Rosa Pendegrast Lane?”

  “Destroy? On the contrary, we’re here to revitalize it. I’m sure many tour companies would love to showcase something new in Savannah. It’ll help the economy.”

  “Is profit margin all you look at?” Tamsyn fumed.

  Ryan stepped closer. “Got you angry, didn’t I? Who’s the Cute Pit Bull now?”

  Chapter Three

  “That went well last night.” Ryan Ruttledge crawled out of the king sized bed as he recalled the Save Old Savannah meeting. It was still fresh on his mind even though he had slept in until nine o’clock this morning.

  While the public had been welcomed to that meeting, it was clear he was not. Tamsyn had made a point not to answer his questions, not to get into a verbal fisticuff with him, not to make any eye contact with him throughout the one-hour meeting.

  All Ryan wanted to do was help Savannah.

  Truly.

  If it meant adding a spark of interest into that dumpy corner of the city, then someone had to do it. It might as well have been RYUCP with its award-winning architectural designs.

  In the shower, Ryan made plans to show Tamsyn some of his favorite architectural designs around the world. RYUCP had been busy in Europe of late, designing gravity defying glass towers. Perhaps Tamsyn would be impressed when she saw how he had incorporated rooftop gardens into some of those multi-use complexes.

  Everyone loves green designs these days.

  Perhaps he could persuade her.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside the hotel facing two-way traffic and pedestrians out and about. Tourists, probably.

  The concierge had suggested a few places on River Street, including one he repeated twice: Piper’s Place. But his hotel was far away from the Savannah River, and he didn’t want to drive his rental car and look for a parking spot.

  Technically, he could walk, but he felt lazy this morning.

  Ryan decided to go four blocks down to the City Market where, supposedly, there were breakfast places. It turned out that the blocks were Savannah squares, covered with old trees and monuments.

  His iPhone map took him down Barnard Street, which went around Ellis Square. He stopped at the square, took some photos on his iPhone, marveling at the old oak trees—live oak, they’d called them—all around him.

  They must’ve taken hundreds of years to get that tall.

  Surrounded by such an exhibition of old things, Ryan began to wonder about the history of the city. History had never been his strongest subject in school. Although he had been born in North Carolina, he had grown up an Army brat, traveling the world, never calling a place home until he worked his way up in the architectural world.

  Eventually, he started a commercial property business with Hiroki Yamada and Jared Urquhart. While RYUCP was one of the many companies that the Urquhart family had invested in, it was Ryan’s only business, his bread and butter, as it was for Hiroki.

  Ryan’s entire career and reputation rested on the premise that he would continue to create and build award-winning buildings. The last thing he needed right now was to have some small town tour operator squash his next conquest.

  Rosa Pendegrast Lane is mine.

  Ryan quickened his pace down Barnard, crossing the street to the City Market. A trolley passed within inches of him. Ryan hadn’t realized he was walking that close to the edge of the sidewalk. He looked up, and the trolley said Tamsyn Tours on the side.

  Through the open windows, Ryan heard her voice.

  That euphonious voice.

  “Here’s the City Market. Tonight a local band is playing jazz and some blues. If you look outside, they’re setting up the open area for some watercolor exhibits. A local artist friend of mine, Abilene Dupree, has some paintings she’ll be selling. Twenty percent off if you mention Tamsyn Tours.”

  Ryan stretched his neck. A tricorn hat was moving back and forth toward the front of the trolley. Underneath the hat was a mop of light brown hair.

  Tamsyn.

  She happened to turn his way as she pointed out this and that in the City Market. Ryan couldn’t help listening. It turned out that he was standing in one of the most historic places in Savannah.

  Did it mean anything?

  Ryan looked down on the ground. It was concrete like any other sidewalk.

  But what’s underneath, though?

  What was once here?

  Ryan looked back at the trolley, wondering what he should do. Wave to Tamsyn? Smile? Do nothing?

  Before he could decide, the trolley picked up speed and moved on. Somehow Ryan felt a sense of loss.

  Odd. Very odd.

  That feeling remained with him as he found his way through the City Market, heading for a southern café opened for breakfast.

  While waiting for his eggs, ham, and grits, Ryan drank coffee and texted Hiroki.

  Hiroki called him almost instantly.

  “Any advice for me?” Ryan leaned back as his breakfast arrived.

  “Take a tour. Be sure it’s Tamsyn Tours.”

  “I thought of that and ruled it out.”

  “Why?”

  “She hates me.”

  “Business is business. She’s not going to turn away a tourist.”

  “You don’t know her, Hiroki.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “Right. Let me think about it.”

  “Think fast. The next tour is in thirty five minutes. Historic Homes. Your territory!”

  Territory? “Ha! I wish. Somehow I have a feeling it’s going to be an uphill climb to get past Tamsyn.”

  The Cute Pit Bull.

  How endearing.

  Chapter Four

  What is he doing here?

  Tamsyn tried to be nonchalant, but it irked her that Ryan Ruttledge had entered her world uninvited. She doubted he was standing in line now to board the trolley for the five-block walking tour because he was interested in the colonial history of Savannah.

  Nope!

  She was sure that he was there to spy on her, to find her weakness, and then to pounce on her and take away Rosa Pendegrast Lane.

  He’s a destroyer, not a preservationist.

  Tamsyn kept telling herself that as she tapped her iPad to check off the list of customers for this walking tour. It wasn’t strenuous to walk five city blocks, and most anyone could do it, even in a wheelchair. Still, the crowd
was thin today, and that bothered her too.

  She usually led about twelve or fifteen customers at most, and her other tour guides would take another ten or twenty. Today, there were only nine, minus herself, plus that guy.

  Granted, April wasn’t May, and April wasn’t June, and she should expect the number of customers to increase through the summer to make up for any shortage of customers now.

  Still, she could do without that one customer.

  Then again, he had paid for the tour.

  There he was now, a smirk on his face as he sat down on a bench closer to the front, just one row behind the handicapped seats. Through the window, Tamsyn could see that he was on his phone, as if this was just part of his agenda today, something to be checked off—

  Oh, I don’t know. I’m just making that up!

  Tamsyn sighed. What was happening to her? Usually she was less judgmental. Today she was up in arms against a man she barely knew except in videoconferences.

  But he wanted to demolish her beloved city block!

  She sniffed, drew a deep breath, and put on her signature tricorn hat.

  She stepped onto the trolley and turned on her portable waist-band microphone headset, telling herself to ignore the man only feet away from her, now looking at her intently.

  “Welcome to Savannah, y’all!” she spoke into her headset. “I’m so glad you’re here on this beautiful April day. Let’s make some introductions, and then I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

  Tamsyn asked everyone to say where they were from. She wasn’t surprised to hear that people had come from near and far. Some were Georgians, Floridians, Americans. But some others were from England, Germany, Korea, Australia, South Africa—and there was a family from the Maldives.

  She made a note of all that information on her iPad. Later, when she had a minute, she’d pin a little flag from the Maldives to her world map on the wall of the Tamsyn Tours office.

  Some day she would like to visit all those places.

  Some day.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Tamsyn continued. “As you know, this is a semi-walking tour through six colonial-era squares. I say semi because we’re going to be dropped off and picked up at a couple of spots. This is for those who don’t want to walk all the way.”