Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances

by Kimberly Rae Jordan

  There was much cheering and rejoicing in the trolley.

  “We’re going to start with Ellis Square, then Johnson, Reynolds, Oglethorpe, Wright, and Telfair, which was originally named James Square. How many of you have been to all these squares?”

  There were just a couple of people who had been to Savannah before and gone everywhere. Tamsyn nodded to the driver, who started easing the Tamsyn Tours trolley into the midmorning Savannah traffic.

  Tamsyn stepped forward, suddenly aware that she was standing right next to Ryan. The bench seat in front of him was empty. She tried to pretend like he wasn’t there.

  But she couldn’t miss the way he was staring at her.

  His wavy hair was dark brown, and he had on another killer plaid shirt.

  Tamsyn had always had a thing for men in plaid—

  She cleared her throat. “One of the squares we’re stopping at is Oglethorpe Square. Can anyone here tell me who General James Edward Oglethorpe was?”

  Someone raised his hand. “The founder of Georgia.”

  “Excellent. He was one of the Trustees of Georgia.” Tamsyn eased into her favorite historical period. “General James Oglethorpe was born in England in 1696, rose to prominence there, and was involved in politics. Does anyone here know what a debtor’s prison is?”

  No one did.

  Seriously?

  “Well, way back when in England, if you couldn’t pay your debts, you’d be thrown into prison until your debts were paid off.”

  Ryan laughed. “How on earth were they going to do that if they were in prison?”

  “Exactly. A seventeenth century catch-22, if you will. Often they would borrow money from rich relatives or languish in prison. Well, a friend of General Oglethorpe ended up in that sad situation, and Oglethorpe was aware of such a thing.”

  Tamsyn stepped back. “Oglethorpe, Sir John Percival, and a bunch of other people in the British Parliament decided to do something about the injustice. And so we have the Georgia Charter.”

  “Bring me your tired and poverty-stricken huddled masses?” Ryan asked.

  Oh boy. Tamsyn wondered how to answer that. Should she say, “You misquoted Emma Lazarus?” Or should she say, “Wrong era, dude?”

  She decided to ignore him.

  “Interestingly, the people who came in that first ship to Georgia weren’t from debtor’s prisons.” Tamsyn checked her location. The trolley was coming to a stop. She had to wrap it up.

  “They were city folks, ordinary people, what England back then would call the working class,” she said. “You see, Georgia was not only a place of opportunity for those first colonists, but it was a barrier land between Charles Towne—the old name for Charleston—and the Spanish forces south of it in Florida. Most people in the debtor’s prisons were sickly. They needed settlers who could work the land, grow silk, and send fabric back to England to help the economy of the mother land. And to take up arms in case of Spanish attacks, which we’ll talk more about if you take day trip excursion tours to Fort Frederica on St. Simon’s Island.”

  “So the first Georgian settlers were human shields,” Ryan stated rather loudly. “Did most of them die?”

  Tamsyn was caught off guard by his remark as the trolley screeched to a halt by Oglethorpe Square.

  She stared at him, dumbfounded.

  Oh dear. This is going to be a long walking tour.

  Chapter Five

  “Twenty percent off with any Tamsyn Tour tickets, you said.” Ryan Ruttledge followed Tamsyn up the ramp to the Caleigh Pendegrast riverboat. He liked walking alongside her. She had long strides, but he matched hers perfectly. “I went on the walking tour this morning, remember?”

  Tamsyn frowned.

  “You don’t seem too happy to get another customer for the dinner cruise.”

  “Tonight’s special cruise is for couples,” Tamsyn explained. “One Friday a month, Dad reserves the entire riverboat for couples only.”

  That stopped Ryan in his tracks. “Hiroki!”

  “Who?”

  “Only my best bud—or perhaps, ex-best bud.” Ryan grunted. “He signed me up for this dinner cruise. He said he called your office this afternoon and booked a seat for me.”

  Tamsyn smiled.

  Somehow Ryan didn’t like that particular smile.

  “Two seats, you mean,” she said. “This is a couple’s cruise, like I said. I’m sorry. And even with the twenty percent discount—for one ticket, let’s say—you still paid more than everyone else if you didn’t bring a date.”

  “Well, I don’t care about the cost. I care that my friend did this to me.” Ryan wondered what to do. He felt out of place with his three-piece suit. He looked ridiculous, like a clown. “Of all the Friday evening cruises in the year, I’m here tonight.”

  “Without a date. Poor thing.”

  Then it dawned on him. “You’re by yourself too.”

  “I’m the tour guide. I don’t count.”

  “We can sit together. I won’t take up space.” Ryan opened the door for her.

  “You’re in my space,” Tamsyn said. Her eyes widened. “Sorry.”

  “You keep putting your foot in your mouth.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “But with me, you do.”

  “Why, you—”

  A tourist stopped her. “Could you take our picture, please?”

  “Sure.” Tamsyn seemed too eager to get away from Ryan.

  Trying not to feel hurt, Ryan looked around, as if searching for something.

  Maybe I am searching for something—someone.

  The maître d’hôtel greeted him. “May I seat you, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re with?”

  “Tamsyn Pendegrast.”

  “Oh.” His eyes lit up.

  Ryan found that amusing. But what did it mean? Did the maître d’hôtel’s eyes look excited because he thought that Tamsyn had a date tonight? Was that uncommon for her? Or was that too common?

  “This way, sir.” Smiling, the maître d’hôtel ushered Ryan to a table in the back of the dining room. “Miss Pendegrast usually sits here. Alone.”

  His emphasis on alone answered all of Ryan’s questions. “Well, she won’t be alone this evening.”

  “I’m happy for her. About time.” The maître d’hôtel waltzed away.

  Whatever does that mean?

  Ryan sat down and waited. He wondered if Tamsyn would sit somewhere else if she saw him here. He looked around and spotted her chatting animatedly with some people.

  He decided to leave the dining room until it was time to eat, and then he would return to his seat to—hopefully!—find Tamsyn there next to him.

  On the open deck, the night air was cool, just the way he liked it. It wasn’t chilly or balmy. It was in between winter and summer, as if warm air was about to burst out of its southern bubble, but not quite. He checked his iPhone for the weather report, happily noting that it was in the lower sixties.

  I like this place.

  His dark blazer blocked the occasional wind sweeping up and down the Savannah River. He could hear the waves lapping against the riverboat hull. He placed both elbows on the railing and breathed in the night air.

  “Nice out here,” Ryan said to no one.

  “I agree.”

  Ryan smiled. Loved that voice.

  Euphonious…

  He tipped his head to one side. “Nice of you to join me.”

  “I came to tell you that the evening’s program is about to start, and since you paid for two, I don’t want you to miss it.” Tamsyn hesitated. “And…”

  “And?” Ryan leaned against the railings. Waited.

  “And I need to apologize for being snappy with you when we came up the ramp.”

  “Bad day, huh?”

  “Long day, but there’s no excuse, really. You’re a customer of Tamsyn Tours, and I shouldn’t be wearing my emotions on my sleeves.”

  “Your frustrations, you mean.”


  “No need to rub it in.”

  “Let’s put business aside and enjoy our dinner, shall we?” Ryan motioned for Tamsyn to lead the way.

  As she stepped ahead of him, Ryan placed his hand on the small of her back. She didn’t have an ounce of fat underneath that evening sheath, modestly long enough to cover her knees. She wasn’t bony either. She was—

  Just right.

  Ryan felt shallow that he had noticed her physical features. But he was confident there was more to her, way more, and he was intrigued.

  *

  It was one of those after dinner giveaways that Dad loved to offer couples who had been married the longest, traveled the farthest, had the most kids or grandkids, and so forth. The prizes inevitably included another cruise on the Caleigh Pendegrast riverboat in the future, getting people to return to Savannah to collect their treats.

  Dad loved to talk about Mom, and it broke Tamsyn’s heart every time he did it. He’d tell the people at dinner about how he had met Caleigh Robinson way back in high school, how they had been high school sweethearts, how they had been married for thirty some years before cancer had taken his dear Caleigh, now in heaven, waiting for him to go walk the streets of gold with her.

  Tamsyn felt sorry for her dad. He was only sixty three years old, too young to be a widower. Then again, he’d probably say he felt sorry for her too. She had been barely nineteen when Mom passed away.

  Eight years now and counting…

  Tamsyn didn’t realize her eyes were misty until a warm hand squeezed her cold fingers under the table.

  She was startled.

  It was Ryan’s hand.

  She looked at him. His eyes were on hers, those darkish eyes that looked like he was perpetually smiling, and his lips that seemed like they were opening to say something but didn’t.

  He just held her hand.

  Somehow that was enough for her.

  Tamsyn sniffled.

  The applause jolted her out of their moment of understanding. She pulled her hand away from Ryan’s.

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan said.

  What did he mean? Was he sorry he had held her hand? Was he sorry her mom had passed away? Was he sorry for her? Was he sorry he was taking away her childhood home? Was he sorry she was fighting a lost cause? Was he sorry that the city of Savannah was about to agree that the entire city block she lived in was not sustainable—livable!—without major renovations?

  Tamsyn felt hot, like she needed to go outside to get some air.

  Yet she couldn’t leave. Dad would see her go, and he’d think—again!—that he had offended his only daughter, his little girl.

  Always his little girl.

  So Tamsyn sat there in silence, waiting for Dad’s droning to stop and for him to call it a night.

  “Caleigh and I thought we were going to have a passel of kids. Alas, the good Lord only gave us one child, and even though it took us fifteen years and several miscarriages, what a delight that child has been to me.”

  Child?

  Dad!

  Tamsyn tried to keep her cool. Something else Dad said affected her.

  The good Lord.

  Dad called God the good Lord.

  Tamsyn’s heart melted. Dad had come such a long, long way. It had taken many years of prayer before Dad had accepted Jesus as his personal Lord and Savior.

  “You’ve all met my lovely daughter, Tamsyn, after whom I named this tour company, and who now runs it.” Dad lifted his hand and pointed in her direction.

  Tamsyn smiled as she always did, the dutiful daughter of a father in mourning for eight years now since Mom had passed. She had to be strong for him, to show him that life could go on even with Mom in heaven.

  That was the thing.

  For the first seven years since Mom had passed, Dad could not believe that Mom had gone to heaven to be with Jesus. He had called Christianity a fable and God a figment of man’s imagination. Dad had believed that God was a manmade crutch.

  Tamsyn had exhausted all the ways of telling Dad about God, how God loved him so much that He had sent His only Son, Jesus Christ, to save him from his sins.

  It had been difficult for Dad to comprehend because he didn’t believe he had sinned at all. In fact, Dad believed he had lived a terrifically great life. What more could one ask for than to be able to live on a cruise ship the rest of his days!

  Then Tamsyn had started attending Riverside Chapel, back when the church met at a storefront down River Street. Pastor Diego Flores had visited Dad on his riverboat, witnessed to him, and just like that, after over twenty years of people praying for him, Dad got saved.

  His entire eternal future had changed with that moment in time.

  So had his perspective. For one, he stopped working on Sundays, and he donated his other riverboat to be used for Riverside Chapel Sunday services. Since then, the church had thrived with its very visible location.

  “Come up here, Tam,” Dad’s voice filled the dining room.

  What?

  Tamsyn hadn’t been paying attention.

  Ryan leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “He has a surprise for you.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I owe you one.

  The last thing she wanted was to owe Ryan Ruttledge V anything.

  Tamsyn placed her dinner napkin on the table as Ryan stood up to help her get out of her seat.

  What a gentleman.

  The thought was not lost on her as she made her way toward her beaming dad, who held a prettily wrapped pink box—of something—in his hands some five or six tables away.

  Chapter Six

  Tamsyn was weeding and watering her side garden early Saturday morning when a thought hit her. The opportunity had been there all day Friday, but she hadn’t seen it until now.

  That’s it.

  Ryan Ruttledge had signed up for a slew of tours. He had told her he wanted to get to know Savannah.

  She had taken it in a hostile manner—perhaps in the most un-Christian way—and had accused him of the most nefarious reasons to be in town.

  She had been convinced he was bent on her destruction.

  Maybe if she had given him more history lessons, he wouldn’t tear down the city block she was trying to preserve. Maybe if she had appealed to his sense of family, it could sway him to her point of view that history had to be preserved for posterity.

  Never forget where you come from.

  Never forget your history.

  And history was all around her with the old Queen Anne style house that had been handed down through several Pendegrast generations since its construction in the late nineteenth century. Tamsyn had found wallpaper dating back to 1898, and forgotten quilts in the attic from the mid-1800s.

  Next door, when the neighbor had been digging in his yard, he had uncovered traces of homes from the eighteenth century before the first Savannah fire in 1796 that had burned the city to the ground. After the second Savannah fire in 1820, this city block had been parceled out and sold to various people, including the Pendegrast family.

  There was more history there that perhaps no one would be interested in unless their last name was Pendegrast.

  Tamsyn sighed. Her middle name was her great-grandmother’s first name.

  Tamsyn Rosa Pendegrast.

  “Yep. I’m the keeper—the only keeper—of the family history and heirlooms.”

  Among her prized possessions was an old typewriter that one of Rosa Pendegrast’s aunts had used, now in the Savannah bank vault for safekeeping since the rash of burglaries and vandalism in this area. A QWERTY typewriter, no less, it was an 1892 North model shipped from London. A number of Pendegrast ladies had been quite literary.

  Yes, I should finish writing that book about my family history before this place is gone.

  Gone.

  She couldn’t imagine it, but it could happen if RYUCP had its way. They were known for their sleek, modern, award-winning—huh!—commercial buildings that destroyed skylines. Glass cages and
cold steel structures with no heart, no warmth—

  Her iPhone rang. Tamsyn reached for it with her gloved hands and dropped the iPhone into the flower bed, soaked through with water.

  Yikes.

  She wiped it off her shorts, and now her shorts was covered with dirt and grime.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  She checked the voice mail.

  “Oh no.” She listened to the rest of the message from Mike. Unbelievable. Her Saturday tour guide was sick with the stomach flu. “I sure hope he didn’t get it from the dinner cruise last night.”

  Her phone said she had twenty minutes before Mike’s tour began.

  She tapped to her schedule. Beatrice had started her tour, no doubt. Joe was conducting the ten o’clock Architectural Tour. Sandra was off for the day.

  That left Tamsyn to fill in. No way was Dad doing this. His bad knees wouldn’t last fifty yards on the Historic Homes Walking Tour.

  “Mike! Why did you want until the last minute to tell me you can’t make it?” Tamsyn ran up the back stairs to get to her bedroom to shower and get dressed.

  She wasn’t sure how she was going to make it in twenty minutes.

  Mike was covering for the front office too. Joe could be there early. He wasn’t usually, but she could call him.

  She rang his number.

  No answer.

  “Lord Jesus, don’t let me get into a wreck on the way there!”

  *

  “Tamsyn Tours. How may I help you?” Ryan said into the phone in between bites of donuts. He swiped his iPad, and found the Tamsyn Tours website and its listing of weekday local tours. “Monday, ma’am? Yes, there are several Historic Home Tours on Mondays.”

  From the corner of his eyes, he heard the door fling open, bells jangling, and Tamsyn Pendegrast appeared in the foyer. Her damp hair was plastered to her head on one side, and disheveled on the other side—as if she had toweled it off while driving here—and her face looking like a bewildered wild-eyed cat that had come out of a bathtub.

  She was wearing a pretty blouse and a pair of denim Bermuda shorts that exposed her legs all the way to her hiking boots.

  In that second, Ryan forgot he was on the phone.