That Certain Summer

by Irene Hannon

  Her lungs stopped working. “Are you . . . is that a proposal?”

  “What do you think?” His tender, intimate smile erased any doubts.

  “You want to get married in April?” She savored the words even as she tried to take them in.

  “No. I said belated honeymoon. As far as I’m concerned, the sooner the better for the wedding.” He took her hands, and she could feel the slight tremor running through them. “After your last experience of marriage, I know you deserve a prince this time around. Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced my crown. In all honesty, I’m not the best bargain around. I make mistakes, I’m not always patient, and I have a temper that can get the better of me.

  “But I do have some good qualities. I believe in honoring promises. I believe love is a gift to be treasured and cherished all the days of our lives. I believe in keeping my priorities straight. And I believe God brought us together for a reason. I think I know why, and I hope you feel the same way. Because I love you with all my heart. And I always will.”

  With a trembling hand, Karen reached out to touch Scott’s face, to assure herself he was real and not some fairy-tale fantasy she’d conjured up. But when he caught her hand in his, then turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm before he let her place it against his cheek, the lingering tingle of his kiss and the slightly rough texture of his five o’clock shadow beneath her fingertips was tactile proof he was very real.

  A grandfather clock began to chime behind her, the sonorous bong ringing in the new year—and reminding her how quickly the seasons of life slipped by.

  But this first day of the new year marked the start of a new season. A better season.

  She and Scott had done their share of weeping.

  This was their time to laugh—and to love.

  She leaned closer to him, until she was only a whisper away. “I do feel the same way. I love you with all my heart too. Maybe I’m being sentimental, but I always thought a Valentine’s Day wedding would be wonderful. That would also give Kristen some time to get used to the idea—though she already thinks you’re terrific, so it should be a smooth transition. Is that too long to wait?”

  The flame in his eyes put the blazing fire in the grate a few feet away to shame. “I think I can manage six weeks. Especially knowing I have a lifetime ahead with you.” He stroked her cheek, then let his fingers play in her hair. “Now I think we need to seal this engagement properly.”

  As he leaned toward her, Karen caught a movement in her peripheral vision. Val had started down the hall but stopped when she saw the cozy duo on the settee. For a brief second, their gazes connected. Val smiled, and in her eyes, Karen saw joy and approval and love. With a thumbs-up, the bride blended back into the shadows and retraced her steps.

  Then Scott’s lips gently settled over hers. And just before she lost herself in his arms, in the fleeting instant before his kiss swept her away, Karen gave thanks for the blessings that graced her life.

  And for that certain summer when four lives had intersected to create a tapestry of love.

  Author’s Note

  For readers who know me only through my suspense novels, That Certain Summer may seem like quite a departure. But in truth, it isn’t.

  For one thing, I’ve been writing modern-day (contemporary) romance novels for years—long before I delved into suspense . . . though this story is bigger and more complex than my previous contemporary books.

  In addition, no matter the genre, what interests me most when I write a book are the people on the pages. Whether it’s a high-stakes, edge-of-the-seat suspense novel or a contemporary romance, I want to understand the forces that shaped both the characters and the choices they make—even when I don’t agree with those choices. And I want to take readers along on that journey.

  For that reason, in every book I try to create intriguing, complex people. People who exhibit courage and honor and principles, who trust in God and walk the talk. People who’ve lost their way. People who’ve made mistakes. People who repent—and people who don’t. Whether it’s a suspense novel or a book like That Certain Summer, the genre I choose is simply a vehicle for delving into the minds—and hearts—of my characters as I put them in challenging situations that test their mettle.

  And the truth is, every time I meet a new character and embark on a voyage of discovery with them, I learn something new about what makes people tick and how our relationships influence every choice we make.

  In the end, while I strive to write entertaining books that keep people up late at night eager to see what happens next, my main goal is to pull readers into the lives of my characters. To make them turn the last page thinking, Those people were real. I felt for them. And I’m sorry to say good-bye.

  I hope That Certain Summer did that for you—and thank you for joining me on this journey.

  Irene Hannon is a bestselling, award-winning author who took the publishing world by storm at the tender age of ten with a sparkling piece of fiction that received national attention.

  Okay . . . maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. But she was one of the honorees in a complete-the-story contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. And she likes to think of that as her “official” fiction-writing debut!

  Since then, she has written more than forty contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. Irene has twice won the RITA Award—the “Oscar” of romantic fiction—and her books have been honored with a Carol award, a National Readers’ Choice award, a Retailers Choice award, a HOLT medallion, a Daphne du Maurier award, and two Reviewers’ Choice awards from RT Book Reviews magazine. In 2011, Booklist named Deadly Pursuit one of the Top 10 Inspirational Fiction titles of the year.

  Irene, who holds a BA in psychology and an MA in journalism, juggled two careers for many years until she gave up her executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company to write full time. She is happy to say she has no regrets. As she points out, leaving behind the rush-hour commute, corporate politics, and a relentless BlackBerry that never slept was no sacrifice.

  A trained vocalist, Irene has sung the leading role in numerous community theater productions and is also a soloist at her church.

  When not otherwise occupied, she loves to cook, garden, and take long walks. She and her husband also enjoy traveling, Saturday mornings at their favorite coffee shop, and spending time with family. They make their home in Missouri.

  To learn more about Irene and her books, visit www.irenehannon.com.

  Books by Irene Hannon

  * * *

  HEROES OF QUANTICO

  Against All Odds

  An Eye for an Eye

  In Harm’s Way

  GUARDIANS OF JUSTICE

  Fatal Judgment

  Deadly Pursuit

  Lethal Legacy

  PRIVATE JUSTICE

  Vanished

  What a lousy night to get lost.

  Moira Harrison peered through the April rain slashing across her windshield. Even at full speed, the wipers were no match for the torrential onslaught. The faint line bisecting the narrow strip of pavement—the only thing keeping her on the road and out of the ditch filled with churning runoff immediately to her right—faded in and out with alarming frequency.

  Tightening her grip on the wheel with one hand, she cranked up the defroster with the other. Fogged-up windows were the last thing she needed. As it was, the high-intensity xenon headlights of her trusty Camry were barely denting the dense darkness of the woods-rimmed rural Missouri road. Nor were they penetrating the shrouding downpour.

  So much for the premium she’d paid to upgrade from standard halogen.

  She spared a quick look left and right. No light from house or farm broke the desolate blackness. Nor were there any road signs to indicate her location. Maybe a St. Louis–area native would be better able to wend his or her way back to civilization than a newcomer like her, but she doubted it. Dark, winding rural routes were confusing. Period. Especially in
the rain.

  With a sigh, Moira refocused on the road. If she’d known Highway 94 was prone to flooding and subject to sudden closure, she’d never have risked subjecting herself to this poorly marked detour by lingering for dinner in Augusta after she finished her interview.

  Instead, she’d have headed straight back to the rented condo she now called home and spent her Friday evening safe and warm, cuddled up with a mug of soothing peppermint tea, organizing her notes. She might even have started on a first draft of the feature article. It wouldn’t hurt to impress her new boss with an early turn-in.

  A bolt of lightning sliced through the sky, and she cringed as a bone-jarring boom of thunder rolled through the car.

  That had been close.

  Too close.

  She had to get away from all these trees.

  Increasing her pressure on the gas pedal, she kept her attention fixed on the road as she groped on the passenger seat for her purse. Maybe her distance glasses were crammed into a corner and she’d missed them the first time she’d checked.

  Five seconds later, hopes dashed, she gave up the search. The glasses must still be in the purse she’d taken to the movie theater last weekend. That was about the only time she ever used them—except behind the wheel on rainy nights.

  It figured.

  The zipper on her purse snagged as she tried to close it, and Moira snuck a quick glance at the passenger seat. Too dark to see. She’d have to deal with it later.

  Releasing the purse, she lifted her gaze—and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Front and center, caught in the beam of her headlights, was a frantically waving person.

  Directly in the path of the car.

  Less than fifty feet away.

  Lungs locking, Moira squeezed the wheel and jammed the brake to the floor.

  Screeching in protest, the car fishtailed as it slid toward the figure with no noticeable reduction in speed.

  Stop! Please stop!

  Moira screamed the silent plea in her head as she yanked the wheel hard to the left.

  Instead of changing direction, however, the car began to skid sideways on the slick pavement.

  But in the instant before the beams of the headlights swung away from the road—and away from the figure standing in her path—one image seared itself across her brain.

  Glazed, terror-filled eyes.

  Then the person was gone, vanished in the darkness, as the vehicle spun out of control.

  Moira braced herself.

  And prayed.

  But when she felt a solid thump against the side of the car, she knew her prayers hadn’t been answered.

  She’d hit the terrified person who’d been trying to flag her down.

  The bottom fell out of her stomach as the car continued to careen across the road. Onto the shoulder. Into the woods. One bone-jarring bounce after another.

  It didn’t stop until the side smashed into a tree, slamming her temple against the window of the door to the accompaniment of crumpling metal.

  Then everything went silent.

  For a full thirty seconds, Moira remained motionless, hands locked on the wheel, every muscle taut, heart hammering. Her head pounded in rhythm to the beat of rain against the metal roof, and she drew a shuddering breath. Blinked. The car had stopped spinning, but the world around her hadn’t.

  She closed her eyes. Continued to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

  When she at last risked another peek, the scene had steadied.

  Better.

  Peeling her fingers off the wheel, she took a quick inventory. Her arms and legs moved, and nothing except her head hurt. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t sustained any serious injuries.

  But she knew the person she’d hit hadn’t been as lucky—a person who might very well be lying in the middle of the road right now.

  In the path of an oncoming car.

  Her pulse stuttered, and she fought against a crescendo of panic as she tried to kick-start her brain. To think through the fuzziness.

  Okay. First priority—call 911. After that, she’d see what she could do to help the person she’d hit while she waited for the pros to arrive.

  Plan in place, she groped for her purse. But the seat beside her was empty. Hadn’t her purse been there moments before?

  With a herculean effort, she coerced the left side of her brain to engage.

  The floor.

  Her purse must have fallen to the floor while the car was spinning.

  Hands shaking, she fumbled with the clasp on her seat belt. It took three jabs at the button before it released. Once free of the constraint, she leaned sideways and reached toward the floor—just as the driver-side door creaked open.

  With a gasp, she jerked upright. A black-shrouded figure stood in the shadows, out of range of her dome light.

  Her heart began to bang against her rib cage again as a cold mist seeped into the car.

  “I saw the accident. Are you all right, miss?”

  The voice was deep. Male. And the only clue to his gender. The monk-like hood of his slicker kept most of his features in shadows.

  But she didn’t care who he was. Help had arrived.

  Thank you, God!

  “Yes. I . . . I think so. I banged my head against the window, and I’m a little dizzy. But . . . I hit someone on the road. I need to call 911. And I need to help the other person.”

  The man leaned a bit closer, and she glimpsed the outline of a square jaw. “You’ve got a nasty bump on your temple. Moving around isn’t a good idea until the paramedics check you out. I’ll help the person you hit.” He tipped his head and looked across her. “Is that blood on the passenger seat?”

  As Moira shifted sideways to look, she felt a jab in her thigh. “Ow!”

  “Watch the broken glass. Lean a little to the right.” The man restrained her with one hand on her upper arm as she complied. “Hold on a second while I brush off the seat.”

  He was silent for a moment, and she shivered as the wind shifted and the rain began to pummel her through the open door, soaking through her sweater.

  “Okay. I think I got most of it.”

  He released her, and she collapsed back against the seat. As he retracted his hand, she caught a quick glimpse of his gold Claddagh wedding ring. The same kind her dad wore.

  Somehow that comforted her.

  “Stay put.” He melted back into the shadows, beyond the range of the dome light. “I’ll call 911 and check on the other person. Give me a few minutes.”

  With that, he closed the door.

  Alone again in the dark car, Moira tried to keep him in sight. But within seconds he disappeared into the rain.

  As the minutes ticked by and the full impact of what had happened began to register, her shivering intensified and her stomach churned.

  She could have been killed.

  And she might have killed or seriously injured someone else.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Moira closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over her.

  At least help had arrived.

  With that thought to sustain her, she let the darkness close in.

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