Where There’s Faith
Fairfield Corners Book Three
L.A. Remenicky
Lavish Publishing, LLC – Midland
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHERE THERE’S FAITH. Copyright 2017 ©
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Lavish Publishing, LLC.
First Edition
Fairfield Corners Series Book 3
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Lavish Publishing, LLC, Midland, Texas
ebook edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-944985-27-1
ISBN: 1-944985-27-1
Cover Design by: Wycked Ink
Cover Images: Adobe Stock
www.LavishPublishing.com
Acknowledgements
I’ll try to keep this short—bear with me!
Finally! For a while, I didn’t think this book would ever get finished. Approximately 18 months after I started the first line, and now it’s done. I went through a serious writing slump for a year and then released three books within four months.
Now that this one is complete, it’s on to the next…
Thanks to Karen Loomis, bestie extraordinaire, for being there and listening to me rattle on about my characters and for being my Alpha Reader. You will always get to read everything first! And thanks to my Beta Reader, Diane Martin—your suggestions were spot on!
Special shout-out to MJ Symmonds for winning my title the book contest! I love this title!
And, thanks to Lavish Publishing, LLC, for believing in me and my books—we are going to do big things together!
L.A.
Chapter 1
Unfazed by the pounding on the door, Robbie rubbed the sandpaper over the wood, enjoying the rhythm of the song and the satiny smoothness of the wood under his hands. Creating the handmade memory boxes out of blocks of wood soothed his soul better than the oblivion he had tried to find at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
The music blasted through his workshop and its open windows, his way of shutting out the world that no longer had her in it. His attention was focused on this special container for his soon-to-be niece or nephew; he still needed to find the right design for the lid. Ragan had cried when he gave her the one for Skylar with the guitar and music notes carved into it.
The rumble of his stomach convinced him it was time to stop for lunch. He grabbed his shirt off the hook by the door, marveling at the seventy-degree day in October in northeast Indiana. According to the forecast on the news earlier that day, the weather would turn more seasonable later that afternoon, bringing in the cold and rain.
The change in temperatures brought thoughts of Thanksgiving. He grimaced at the idea of the holiday in a few short weeks; it would be his first big family holiday since that day back in May when he had hit rock bottom and almost died because of it.
Pulling the door open, he stepped back just as a woman fell towards him. He frowned while grabbing her arms to keep her from collapsing inward, the contact with her skin stirring something he wanted to keep buried. His hands dropped to his sides when he was sure she was steady. “What do you want?” he said with a scowl as he crossed his arms. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“Hi,” she said as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Faith McMillan. I’ll be staying next door for the next few months.”
“I’ve got things to do. Did you come here for a reason?”
She frowned at his brusqueness. “I just wanted to ask you to turn down the music a couple of notches. I’m trying to work, and it’s distracting me.”
“No.” He crowded her out the door and closed it behind him. Striding toward his house, he turned and saw her standing there with her mouth hanging open. “This is private property, I suggest you leave.”
He watched as she stomped back to the Romero’s. Just what he didn’t need, a beautiful distraction. At least, when the weather turned, he wouldn’t be subjected to the sight of her in those shorts with her long, tanned legs that seemed to go on forever. Maybe she would stay indoors where she wouldn’t disturb him.
After a quick lunch of a sandwich and chips washed down with a bottle of water, he swept up the wood shavings, lost in thought about the intrusion into his life. Why would someone want to be on this lake this time of year? She must be friends with the Romeros because they never rented out their lake house. And what was with the sunglasses? He hated when he couldn’t see someone’s eyes; it felt like they were hiding something.
He shook his head, vowing to forget about the feel of her skin under his hands. Fate had taken away his chance at happiness in an explosion of fire on a California freeway. Even her name felt like a kick in the stomach—that was the moniker they had picked out for a girl. The chestnut color of her hair was similar to Madison’s, making him want to grab fistfuls of it and bring it to his nose to see if it smelled the same.
With the straightening up of his workshop finished, he headed back to the house. The memories followed him as he turned on lights and prepared a chicken to roast in the oven. The recollections wouldn’t stay away, taking with them his appetite and tempting him into imbibing in a bottle of whiskey to drown them out. The news playing on the television couldn’t keep his attention as he ate, thus giving the images a chance to invade his thoughts, bringing an overwhelming sense of loss and grief.
With the chicken feeling like a lead ball in his stomach, he walked out onto the deck, reveling in the feel of the wind biting into his skin. His hands gripped the railing as if to anchor him in the present as the memories took him back. He watched the scene play out on the back of his eyelids as he lifted his face to the moon, trying to change the outcome as he sank to his knees and sobbed for the life that was ripped from him.
Robbie looked on as he kissed Madison goodbye, screaming at himself to stop her. He had been so worried about that deal with the east coast branch that he let her walk out the door and drive to the airport by herself, telling her he would catch a later flight and meet her that night in Indianapolis before heading for Fairfield Corners the next day to introduce her to his family. Eloping to Las Vegas the weekend before had been a spur of the moment decision made after they discovered she was pregnant. They kissed, and he handed her the keys, not knowing that he would never see her again.
Two hours later, he had just finished up his conference call and was dialing his cell phone to call a cab when he heard a knock on the door. One of the two LAPD officers at the door asked him if he owned a 2012 Mustang, and he knew his life was over. A gasoline tanker truck had blown a tire and lost control on the highway right in front of his car, causing a massive pileup as it exploded, engulfing his car in flames.
He had to find a way to live without her. She was gone. Forever.
Turning to whiskey, it had dulled the pain, temporarily. At first, he only drank on the weekends to fill the emptiness in his soul. When that wasn’t enough, he started drinking during the week after work, and eventually, that turned into sneaking alcohol during business hours. Anything to dull the ache. Going home to Indiana had never even crossed his mind; he contin
ued to plod through his life, usually inebriated, always hopeless.
After three years of trying to get through to him, his boss couldn’t ignore the situation any longer. He gave Robbie an ultimatum: get help, or he was fired. By this time, Robbie no longer cared about his job, so he left. He gave away his furniture and packed up what was left of his life. Putting on a happy face, he called his twin sister in England, not wanting to show up at his parents’ alone. He suggested they both go home for their anniversary, vowing to start fresh once he was with them all. That didn’t work out quite like he thought it would. His sister was reunited with her true love, and he was happy for Ragan, but he despaired over ever being truly happy again. His drinking continued, and three months later he almost died.
Despite a night of tossing and turning, he was awake before dawn the next morning. The wind rattled the storm windows and whistled through the trees, almost convincing him to skip his morning run. Reclaiming his life had included getting back into shape. This aerobic exercise and his afternoon workouts helped keep his ghosts at bay, so he rolled out of bed and pulled his sweats out of the closet.
Twenty minutes later, his breath plumed a white vapor in front of him as he set out on his customary five-mile run. His first attempt after being released from the hospital had been a walk of about one mile and made him almost puke as his body adapted to this new life without alcohol. With shoes slapping against the pavement, he let his mind wander back to the enigma that was his new neighbor.
Remembering how she blushed after almost being plastered against his naked chest made him smile. His conscience prickled at how he had treated her. His mother would lay into him if she ever found out about it. His only excuse was his bad mood, brought on by a phone call from a friend in Los Angeles.
He cleared his mind as he ran down the country road that wound around the lake—a five-mile loop that was perfect for his run.
Chapter 2
Faith trudged up the front steps of the Romero’s cottage wondering about the man next door. “I hope I don’t need his help with anything. What a grouch,” she mumbled to herself as she closed the window, hoping to muffle the music coming from next door, but it was still too loud for her to concentrate. She pondered about the jagged scar that started at his eyebrow and traveled down to his cheekbone, highlighting the pain in the gray orbs. As she attempted to clear her mind, the apparition she had come to think of as her muse appeared. “He will be important, keep trying,” she said.
Knowing she was always right, Faith resigned herself to getting past his gruff manners. “Just what I need,” she mumbled as she squinted at the laptop open on the desk. The pain in her head thumped to the beat of the bass blasting from next door. “Great, now I won’t get anything written today.” She closed the computer’s cover and tiptoed downstairs, wobbling slightly as the pain made her nauseous and threw off her equilibrium. The headaches were the last of the physical reminders of the night three years ago when her life had changed.
She found her prescription bottle and took a painkiller before stumbling her way to the bedroom. Rubbing the pendant of her necklace between her fingers, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the necklace and what it signified. The piece of jewelry that was the only clue to her identity swayed as she held it in front of her face. As always, she pondered the significance of the moon and star design and of the numbers five and thirteen engraved on the back. The pounding in her head intensified as she set the necklace on the dresser before stumbling to the bed and the welcome oblivion of sleep.
Faith woke to her cell phone buzzing across the nightstand with an incoming call. She hated the way the pills made her groggy, but they were better than the alternative: blinding migraines that lasted for days. The headaches were getting farther apart. She hadn’t had one for almost a month before today.
She pulled on her sunglasses before opening the blinds. Phone in hand, she walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. As the beverage brewed, she checked her phone and smiled when she saw the missed call was from her friend Nikki. With her phone in one hand and the other wrapped around a steaming coffee mug, she walked out onto the deck to watch the sun set over the lake.
“Hey, Nik,” Faith chirped up after hitting redial.
“You were supposed to call me when you got to the cottage. I’ve been worried.”
“Sorry, it was so beautiful and peaceful I was itching to get some writing done. For some reason, it felt like I was home. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out that way.”
“What happened, sweetie?”
She toyed with her hair, not wanting to admit how much the encounter with the neighbor had affected her. “The guy next door has been blaring rock music loud enough to wake the dead. He was a real grump about it when I asked him to lower the volume, too.”
“Hmmm…the Newlins must have rented out their cottage. Doesn’t sound like Robbie.”
Faith laughed. “Whoever he is he’s gorgeous, but his personality could use some help.” The breeze blew some leaves around the deck, bringing a chilliness that wasn’t there earlier. “It’s starting to cool off. I need to go in and see if I can get anything written now. I’ll call you in a couple of days.” As always, she wondered if she should tell Nikki about her muse. Perhaps it was a manifestation caused by her brain injury. Too late this call, maybe next time.
Talking to Nikki had brought the mystery man back into her thoughts. She wondered what his story was as she imagined running her fingers through his hair, the blond streaks mixed in with the brown indicating he spent a lot of time out in the sun. Maybe he would end up in one of her books someday with some tragic backstory of heartache and loss.
She shivered, the cool breeze blew harder and smelled of rain, heralding more seasonal weather was on the way. Closing the window, she heard when he finally turned off the music. His choice of entertainment wasn’t what bothered her, it was the volume. She loved a good rock song, especially one by Adam Bricklin, but she couldn’t tolerate the booming bass when she was trying to work. Blocking out the music made it harder to concentrate and seemed to set off a headache.
The black clouds rolling through brought in the night early, creating shadows within the room. As the brightness of the sun was dimmed by the clouds, she could remove her sunglasses, revealing the faint tracing of scars from the surgeries to recreate her face. In her current mood, she knew she wouldn’t be adding much to her most recent work in progress. It would have to be the story of her rebirth and rescue that day three years ago.
She opened the file and started to type, transported back to that day she woke up with no memory of who she was and worse, no recognizable features. She was found beneath an underpass, beaten and bloody with no identification and no recollection of her life. A broken necklace in her pocket was the only connection she had.
Brushing away a tear, she wrote about the feelings of helplessness and despair. As the days turned into weeks and no one came forward looking for her, she’d sunk into depression and self-loathing, wondering what was so bad about her that no one cared. Whoever attacked her had broken all the bones in her face, destroying any hope of recreating it back to the way it had been. The itch to write was the only thing that kept her going through those dark days of pain and therapy, both physical and mental. Well, that and the voice of her muse.
The doctors patched her up, but they could not restore her memory. She searched the face of everyone she met, searched for something that would spark a memory. She built a life, managing to write a best-selling novel while she healed. The money was enough to pay some of her hospital bill and support her frugally while she worked on another book.
The doctors and nurses had become her friends during the long days spent in the hospital as her injuries healed. Nikki, the Intensive Care nurse who spent so many hours with her while she was helpless and depressed, became her best friend. She lent her the laptop computer that was her gateway to coming back to life through her writing and opened her heart and her home. When she
offered Faith the use of her family’s lake cottage for the winter, Faith jumped at the chance to be off on her own. Nikki said the small fishing lake was peaceful in the fall and winter, and the few homes on the shore closed up for the season. It was just what she had wanted, private and secluded.
The man next door was the only thing spoiling this perfect place. She remembered the feel of his hands on her arms, the warmth that seemed to reach into her soul, igniting a fire that she wasn’t ready to deal with. Her new face made it feel like she was a teenager, unsure of herself and her sexuality. She had obviously been in some type of relationship; she had miscarried as she lay in that alley being beaten with a baseball bat. Why did no one come looking for her? Had she been running from a bad relationship?
The chiming of the clock brought her back from the past, reminding her that it was time to think about dinner. She threw a frozen dinner in the microwave, wondering why she didn’t know how to cook. That would go to the top of her list for tomorrow when she went to town: buy a cookbook.
Chapter 3
Faith looked up from her laptop at the sound of a car pulling up the driveway next door. She had planned to drive to Fairfield Corners that morning, but a plot element had popped into her head, so the story took precedence. If she didn’t get it out “on paper”, it would disappear forever. The black Escalade parked and beeped the horn. “Great, they’re just as noisy as that guy living in the house,” she grumbled, her focus totally gone.
As her computer shut down, she watched a pretty blonde ease out of the vehicle, her pregnancy apparent. Grumpy guy walked out of the house and smiled before hurrying over and pulling the woman into his arms for a hug and a kiss. He opened the back door, and after a couple of moments straightened up with a young boy in his arms and a radiant smile on his face.
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