Love, Honor or Stray: New Day Divas Series Book Three
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Love, Honor or Stray:
New Day Divas Series Book Three
Love, Honor or Stray:
New Day Divas Series Book Three
E.N. Joy
www.urbanchristianonline.net
Love, Honor or Stray
New Day Divas Series Book Three
E. N. Joy
Dedication
Giving much honor and love to my Father in Heaven.
I will not stray from His word.
Acknowledgment
For my editor, Kevin. I thank you for your keen eye and style of writing. I thank you even more for sharing it with me so that I can become a better writer with each and every book. And thank you for not chewing me out for making the same repeated mistakes book after book (the long sentences… I don’t know why I try to write how I talk, trying to say everything in one breath). I thank you for following the dramatic lives of my characters for the past three books. I can honestly say that these women would not be the divas that they are without your input. Behind every good diva is a good man; and for the New Day Divas, that man is you, Kevin.
Other Books by this Author
Me, Myself and Him
She Who Finds a Husband
Been There, Prayed That
Contents
Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Readers’ Group Guide Questions
About the Author
Trying to Stay Saved
Chapter One
“Eleven-seventy-seven Covenant Park,” Deborah said to herself as she stared down at the address on the printed e-mail.
She sat in her car parked in front of the residential address that she had assumed would be an office building of some sort. “But I’m almost certain it said to meet him at his office.” Deborah shuffled around the trail of back and forth e-mails she had accumulated with Mr. Born, a.k.a. Born2Write@writersworld.com.
Since returning from her three-month sabbatical a couple of weeks ago, it seemed as though Deborah had done nothing but sit in front of her computer checking e-mails. She’d spent Christmas and New Year’s checking e-mails. And when she wasn’t checking e-mails, she was checking voice mail messages. While away, she hadn’t used her cell phone or e-mail. She had cut off all communication with everybody; that is with the exception of God. Her pastor of New Day Temple of Faith was the only person who knew how to get in touch with her in case of an emergency. There had been no emergencies.
Upon returning home, she was greeted with a cell phone with a full voice mail box. Even though the voice mail greeting informed callers that she would be unavailable until December, many had opted to leave messages anyway. Then there were the gazillion e-mails that needed her attention. She had no idea that many messages could be stored. AOL wasn’t playing when they said “unlimited e-mail storage.”
The Deborah three months ago, along with the average person, would have lost her mind had she had to deal with such a tedious task. But the new refreshed, cleansed, and restored Deborah wasn’t fazed by the workload that awaited her. In order to clear out her voice mail box, she had given her voice mail messages her immediate attention. With a notepad in hand, she’d listened to every single message, writing down the caller’s name, subject matter of their message, and return contact info. She then went down the list and returned each call that required feedback. This had taken her almost a week alone. The e-mails were another story. She was still working on those, although she’d managed to acknowledge a good chunk of them. Mr. Born was among the chunk.
After several e-mails back and forth, it typically taking Deborah a day or two to respond to him, they’d decided to meet up. Mr. Born was interested in Deborah doing some literary consultation with him and several people he knew who were interested in self-publishing. He’d written in one of his e-mails that he, along with three others in an online writing group he belonged to, decided that they wanted to self-publish their books. They’d concluded that with the economy not being on the up and up, and major publishers not giving out book deals like they used to, self-publishing might be the better route for them to go for now. Deborah’s name and Web site had been posted to the group as someone who could possibly assist them. After doing their research and choosing Mr. Born as the ring leader, Deborah was contacted.
As the owner and only employee of Everything Literary, Deborah loved the different hats she wore. For the four years her own literary agency had been in existence, out of editing, literary consulting, and agenting, Deborah adored consulting the most. She loved taking her clients step by step, from just being a writer to being a published author. She, too, had started off wanting to be a published author. She’d written the book and everything; but God had other plans for her. Still, she wasn’t giving up completely on the idea of maybe one day being published herself. Who knows? Maybe God still had plans for that two hundred and seventy page manuscript of hers. For now, her mission was to help others reach that status, and it included Mr. Born. Through Mr. Born’s e-mails, she could feel the same drive, passion, and determination she’d started out with after penning her novel. She couldn’t wait to use him as her muse.
The plan was that since Mr. Born and his friends were scattered about the map, with him being local, she’d do some one on one consulting with Mr. Born, who would then pass on the information to the others. They’d all do some conference calls and online chats here and there, but the majority of the instructions would be between Deborah and Mr. Born.
“Yep, there it is,” Deborah said, finally finding the e-mail in which the two had initially set up their meeting. “We can meet at my office….” She read Mr. Born’s reply after she suggested they meet instead of sending e-mails back and forth. She’d printed off the contract she had customized to fit him and his fellow writers’ specific needs. If all was agreed upon, they’d sign the contract, she’d receive half down for her services, and they’d be in business.
She looked up at the quaint little house that sat about twenty-five feet from the curb. A stone walkway traveled right up the middle of the yard to the front door. Deborah contemplated for a moment before opening the car door. She stood up to look for any signs of life inside. The sun had just started to go down, so she wasn’t surprised not to notice any lights beaming from any of the house�
�s windows.
She contemplated a few more seconds before grabbing her messenger bag and purse, all the while keeping her eyes glued on the house. She closed the car door and set the alarm with the remote. The clickety-clack of the heels of her leather winter boots sounded eerie as she headed up the walkway. For a moment there, fear tried to rear its ugly head. “Lord, you have not given me the spirit of fear”—she spoke out loud in an effort to chase away the unwelcome spirit—“but of love and power and…and…something else, only I’m too scared to remember it right now.”
Finally reaching the door, Deborah admired the heavy, oak double doors and the lovely Christmas wreath hanging on them. What she noticed, though, was that one of the doors was slightly cracked. “And a sound mind,” she said, recalling the final line of the scripture she’d been confessing.” Being that God had given her a sound mind, she knew that what she should have done was turn around and hightail it back to her car. Of course, she didn’t. The curiosity of it all had too much of a stronghold on her to allow her to do that.
Slowly, Deborah placed her hand on the gold door knob and pushed on the door just a little. She had fussed out many leading women in thriller movies for doing this exact same thing. Knowing what had become of those leading ladies, she still proceeded to push the door open.
I can’t let fear get to me, Deborah told herself. Mr. Born could be inside hurt or something. Deborah continued to try to convince herself that perhaps God had brought her there to that place at that specific time to intervene in what could possibly be a tragedy. Perhaps Mr. Born had fallen and couldn’t get up. After all, she didn’t know his age. He could be some eighty-year-old man lying helpless on the floor. She’d never forgive herself if that were the case; if she let fear prevent her from doing God’s will. Yep, all those were things she told herself just to keep from facing the truth: that she was more curious than she was a Good Samaritan.
Taking a deep breath, Deborah pushed the door all the way open, simultaneously calling out Mr. Born’s name. Not hearing a response, she stepped inside the foyer while calling out his name again. “Mr. Born. Mr. Born, it’s me, Deborah Lewis.” Although she didn’t hear him reply, she did hear some soft music coming from what sounded like the next room. She couldn’t see inside the room, but she could see the opening. It appeared dark with the exception of a very dim light.
“Mr. Born, are you in there?” Deborah called out. When she didn’t get a response, she slowly took steps toward the room from which the music was coming. She stopped in her tracks when something flickered. “Mr. Born?” She knew calling out his name would probably be in vain; still, she did it anyway.
She looked behind her at the door she’d left open. She could turn around now and leave if she wanted to. She could turn all five feet, seven and a half inches and one hundred thirty-five pounds around and get the heck out of there. She turned and faced the room again, wondering if Mr. Born was in there injured. Murdered, even. Now she looked back behind her, this time focusing on the door knob. If I leave now and Mr. Born is in there, victim of a murder, perhaps a robbery gone bad, my prints are all over the door knob.
A stinging sensation ran through Deborah’s veins when she thought there was a chance that this was all a setup: that she’d been set up to take the fall for a murder. She shook the thought out of her head before saying, “The devil is a liar and I have to stop watching all of those prime time crime shows.”
With that final thought, Deborah held her head up high, straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into that room like she owned the place.
“Oh my God!” With her hand over her mouth in complete shock, Deborah wasn’t prepared for the sight before her eyes.
Chapter Two
“I still can’t get over what a beautiful wedding you and Blake had,” Mrs. Robinson said to her daughter through the phone receiver. “And I couldn’t believe how beautiful your dark chocolate skin looked in that snow white gown.”
“What I can’t believe is that I got this size sixteen body in that size fourteen dress.” Paige laughed, revealing her deep dimples even more, dimples that were apparent whether she was smiling or not. “I’d planned on losing weight by next April, which was our original wedding date, of course, but when Blake and I decided we couldn’t wait that long to become husband and wife, well…” She batted her thick, long eyelashes.
“Girl, you know you just big boned like your mama and all your aunties,” Mrs. Robinson reasoned, although she herself wasn’t very big at all. “But you’re still beautiful, and for once I got to see your hair in something besides that slicked-back ponytail you always wear.”
“That style makes my face look thinner,” Paige said as she rubbed her cheek. “Not that I’m trying to look like something I ain’t, because thin I’m not. But that’s all right, because I found me a man who likes all two-hundred-plus pounds of this big-boned woman.” No longer able to contain her excitement of being a bride all of a week, she shouted, “Ma, I’s married now!”
The mother and daughter both chuckled at the line from the Oscar-slighted movie, The Color Purple.
Mrs. Robinson got her laughter under control then sighed. “But it’s a shame you two had to postpone your honeymoon.”
“Yeah, I know, but this was Blake’s golden opportunity on his job to prove himself. So, when his boss told him how important it was that he be at the closing, Blake knew it was now or never. It was really never up for debate between the two of us.”
“Let me tell you, that man is just lucky he married such an understanding wife. Some women might have seen it as the man putting his career before his family. After all, you two did have to cancel a honeymoon in Jamaica.”
“Actually, we didn’t cancel it; we just postponed it. Had we gone, Blake’s mind would have been back here in Ohio in his company’s boardroom anyway. Blake had been trying to get a meeting with some big shot for months. It just so happened that the day he gets it would have been the third day of our honeymoon.”
“And you’re not the least bit upset?” Mrs. Robinson sounded slightly doubtful.
“Disappointed maybe, but not upset. Disappointed that I couldn’t be like Angela Bassett in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, running on the beach, minus the tight bod,” She chuckled. “But elated that his company is going to reimburse us for any loss we had to take, plus pay for the honeymoon once we do take it.”
“Well, you sound convincing.”
“Ma, I’m not trying to be convincing. Blake proving himself to his company means a higher position, which ultimately means more money, which means I’ll be able to get that dream house I want built from the ground up. I’ve been visualizing it so that it will manifest just like it says to do in that book The Secret.”
“Girl, what secret? It ain’t no secret. It’s God! The Bible been done let that cat out the bag. You being a Christian should know that. What they teaching y’all up there in New Day Temple of Faith anyway?” Mrs. Robinson was using playful sarcasm with her only daughter.
“You know what I mean, Ma. Stop playing. But anyway, when it comes to Blake and his job, I’m straight.”
“Child, you are going on thirty years old and are somebody’s wife; talking about you straight. You better leave that talk for the hip hoppers and talk like you have the education you do. Is that how you’re going to be talking at the dinner parties Blake takes you to and introduces you as his wife?”
“No, Mother dear.” Paige rolled her eyes up in her head. “There is a time and a place for that kind of talk. You raised me well, and considering you raised me, you should know that I’m only twenty-eight, thank you very much.”
“Twenty-eight, thirty…same difference.”
“Anyway, to kinda sorta make things up to me, Blake is going to take me out to dinner tonight. We’re going to that fondue place where you have to have reservations in advance. His assistant’s husband made reservations for them a while ago, but with their child being sick with that swine flu he caugh
t on their trip to Mexico, they can’t make it. So, she gave her reservation to Blake.”
“That sounds nice. It’s no Jamaica, but nice nonetheless.”
“I’ve never been, so I think—” Just then Paige’s other line clicked. She looked down at the face of the phone. Blake’s office number appeared on the screen. “Ma, that’s my husband. I’ll call you later.” She blushed. “Husband. That’s my husband.”
Now it was Mrs. Robinson who rolled her eyes. “Go on and talk to your husband. And tell that son-in-law of mine that his father-in-law is still waiting to show him around the construction business, for real this time.”
Paige recalled the visit she and Blake had made to her parents’ house. The visit was when Blake was supposed to spend the afternoon with her father, checking out the family construction business. Instead, Blake had just used that as an excuse to get her father alone so that he could ask him for his daughter’s hand in marriage. “Okay, Ma. I’ll be sure to tell him. I love you. Kiss Daddy for me. Bye.”
Paige ended the call with her mother and clicked over to the other line. “Hello, my handsome, butter-complexion, six-feet-tall hunk of a husband, who I can’t wait to run my fingers through your soft, wavy hair and then kiss you in places that—”