by Delia Latham
Life. She’d never appreciated it so much as she did in that moment.
She paused on her way around the lodge, her gaze flitting about the grounds, still visible in the last light of the evening and the artificial glow the lampposts scattered across the property. Had everything been so green this morning? Trees of at least a dozen different species with as many shades of green formed a thick, lush, protective barrier around the grounds. Summer’s gaze took in pale mint alongside a rich jade that bordered on teal, chartreuse, and deepest hunter green, silvery sage against vivid emerald…and those were only the ones she could find names for. Many others blended into the luxuriant tree scape. How could she not have noticed this profusion of color before now? Perhaps something in the ocean had awakened her senses.
She took a moment to survey what she could see of the property from her current perspective. Before now, she’d caught only brief glimpses of the layout, because Deah—uninterested in their surroundings beyond the fact that they provided a place to sleep and bathe and apply the arsenal of cosmetics she couldn’t live without—had kept Summer on the go since they’d arrived.
Now that Summer had taken a stand with her cousin and got the two of them back on the originally planned course of action for this trip, she intended to spend some time exploring. The colorful bursts of bloom and blossom she’d glimpsed as Deah’s sports car whizzed by them were most likely only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Summer felt certain that far more than a few flowers and plants grew in the area as a source of visual luxury.
The moment Deah zoomed onto the property two days ago and slid to a halt beneath the carport on the east side of the lodge, as they had been instructed via email and telephone, Summer had experienced an odd sensation of coming home. She didn’t know what it meant…maybe nothing. Perhaps her writer’s imagination was working overtime. But she didn’t think so. She’d been meant to come here.
Paradise Pines would prove to be some kind of catalyst in her life, she was certain of it.
She took one last look around as night shadows crept closer to the lodge. Oh, yes, she would spend lots of time enjoying nature’s beauty while she had the opportunity. As much as she loved writing, she could not continue to hide behind her characters.
Having so narrowly escaped the massive, immensely strong jaws of death, she could no longer justify allowing life to pass her by.
For now, she should get upstairs and heat a can of soup, or make a sandwich. She’d cook a real meal if she thought Deah would be home, but she knew her cousin too well to expect her for dinner. The younger woman would no doubt still be out and about long after Summer cleaned up, read a chapter or two from her Bible—and maybe a bit from one of the novels she’d brought along—and fell asleep. For a moment, her conscience pricked…shouldn’t she worry more about Deah? What if something went wrong? Would anyone even know where the girl was staying? Would they contact Summer at Paradise Pines Lodge?
A sharp pain roused her when she clamped her lip between her teeth. Annoyed with herself, she determinedly quashed the familiar guilt. She’d been quite clear with her uncle, her aunt, and with Deah. She hadn’t come along on this trip as a babysitter, companion, overseer, or chaperone, and for once, she had no intention of taking on any of those roles.
Summer gave her head a quick, firm shake and headed for the stairs leading to the upstairs apartment. But as she approached her destination, she froze in place, staring at something on the ground. “Where did you come from, little guy?”
At the foot of the wooden steps, a young fawn lay curled up on the grass. He raised a sweet face upward, ears perked in response. Dark, sleepy eyes blinked at her, but he showed no fear whatsoever.
She dropped down beside the tiny animal in a cross-legged position and stretched a hesitant hand in his direction. Would he be startled if she touched him? Should she touch him, or would that be some kind of no-no?
As if in answer to her unspoken question, the fawn licked her hand and then rubbed it with his cheek.
“Oh! What a darling you are.” Summer stroked the young deer’s fur with one finger, surprised to find it slightly coarse. Somehow she’d expected it to be soft, like a kitten or a puppy. She grinned, realizing the expectation arose from plush animals, which had been her only contact with deer. “Where is your mommy?”
Her only answer was a big, adorable yawn.
“Now there’s something you don’t see every day.” The soft, gentle voice aroused no reaction from the baby, whose gaze moved to Miss Angie as if she presented not the slightest danger. Which, of course, she did not. Summer smiled at the thought. But how did this little guy know that?
“You don’t see many deer around here?”
Miss Angie chuckled. “Oh, yes, I see them often. But they don’t usually bring their young ones this close to a human habitation, and they certainly don’t leave them there, even when they do wander closer than normal.” She knelt beside Summer and touched a finger to the fawn’s nose. “Are you hungry, little one?”
Summer frowned. “Do you think he’s been abandoned?” A soft cry broke from her as another horrible thought crossed her mind. “Maybe something happened to his mother?”
“Perhaps.” Miss Angie gave a tiny shrug. “I really can’t say. The lodge has never hosted this type of guest before. But I have a feeling this little one is here for a reason. His mother probably knows exactly where he is and will be back.”
“What should we do for him?”
“At the moment, nothing. Not until we know he’s an orphan. Interfering with the normal course of things could be harmful to his development.”
“I see.” She looked down at the big, brown eyes staring up at her. “I know you’re right, but I can’t stand thinking he might be hungry.”
“We won’t wait until he’s in danger of starvation, but let’s give it some time.”
The fawn made a clumsy attempt to stand on spindly legs that shook and buckled. He toppled over, right into Summer’s lap, and looked up at her as if to say, “Aha. This is right where I wanted to be.”
Summer laughed. “You’re too cute. What shall I call you, then? I don’t think Bambi is a great idea. We’ll believe your mommy is alive and well…somewhere.” She stroked the animal, grinning when his tongue sneaked out, trying to catch her fingers each time they neared his face. “You have white spots on your back. Are they freckles? Ah! That’s what I’ll call you. Freckle.”
“So you’ve named him.”
Summer hadn’t realized Miss Angie had walked away until she reappeared. “See if you can get him to take this.”
At Summer’s questioning look, she rolled her eyes and smiled. “I know what I said. But I went inside and called on a reliable source. This will be all right, dear. At least this once.”
Summer reached for the baby bottle Miss Angie held out, and turned the nipple toward the fawn’s mouth. With minimal fumbling, almost as if he’d done this before, the baby deer locked onto the right spot and began to suckle.
“Just look at him, Miss Angie!” Summer found the sight more than a little breathtaking.
“He’s really going after it, isn’t he?” The lady smiled. “I do believe it’s your turn to be a hero, Summer. Well…heroine, of course. Looks to me as if this precious little one thinks—at least for the moment—that you’re his mother.”
“You think so?” She smiled and held the animal close, loving the soft, sucking sounds he made. “Well, for right now, I guess that’s what I am, although I don’t have the slightest idea how to be a mother—period— and certainly not to a deer.”
“Well, apparently God trusts you to do it right, or He wouldn’t have given that little sweetheart into your care.” The older woman’s soft voice drew Summer’s gaze, and she found herself caught up in the blue of Miss Angie’s eyes, unable to look away. “Remember, Summer, Mary didn’t know how to be a mother either…she wasn’t even a wife when God gave her the huge task of mothering His Son. But she did it, and she did
it well. Do you know why?”
Summer shook her head, unable to find her voice.
“Because she was inhabited by the God who called her. He was there, guiding her every decision and choice she made as she raised Jesus. Whom the Lord calls, He equips. He did it for Mary, and He’ll do the same for you.”
Summer stilled, Miss Angie’s words dancing around her heart and mind like a song.
Not that taking care of this beautiful little fawn was even remotely close to carrying and raising the Son of God, but…maybe the Father had a reason for asking her to look after the tiny creature.
No one had ever placed so much confidence in her. Despite her sincere, lifelong effort to carry her own weight, to be helpful, to never shirk a duty, most people seemed to consider her too small and frail, too shy, too…something…for any real responsibility. Yes, Uncle and Auntie seemed to think she was capable of keeping Deah from doing anything unforgivable. But that didn’t count, because they didn’t really think their daughter would stoop that low—they just wanted Summer around in case their little girl got herself into a jam she couldn’t get out of alone.
Yet God trusted her with Freckle. Did she deserve that kind of confidence from the Lord?
No. Absolutely not. But she made up her mind to handle the task with grace…to succeed in taking care of Freckle until God released her from the odd duty of mothering a fawn.
The little animal’s eyes grew heavy. They closed as the last drop of milk—or whatever Miss Angie had brought him—disappeared. Summer eased him onto the ground, just beneath the staircase. Heaven only knew how sober Deah would be when she returned to the lodge, and she didn’t want her cousin to trip over Freckle, frightening the young deer and perhaps injuring herself.
“Good night, little one,” she whispered. “I’ll see you in the morning, if your mommy hasn’t claimed you by then.” She stood, wrinkling her nose. “He smells funny. Like…musk?”
“Yes, exactly. All fawns smell like that.” Miss Angie patted her shoulder and turned toward the front of the lodge. “Good night, Summer, dear.”
“Good night, Miss Angie.”
At some point while caring for Freckle, she’d kicked off her sandals. She picked them up and climbed the stairs. Inside the apartment, she put the shoes away and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. “Oh, no!” Her eyes rounded as she took in her hostess’s beautiful white bath robe, now soiled on the back, where Summer had sat on the ground. The front bore equally dirty marks from the fawn’s tumble into her lap and subsequent cuddling while he ate.
As if that weren’t bad enough, her hair hung in long, unruly curls down her back and over her shoulders. She’d always had to tame it quite a bit after a wash, and since arriving in Cambria the sea air made it even harder to control, rendering it frizzy and unmanageable. Summer had never been one to over-stress about appearance. She worked with what God gave her, and hoped it was acceptable to the rest of the world.
But right now, all she could think about was the unusual gray-green of Logan Bullard’s eyes when she opened hers out there on the shore. Of course, then she’d been soaking wet and…well, sick to her stomach. She groaned as she slipped out of the robe and into a clean pair of capris and a sleeveless top. In the laundry area off the kitchen, she worked on returning Miss Angie’s robe to its original spotless condition while she gave herself a mental talking-to.
Logan Bullard had been her hero today. According to Miss Angie, he was also a successful artist on the local scene whose work was rapidly becoming sought after all across the United States. He was the first outrageously handsome and genuinely nice man Summer had met in a long time. Actually, the first that had ever made her heart beat faster.
And she’d been a mess in every way. She blew out a hopeless breath, stepped out onto the balcony, and hung the white robe on a hanger to air dry. Might as well make a sandwich and forget about her hero of the day. He wouldn’t be back, and she didn’t blame him. She was a romance author…not even remotely close to the beautiful, fascinating heroines in her novels.
She carried a bowl of soup and a package of saltine crackers into the living room and settled in front of the television. Maybe she’d find a good movie to watch.
“That’s where you get your romance, Summer. From movies and the novels you read and write—not from real life. So forget Logan, eat your soup, and…” She started flipping through the channels, punching the buttons a little harder than necessary. “Enjoy a movie.”
3
Logan lay awake late into the night—excited, overjoyed, nervous…and so grateful he’d been allowed to be there at the right time and place to save the life of Miss Angie’s summer guest.
Perhaps God had given him all those frustrating, terrifying dreams about the young woman prior to the actual incident solely as a way of preparing him to save the girl from drowning. But he didn’t think so. Not that saving Summer’s life wasn’t reason enough. A world without her in it would be a far less bright and beautiful place.
But Logan felt certain that God had even more reason for putting him on that particular strip of Cambria beach at the exact time the ocean tried to claim Summer Callihan. She was meant to be in his life. In what capacity, he couldn’t say…not yet. But every fiber of his being told him she would play an important role in the tapestry of his existence.
And if he were being honest—which he always tried to be—he hoped and prayed he was right, because he wanted to see Summer again. She’d captivated him, in the few words she’d spoken before falling asleep on the sofa, cuddled into Miss Angie’s white bathrobe.
Logan had kept up a quiet conversation with the sweet proprietress while Summer dozed, but his mind and his gaze hadn’t drifted far from the girl he’d plucked out of the ocean—and his own dreams. He noticed when her pale cheeks showed faint color, and when that color rounded out and became natural and incredibly attractive. He heard every soft breath, felt every twitch of her slender fingers.
Despite his best efforts to remain neutral until God revealed His purpose, he’d ached to stroke the long strands of blonde hair spread out in glorious waves across Miss Angie’s dainty pillow. Each time his mind brought up the vivid memory of her disappearing beneath the slam of that powerful wave, Logan’s heart threatened to stop from sheer terror, even though she now lay safe and sound within the warm sanctuary of Paradise Pines Lodge.
He’d stood, given Miss Angie a kiss on the cheek, and brought himself home only when he realized he had no valid reason to still be hanging around. Summer was fine, and Miss Angie would take excellent care of her. She no longer needed to be rescued, but she did need to sleep while her body healed from the shock of the experience.
Miss Angie patted his arm as he started out the door. “You did well, dear. Thank you for being a hero for my guest today.”
He shrugged. “God had a pretty big hand in that.”
“You think so?”
“I know so, but if I tried to tell you why I believe that you’d think I was out of my mind.”
Miss Angie’s soft laughter soothed. She wasn’t laughing at him. “Oh, dear boy…it would take some doing to convince me you’re out of your mind. God, on the other hand, sometimes does things that seem completely beyond explanation, doesn’t He? And yet…” She smiled, and Logan actually raised a quick look to the ceiling, all but sure he’d heard the faint strains of an angelic choir. “He’s always right. Every time.”
“I suppose He is, and that’s why He’s God.” Logan stepped outside. “I’ll be back to check on Summer—if you think that’d be all right.”
“I would expect nothing less. Now go on home and get some rest, Logan dear. I think you’ll find today’s fight with the sea took more than a bit of energy out of you as well.”
“I know it did. I’m feeling pretty drained for this time of day.” He took a couple of steps toward the beach, then turned and raised a hand in farewell. “I have to go back down and get my easel, Miss
Angie, but I’ll be home before long. Please…call me if anything changes with Summer. I’ll want to know.”
She smiled again, nodded once, and then backed away and closed the door.
Logan trudged down the hill and across the beach sand to the little hideaway and gathered his things. The short trip from there to his car felt like ten miles. As usual, Miss Angie’s observation was right on target. His unexpected tussle with the tide had taken a heavy toll on his body. Summer had the right idea, allowing sleep to claim her without a fight. As soon as he got home, he intended to follow her example.
He reached his house and fell onto the bed, still wearing the ill-fitting clothes Miss Angie had provided. They probably belonged to old Preacher, who’d owned the lodge until his death a few years ago. As his thoughts drifted into sleep, he wondered about the moniker by which the old man had been known. He’d never preached a sermon that Logan knew of. Or had he? He’d carried a Bible with him everywhere he went. But even without that worn, tattered symbol of his faith, folks saw what the eccentric fisherman believed in the life he lived.
His last thought before sleep claimed him was that perhaps those living messages Preacher delivered every day of his life deserved as much or more credit than any sermon spoken over any pulpit on any Sunday of the year.
That he dreamed about his old friend was no surprise.
“So, Logan. You found her.”
They were in the fishing lodge owner’s rickety sailboat.
How it kept from falling apart had always amazed Logan, yet he’d never thought about turning down any of Preacher’s invitations to join him for a “bit of pole throwin’.” He tossed his line into the water and looked at Preacher. “You mean Summer?”
The old man cackled. “You found any other purty gals floatin’ around in the Pacific lately?”
“No, I guess I haven’t.” He raised his gaze to the old man. “Do you know what it means, Preacher? Why did God give me all those dreams, and let me to be there to save her? Why me? Do you know?”
