“I’ll take your word for it.”
Emily’s cheeks were going to become permanently stained with blush. Fighting the urge to bang her head against the cab of the truck, she scurried around to the passenger side. Heath beat her to the door, opening it with a gallant wave. Emily leaned in and set the pet carrier on the seat. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Heath’s eyes had drifted down. Right about the place where little rainbow patches resided on the pockets of her denim shorts.
Prickles of awareness heated her skin. She cleared her throat, and his eyes jerked up to her face. His gaze seemed to burn right into her soul. She’d always imagined gray eyes to be cold and lifeless. His were molten.
She swallowed. “What’s your name?”
“Nathan Cooper. Most people call me Nate.”
She stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Nate.”
His hand swallowed hers whole. It fit the rest of him. Warm and firm, with rough calluses.
He stared down at her. “Do you have a name?”
“I’m Emily Sinclair.”
She waited, but there was no stirring of recognition in his dreamy gray eyes. Only a polite nod. Maybe he was too old to know who she was. Or maybe she’d fallen off the map the last couple years, the same way she’d fallen off the best sellers’ list.
Emily sighed and climbed into the truck. “Yep, eighties’ one-hit wonder,” she muttered under her breath.
Nate slid into the driver’s seat. “Did you say something?”
She gazed out the window at the lake, which was still just a lake. “Nope. I’ve got nothing to say apparently.”
****
Nate’s gaze drifted across the cab of the truck, landing on Emily’s colorful shorts. She had rainbows on her…
Stop! Don’t go there, man.
Nothing good would come of thinking about rainbow patches. Not when he had too much going on in his life to think about what might be under those distracting shorts. He shouldn’t be thinking Blackie was one lucky dog, either.
“It’s nice knowing someone enjoys me touching them so much.”
God? He prayed silently. Is this a joke? One more test I have to endure?
Nate glanced at his new passenger again. Emily Sinclair was cute. Goofy, but cute nonetheless. She had hair like an old penny. Copper with a hint of red. Dark lashes framed robin’s-egg-blue eyes. She’d gazed at him with wariness in those eyes before finally agreeing to get in the truck. Wariness that made him want to protect and shelter her. Only Nate had enough people in his life needing shelter and protection right now.
Still, she’d made him laugh.
After the morning spent at the doctor’s, and receiving the gut-clenching prognosis, being able to smile was nothing short of a miracle from God. To tell the truth, Nate couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. Then Emily Sinclair had pulled him out of the pit with an off-the-wall speech about dead cells and dead imaginations. Whatever that meant.
Then she’d jerked the air from his lungs with rainbow patches. And a handshake.
Nate flexed his hand against the steering wheel. Tried to concentrate on something mundane. Something boring. Something without rainbow colors. The problem was, colors were his world, and this lady came in every shade imaginable.
With that hair, her skin should have been pasty white or covered with freckles. Hers was golden and smooth, and since she’d paired the rainbow shorts with a canary-yellow tank top, he could see a lot of golden skin. Even her feet were multicolored. Fire-engine-red polish covered toenails peeking out of blue sandals.
“So where are from, Emily Sinclair?” he asked, trying to distract himself.
“New Haven originally, but I’ve been living in Baltimore since college.”
“You’re a long way from home. Where were you headed? There’s nothing much out this way.”
“To inspiration.”
“Is that a town?”
A deep sigh. “No.”
He tapped a finger against the steering wheel, searching for something to say. Then he remembered the one word he’d managed to understand in her crazy speech. “It’s Covington Falls.”
Her head whipped around, and she blinked like an owl in the night. “Huh?”
Man, her eyes are killers. “You’re in Covington Falls, Georgia.”
Her frown disappeared, only to be replaced with another one. “Why does the name sound familiar?”
“Addison Covington lives here now. Maybe you saw the papers awhile back. There was a pretty big dust-up when the press found out she’d fled here from Hollywood.”
“Right,” Emily said, snapping her fingers. “I remember reading she’d directed a musical at the high school. Hard to believe someone like Addison Covington would do choose to live here.”
“She’s nothing like the character she played on TV.”
“I guess not.”
Awkward. Silence.
Nate wracked his brain, trying to come up with something to say, but in the end Emily filled the gap.
“What do you do, Nate?”
“I’m a painter.”
“Oh.” She sat up straighter and twisted in his direction. “Do you paint landscapes or people? What’s your medium? Oils or acrylic?”
He chuckled. Did he look like the kind of guy who made oil paintings? Wouldn’t his crew have a good laugh?
“Not that kind of painting,” he said. “Houses. Exteriors mostly.”
“Houses? How interesting.”
Her voice dropped, and her lashes flickered down as she shifted again. Nate got the feeling she was disappointed. Blue collar must not be worth much in her eyes. She might be flaky, but her fancy sports car and the cat with the smashed-in face advertised she came from a refined world. Pride stiffened his shoulders, and tension squeezed the back of his neck.
He’d tried going down a similar road before and ended up broadsided and spun into a ditch. His foot pressed harder on the pedal as he willed his faithful truck to hurry. He needed to deposit Rainbow Shorts at the repair shop and concentrate on more important things.
Like how he was going to tell his brother their mother was dying.
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About the Author
Growing up Kristin devoured books like bags of Dove Dark Chocolate. Her first Golden Book led to Laura Ingalls Wilder, Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown, C.S. Lewis and the Sweet Val-ley High series. Later, she discovered romance novels and fell in love all over again. It’s no surprise then that Kristin would one day try her hand at writing them. She writes inspirational romance and women’s fiction filled with love, laughter and a leap of faith. When she’s not writing her next novel, Kristin works as an advertising copywriter. Over the 15-year career in the ad industry, she has worked on clients that have included the Miami Marlins, Discovery Networks, Radisson Seven Seas Cruises, The Peabody Hotel and Sea World. She also enjoys singing in the church choir and worship team and playing flute in a community orchestra.
You can connect with Kristin online at:
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Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Kristin-Wallace/e/B00G5KX80I
Also from Kristin Wallace
Chapter One
The past is like a revolving door, and if people aren't careful it'll come back and whop them in the backside. Hard.
Like Julia Richardson's just did.
"Julia, we… Sarah needs you. It's the baby."
Two sentences, barely audible, as her former stepsister's husband fought to get the words out. Those two sentences had Julia behind the wheel in the dead of night, headed back to the small Southern town — and the family — she'd successfully avoided for fifteen years.
She looked in the rearview mirror and spotted an errant, titian-colored curl sticking straight up. With
a stifled groan, she mashed it down. Ah, humidity, such a lovely thing. The farther south she got, the more it curled. By the time she reached her destination she expected to look like a dead ringer for a certain redheaded, singing orphan. If said orphan was a full-figured Amazon with a bad attitude.
By the time Julia drove past the quaintly painted sign, which proclaimed she was entering Covington Falls, Georgia — Covington for the founding family, Falls for the trickle of water which emptied into Lake Rice, the name of the other founding family — the sun was blazing. Surprisingly, she knew exactly where to go. Or maybe not so surprising since it didn't look like much had changed in fifteen years. It still looked like a small and dainty cousin of Savannah.
She turned down a tree-lined lane that could have doubled for a 50s television show and a moment later pulled into the driveway of Grace's house. A white, two-story Colonial number with a wrap-around porch, complete with a swing. Rounding out this picture of all-American perfection was an honest to goodness white picket fence. Julia stared at the house, wondering what in the world she was doing here. She so didn't belong in a place like this.
Before she could back out of the driveway, the front door opened, and a woman stepped out onto the porch.
Grace. Ex-stepmother #3. Mother of Sarah and the reason for the midnight run.
Julia got out of the car unsure what kind of reception to expect. Before she knew it, Grace flew down the stairs with arms outstretched.
A familiar scent of cookies and violets invaded her senses. Exactly the way an angel might smell, she imagined. When she 'd been thirteen, and angry at the world, she hadn't been able to hug Grace back. Now Julia did. Then didn't want to let go.
Grace pulled back, taking Julia's face in her warm hands. "How I've missed you."
"You have?"
She smiled. "You have no idea."
"I've missed you, too."
"Let me look at you," Grace said, stepping back to get the full view. "Why, you're gorgeous. I always knew you would be, but my goodness you're stunning."
"You look good yourself."
And she did, Julia thought. There were a few more lines, and a lot more grey hairs, but the sparkle was still there. Only now there was a deeper contentment in those blue eyes Julia didn't remember from before.
"I can't believe how quickly you got here," Grace said.
"Well, it's not like I had to bother getting off work. Getting fired sort of opens up your day."
"I got your e-mail. Your boss had some kind of heart condition, and he had to sell the business?"
Julia nodded. "Right, and the new owner brought in his own marketing people."
"The poor man. It must have been difficult for him."
"I'm sure. The fantastic thing is I can't even be mad at him, because how can you blame the guy for wanting to live a while longer?"
Grace chuckled a little. "I'm sure you'll find something else. Maybe even sooner than you think."
Julia spun around at the odd statement. "What do you mean?"
For a second Grace almost looked guilty, but in the next moment she clapped her hands. "Look at me, letting you stand here when you're probably dead on your feet! Let me help you get your bags inside. Are you hungry?"
"I'd rather go see Sarah."
"Okay, but bags first, and I need to tell my husband where we're going."
Julia took a tentative step inside the house. "I got your letter about him having a stroke. How is he doing?"
"He has his days, though he's much better. His speech is getting clearer, and he's regained some strength on his bad side. We're taking it one day at a time. Letting God handle all the big stuff."
Julia bit her tongue. She'd just arrived, and now wasn't the time to get into the topic of her skepticism about God and faith.
Grace smiled.
"What?"
"Still have the same doubts about God I see."
Julia looked at the floor.
Grace tilted Julia's chin back up. "You have to come to it in your own way."
She walked away before Julia could respond. On the second floor, Grace stopped in front of the second bedroom on the right and opened the door. Julia's breath seized, and she came to an abrupt halt. It was the same one she'd occupied as a teenager. She was swamped with an instant flashback of the first time she'd stepped into this room. She'd been carting an enormous designer suitcase her mother had bought for the "trip". Of course, Julia had known it was more like an "exile", away from her mother and stepfather #2.
Julia had dragged the blasted thing up the stairs herself, having refused to let her father touch either her or her belongings. She'd glanced down to contemplate a spot on her thigh where a bruise would surely form, and then looked up. Into a fairy room. Fairies on the wallpaper, on a gorgeous poster, and even on the white shag throw rug.
Somehow, Julia had known the woman who'd become her father's third wife had done it. For her.
Grace turned. "Are you all right?"
Julia snapped back to the present. "Sure."
"I can put you in another room," Grace said. "Sarah's old room, if you like."
"No, this is fine." At least the fairies were gone now, replaced with light blue paint. She stepped over the threshold and put her bag down on the bed.
"For the longest time, I didn't even know if you read my letters," Grace said.
"It was pretty hard to ignore those scented, handwritten letters." Julia could hear the bite in her voice, but couldn't help it.
Grace winced. "It was too much. I told myself I should leave you alone. You'd been hurt enough, but I didn't want you to think we'd forgotten you. I wanted you to know what was going on in our lives. When you eventually started answering them, I hoped—"
"I'd come back?"
Grace flushed. "It was silly of me, I know."
Great, in the house five minutes, and she'd already hurt Grace's feelings. Julia tried to be nice.
She drifted to the window, which looked down onto the street. "So, you married Mr. Graham from next door?"
If Grace looked surprised by the olive branch, it was only for a moment. "Yes, but then I've known John all my life. He has a son Seth. He's your age. Do you remember him?"
"Vaguely. He didn't talk much."
Grace smiled. "He's a minister, so he has to talk more now. Of course, I told you about his poor wife Beth."
Julia nodded. The letter telling her about Seth's wife's battle with cancer coming to an end had broken her heart, even though she'd never met the woman.
Julia turned, arms folded. "How could you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Get married again? Your first husband died, and the second one dumped you. How in the world do you get to a place where you can trust your heart to someone else?"
Grace's face crumpled. "Oh, Julia. Maybe if you'd come to the wedding, or Sarah's, you would have seen—"
"Seen what? That there is such a thing as a happy ending? I was cured of such romantic notions by the time I was ten. I guess I should have sucked it up and come to Sarah's wedding. I know she was hurt because I didn't, but I made a vow to myself I wouldn't attend another wedding as long as I live, and it's one I intend never to break."
Grace reared back a little, and Julia was immediately ashamed of her outburst. She was the world's biggest jerk. "I'm sorry."
"No, no. It's fine," she murmured. "I'll go tell John we're leaving, and I'll meet you downstairs."
The door closed with a soft click, and Julia sank onto the bed. This had been such a bad idea. She should grab her suitcase and get out of here right now. The only thing stopping her was the memory of Eric's choked voice on the other end of the phone.
A few minutes after finally returning downstairs, they were on their way to the hospital.
Julia finally broke the stilted silence. "What's going on with Sarah? Eric didn't say much on the phone."
Grace concentrated on the road. "There were some contractions. The doctor managed to get them to stop, but
it was touch and go for a while. We spent the night praying, I can tell you."
"Is the baby going to be all right? And Sarah?"
"She has to be careful right now, but I'm sure she'll give you all the details when we get there."
"Why did Eric ask me to come down here, anyway?"
Grace glanced over. "I think they're hoping you'll be the answer to their prayers."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll let them fill you in."
"Why can't you fill me in?"
Another flick of the eyes in Julia's direction. "They made me promise."
A prickle of unease worked its way down her spine. "What aren't you telling me?"
Grace patted Julia's hand. "Don't worry. You can always say no."
Acting Up Page 37
