His gaze skimmed to Rachel, pretzeled onto the cockpit bench—sound asleep after her best intentions of getting up early fizzled—oblivious to the miles they’d covered since daybreak. The blanket he’d thrown over her gaped, exposing the thin T-shirt material of her nightgown stretched taut across her breasts.
Gratitude only nicked the surface of what he felt. His mind drifted from the sparkling horizon, back to Saturday when he carried Rachel in her wedding dress across the Queen’s gangplank. Leaf stood grinning as if he were solely responsible.
Rachel slit baleful eyes at him and shut them, repositioning herself on the seat. It would take her another half-hour to regain full consciousness.
He pulled one of her feet, then the other, into his lap, his gaze sliding over a long swatch of leg before returning to the elements. His thumb rubbed circles in the arch of Rachel’s foot.
A sleepy moan slipped from her lips, and she shifted.
The blanket slid off, replaced by morning sun, toasting skin he’d only imagined these last few months.
His body heated on autopilot, and he raked his eyes over the sheer, short nightie—a glorious improvement over the basketball getup she used to sleep in. A shudder passed through his body. He’d nearly lived his life without Rachel. Instead of getting what he deserved, he got Rachel and Nate. Ian, planning a change from obstetrics to ER since before he met Gabs, had agreed to relocate…. Who wouldn’t want a God like that?
Rachel’s skull vibrated against the coaming. She shoved the pillow between her head and the wood without opening her eyes.
“Waking up?” Jake’s voice crashed through her sleep.
“No.” She scrunched her eyes shut, feeling churlish. Every cell in her body weighed three hundred pounds. A carnival had traipsed through her stomach during the night, trailing peanut shells and snow cone syrup.
Alertness seeped in—morning sun baking the crown of her head, Jake’s thumb massaging the arch of her foot, and snapshots—standing barefoot in the sand, the folds of her wedding dress blowing against her legs. Ned craning his head around Mama—her Matron of Honor—for another glimpse of Cat. Leaf in a suit and tie beside a white-haired woman in a bird-of-paradise muumuu. Jake’s mother bouncing Nathan in her lap. Keenan in a Hawaiian shirt, Dockers, and no socks. Gabrielle and her doctor holding hands.
Jake kneaded her other foot, shooting pleasure up her calf. “We’ve been running downwind—if you could even call it wind—all morning. Sailing doesn’t get more boring than this.”
She pried open her eyes, and light glittered in.
Jake smirked. “But the view—” His eyes darted to her chest. “The view is incredible.”
She smiled, finally recognizing Jake’s intensity for what it was—love for her. Love she’d steeped in for the past three and a half months since Jake slid his grandmother’s engagement ring onto her finger.
Now she knew what forgiveness felt like. It felt like innocence.
The End
Acknowledgements
I wrote Tattered Innocence thirty-seven times over seventeen years. I owe my editor, Danielle Lakes, my weight in chocolate for performing the miracle of bringing order out mishmash.
Thank you to my sailing consultants—Sarasota, Florida, Key Sailing owners Tim and Jan Solomon, and sailor and critique partner Deb Garland of Camano Island, Washington.
I’m grateful for my Catholic upbringing that not only pointed me toward Jesus when I went looking, but gave me a hearty grasp on the concept of guilt.
My family and friends deserve my love and affection for putting up with my obsessive pursuit of my destiny—as do the prayer team, who prayed me through these last few years into publication.
I love Oasis Community Church who makes doing life together an art. We may not be the best behaved bunch, but we’ve pried off our masks and do “real” quite well.
About the Author
Ann Lee Miller earned a BA in creative writing from Ashland (OH) University and writes full-time in Phoenix, but left her heart in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where she grew up. She loves speaking to young adults and guest lectures on writing at several Arizona colleges. When she isn’t writing or muddling through some crisis—real or imagined—you’ll find her hiking in the Superstition Mountains with her husband or meddling in her kids’ lives.
AnnLeeMiller.com
Twitter @AnnLeeMiller
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Read an excerpt from Kicking Eternity, the next book in the New Smyrna Beach series.
1st Place Long Contemporary, 2009 RWA Faith, Hope and Love Contest
Tracy Krauss '12 Top 5 Reads
Stuck in sleepy New Smyrna Beach one last summer, Raine socks away her camp pay checks, worries about her druggy brother, and ignores trouble: Cal Koomer. She’s a plane ticket away from teaching orphans in Africa, and not even Cal’s surfer six-pack and the chinks she spies in his rebel armor will derail her.
The artist in Cal begs to paint Raine’s ivory skin, high cheek bones, and internal sparklers behind her eyes, but falling for her would caterwaul him into his parents’ life. No thanks. The girl was self-righteous waiting to happen. Mom served sanctimony like vegetables, three servings a day, and he had a gut full.
Rec Director Drew taunts her with “Rainey” and calls her an enabler. He is so infernally there like a horsefly—till he buzzes back to his ex.
Raine's brother tweaks. Her dream of Africa dies small deaths. Will she figure out what to fight for and what to free before it's too late?
For anyone who's ever wrestled with their dreams.
Chapter 1
Raine pushed the beads on her African bracelet back and forth like the balls on an abacus. Her stomach kneaded, gurgled. She could almost feel sweat dampen her upper lip.
Drew’s forehead creased as he stared at her. Fluorescent tubes hummed overhead in the night air. Shouts and back-slapping ricocheted around the Canteen porch in the sticky-sweet scent of orange blossoms. If she wasn’t fighting to keep her dinner down, she’d tell him where they’d met.
His frown melted into a smile of recognition. “Rainey. Hey. Welcome to Triple S Camp.”
She bristled at the nickname her brothers used to irritate her. “It’s Raine.”
“I remember you as Rainey from the skit you did in junior high youth group. You cried all over the place—a pun on your name.”
“That was my total acting career… and ancient history. Better off forgotten. Please.”
“Sure, Rainey, whatever you say.”
“Drew!”
“You remember my name.”
“You weren’t exactly low profile either.” She, like every girl in the youth group, had spent way too much time mooning at the high-school-Drew hunched over his guitar.
Jesse, the camp director, gave a shrill blast on his whistle. “Welcome to New Smyrna Beach Surf and Sailing Camp orientation.”
The noise ratcheted down. Thirty staffers in aquamarine shirts settled onto the benches lining the porch.
Raine swallowed and unclenched her fingers from the camp handbook. She refused to heave like she had at college orientation four years ago. Her thumb ran over the ridges in her palm where the spiral wire had dug into the flesh. Why had she never been to camp like any normal kid?
A guy in surf shorts and flip-flops came up the steps laughing with the girl beside him. Sun-white cords of hair, crimped like he’d worn braids, brushed his thick shoulders. He caught Raine staring. The interest crackling in his blue gaze jolted through her.
She let her chin-length hair fall like a dark curtain between them. A guy was one complication she didn’t need this summer, not when Africa was nearly in her grasp.
Jesse, who’d hired her, dragged a podium across the porch to the snack bar window. He cleared his throat. Out of the corner of her eye, Raine saw the surfer and the girl take seats halfway around the porch.
Jesse read the camp rules and Raine highlighted them with a pink marker. His voice blended with the drone of th
e crickets. As he launched into the sailing rules, her stomach calmed.
Across the dirt road, yellow floodlights bathed a wall of the dark dining hall. The camp office and cabins flanked the building like dark-skinned children marching in a row all the way to the hulking gym. She had Africa on the brain.
Drew’s elbow jarred her ribs. “Rainey, introduce yourself,” he whispered.
She sprang to her feet. “I’m Raine—” She just stopped herself from saying Rainey. “Zigler. I’ll be teaching Bible.” She shot a glare at Drew and sat down with a thump. Was that a snicker coming from somewhere near the snack bar?
Drew’s knee creaked as he rose. “Drew Martin, Rec Director.”
As the adrenalin ebbed, her attention strayed back to the moonlit village of forest-green structures with tarpaper roofs bleached gray by the Florida sun. This would be her home for the next three months. Please, God, I need some friends.
The surfer stood. “I’m Cal Koomer, teaching art for the third summer in a row. Someday I’m going to get a life.”
Laughter rippled through the counselors. With a grin Cal slouched onto the bench. His eyes traveled over Raine like she was a Wooster custom surfboard he was thinking about buying.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked away.
“Aly Logan.” Cal’s friend wore slacks and a button-down blouse. “I’m the college intern in the camp office.”
Wait, wasn’t Aly her roommate’s name?
After Jesse instructed them on navigating the septic system and handed out the night watch rotation, chatter swelled around Raine.
Drew let out a low whistle. “You’re the hotshot Bible teacher fresh out of college?”
“I’ve been teaching Sunday school for years. It’s not a big deal.”
“I thought the Bible was a big deal.”
“Of course I think the Bible is important or I wouldn’t focus my life on it.” Shyness clipped her words. She’d pay money about now to relax and make normal conversation.
Yellow flecks danced in his eyes. “Just checking.”
His teasing buzzed annoyance through her. “After camp, I’ll be teaching Bible in an orphanage a couple hours outside Entebbe, Uganda.”
Drew’s golden brows stretched into McDonald’s arches.
Well now, that was better.
The sun-browned kid thwacked Drew’s arm and pushed his Dakine surf cap up on his forehead. “Boss-man, dude—”
Drew turned to talk to his assistant.
Raine twisted the colored beads in her rawhide bracelet. She felt ten again, sitting alone on the edge of Aqua Park Pool while everyone else swam with friends. Her palms sweated. Insects circled between the lights and the rafters. She had to get away from here.
A clear shot to the steps off the porch opened up and she darted for them. Someone stepped in her way and she barreled into him.
A thick hand clamped onto her arm. “Whoa, girl!” Cal.
“I’m sorry. What a klutz—”
“Are you okay? Break anything? Need a blood transfusion? Mouth to mouth?”
A nervous laugh tumbled out of her lips. “I’m fine. Fine. Really. You can let go now.”
“I think you look a little rocky.” He grinned at her before he dropped his hand.
Her skin tingled where his grip had been. The citrus scent of Cal’s still-damp hair filled her nostrils. She took a small step back, her leg bumped a bench.
Aly shot a glance at Cal. “There he is.” She spun away, her waist-length ponytail arcing behind her.
Cal swatted Aly’s shoulder blade. “Stay out of trouble.”
Aly waved him off and charged toward a guy who could have modeled for Ocean Pacific.
Cal shook his head. “Aly can spot a user at a hundred yards.”
“A user?” Did he mean heroin, crack, crystal meth, or something else altogether?
“Never mind. Let me guess, you were homeschooled.” His tone said she didn’t have a clue about how the rest of the world lived.
She had way more than a clue, but she let it slide. “How did you know?”
“Jesse’s my brother. Awesome source of info on the new hires.”
She peered across the porch at the camp director. Cal and Jesse sported similar Roman noses.
People filtered off the porch. A group stood under the gazebo debating whether affection for Twilight would impair one’s spiritual life. Several yards away, Aly pulled the clip from her hair and shook it free. Ocean Pacific’s eyes locked on the strands.
Raine needed to say something, anything. Or escape. She glanced over her shoulder at Drew, but he still talked with his assistant. She turned toward the steps. “See you around.”
“I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
She drew in a shaky breath. What was his agenda? She didn’t want to deal with his disdain when she was a breath from total freak-out.
Cal fell into step with her on the dirt road leading past the cabins. “So, Raine Zigler, where does the homeschooling path lead?”
“Where do you think I’m going?”
“Testy, are we?”
She softened her voice. “Where am I going?”
“Homeschool, college, camp Bible teacher—the natural next step is Christian school teacher. Marriage to a guy with a similar pedigree, babies, homeschooling. The circle of life is complete.”
“Actually, I’m going to Africa.”
He stopped. Fine white lines spoked the corners of his eyes as he stared at her.
“I’ve wanted to be a missionary to Africa my whole life.”
Cal’s jaw went rigid under a day’s shadow of beard. “Hardcore Christian.”
Her heart knocked a staccato rhythm in her chest, but she couldn’t look away. “Meaning?”
“Untried.”
“I live in the same world you do. I’m challenged every day.”
Cal’s laugh rang hollow. “Right.”
“Fine. Think what you want.” She started to turn, but his gaze seared through her. Maybe he could see. She certainly felt untried at the moment.
“Come out to the beach with me and Aly some night after campfire.”
She broke away from his gaze and headed toward her cabin. She glanced back at him. “Aly, your girlfriend?” The words flew out of her mouth before she could rein them in.
“A sibling I inherited through marriage. Jesse is married to her sister.”
Adrenaline mainlined through her body. For sure he thought she was into him. “What’s your road?”
“I was king of the monkey bars in second grade. I’d balance one foot on each of the highest bars—until the teacher made me get down. That was pretty much the high point of my life. Been trying to get back there ever since.”
She stopped in front of her cabin. “Figuratively?”
“Well, yeah. I want to be Harry Morgan.”
“Who?”
“Owner of Pink Taco Restaurants. Under thirty. Dates starlets. I want to have my picture in People. Top of the monkey bars.”
She paused on the first step and looked at him. Am I supposed to know this guy?
“Never mind.
Raine moved up the steps feeling as ignorant as Cal thought she was.
“Later.”
“Wait.”
Yellow porch light warmed his cheeks but left his eyes in shadow.
“I-I’d like to hear about Triple S from someone who knows the camp.”
Cal shrugged. “That would be me. Been coming here most of my life.”
“Is it easy to get to know people?”
“Homeschooling leave you short on friends?”
She gave a dry laugh. “I spent my childhood with my nose pressed against the living room window watching the other kids catch the school bus.” She sat on the top step, eye level with Cal. “Commuting three hours a day to college wasn’t a whole lot better.”
“You could do worse for a place to dive into life. I’ve ditched most of the rules and religion I grew up with. But I
still love this place. The people.”
“How did you snag a job at a Christian camp feeling the way you do about faith?”
“Nepotism is alive and well at the Triple S. Jesse, no doubt, thinks camp will boomerang me back to God.”
“Would you talk a camper out of his faith?”
“Jesse should’ve had you interview me.”
“Well?”
“What’s the point of wrecking a kid’s faith? Maybe I was happier when I swallowed everything I was taught. I don’t know.” He laughed. “You, on the other hand, have the primo resume. Wannabe missionary. And I bet Jesse got you for cheap fresh out of college. Mom would do cartwheels around the yard if I ever brought home a girl like you.”
“You say that like I’m the last girl on the planet you’d bring home.”
“Pretty much.” He held up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re beautiful—high cheekbones, ivory skin, internal sparklers behind your eyes. Just not my type. Naïve. Über.”
She sling-shotted from euphoria to irritation. “I don’t know whether to be awed you noticed all that in two minutes under fluorescent light—”
“I’m an artist. It’s what I do.”
“Don’t spoil it—or should I be insulted that you’ve smacked a naïve label on me.”
“Look, there’s no way a girl who was homeschooled can survive in the real world.” He shifted position, and she could see his grin. “Educating you this summer could be a public service.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“Oooh. The Bible teacher does sarcasm.” He waved and stepped away from the cabin. “A public service, I’m telling you.” Cal’s voice trailed off as he moved away.
Tattered Innocence Page 27
