by Lyn Cote
Guthrie couldn’t speak.
Reaching over, he pulled Hannah to him. He just wanted to comfort her. But the feeling of her softness in his arms went to his head. He kissed her hair, fragrant of spices, then her eyebrows. Her eyes closed. He kissed her eyelids, first one, then the other. Petal soft. Such softness brought feelings, emotions bubbling up from deep inside him.
Tilting up her chin, Hannah smoothed back his golden hair, then rested her hand on his chest.
A warmth, healing and vital, flowed through him like a cleansing prayer. “Hannah, you’re a wonderful woman. You make me believe…” Maybe he might get a second chance, after all.
Books by Lyn Cote
Love Inspired
Never Alone #30
New Man in Town #66
Hope’s Garden #111
Finally Home #137
LYN COTE
Born in Texas, raised in Illinois on the shore of Lake Michigan, Lyn now lives in Iowa with her real-life hero and their son and daughter—both teens. Lyn has spent her adult life as a teacher, then a full-time mom, now a writer.
When she married her hero over twenty years ago, she “married” the north woods of Wisconsin, too. Recently she and her husband bought a fixer-upper cabin on a lake there. Lyn spends most of each summer sitting by the lake, writing. As she writes, her Siamese cat, Shadow, likes to curl up on Lyn’s lap to keep her company. By the way, Lyn’s last name is pronounced “Coty.”
Finally Home
Lyn Cote
Forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
—The Lord’s Prayer
With love to my sweet sister, Carole;
with thanks to Pat Birkett-Roby, my friend
and the Prairie Cook, who inspired Hannah’s career.
And thanks to Cousin Jane,
who remembered party games I’d forgotten!
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Prologue
“That can’t be our sister!” Doree shut her large blue eyes, then opened them again.
Spring turned gracefully in her seat at the restaurant table to view the woman who’d just entered. “Oh, my, what has Hannah done?”
“Thank you for that characteristic understatement.” Doree continued to gawk. “Aliens must have sent an impostor in Hannah’s place. She’s wearing lime green!”
“Designer lime green,” Spring added.
“You would notice that.”
“Anyone could see that,” Spring answered without offense.
Hannah Kirkland strode toward the table across a thick teal carpet. Both her sisters looked just as she had pictured them. Spring in a blue linen suit of impeccable cut. And in spite of the first-class restaurant setting, Doree in jeans and a UW Madison red-and-white Badger T-shirt. With a confidence she didn’t feel, Hannah sat down, straightened the hem on the short skirt of her new linen suit, then checked the neckline of its ivory silk blouse. She tossed her head, letting her fifty-dollar haircut swing, then settle into its new, sophisticated style.
Only then did she speak. “Doree, I heard every word you said. When are you going to learn to lower your voice? Now close your lips. You look like a largemouth bass.”
“Well,” the redoubtable Doree replied, “do you know what you look like?”
Spring touched Doree’s arm. “Hannah looks like an attractive young woman, just as she always has.”
Grateful to Spring for her kindness, Hannah blinked back tears. She’d known exactly how both her sisters would react. No surprises. Spring, tactful. Doree, outspoken. But something in Spring’s gaze caught Hannah’s eye. Was Spring worried?
“How are you, dear?” Spring asked in her soft, caring voice.
“I am better than I was.” Hannah lifted her chin.
Both Spring and Doree stared at her.
“What does that mean?” Doree asked. “What gives, dear sweet Honey? I thought you’d still be wearing your sensible bun and dove gray suit or maybe black for mourning dear Edward.”
“Stop right now.” Spring glared at Doree.
Hannah sighed. “It’s all right, Spring. Our little sister is just being her brash self.” She’d taken great pains with her appearance today, and her haircut, makeup and trendy clothing rivaled Spring’s ever polished style. It all made Hannah feel as though she were masquerading as someone else. But after breaking up with her fiancé this spring, she had needed to take some positive action or give in to despair. Something she wouldn’t do!
“Doree was raised to be polite and kind,” Spring said sternly.
Hannah sat more comfortably in her seat, trying to relax. At the end after months of doubt, breaking the engagement had almost been a relief. More and more, she’d discovered Edward wasn’t the caring man she’d imagined him to be. In fact, she’d begun to suspect she’d created her own perception of him, which had nothing to do with the opinionated man she’d discovered under her nose. “It’s all right. I’ve been through a lot in the last few months, but the pain was less than I thought it would be. Really.”
Spring nodded, then pushed her long golden hair over her shoulder. With arms folded skeptically, Doree watched them both.
Hannah noted an edge to Spring’s voice. She’d have to get a private word with her, but now she decided was the time to implement another change. “One thing, though, I’d really like to leave my nickname, Honey, behind me. Would you please call me Hannah from now on?”
Doree and Spring exchanged startled glances. The waiter came to take their drink order, then left them.
Before Doree could put in any more provocative remarks, Hannah spoke up. “Lunch is on me today.” She opened the large gold-embossed menu. “I’m ordering lobster.” From behind the tall impressive menu, she couldn’t see, but she sensed her sisters’ surprise.
“Works for me.” Doree put her unopened menu on the array of silver and china. “Make that two. A poor college student like me has a hard time remembering what any shellfish tastes like, much less lobster. I can taste the drawn butter already. Yum.”
A moment passed while Spring perused the menu. Hannah let the soothing atmosphere of the luxurious restaurant—the murmur of voices, the clink of ice and the occasional chuckle—work on her, relax her. The waiter returned with their iced teas.
Hannah smiled at him. “Two lobster luncheons with baked potatoes. Double butter and sour cream for my younger sister. Spring?”
Spring closed her menu. “The Caesar salad please.”
“Large?” The waiter held his pen poised.
“No, small.”
The waiter accepted the three menus and hurried away.
Hannah was splurging by ordering the lobster. She’d always been the one who had to watch her waistline. Spring seemed able to exist on air, while Doree’s metabolism burned calories like a blast furnace.
“Sheesh!” Doree groaned. “Are you ever going to develop an appetite?”
“Probably before you develop adult manners,” Spring replied without heat.
Doree leaned forward to continue the tiff.
Hannah held up her hand like a referee. “I invited you here to discuss Mom and Dad, not my wardrobe or Spring’s appetite. That’s the agenda. Stick to it, Doree, or you’ll be paying your own check.”
Dor
ee wrinkled her tanned nose. Her short blond hair had been nearly bleached white by the summer sun. “Take it easy. I’ll be good. It’s just so much fun to get a rise out of you two.”
Hannah ignored Doree’s flippant comment. Doree had a good heart. With her first year of college under her belt, she’d spent the summer working with children in the Head-Start program here in Milwaukee. But as the baby of the family, Doree wanted it both ways. She insisted she be taken seriously while at times still acting as the family rebel and tease.
Spring fidgeted with the gold chain around her neck. This uncharacteristic sign of nervousness in Spring held Hannah’s attention. Hannah discreetly eyed her older sister. Spring, in charge of community relations at Milwaukee’s renowned Botanical Gardens, never seemed ill at ease, but she definitely was today.
After taking a deep breath, Spring returned Hannah’s gaze, then asked, “Do you know something about Mother and Father we don’t?”
This question startled Hannah. “No, their plans and medical conditions are about the same.”
“I was afraid you had bad news for us,” Doree mumbled in a subdued tone. “I thought Mom’s leukemia had started up again.” She lowered her gaze to the white linen tablecloth.
Hannah’s stomach tightened with guilt. “I’m sorry I worried you,” she murmured with real regret. Was this what was concerning Spring?
Spring took a sip of iced tea, then held her glass in front of her mouth as though concealing her expression. “I was worried, too, but I’ve also been worried about their making this move to Petite Portage, especially now that Dad’s heart is giving him trouble.”
Hannah nodded. “I have, too.”
Doree sat back and challenged them both with a tart smile. “Why? I think this is just what Mom needs. The pressure of being the perfect pastor’s wife of a large congregation—”
“Father has been under the same pressure.” Spring set her glass down.
“Both of them needed a change.” Like setting lids on two simmering pots, Hannah extended a hand palm-down toward each sister. This had always been her role, the middle child, the peacemaker. “But change can be very difficult on people nearing retirement.”
“I read an article about that in an applied psych class.” Doree nodded with a serious expression. “Moving can really stress people.”
“Exactly. So I’ve decided to go to Petite Portage and help them get settled.” Hannah observed her sisters for their reactions.
“Can you get away?” Spring nervously rearranged the salt and pepper shakers, not making eye contact.
Hannah studied Spring. Her beautiful and intelligent sister always kept her own counsel. What else was she keeping under wraps today? “Yes, I can fax in my column from anywhere. And I’ve already talked to someone who wants to sublet my apartment for the remainder of this year. I called Mom this week. She and Dad are leaving tomorrow. They are going on a few side trips, then they plan to move into a room with a kitchenette at a local motel for a few weeks until their house is done.”
“What about your food styling shoots?” Glancing up, Spring asked another practical question. “Don’t you have several food photos to do for that special corn oil promotion?”
“I’m going to arrange a few field shoots in Petite Portage, letting the corn oil company advertising team make use of some local color. I thought I could use Mom’s new kitchen. Maybe visit a cornfield—”
“Yeah, a little town in central Wisconsin will really jazz things up.” Doree smirked.
Fingering her neck chain again, Spring ignored Doree. “When will the new house be done?”
“Their contract specifies three weeks from now, August thirty-first, but Dad mentioned something about delays—”
“Uh-oh.” Doree sounded the alarm.
“Exactly.” Hannah leaned her elbows on the table. “Someone needs to make certain our good-natured parents don’t get taken advantage of.”
Looking more concerned, Spring nodded. “I didn’t agree with their signing with such a small builder—”
“That’s because you didn’t meet Guthrie Thomas!” Doree’s face crinkled with amusement. “What a hunk! Blond. Muscles. Wow. He could build something for me any day of the week!”
Both Hannah and Spring frowned at Doree, who chuckled, then shrugged.
“Where will you stay?” Spring probed.
“I asked Dad to reserve me a room at the local motel also,” Hannah replied.
“Thank you, Hannah.” Spring smiled, and her face relaxed momentarily. “I appreciate your doing this. But if you need help, just call. I’ll come right out.”
The conversation paused while the waiter brought a basket of hard rolls and filled their glasses. He smiled and proceeded to the next table.
Spring caught Doree’s eye, then Hannah’s, then glanced down. “I hate to bring up another serious concern, but I think this is the time to discuss it.”
Hannah braced herself for more bad news. Now they’d find out what caused Spring’s fidgeting.
Still hesitating, Spring rearranged the butter dish and sugar bowl. “With Doree leaving to go back to school in Madison and your going to be with Mother and Father, we may not be together again until Thanksgiving or even Christmas.”
“What is it?” Doree picked up a crusty roll and tore it in two.
Spring continued in her soft voice, “Last June after Mother was diagnosed with leukemia, I started reading as much as I could about the disease. I wanted to be able to understand what was happening.”
Hannah nodded, encouraging Spring.
“So?” Doree prompted.
Spring sighed. “You remember how the doctor had the three of us tested as possible donors, in case Mother needed a bone marrow transplant?”
“Yeah?” Doree slathered half her roll with butter.
“Didn’t it bother you that we were Mother’s only known blood relatives?” Finally, Spring made eye contact with both of them.
Doree paused. She dumped the roll on the plate. “Yes, it did.”
Hannah nodded. “None of us matched.” The pain of that memory squeezed inside her, making her catch a breath. She recognized the same deep distress on the stricken faces of her two sisters. Their mother had needed them, and they’d been helpless!
“What are you driving at?” Doree asked. “Do you think we should try to find Mom’s natural parents?”
“So I’m not the only one who thought of starting a search?” Spring asked sounding relieved.
Doree pursued it. “But wouldn’t Mom’s natural parents be dead by now? I mean, Mom was born in 1945.”
Spring shook her head. “That means Mom’s only in her fifties. Her adoptive parents both died early, before they even retired. But her natural parents would probably be in their seventies, and they could still be alive and active.”
“But Mother had always refused to look into her past, her adoption,” Hannah objected. “She said she’d never wanted to be disloyal to her adoptive parents!” The idea of going against her mother’s wishes startled her most. “She was even upset with the doctor when he suggested she should search for blood relatives.”
“I realize that, but I think Mother’s leukemia makes the difference. What if this period of remission ends a few years from now and what if her leukemia progresses to the point where we need a match? What do we do then?” Spring’s gaze lingered on Hannah.
Her elbow on the table, Doree rested her chin on the back of her hand and considered Spring. “You mean, Spring, the perfect daughter, that we should go against our mother’s wishes?”
“That is exactly what I mean.” Spring pulled her shoulders back, sitting up straighter.
“As I live and breathe.” Doree shook her head as if she couldn’t believe her ears.
Hannah waved an impatient hand toward her younger sister. This wasn’t time for teasing. “You mean without telling Mom or even Dad?”
Spring moved forward in her chair. “Yes. If you are there while they’re mov
ing in—”
“Right!” Doree grinned. “You could look for Mom’s adoption papers. See if any names or places were listed.”
Hannah frowned. She understood Spring’s reasoning, but doing what she asked went against everything they’d been taught by their parents. She gazed at Spring and recognized the same worry and doubt in her eyes. “I don’t like going behind Mom’s back.”
“I wouldn’t suggest it, either, under normal circumstances.” Spring’s voice had thickened with emotion.
“But it’s for Mom’s good and Dad’s,” Doree said. “They’ve been married thirty-five years. Moving is stressful, but not as much as losing a life partner!”
Wishing Doree hadn’t voiced those awful words, Hannah stared at her hands. “I will have to take some time to think and pray about this.”
Doree piped up. “Hey, I’ve already started—”
“We’ll all pray about it.” Spring warned Doree with a pointed look. “But it will be your decision, Hannah. I wouldn’t ask you to do something you thought was wrong.”
Hannah nodded. She knew Spring was being kind, but the reality of the situation was that she alone would carry the burden of this decision, one that might violate her conscience and could mean life or death to their mother.
Chapter One
Two weeks later, with Dad’s hand-drawn map on the seat beside her, Hannah glanced ahead and made a right turn at Humphreys Road. Her parents’ future home should be about three-fourths of a mile ahead on the right. After another week of cloudy weather and heavy rain, today had dawned bright and warm.
On her way to Petite Portage, she’d chosen to take the back roads through kelly-green cornfields and sage-green cabbage fields. She’d stopped for lunch at a small hometown restaurant. There, in a lively conversation with the cook, she’d picked up two new recipes, one for preparing wild pheasant and one for wild duck. They’d make great topics in her fall columns.
