INTRODUCTION
Dream a Little Dream by Ronie Kendig
Afghanistan War, present day
Jamie Russo and Sean Wolfe are hiding behind the mistakes of others and avoiding their dreams. When a Civil War–era coin changes the course of Sean’s life, Jamie tries to see through Sean’s anger and pain to love him the way God does. But in doing so, she is forced to face her own fears. Will they both surrender fear and dare to dream a little dream?
A Love Meant to Be by Dineen Miller
Vietnam War, 1973
After a whirlwind romance, Alan James and Gail Gibson plan to reunite at Central Park after Alan returns from the Vietnam War, but the lies and deceit of Gail’s sister foil their reunion. Thirty-eight years later, Alan’s niece, Jamie, makes her own plans to bring the couple back together. But will a surprise reunion prove that their love was meant to be?
To Sing Another Day by Kim Vogel Sawyer
World War II, 1941
When Helen Wolfe’s fiancé abandons her, she is forced to relinquish her dreams of becoming a singer and seeks employment to provide for her family. Desperately in need of money, she pawns a family heirloom—an inscribed gold piece dating back to the Civil War. But her act of desperation ignites sympathy in pawnshop owner Bernie O’Day’s heart. Will Helen allow him to become her champion, giving her a reason to sing another day?
Beauty from Ashes by MaryLu Tyndall
Civil War, 1865
As the war ends, William Wolfe is excited to see his fiancée, Annie. But he is devastated at the sight of the war-torn country he returns to and the repulsion he receives from Annie at his war-scarred face. When he finds a gold coin he had given to Annie as a token of his love among her sister’s possessions, William begins to suspect the truth. Can he overcome his pain to find beauty from ashes?
Dream a Little Dream © 2012 by Ronie Kendig
A Love Meant to Be © 2012 by Dineen Miller
To Sing Another Day © 2012 by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Beauty from Ashes © 2012 by MaryLu Tyndall
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-593-9
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-013-2
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-047-7
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Dream a Little Dream: Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
A Love Meant to Be
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Dream a Little Dream: Part 2
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
To Sing Another Day
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Dream a Little Dream: Part 3
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Beauty from Ashes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Dream a Little Dream: Part 4
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About the Authors
DREAM A LITTLE DREAM
PART 1
by Ronie Kendig
Dedication
To All the Wounded Soldiers and Veterans—Thank you for your sacrifices!
Chapter 1
You can’t be serious.” Jamie Russo tossed her dance bag onto the hardwood floor and rushed around the counter to her uncle. “Closing? But this is your dream!”
Sunlight twinkled off the glass shadow box that held commendation medals dating all the way back to the Civil War. This small corner of history just a few blocks from Central Park West had been his dream, to collect war memorabilia, research the pieces, find out who they belonged to—if possible—and return them to the rightful heirs. It’d allowed Uncle Alan James to find himself, find peace within, after a brutal tour of duty in Vietnam—an experience that left him haunted and alone. When he’d returned, the woman he’d promised to marry was gone.
Jamie believed with all her heart that he kept the shop running because of his yearning to find Gail Gibson, his true love. All these years, he’d never given up on her.
Until now.
“Uncle Alan, please.” She touched his arm as she looked up at the man who’d been like a father to her since her own had died fifteen years ago and her mother before him. “This isn’t right. You can’t give up on Gail. I know she’s out there.” Who wouldn’t wait for a man like her uncle? Handsome and in his midsixties, he was intelligent and had a quiet strength.
“This isn’t about her.” He thunked a wad of twine-bound letters on a box. “It’s about me moving on. I’ve pined for what will never be. Wasted forty years doing that. I’m through.”
She glanced at the crate he’d set the letters on—and gasped at the wolf’s head burned into the wood. “That’s from the Wolfe Estate.” She jerked back to him. “You’re getting rid of that?” The situation was worse than she realized.
“Jamie, listen, I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m ready to get on with my life.” Decades of a broken heart had gouged lines into his gentle face. “Please… just let it rest.”
“But… but that crate. It’s from Mr. Wolfe’s estate.” It didn’t make any sense. “You said you’d never part with it, that he was like a father to you.”
His shoulders sagged. “I already said it; I’m moving on.”
Her heart crashed into her stomach. Whatever had set him off, collapsed his hopes, she couldn’t just stand here. She looked again at the burnt lettering. “Let me keep the Wolfe crate.”
His gaze came to hers, thoughtful. Then stern. “No, I don’t think that’s wise.” Holding her shoulders, he smiled. “Jamie-girl, you’ve given up your whole life, all your dreams, to help me here.” Light glinted off the counter and reflected in his eyes, giving them an unusual
shimmer. “I can’t let you do that anymore.” Pressing his lips to her forehead, he gave her arms a quick squeeze. He jerked around, before disappearing into the stockroom. Was that a tear rolling down his cheek?
What happened? What made him give up, after all these years?
“Daron Nelson will be here any minute for those boxes,” Uncle Alan called from the back office. “Let me know if I don’t hear him come in.”
Trying to sort through the shock, Jamie slumped against the counter. The crate poked into her shoulder as if nudging her attention. She eyed the bundle of letters. The rhythmic scrawl on the envelope addressed to PFC Sean Wolfe, and subsequently stamped RETURN TO SENDER.
Who was Sean Wolfe? Mr. Wolfe’s son? She tiptoed and noted the postmark. Only ten years ago. So it couldn’t be his son, because his son was—
Duh. Of course. Patrick Wolfe, Uncle Alan’s best friend… “Who is dead.”
So, was Sean Wolfe a younger brother to Patrick? Her mind raced through what little—very little—her uncle had shared about the Wolfes. In fact, it’d been next to nothing except to mention Patrick and the heartache he’d brought his father, Mr. Wolfe. But… hadn’t Uncle Alan said something about Gail being connected to Patrick Wolfe?
Light glinted and slid along the wall, pulling her attention to the opening door where the sun reflected off the glass and burst into the dingy shop. Daron Nelson stepped in with a grin. “Hey, Jamie.” He pointed above the doorframe. “Guess the bell’s not working.”
“Yeah,” she said absently, her mind still on the Wolfes.
If… what if she could find this Sean Wolfe—assuming he was still alive—maybe he would know what happened to Gail. Why she never showed up on Bow Bridge New Year’s Eve, forty-one years ago.
Her heart did a pirouette at the thought. Jamie hiked her dance bag over her shoulder, lifted the Wolfe crate along with the letters from the counter, and motioned to Daron. “He’s in the back.”
Scurrying out the door, she whispered a prayer: “God, I know hurt is driving Uncle Alan’s decision. Please… help me help him.”
Adrenaline sped her down Seventy-Fourth Street and back to her apartment. After dance, she’d track down this man, find Gail Gibson, and make her uncle’s dream come true.
I just can’t live like this, knowing you’ll be gone, that you could die any minute. So I’m returning your ring. Let’s just move on with our lives, okay? You’ll always be dear to me.
Sean Wolfe sat on the edge of the mattress staring across the half-empty loft he’d occupied for the last six weeks since his medical discharge, re-reading the letter from his onetime fiancée. Her words, cruel and unfeeling, haunted him and drew his gaze down to the crumpled letter in his hands. The infamous Dear John letter had messed up his focus, messed with his head—and nearly gotten him killed.
“Dear.” He’d given her his mother’s antique ring. Devoted his heart and mind to staying alive to come home and marry her. And all she could say was that he was “dear"? She’d ditched him. While he was locked in combat in a hot, stinking desert.
Grief twisted and churned through his chest, dropping into his gut with a weight that left him nauseated.
He was through with dating. Through with women.
The soft thump of feet on the stairs to his loft snapped him out of his stupor. He shoved the letter beneath the pillow and stuffed his hands into a cobalt blue T-shirt.
“Why do you keep reading that letter?” Aunt Mitzi’s voice rang out in the open-concept area. With only gym equipment, a small desk, and a bed, noise carried easily and loudly. Except when certain aunts glided across floors barefooted. How long had she watched him? “Why?” she repeated.
“To remind me not to get stupid again.” He moved to his all-in-one gym, where he sat on the bench and put on his socks and shoes. Standing, he tucked his wallet in his jeans.
“Stupid?” She folded her arms, the burgundy pantsuit highlighting the hints of red in her graying hair. “Sean, that girl wanted something you couldn’t give her.”
“My time?” he challenged.
“No, happiness.” She drew the letter out from under the pillow and folded it neatly. “She didn’t know what she wanted—still doesn’t.”
“She wanted someone who could be around.”
“No, she wanted a hunk on her arm to make her look good.” Aunt Mitzi shrugged. “She’s a Colhagen, what do you expect?”
The words should’ve made him feel better. But they only reminded him that he wasn’t good enough. Wouldn’t ever be, especially now that his neck looked like a failed art project.
She peered up at him and grinned.
Oh no. He knew that look. “What?”
“Merrie Fitzpatrick is on her way over.” She seemed to be enjoying something. “She’s bringing her daughter.”
Sean plucked the letter from her manicured hands, lifted his watch and phone, and said, “I’ve got to meet someone.”
Aunt Mitzi arched an eyebrow. “Oh, do you? A girl?”
“A guy,” he corrected. “Says he has some letters from my grandfather.”
A shadow flickered over her face. “Oh.”
Lifting his hoodie from the lateral tower, he hesitated at her expression. “What’s wrong?”
Ever graceful, she lifted her chin and flashed a debutante smile. “Why would anything be wrong?”
Sean shrugged as he snagged his shades from the bed stand. “After this meeting, I’m heading over to Harry’s, so don’t plan on me for dinner.”
“Glad to see you’re getting out. It’s about time.” She nodded at him ruefully. “But you’ll miss Merrie and her daughter, I’m afraid.”
“That’s the point.” Sean hustled down the stairs to the foyer of his aunt’s immaculate home and stepped onto the front stoop. He slipped on his polarized sunglasses just as a Cadillac slid to the curb. Sean strode down the street, ignoring the shrill call of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
He didn’t want to be rude, but he knew once the social elite females saw his marred neck, they’d suddenly be disinterested. That he could do without. As he jogged, he laid out his game plan for the day—heading over to Harry’s to see if he could finagle a job out of him. At least he could report back to Aunt Mitzi with a good conscience that he’d looked for one. She’d been patient—mostly. Even he had to admit a month was more than enough time. But when a guy nearly has his head blown off, it wrecks him.
Wreck. Yeah. That’s me. Pain rolled through his shoulders and crawled into his neck, but he ignored it and kept moving. He’d have to beat the symptoms. Overcome the traumatic brain injury.
He rounded the corner and slowed at the sight of the sidewalk café. Packed! He groaned as he felt the telltale thump of a headache. Stretching to look at the faces of the patrons, he hoped to find this Jamie guy and get the letters. Then bail on the crowd scene ASAP.
He walked toward the fenced-off outdoor eating area, searching for the contact. Backing up, he toyed with just bailing. E-mail the guy, rearrange a quieter setting. Sean swung around—and collided with someone.
A woman yelped.
Sean braced her shoulders. “Sorry! Are you okay?”
Pure honey eyes looked into his, yanked the good sense right out of him. Color shaded her cheeks as she ducked her chin. “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks.” She picked up a bag from the ground, cast a sidelong look at him, then entered the café.
Sean trailed her into the teeming area, admiring her graceful stride. In the pink pea coat, white scarf, and gray jeans and boots, she had elegance written all over her. Too much like Aunt Mitzi’s kind. Which pushed him to the right when she went left.
Guess his contact wasn’t here. Sean grimaced at the crowded café and searched for somewhere to sit. Finally, he spied an empty table to his left and headed that way, all the while watching for the man. Hand on a chair, he jerked it back.
Another groan of the iron against the cement drew his gaze to the right.
Pea Coat Girl had drawn out a chair—a
t the same table. “Oh.” Her gaze skipped around the area. “I… I’m sorry.” She apparently realized the same thing he had—only one empty table left. This one.
“Go ahead,” Sean said, stepping away. “I’m not staying.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” The wind whipped at her tied-back hair, freeing a few strands. She tucked them behind her ear. “I didn’t plan to stay either. I’m meeting someone.”
Lucky guy. The thought struck him center mass. Where had that thought come from? He had a new rule in this new life—no girls.
Time for an exit strategy. He motioned to the chair. “Go ahead.” He skirted around the other tables and aimed for the exit.
“You’re not Sean Wolfe, are you?”
Chapter 2
Incredible Mediterranean-blue eyes spun her stomach in crazy circles. Near-black hair, cut military short, framed a strong jaw… a jaw marred by a horrendous scar. With one hand in a pocket, he ran the other over the back of his neck as he came back to the table. His jacket was partially unzipped, revealing a bright blue shirt that made his eyes intense.
He cocked his head. “Yeah… do I know you?”
“No, not formally.” Heart thrumming, Jamie reached into her satchel and drew out the bundle. “We’ve e-mailed.”
Confusion twisted his handsome features. “We have?”
Didn’t he remember? Why else would he be here? She held up the bundle. “The letters from your grandfather…”
His eyes widened, shock brightening them. “You’re Jamie Russo?”
The laugh trickled down her throat and evaporated at the dark shadow that fell over his expression. “According to my passport.”
He snorted and looked around the café, shaking his head. “I thought I was meeting a guy.”
Why did he look mad? Jamie held the letters, wrapping the twine binding around her finger. “Um, sorry?” She wrinkled her nose. Why was she apologizing for being a girl? She passed him the bundle. “These are the letters I told you about.”
He rifled through the stack without disturbing the twine. “Well, thanks.”
Central Park Rendezvous Page 1
