CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Seth wasn’t really surprised when Karen called to say the paperwork for the two arrests was taking a lot longer than she’d expected. Actually, he was glad. He spent the early evening rehashing the day’s adventures with the girls, then sent them off to get ready for bed.
He was just checking on them—and telling them for the fourth time to stop talking and get to sleep—when he heard the front door open and close. He hurried down the stairs and met Karen on her way up.
“I’ve been trying to get the girls to settle down and go to sleep,” he whispered.
The sound of a girlish giggle wafted down the stairs.
Karen smiled. “It’s good to hear them having fun.”
“I just wish they’d go to sleep,” Seth muttered. He had plans for the evening that didn’t include two teenage girls.
“I promised them I’d say good-night.”
“Have pity. It took me an hour to get the lights off.” He took her hand and led her back down the stairs. “Come on into the family room. I’ve got a fire going. Are you hungry?”
“I had a sandwich at the station.”
“How about something to drink?” he asked as they passed through the kitchen. “Some wine? A bourbon?”
“A Coke sounds good.”
He stopped long enough to grab a cold bottle of Coke before following her into the family room. He gestured her into the upholstered rocker that had frequently been occupied by his wife, then handed the Coke to her and sat himself down beside her.
She took a long drink before setting the bottle on the table between them.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
The rocker creaked as she moved it with her toe. “I’m okay. It’s been a long day.”
“You were amazing.”
She smiled. “Thanks. So were you.”
“What did I do?”
“You survived an hour at the mall shopping for bras.”
Seth laughed and settled back in his chair. “You’ll appreciate what happened after you left.” He told her about the teenage boy returning the girls’ packages, and what Miranda had said about the boy having his hands all over her bra.
Her laugh was lilting, and he felt his wounded heart lift with the sound of it.
“I have no idea what I’m going to do when some boy shows up on my doorstep with plans to actually put his hands all over my daughter’s bra—while she’s wearing it,” he said.
She stopped the rocker and leaned forward. “I’m sure you’ll know the right thing to say when Miranda starts dating.”
“I’m going to need a female perspective,” he said.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who—”
“I think I’ve already found someone. I mean, I hope I have.” He rose and took the few steps that put him close enough to take her hands and pull her to her feet and into his arms.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he said as he held her close.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” She hesitated, then added, “It isn’t too soon?”
He leaned back so he could meet her questioning gaze in the firelight. “I knew right away that Amy was the one for me. We were happy until our life together was cut short. My feelings for you took me by surprise. But I can’t deny they exist.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “Because I have feelings for you, too.”
He waited for her to turn her face up to his, then moved his mouth the short distance to hers. Her lips were soft and trembled against his. She tasted sweet. Her kiss was different from Amy’s, but no less arousing.
“What is Miranda going to think about this?” she murmured against his lips.
“I think it’s great!” she said, stepping around the corner of the family room.
Seth let go of Karen as if she was a hot potato and demanded, “What are you doing out of bed?”
“I heard the front door open, and when Karen didn’t come upstairs I decided to come downstairs and tell her good-night.”
“You’ve said good-night,” Seth said firmly. “Now go to bed.”
“I saw you kissing her, Daddy,” Miranda said.
Seth crossed his arms defensively and said, “Well?”
Miranda went to Karen, who opened her arms to his daughter. As she hugged Karen, Miranda turned to face him and said, “I like her, Daddy. I’m glad you like her, too.”
“If you want this relationship to flourish, I suggest you make yourself scarce. Pronto!” Seth said.
Miranda grinned, looked at Karen, then her dad and said, “I’m out of here!”
Seth smiled, pulled Karen into his arms and said, “Now, where were we?”
Dear Reader,
This was one of the most difficult writing projects I’ve ever encountered—because I find the existence of sexual slavery in America tragic and the fate of women forced into prostitution by human traffickers terrible to imagine. All I could see was darkness.
Fortunately, there are people like Katherine Chon, who started the Polaris Project. Polaris is the name for the North Star, the brightest star, which led the slaves to freedom along the Underground Railroad. When Katherine discovered human traffickers victimizing women right around the corner from where she lived, she figured out a way to change their fate. The Polaris Project is the result of her determination to help women escape modern-day sexual slavery by providing the support victims need to find their way to freedom.
Today, the Polaris Project is one of the largest anti-trafficking organizations in the United States and Japan. Katherine’s actions prove that one person who cares can make the world a better place. Using Katherine’s actions as a guide, I wrote a novella about a father and daughter—and a policewoman—whose caring actions make a difference in the lives of others.
The Polaris Project is now funded partly by the government, but it also depends on donations of time and money from volunteers. Find out more about how you can make a difference at www.polarisproject.org. You’ll be glad you did.
Joan Johnston
RHONDA CLEMONS
ZOË INSTITUTE
Until April 1997 Rhonda Clemons enjoyed the perfect life in Warner, Oklahoma. She had a master’s degree, a good job, three children and a happy marriage. She had a strong support network of friends and a rich spiritual life. Then one day Rhonda’s husband, Michael, came home with tragic news. During a regular exam his dentist had discovered a small sore on the side of his tongue, and it had turned out to be cancer.
Nothing was ever the same again.
Yet amid the chaos and pain of the diagnosis, and the chemotherapy and radiation treatments, Rhonda and Michael received incredible—some would say miraculous—news. Rhonda was pregnant again with the couple’s fourth child. As Michael’s strength waned, Rhonda’s pregnancy blossomed. But despite aggressive treatments and Michael’s own strength, he died a mere eleven months after learning he had the disease. Less than three weeks later, Rhonda delivered their youngest son, Noah Benjamin.
Suddenly Rhonda was a single mother with four children to care for, nurture and feed. And although Rhonda is blessed with a natural can-do attitude and energy to burn, she was not prepared for life as a solo parent.
“I had a master’s degree and a career. I was in church and I had a good family. I was treated well, and we had life insurance. I had this pile of advantages and it was still so difficult for me,” she says today.
Through the haze of sleepless nights caring for a newborn and grief over her loss, Rhonda turned to her friends, family and faith for support. Still, she was exhausted and overwhelmed. So in a flash of inspiration fueled by desperation, Rhonda found babysitting for her children and booked a weekend alone at a cabin in the woods. She needed time to heal, write in her journal and think about what she would do with the rest of her life.
It was in that cabin that an idea came to her that would change not only her own life, but also the lives of countless other single mothers facing hardship. The
idea manifested itself as Zoë Institute, a faith-based, long-term support agency for single women and their kids.
“Half of our families are trying to raise children as single moms with none of the advantages I had. They’ve never been treated well in a relationship, they have no education and no career, and I’m thinking, ‘How in the world do they do it?’” she says.
The Greek word zoë means “life,” and it’s that concept that steers everything Rhonda does.
“It’s what I want to be,” says Rhonda. “I don’t want to be a Band-Aid. I want a place where these women can come long-term and find out they are valuable, where they can be educated, mentored, encouraged and supported as they become the best family possible.”
Inspiration and dedication for single moms
Rhonda first expected Zoë, established in 2004, to run as a part-time side project to accompany her paying work as a professional grant writer. The original goal was to help 100 single-mom families that first year. But after the organization’s big, splashy launch—a well-attended conference on Valentine’s Day weekend for single moms and their kids—word spread. Soon 200 to 300 women per month were contacting Zoë for help and guidance. Today that number has increased to between 300 and 400 families per month.
Although the main concept has remained the same—offering single mothers a place to visit and connect with other single mothers, while receiving professional and personal guidance—the number of services has grown.
Today Zoë Institute offers educational programs through support groups to help women kick negative relationship patterns with abusive spouses and boyfriends and choose healthy relationships down the road. Trained volunteers give classes in parenting, boundary setting and life skills. Zoë also gives women one-on-one mentoring opportunities with positive role models. Finally, Zoë Institute operates the “Hands of Grace” ware house, which distributes diapers, clothing, shoes, toys, furniture, appliances and hygiene products to struggling families in the area.
Under Rhonda’s leadership, Zoë’s success stories abound. For example, Zoë Institute once reached out to a local homeless family living under a bridge. They now have a house to call their own.
In another case a couple of years ago, a woman came to Rhonda clutching a two-year-old toddler and a five-week-old baby, desperate for any help she could receive. She had just left her abusive husband, who had belittled and abused her physically for years. Rhonda’s voice softens as she describes the meeting.
“She came into my office and couldn’t even look at me. She was so beaten down, all she could do was cry,” says Rhonda. “This lady told me horrible stories of abuse. Her ex-husband even regulated the number of toilet paper squares she could use every day.”
Rhonda hooked the woman up with emergency supplies and support groups to help guide her through feelings of despair and inadequacy. The charity also steered her into the Habitat for Humanity network.
Today the woman is a new person. She divorced her husband, terminated his parental rights and now lives in a new home with her children.
“She’s graduating college in a few weeks,” says Rhonda, sounding enthusiastic. “Women get into this victim mentality, but with good education, good information and a support system, they can make it.”
Working together with a mission
Ask Rhonda what most surprises her about these past few years since Zoë got off the ground and she’s quick to point to her sixty volunteers. Rhonda herself takes a very small salary for her work at Zoë Institute, but her volunteers are involved in everything, including running workshops, teaching Celebrate Recovery addiction groups in local detention centers and picking up, sorting and cleaning community drop-off items. She says she continues to be amazed by their dedication.
“I didn’t know people would just work for you day after day and not get paid. I didn’t know people actually did that kind of stuff,” she says.
But they do, particularly when funds are tight, as they are for Zoë Institute. Still, Rhonda is a true motivator. Often out of the house by 6:30 a.m. and back again after 9:00 p.m., she’s a whirlwind of activity and nerve.
“I have a lot of energy. I’m just one of those people who hits the ground running at 5:00 a.m. and go, go, go,” she says, laughing and mentioning that she might like to hit the motivational-speaker circuit someday. “I’m like a tornado. People are either sucked in and they get as excited about life as I do—or they’re scared away!”
In reality, Rhonda remains humble, relying on her staff, volunteers, children and her faith to keep herself grounded. She says all these elements come together to give her community a place like Zoë Institute.
“It’s not me—I’m just a vessel that God uses,” she says. “I was simply brave enough to step out in faith on this idea—and all of this exploded!”
For more information, visit www.zoeinstitute.com or write to Zoë Institute, 1009 S. Muskogee Avenue, Tahlequah, OK, 74464.
ROBYN CARR
SHELTERING HEARTS
ROBYN CARR
Robyn Carr is a RITA® Award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including the critically acclaimed Virgin River series. Robyn and her husband live in Las Vegas, Nevada. You can visit Robyn Carr’s Web site at www.RobynCarr.com.
CHAPTER ONE
As Dory Finn pulled her twelve-year-old Pathfinder up the drive to her little house in the country, she noticed the engine was skipping, and something was making a very ugly noise. She tried to ignore that. She had thought it was the battery because of the way the car wanted to die at stoplights, but this was something new and sounded much more serious.
The battery problem she could handle. She’d spent the past couple of days shifting into Park at stop signs and lights, and revving the engine to keep it going until she could replace the battery. Now it was apparent her problem could be bigger than a battery. “Come on, old girl…” she said to the car. “Come on…” She just didn’t have the money for a major car repair. And even a new used car was out of the question.
The little house that her uncle Joe had left her wasn’t in a regular neighborhood, but on the outskirts of Fortuna, California, in a group of fairly isolated houses. She had very few neighbors, but there was a new guy just moving in next door. Clay Kennedy. A big moving box balanced on one shoulder, Clay turned toward her noisy car. And he frowned—undoubtedly at the expensive sound the Pathfinder had just made.
She frowned as well, but her attention moved from the noise of a sick car to the shoulders on that man. The Realtor had introduced them a couple of weeks ago when Clay was due to close escrow on his house, which was almost identical to her own little abode. Actually, all the houses on the wide bend in the river were alike, having been vacation homes at one point.
Apparently Clay had lived in the area his entire life. He was a firefighter—thus the wide strong shoulders, flat belly and narrow hips. Seemed like a nice enough guy, but a flirtatious bachelor was exactly what Dory didn’t need.
The minute she put the car in Park, the engine quit. She bit back a curse.
“It died again, Mama,” eight-year-old Sophie said.
“Dead as a doorknob,” said six-year-old Austin.
Dory had corrected him once—it was doornail. But when she couldn’t explain what a doornail was or why it would be dead, she had given up.
Clay put the box down on his porch and turned toward her. He mopped his brow and neck with a rag, then stuck it in his back pocket. There were big perspiration stains under his arms and around his neck, and Dory asked herself how it was possible that sweat could look so good on a man. And then he came toward her, taking long strides across their wide front yards. She got out of the truck.
“Hey,” he said. “Dory, right?”
“Right,” she said. “And you’re…?”
“Clay Kennedy,” he said, smiling.
Surely he couldn’t have guessed that she’d known his name all along, that she’d remembered it. Nah.
“Not as bad as it sounds, I’m sure. I’ll take care of it,” she said.
“Is there a… Well, is there a husband or boyfriend who can give you a hand with that?” he asked.
“I’ve got it handled,” she said.
He put his hands in his pockets and smiled lazily. “Single?”
“As it happens,” she said.
“Well, what a coincidence,” he said, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “So am I.”
“Yes,” she said, “that’s what you told me when we met. Remember?”
“Ah. So you remember that part, huh? Good.” He peered into the car. “They’re awful quiet in there.” He winked at her kids before he straightened. “They always that well behaved?”
“Yes, they’re very good,” she said, but what she thought was—sometimes she wished they weren’t. Kids who came from abusive or dysfunctional homes were often a little too good, walking on eggshells, without realizing they were being overly cautious so as not to set anything off. Although she’d been the sole parent since Austin was two and Sophie four, she worried sometimes that they were still reacting to the craziness of their very early childhood. She opened the back door. “Let’s go, you two. Come on.”
But then they got out of the car like normal kids, grabbing backpacks, racing each other to the house, Austin tripping to go splat and Sophie laughing and making fun, beating him to the front door. That comforted Dory.
She started to follow when Clay said, “Dory?”
She turned. “Hmm?”
“I don’t suppose you’d like to go out sometime?”
“I don’t suppose,” she said, but at least she smiled when she said it. Then she turned again and moved on.
“Why not?” She turned back and saw him pull the neck of his T-shirt away from his body and sniff. “I’ll shower and everything.”
More Than Words, Volume 6 Page 8
