Her Redeeming Faith

by Carolyn Greene

  Thinking he found it silly, she started to shake her fingers loose, but he stopped her.

  “I kind of like it,” he said with a grin. “It emu-ses me. In fact”—he folded his own hand to match hers—“I might even start doing it myself. And there’s no time like the present.”

  With that, he touched his fingertips to hers and made a smooching noise.

  She laughed with delight, her voice seeming to echo in the empty sanctuary. Perhaps the echo was actually God, joining in their laughter.

  And then Gray really kissed her.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you have enjoyed Her Redeeming Faith. Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed Ruthie and Gray’s story, I would so appreciate a review. You have no idea how much it means! Blessings to you!

  Please look for the next book in the Southern Blessings series, Her Family Secret. To read an except of Savannah’s story, please turn the page.

  Much love and light!

  —Carolyn

  Excerpt: Her Family Secret

  “They’re not pound puppies, you know.”

  The woman’s words, a statement of the obvious, oozed out in a slow, Southern drawl so warm and cordial that she could have been offering him a glass of sugary-sweet tea.

  A seasoned newspaper reporter, Beckett Rhoads understood that something deeper had prompted her to tell him what they both already knew. She clearly wanted nothing to do with this series of articles he’d been assigned to write, and since it would benefit the agency she worked so tirelessly for, he wanted to know why.

  He closed the note pad and tucked it into his pocket. The blonde with the Marilyn Monroe vibe was the final, and somewhat reluctant, interview subject from New Kin Family Services.

  She’d responded to his questions with perfunctory answers — information that others on the adoption agency’s board of directors had already shared. Her honey-dripped intonation flowed thicker than the usual Virginia accent on this rainy April day, and she seemed intent on protecting the foster kids, though from what he wasn’t sure.

  He hadn’t written down the kind of descriptive information about her that he liked to attach to the quotes in his articles. Hadn’t needed to. He’d already taken mental notes that were guaranteed to stick with him for a long time after this Forever Family newspaper series was over.

  Such as the fact that her don’t-mess-with-me sass was almost hidden by the sweetness of Southern gentility, hospitality, and church-like reverence. Almost, but not quite, as evidenced by her pointed dig about pound puppies … all delivered with a warm smile.

  “Thank you for pointing that out,” he said with what he intended as a disarming smile of his own. “I’ll be sure to include a disclaimer in my introductory article ... just in case, you know, our readers accidentally mistake one of these kids for a beagle.”

  Instead of laughing at his attempt at humor, she took on an air of concern. “Honey, I’m so sorry you weren’t the last comic standing on that TV competition. Hopefully, you’ll do better writing serious material for the Richmond Daily Dispatch.”

  Good one. “Thank you for your concern, Ms. Lee. I—”

  “Call me Savannah.”

  He nodded. A fitting name to go with that honey-thick drawl.

  “Tell me something.” Savannah put a hand on her hip in a gesture that fell halfway between flirtation and challenge, and she offered a smile capable of making most men pause for a double-take. To be honest, that’s exactly what he did. “What,” she asked, “makes a person want to pry into people’s private lives and expose their secrets for all the world to see?”

  Scratch the initial Marilyn Monroe impression. On second glance, despite the blonde hair that fell in loose curls at her shoulders and blue eyes that were even more attention grabbing than the figure flattering vintage dress she wore, she seemed less bombshell and more … knowing. Like a Sunday school teacher who was wise not only to students’ actions of the previous week but to their motives as well.

  Unbidden, his gaze drifted to her left ring finger. He needed that information for the article, he told himself.

  It was bare.

  “Other people’s lives have always fascinated me,” he admitted. “Much in the way reality TV shows captivate viewers who crave a bit of drama or whose own lives lack sufficient challenges.”

  He wondered if she might be a reality TV junkie like himself, but she gave no indication either way.

  Savannah nodded. “Which of those two camps do you fall into?”

  Beck thought about it. “The latter, I suppose.”

  He couldn’t help it that most things had come easily to him or that charm had been his birthright. By grace or by accident — who knew? — he’d been born into a conventional family with faith-filled parents who remained happily married after thirty-some years together, almost an oddity these days.

  He and his siblings had been blessed with enough of everything they needed, plus some they didn’t, and their police detective father and social worker mother had instilled in them the importance of helping those less fortunate.

  Which was why he was standing here in the fellowship hall at Dogwood Memorial Church, interviewing prospective parents and watching foster kids try to present their best, if not necessarily good, behavior in hopes that a match for a forever family would be made.

  A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Savannah followed his gaze.

  Case in point was Campbell, the brown haired, brown eyed, brown skinned boy with a distorted nostril, misshapen lip, and baby teeth that angled like corn kernels from a half-eaten cob. Beck grinned. Cute kid despite the physical imperfections.

  A forty-ish couple tried to engage the boy in a game of hacky sack, but Campbell was having none of it. Earlier, the boy had been more interested in the electronic tablet Beck had used than in answering questions, but Beck had gotten enough to fill a paragraph or so about him. Now the child seemed to have had his fill of all the activity and attention that surrounded him.

  “Uh-oh.” Savannah stood on alert, apparently poised to spring to action if necessary, but held back, presumably to watch how this played out. “Lucky you. You’re about to get both challenge and drama.”

  “A story with a happy ending would be fine,” he said. But he had to admit that a bit of conflict would make for a more riveting story.

  The series of articles he’d been assigned to write for the Daily Dispatch would be strong, possibly even award winning like a number of his previous pieces in the “Back Roads with Beckett Rhoads” column. But, despite overwhelmingly positive responses to his writing (“pure perfection” was his favorite reader comment), the editor wanted more before she would go to bat for him on the promotion to hard-news journalist he wanted.

  His editor had said that, for his feature articles, she wanted a piece of himself in his writing. Now, what was that supposed to mean? Journalists were not supposed to insert themselves into their stories, but he was certain that’s not what she meant. Besides, he already dug in deeper than many of his colleagues … finding out what made his subjects tick, teasing out emotional angles and milking them for all they were worth, and wrapping up the stories with a powerful takeaway message. Hence, all the awards. He had to be doing something right. But the editor insisted he had more to offer that he wasn’t tapping into.

  Campbell’s voice rose higher, and Savannah held out her hand in front of Beck’s chest as if to keep the reporter from rushing to help the couple deal with the child … something he hadn’t intended to do. But after a moment, when the kid went into meltdown mode, Beck picked up the small sack of toys at his feet.

  He hadn’t planned to distribute them to the children until the match party was over, but now seemed as good a time as any.

  Obviously having already anticipated his move, Savannah cut in front of him, her skirt hem swishing with the rhythm of her quick but irregular strides.

  She spoke to the couple who stepped away, apparently at her reques
t, then stooped and said something to the dark-haired little boy who had momentarily quieted and now grinned shyly at the attention. The kid seemed to want to move closer to Savannah. For a hug, maybe?

  “Go for it, little guy,” Beck muttered under his breath.

  But the kid suddenly backed away, his small fists clenched, and his voice again rose higher. When Campbell turned this way, it became even more evident there was something off about his mouth. Beck wondered whether it was the physical imperfection or the tantrums that had caused Campbell to become a two-time adoption failure. Both times the boy had been returned to foster care, and the agency’s director had expressed concern about Campbell finding a permanent home. A “forever family,” as the newspaper series was to be titled.

  Most people’s first reaction — and maybe his own, too — would be to give the boy an encouraging pat on the shoulder or pull him into a comforting embrace, but Beck had been briefed that such an overture could serve to escalate a tense situation even further.

  Still kneeling, Savannah caught Beck’s gaze and lifted a shoulder as if to say that this was what she and the rest of the staffers had cautioned the guests about. Many of the children who lacked the grounding of a stable family also lacked the ability to understand or control their own emotions. All anyone could do was ride out the inevitable explosions and hope for the best.

  By now Campbell was sprawled flat on the floor, his sneakers pounding a frustrated tattoo against the tile. With seemingly infinite patience, Savannah gestured to the nice couple who now sat at a table, coloring with some children. Although they interacted with the little ones, their attention was fixed on Campbell, the boy who’d been a preliminary match for them.

  “Why don’t you go over there and color some pictures with those people,” she suggested. “They seem really nice.”

  Unfortunately, Campbell wanted no part of the mingling that was expected of him, and tears overflowed onto his cheeks.

  Who knew what had set him off? Beck had been warned that children with unstable pasts could be unpredictable at times, and Campbell seemed to be a textbook case. Rather than risk another meltdown at this important event, Beck gave a quick, silent prayer for the child and decided this would be a good time to distract Campbell with a toy from the sack he’d brought for the kids.

  “Come on, dude.” He stepped forward with the bag in tow. “Let’s see what kind of surprise is in this bag for you.”

  Savannah slanted a quelling glance his way, her red lips pressed together in disapproval, but Beck was just glad the tactic worked. Campbell got up off the floor and chose a plastic action figure garbed in Goliath-style medieval armor. Beck showed the boy how to operate the lighted sword by pressing a button on the character’s shoulder, and Campbell promptly forgot his tears.

  But now they’d attracted the attention of the other children, and Beck passed out gifts to the rest of them.

  “All’s well that ends well,” he said in response to Savannah’s concerned gaze.

  Happy with the distraction, Campbell entertained himself by repeatedly flicking the button on the action figure’s arm so it drew the lighted sword over and over. A moment later, the overworked plastic arm snapped off the toy.

  Stunned by the disappointing turn of events, the boy stood in the middle of the church’s fellowship hall, alone in the middle of the crowd, and sobbed his little heart out. Campbell made no effort to seek comfort from any of the many adults who would have gladly wiped away his tears.

  Instead, the kid made a beeline back to Beck and angrily thrust the action figure into his hands. The action seemed not to be in the hope that he would fix it, but rather an accusatory gesture for having given him a toy that couldn’t withstand his level of play. Unfortunately, it was easy to see that the broken plastic and the cord dangling from the toy’s shoulder would prevent the figure from ever working properly again.

  Beck knelt to Campbell’s level, all the while feeling Savannah’s gaze supervising the interaction. Under other circumstances, he would have welcomed her attention, and an opportunity to win her over, but right now he was concerned that a wrong move on his part might not only make matters worse with the child but alienate Savannah as well.

  After a moment, he shook his head in sympathy. “Sorry, buddy. It can’t be fixed.” He pointed to the red sack the toy had come from. “Let’s get you another one. Maybe even a better toy.”

  At that, the boy shrieked and flung himself to the floor where he writhed in what looked like real pain. The cries were clearly not those of a tantrum, but of true mourning, as though this was the last straw in a lifelong string of disappointments. Beck tried to console the child, but his words were lost in soulful sobs.

  At a loss, he turned to Savannah. “What else could he want? I offered to replace it.”

  Savannah was sympathetic to his confusion. “You can’t take it personally.”

  Fortunately, she didn’t seem upset with him for unexpectedly triggering another crying storm. Rather, she seemed to truly sympathize with both Campbell and him. It was easy to see why the boy so obviously connected with her.

  Just as suddenly as the outburst occurred, the wailing ceased. With tears still glistening in his eyes, Campbell rose from the tile floor and stalked over to the trash can beside the refreshment table and threw the toy in it.

  “You’re no good. You’re bad!”

  At first, Beck thought the boy’s harsh words were meant for him, but instead they were yelled at the trash can, obviously directed toward the action figure.

  Beck moved to go after the boy, but Savannah stopped him with a hand on his arm. Her touch was soft but direct. Instinctively, he complied.

  “Let him go,” she said. “He has to make peace with the loss in his own way.”

  “But—” He shook his head. “I feel responsible.”

  “He’s bwoke!” Campbell screamed to the room in general.

  Savannah’s calm voice lured Beck’s attention away from the child’s over-the-top behavior. “It’s not your fault. The emotional wounds foster children have suffered sometimes cause them to act out in unexpected or exaggerated ways.”

  As if to signal an end to the boy’s histrionics, Savannah turned and walked away. Her irregular gait seemed even more pronounced, and his reporter’s curiosity made him wonder what had caused her to walk with a limp. She glanced over her shoulder as if to indicate he should follow.

  On his way, Beck nabbed a couple of cookies from the refreshment table and offered her one.

  She shook her head, so he ate both.

  Most of the subjects he interviewed for the paper were familiar with his work and were reasonably confident he would show them in a positive — or at least sympathetic — light. And that confidence allowed them to open up and give him colorful fodder for his feature articles. But, despite the intention behind the article being to unite wanna-be parents and children who needed each other’s love, Savannah Lee seemed convinced that the whole Forever Family concept was a terrible idea.

  Beck needed neither her approval nor her cooperation to write the series of articles about the agency’s adoptable children. Even so, he found himself wanting to assure her that the publicity would be a plus for the agency and especially for the kids.

  “Trust me, this feature is going to be the perfect opportunity for these kids and adoptive parents to find each other.”

  Savannah lifted her gaze to his. Her deep blue eyes met and held his gaze, making it almost physically impossible for him to look away. Not that he wanted to.

  Hold that visual connection, he told himself. You need to have her onboard for follow-up interview questions. But the truth was that, deep down, his interest in connecting with her was more personal than work related. And that actually bugged him more than it should have.

  “No offense,” she said in response to his comment, “but it’s going to be a disaster.”

  About the Author

  On Carolyn Greene’s second-grade report card, he
r teacher commented, “Carolyn writes nice stories.” Shortly after that, Carolyn got hit in the head with a kickball which she credits for her ability to take her romance novels and cozy mysteries in unexpected directions. Over the years, she has been nominated for, or won, numerous writing awards.

  Carolyn lives in Virginia with her hot firefighter husband and two amusing miniature pinschers. They have two grown children and two grandchildren who give her plenty to write about.

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  Did you love Her Redeeming Faith? Then you should read Reece by Lori Wilde and Carolyn Greene!

  Reece Masardi's got one goal—keep his ditzy new neighbor, Zany Lanie from turning his life upside down. For one thing, she's much too adorable with her pet miniature horse and her quirky, do-gooder ways. For another, Reece's life has been bumpy enough lately, thank you very much, and the last thing he needs is some meddlesome woman sticking her cute little nose in his businessIrrepressible, kind-hearted Lanie Weatherford is on a mission to brighten Reece's life and teach him how to live again…whether he likes it or not. But what will happen when this unstoppable force of nature meets this decidedly immovable object and all bets are off?

  Also by Carolyn Greene

  Southern Blessings

  Her Redeeming Faith

  Her Family Secret

  Her Healing Grace (Coming Soon)

  Sweet Southern Charmers

  Reece

  Blake

  Jared