Dedication
In memory of my beloved grandmother and my beloved mother, who each had a part in leaving me a legacy of faith.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
A Note from the Author
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Acclaim for Robin Lee Hatcher
Also by Robin Lee Hatcher
Copyright
Prologue
March
Tacoma, Washington
Jed Henning strode down the hallway toward his father’s office. Thomas Henning’s assistant had made the message crystal clear. There would be no delaying the meeting this time. No rescheduling. Not for any reason, no matter how urgent it might seem. Jed was fairly certain he knew what the meeting was about: Jed’s screwup brother, Christopher. With any luck, their dad was as fed up with Chris as Jed was.
His steps slowed, and he looked down at his hands. They were balled into fists, a common reaction whenever he thought about his kid brother. Especially lately. The two of them had almost come to blows the last time they’d been together. Shaking out his hands, Jed hurried on toward the end of the corridor.
Thomas Henning, a successful businessman who’d also practiced law for a few years in the early nineties, ran a commercial construction firm and sat on the boards of several corporations, including Jed’s. In a family or social setting, his dad was friendly, affable, sometimes even funny. But in his impressive office, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of Mount Rainier, he was all business. And with each step Jed took, that latter fact about his dad began to bother him. Why had Jed been summoned here? Why hadn’t his dad come to the much more low-key Laffriot offices instead?
Brittany Wales looked up from her desk when Jed entered the outer office. “Good morning,” she greeted him with a smile. But there seemed to be a warning in her eyes.
That didn’t bode well.
“I’ll tell Mr. Henning you’re here.” She reached for the telephone on her desk.
Jed didn’t bother to sit down. It was one minute before the hour. His father was nothing if not punctual—something Jed had inherited from him.
Brittany returned the handset to its cradle and looked at Jed. “You can go in now.”
In most every setting, Jed was a man who exuded confidence, but he wasn’t feeling that way at the moment. Something felt off to him. Again, he suspected it had to do with Chris. But Chris was the problem. Not Jed. So why was he worried?
“Hi, Dad.”
His father rose from behind his massive desk. “Jed.”
Although they spoke frequently by telephone, Jed hadn’t seen his father in person since Christmas. Not since right after his parents had separated. It seemed to him now that his father had noticeably aged. There were deeper lines etched around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, and his hair seemed more peppered with gray. He still looked distinguished and powerful, yet he had changed too.
“You wanted to see me?” Jed said.
“Yes.” His father motioned to one of the two leather chairs on the opposite side of the desk. “Sit.”
Jed was thirty-one years old. He had his MBA from the University of Washington. He’d proven himself in a top-notch high-tech firm right out of college, and then he’d successfully launched his own company. Yet right now he felt like a ten-year-old called to the principal’s office.
He sat.
After regaining his own seat, his dad steepled his hands in front of his mouth while tapping his index fingers together. His gaze was intense but inscrutable.
Jed resisted the urge to squirm.
After a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, his dad asked, “Have you talked to Chris?”
“No, sir. Not recently. Not since we fought about his work on the new project.”
“Did you try to call him like I asked you to?”
Jed drew a quick breath. “No. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not. Because it won’t get us anywhere. Because he’ll tell me I’m wrong and he’s right and he wants to do things his own way and in his own time. But he has no concept of time or the demands of the market, and he doesn’t care either. All he wants to do is sit in a dark room swigging Red Bulls one after the other while he stares at a screen, playing games or thinking up code.”
If Jed could go back four years, he wouldn’t make Chris a part of Laffriot, Inc. He would find somebody else to do the creating. Only . . . even he knew there wouldn’t be a Laffriot without Chris. Jed could start a different kind of company without his brother. Any other kind of company. But he couldn’t found Laffriot.
“Son.” His dad leaned forward, forearms now resting on the desk. “I’m proud of you. You know I am. But it’s time you got things right with your brother.”
Jed bristled. “Did you tell him the same thing?”
“No.”
“So why am I the one who’s supposed to fix things? I’m not the one who took off and isn’t doing the work and isn’t answering calls. I’ve been right where I’m supposed to be. I’ve been living and breathing Laffriot for four years. I’m the one whose hard work put our very first game onto the bestseller list. Caliban is going strong, but we’ve got to follow it up with something even better, and we’ve got to do it soon. I didn’t start Laffriot to be a one-hit wonder. If Chris won’t do the work he’s supposed to do, then we’ll hire somebody else. We’ve got the rep now to attract the right people. Chris isn’t the only creative person in the country.”
His dad sighed. “I don’t think you’re hearing me.” He rose and walked to the window, staring off toward Mount Rainier.
The silence dragged on so long Jed started to wonder if he’d been forgotten.
“Son.” His dad faced him again. “I’m going to say this as plainly as I know how. You and your brother will work things out, or I will shut down Laffriot for good and sell its assets to a competitor. Caliban would turn a tidy profit.”
Jed was on his feet. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“Dad, we can’t—”
“Maybe we can’t, but I can. I own the controlling share of the company, and I am authorized to make this decision by the agreement you and I made when you founded Laffriot.”
“Exactly. I founded it.”
“Then do what you have to do to save it. Get things right with your brother. And I don’t mean simply getting him back to work. I mean what’s wrong between you two personally. Do it fast, because I’m not watching this drag out forever.”
Chapter 1
April
Kuna, Idaho
“I wish I could tell you something,” Ben Henning said, his brow creased with a frown. “But I haven’t heard from Chris. I didn’t even know he was in Boise.”
Jed sat opposite his favorite cousin at the table in the kitchen of the old farmhouse, a
large mug of coffee in his right hand. He and Ben had been born the same year, and as boys they’d spent a lot of time together before Jed’s family relocated to Washington from Idaho. That had been more than twenty years ago. Trips back to Idaho some summers had kept the two of them close. Much closer than Jed was with his own brother.
Jed took a gulp of coffee before saying, “Chris left Washington at the end of February. He told Mom he had something personal to take care of. Then he was gone. No idea what that personal matter is, and it’s only recently I found out he’s in Boise.” Guilt sluiced through him. He wasn’t being entirely honest with his cousin. Still, he wasn’t ready to tell anyone, not even Ben, about the mess his brother had left behind him. That his absence could put an end to Laffriot.
“He hasn’t contacted me, and Grandpa would have told me if he’d been in touch with him.”
“I’m not surprised, but I was hoping.”
Ben leaned back in his chair, his gaze searching.
For a moment Jed considered opening up, getting everything off his chest. He just might find a sympathetic ear in Ben. Despite all the dumb stuff Chris had done, their dad always seemed to forgive him, seemed willing to give him another chance and then another and another, always making excuses for him. Dad never did the same for Jed. But then he’d never needed to make excuses for Jed. Chris had dropped out of high school at eighteen. Jed got his MBA at twenty-three, graduating at the top of his class. Chris hadn’t stuck with any job for long. Jed had succeeded in employment and then out on his own. If Chris knew how to read a clock, his tardiness belied it. Chris couldn’t care less about the accolades that had been heaped on Laffriot after the debut of Caliban. He had no ambition whatsoever. It seemed to Jed that his brother would be just as content if he was penniless and living on the streets. He’d never even tried to live up to their dad’s expectations.
So why was Jed, who’d excelled in school and business, the one who had to fix things with his brother? The question left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“How long are you going to stay in Boise?”
“Not sure. As long as it takes for Chris to take my calls and meet with me. I’m not going back to Washington until I do.”
“Would you like to stay here at the farm? Nothing fancy, but I’ve got a spare room you’re welcome to.”
“No, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I think it’ll be better if I stick closer to Boise. Besides, I don’t want to be a bother to anybody, especially if I end up working until all hours.” That wasn’t likely to happen. His dad had shut operations down for the time being and given the employees a month’s leave with pay. Jed had to hope they wouldn’t all spend that time looking for new jobs. If they did, there might not be much to save when he got back.
“Sometimes being your own boss means you work 24/7,” Ben said, intruding on Jed’s darker thoughts. “I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“Yeah. It can mean that.”
Silence stretched between them a second time, Ben’s gaze once again searching. Jed was good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. A man didn’t succeed in business negotiations if his face gave away too much. But he had the uncomfortable feeling his cousin could see through him despite his efforts.
“You know, Jed, I have something I want to give you.” Ben got up from the table and left the kitchen, returning a short while later with something in his hands. When he placed it on the table, Jed saw it was a time-worn Bible. “This belonged to Andrew Henning.”
“No kidding? Great-Grandpa Andrew’s Bible. How’d you come by it?”
“In a roundabout way. He left it as a legacy to his descendants. It comes to one of us, and then when we feel like God says it’s time, it’s supposed to be given to somebody else. I think that time is now. God wants you to have it.”
“Me? But why—”
“It’s hard for me to explain why. Just a nudge in my spirit. That old Bible meant a great deal to me as I was getting the equine therapy program off the ground. Sometimes it seemed I could feel Grandpa Andrew’s prayers for all of us as I sat holding it, reading it. It was as if he’d prayed for me and what I would one day do on this farm.” A fleeting smile curved the corners of Ben’s mouth. “I imagine he did pray for us. All his descendants. Those who’d been born, by name. Those who hadn’t been born yet, in a more general way.”
“Did he know my name?”
“Sure. He died the year after you and I were born, and from what my grandpa told me, Andrew Henning was as sharp as a tack right up to the last week or two of his life.”
Jed looked down at the Bible again, this time opening its cover. It fell open to the title page, and he paused long enough to read the words scrawled there.
To our beloved son,
Andrew Michael Henning,
on the occasion of his graduation
from the university.
Follow God and you will never lose your way.
Papa and Mama
Kuna, Idaho
1929
“‘Follow God and you will never lose your way.’” Jed looked up.
“Good advice, I’ve found.”
Have I lost my way? It wasn’t a question Jed had asked himself before. He wasn’t the kind of man who spent time on doubts or even much in the way of self-examination. He determined something to do, then did it. He decided what he wanted to be, then became it.
Have I followed God? That question caused a bit more discomfort. He knew the answer: not in a long time. Who had time to go to church or get involved with small groups or even pray when getting ready to launch a new business or while working to make a success of it?
He closed the Bible and held it as he rose from the chair. “I’d better get going. I’ve got some phone calls to make this afternoon.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here at the farm?” Ben stood too.
“I’m sure. But thanks for the offer.”
“Okay. You’ve got my number. Call if you need me. For anything.”
“I will.”
* * *
Holly Stanford groaned as she reached to turn off the alarm on her phone. Here she was, napping in the afternoon when she had a million things to do. But all she wanted was to stay there and sleep straight through the rest of the day and the night as well. She was so blooming tired. It seemed she was always tired.
“No rest for the wicked,” she whispered, quoting her grandmother.
She allowed herself about thirty seconds to lie back with her eyes closed before she shoved aside the sheet and blanket and sat up on the side of the bed. Hopefully a quick shower would help open her eyes all the way.
Within a few minutes, she stood beneath a fine spray of warm water, still wishing she could go back to bed. It seemed she hadn’t had two minutes to herself in ages. She was either working on repairs to the house or working at the restaurant. Working but never accomplishing enough. There was always something more that needed repaired or replaced. There was always a need for more money than what she had available. There were always decisions to be made. She was so incredibly tired of making decisions. Especially since she’d made more than a few poor ones.
“God.” Eyes closed, she pressed her forehead against the tile. “I hate my life. I thought Nathan was Your plan, but he wasn’t. I thought the restaurant was Your plan too. Now I don’t know anything. Nothing’s going the way I want, the way I imagined. I don’t see a way through. I don’t see a way out. I’ve already lost so much. Am I going to lose everything that’s left? Can You help me, please?”
It was a pathetic, complaining, self-pitying kind of prayer, one she’d prayed more than once over the past year, the kind that left her feeling guilty for even voicing the words aloud. Yet her younger sister, Trixie, would tell her it was honest and raw, and that God could handle it. She hoped Trixie was right, because it seemed to be the only kind of prayer she uttered.
Move forward, Holly. Just keep moving forward. You’re tired and discouraged, but you aren’t
beaten yet. Don’t give up.
With a sigh, she turned off the water and reached for a towel.
Half an hour later, she was outside, readying her flower beds for spring planting, when she saw a man on the sidewalk, staring at her. He didn’t move at all. Simply stared. Flustered, she pushed loose strands of hair off her forehead with the back of her wrist. Then she realized he wasn’t looking at her but at the Furnished Apartment for Rent sign behind and above her.
Oh, please, she thought as she stood. Let him want it. I need that extra income.
At last he seemed to notice her. After a moment more he moved toward her, climbing the two concrete steps midway up the sidewalk. “Hi,” he said as he approached. “Is this your house?”
“Yes.” Her pulse quickened with hope. He looked both normal and respectable. “Are you here to see the apartment?” She removed her gardening gloves and dropped them on the lawn. “I can show it to you if you’d like.”
His gaze flicked to the For Rent sign again, then to the entrance of the basement apartment. “If you’ve got time, I’d like that.”
“Of course.” Oh, please, God. Let him want to rent it. She turned and led the way to the steps on the east side of the house.
For much of the past eight months, she’d used the apartment as a vacation rental. But the demands of the restaurant made it difficult to have people coming and going all the time. With rotating guests, sheets always needed changing and the apartment needed cleaning. And too often there were vacancies when she wanted it—needed it—occupied. She’d finally decided that renting in a more conventional manner would work better for her. Let the renters take care of their own bedding and cleaning.
But it hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped to find the right renter, even in this market. Perhaps she was asking too much for a one-bedroom basement apartment in an older section of town. Perhaps she was too particular about the type of renter she’d allow to live below her. At least this guy looked like he could be gainfully employed.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and faced him again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Holly Stanford.”
How Sweet It Is Page 1
