A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE BOXED SET
Page 50
“I have to tell you, mate, I didn’t believe it would work.”
“What?” asked Liv.
“That slick trick Hud used on those rebels to rescue you. See, they’re mercenaries of a sort. They put President Ouattara in power in exchange for twenty thousand dollars each, which they were never paid. Now they’re fighting the very government they infiltrated and put in place. Hud banked on the hope they wouldn’t want to be arrested and have their fates determined by their former friends in the government.”
“And the innocent citizens get caught in the middle,” added Michael Lath.
Buddy nodded in agreement. “Lucky for all of us, Hud here had the bullhorn, flares, and siren alarm the foremen use to clear workers from an area before a detonation. He hoped the rebels would think the feds were the on their trail. Smart man! I’ll never doubt him again.”
Olivia looked into his eyes. “Neither will I.”
“We’d be wise to make this quick,” warned Michael, as he exited his Jeep. “We were watched as we made our way here.”
“Agreed,” said Hudson. He squeezed Olivia’s hand and smiled. “A kiss for luck?”
Their lips met as the first armored U.N. vehicle arrived, and seven nervous leaders stepped out, scanning the perimeter. Olivia studied Hudson’s face and saw the worry tingeing his excitement. “You don’t need luck. All four tests have proven successful.”
“These men have risked everything on my promises, and we’re going into an untested dry riverbed today.”
“You’re Hudson Bauer. You make miracles happen. I believe in you.”
He held her with his eyes, expressing love in that moment with greater impact than any spoken words. “Do you have any idea how grateful I am that you’re here?” he whispered, with a final squeeze of her hand.
She blushed as warmth radiated through every limb. “Go greet your guests.”
As he stepped toward the convoy’s passengers, his hand slipped beyond her reach. She missed his closeness instantly. Her eyes shone as the man who could buy and sell small nations graciously deferred to each of the courageous leaders.
She marveled at how their lives had been cosmically altered by a few miscalculated hours, unspoken words, and misplaced fears. Yet, here they were. Somehow, heaven had righted what fools had made wrong.
His patience and gentleness gave her confidence as they each navigated what was, in truth, their first experiences with love. And this was love, where smiles warmed her as deeply as kisses. Where a gentle touch both satisfied and stirred. As if hearing her heart, he turned and reached a hand back encouraging her to join him and his guests.
The tribal leaders’ wary eyes gave way to smiles as they acknowledged Olivia. Hudson graciously led the way while Michael, who would serve as the interpreter, deferred to one particular leader who Olivia assumed was held in greater esteem than the rest. The leaders took their places at the edge of a dried depression that ran through barren land. A few scrubby plants poked through the baked earth, but the elevated banks were the only clues that this was once a thriving riverbed. The barren spot seemed like worthless land, but the presence of Buddy and the armed U.N. security detail proved how crucial this spot was at that moment.
Hudson entered the bed and carefully drove eighteen inches of narrow pipe into the crust. “The pump only works with this experimental solar battery.” He paused as Michael translated his words into French and two African dialects for their guests. “This is a prototype, and we are hurrying to manufacture more.” Again, he paused for the translations. Then he placed his ear over the top of the pipe to listen. Disappointed, he withdrew the metal pipe and inserted it again a few feet to the left. Again, he listened for what Olivia knew was the change in sound he expected when the pipe hit underground water. The third test site also failed.
Several of the local leaders crested the riverbank, searching the scrub growth yards from Hudson’s position. After a few moments, one of them looked up and smiled, calling to Hudson.
“He wants you to try there,” Michael translated.
Hudson nodded and offered the pipe to the leader who pointed at a particular plant, gesturing about the length of its deep taproot. Hudson bowed slightly at the waist and stepped back, asking the man to proceed. After a few moments, the pipe was inserted, and one by one, the leaders listened to the sound within the pipe, and smiled. They then gestured to Hudson, who listened and smiled with equal pleasure.
Olivia clapped and nearly cried with relief. As Hudson attached the lunchbox-sized solar battery and pump assembly to the pipe, Olivia recalled what the rebel had said, that these well-meaning Americans should not assume that they know Africa and her people. Clearly, the leaders proved today that their knowledge could not be underestimated.
Once the pump was secure and the switch turned on, the motor began to rumble. Within a few seconds, brown water spurted from the pump, followed a minute later by clearer water, filling a small bucket from which the men began ladling.
A cheer sounded from one, while others looked on in measured respect. Olivia watched Hudson’s reaction as his eyes moved to the last man, the leader held in the greatest regard by his colleagues. Quiet filled the circle as the bucket was passed to him. He drained the ladle before replacing it in the bucket. His lips smacked loudly, and a smile spread across his face as he uttered two short French phrases.
Again, Michael provided the translation. “The water is sweet. The pump is good.”
The other Bauer Group men whooped and smacked Hudson on the back. The flow continued until the bucket was filled several times, at which point Hudson stopped the pump to preserve the precious fluid. As Michael continued answering questions, Hudson left the circle of chattering men and set his eyes on Olivia. With arms spread, he scooped her against him and swung her around.
“You did it! Sweet water!” she said. “Your great-grandmother would be so proud of you.”
Hudson set her down and brushed her hair back from her face. “She would have loved you.”
“Thanks for waiting for me to figure things out.”
“You were worth waiting for, however long it took.”
Olivia squeezed his hands. “We need to celebrate.”
Hudson scanned the barren perimeter and smiled. “We don’t have a lot of options out here in the desert.” He tightened his arms around her. “What did you have in mind?”
Her eyes shone as she looked directly into his. “There’s a book I’ve been dying to have you read to me.”
Several seconds passed, and then a smile brightened his entire face. “You brought it? The P³?”
She nodded. “I kept it when I moved out of the beach house. I think you’re going to like the way the story ends.”
Hudson’s hands cupped her face as he moved within a breath of her. His eyes studied hers as he brushed an almost imperceptible kiss over her lips and whispered, “The sequel should be even better.”
Liv nestled into him, claiming the spot nearest his heart. “I couldn’t agree more.”
– THE END –
Acknowledgments
Sweet Water was originally written as a volume in Gelato Books’ Destination Billionaires’ Romance Series. My thanks go to Gelato’s owner, Christine Dymock, for inviting me to leave my four-hundred-word comfort zone and write my first novella. Now that the DBR series has run its course, Sweet Water will become part of a new series I’m launching—Second Chance Romances. I hope you’ll try the other books in that series. I’ve included an excerpt from Awakening Avery after these acknowledgements.
Many thanks to a patient hubby and family for not getting too frustrated at me when I slip away from a conversation to jot down a thought I dare not forget. Thanks, Tom, for supporting my addiction to the written word, and for understanding that I’m happiest when I’ve got a good story in the works. Love you, Honey! And many thanks to my children by marriage and birth—Tom and Krista, Adam and Brittany, Amanda and Nick, Josh and Sidney, and to all my cute grandchild
ren—Tommy, Keira, Christian, Brady, Avery, Desmond, Chase, Wes, Noah and Kenzie, for helping me find beauty and joy in even the simplest moments. I love you all.
Son Adam, daughter-in-law Brittany, and my cute grandkids—Chase, Noah, and Kenzie—introduced me to the beautiful Oregon coastline. I had Sweet Water plotted out by the time we left Short Sands Beach. Thank you guys, for great memories and views that inspired this book.
I’m blessed with a great support squad. I love my critique ladies—Elizabeth Petty Bentley, Sarah Lee, Lisa Swinton, and Lisa Rector, whose feedback and ideas fueled me during this project. Great thanks go to my Willowsport Crew of beta readers: Christine Clark, Mary Beth Cook, Emma Davis, Pam Dove, Diane Ferguson, Shauna Joesten, Laura Lewis, Kathy McQueeny, Khadra Michaelson, Chantal Preuninger, June Nair, Cyndy Packer, Suzann Schonberger, Jennifer Starkey, Norma Wahlquist, Heather Watson. Their feedback was immensely helpful in smoothing out potholes in the story. Thank you, ladies. You are incredible!
Most importantly, I would like to acknowledge two women and the work they do, for inspiring the humanitarian aspects of “Sweet Water.”
Hudson refers to the AMAR foundation on page eight of the book. A dear friend introduced me to this foundation a few years ago, and I was privileged to meet the chairwoman of AMAR, Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, while assisting at a reception in her honor near Washington D.C. AMAR provides health care and education to families living in war zones or in areas of civil disorder and disruption. Ninety percent of all donations go directly to helping the people AMAR serves. When so many of us feel helpless to make a difference, here is a safe, trustworthy way we can all help. Click https://www.amarfoundation.org/en-us/ to make a donation.
The nuns and orphans mentioned in “Sweet Water” are based on an actual convent in The Ivory Coast of Africa. Another friend, Dr. Melei Lath, introduced me to her sister, Mother Eugenie, the Mother Superior of The Fraternité Monastique Des Soeurs de Jesus-Euchariste. These nuns support themselves and use their earnings to protect and educate orphans left alone as a result of disease and war. Their great hope is that they will someday be in a position to build a proper orphanage where they can protect the children from rebels.
Lastly, I thank you, my readers, for embracing “Sweet Water” and my other novels. You are the reason I write. Thank you for sharing this journey with me.
Please consider joining other avid readers through my VIP Readers” Club at http://www.laurielclewis.com/newsletter. There are contests, raffles, and behind the scenes news. It’s a blast! And follow me on social media to get updates on the release of my newest book, a rewrite of a favorite title—Awakening Avery. A preview follows. Enjoy!
AWAKENING AVERY
A Second Chance Romance
Laurie Lewis
AWAKENING AVERY
A Second Chance Romance
Laurie Lewis
Copyright ©2018 by Laurie Lewis
and Willowsport Press - JATA Inc.
Published 2018 by Willowsport Press
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. The characters and events herein are the product of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to real people or situations are purely coincidental.
Contents
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
Chapter 29
Acknowledgments
About the Author
An Excerpt from Love on a Limb
To my husband, Tom, with whom
I shared my first visit to the Cà d’Zan;
* * *
to my father, Allen K. Chilcoat, the chef
behind the magic of slumgullion
and peanut butter balls;
* * *
and to my mother Bernice, who kept
us alive despite his kitchen exploits.
Chapter One
Logan, Utah, Late February
Avery Elkins Thompson felt as if her world had been placed in a blender set to “pulverize.” Most of the elements of her life were still there. She was still a mother and a woman, though she no longer felt womanly in the way she once had. Her career was all but over, little more than a collection of dusty bestsellers released five years or more ago. They sat on a shelf along with her other abandoned dreams, her confidence, and her happiness. All “weres” and “nevermores” because Paul was gone and Avery was no longer a wife.
She was a widow.
What she also was, she determined, was a student, albeit unwillingly enrolled in a course of study not of her choosing. The first lesson on widowhood was learned during that early July week of tearful hugs, casserole drop-offs, and funeral services. It was the hardest, however certainly not the last, tutorial she’d receive.
She saw something besides love and compassion in the eyes of her friends and family members. She had become a person to be pitied and feared—every married woman’s reminder of their greatest terror, and every squeamish man’s reminder of his mortality. Needing time to accept her new reality, she actually felt a measure of relief when the last friend’s car finally pulled out and her worried adult children returned to their own lives. The last child out closed the door with a hesitant click, leaving Avery truly alone for the first time in twenty-eight years—since marrying Paul.
She explained her ongoing reclusiveness as creative downtime, pasting on smiles during family visits, at church, and when cornered during her rare forays out. The dowdy, frightened woman she faced in the mirror each morning worried her. When the daily malaise became overwhelming, Avery pulled it together enough to see the doctor to be sure her own heart wasn’t failing. Surreally, the thought of dying didn’t frighten her, not at first anyway, until she considered what losing two parents would do to her children. She kept the appointment, but as soon as she knew her heart was fine, the rest of the diagnosis seemed trite.
“You’re depressed,” the doctor declared.
Ya think? she felt like saying, but she simply closed her eyes and nodded politely as two prescriptions were shoved into her hand. After eight months, her medicated veneer of okay-ness finally cracked.
She smashed the ancient television first.
She fumbled with the remote for ten minutes, trying to find something to occupy her racing mind. Then, the DVR brought up the screen with the list of programs to record—his list, filled with westerns and mysteries and classic comedies. That was all it took. She hurled the remote across the room, not intending for it to hit the center of the screen, but it did.
There was something surprisingly cathartic about the sound. The cracking glass and sprinkling shards seemed familiar to her, empty echoes, like those of her long-denied heart, which similarly broke into a thousand pieces each morning she awoke in an empty bed or entered the bathroom where only one toothbrush hung in the holder. Pent-up emotions rushed out like a primal scream, and, as if possessed, Avery lashed out at the other instruments of torture Paul had left behind—the decades-old VCR that ate a precious videotape of their early years together and the vacuum cleaner that gobbled one of his anniversary cuff links. The crime requi
red the ultimate punishment, complete disassembly. Then, soaked with tears, Avery went after the real enemy.
She clicked the mouse on the computer in Paul’s study and brought up folders filled with letters and love notes sent from across the globe. She read each one, lamenting over the dates in the headers. The last email had been written on his last day, almost eight months earlier, at an airport gate in Chicago. Avery shut her eyes, but the words from his letters and notes came anyway, memorized words read a hundred times over, filled with private jokes and tender expressions of long-distance longings. She could barely breathe. A final look at an image pasted into one of the letters sent her over the edge and she swept the entire computer system onto the floor. As the printer slid off the desk, she saw herself reverting to the crisis-driven, fists-at-the-ready person she was before Paul, and she slumped over the keyboard, crying as pages of B’s swept across the screen.
The following day was more productive.
An hour’s shopping, a home installation visit, and $3,327.98 later, all was nearly as good as new. All except for the gouge in the wooden floor, where the old TV landed, and the remains of a few mangled USB cords. Her children and her son-in-law arrived the next day to help their mother survive her first wedding anniversary as a widow.