Claiming the Single Mom's Heart (20 page)

“Grady, I—”

“I have something I need to say first.” And then, as her heart leaped into her throat, he dropped down on one knee to look up at her, his hands still holding hers. “I know this is coming out of the blue. That it might be premature. That you might think it's downright crazy. But I love you, Sunshine. Tessa, too. And I want to spend the rest of my life with both of you. Will you give me a second chance? Will you marry me?”

Heart pounding, she stood staring down at him, trying to absorb his unexpected declaration.
Grady loves me. He wants to marry me.

“I understand,” he said, almost stumbling over his words, “if you can't give an answer right now. But would you be willing to think it over? To pray about it—as I've done?”

He thought she needed more time?

“I don't need to think about it any further. I've prayed about it, too.”

Uncertainty flickered through his eyes. Then he swallowed, as though steeling himself for a turndown. Did he have no idea how she felt about him? How for weeks she'd dreamed of someday hearing him utter those words? How thrilled Tessa would be?

“I love you, Grady Hunter,” she said softly, “and, yes, I will marry you.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “You—?”

She laughed. “I love you. And Tessa loves you, too.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Absorbing her words. Then an uncontrollable grin surfaced and he rose swiftly to his feet to gaze down at her, still speechless.

“Cat got your tongue?” she coaxed playfully.

With a laugh, he slowly shook his head, his eyes filled with wonder. “You've made me the happiest man in the world, Sunshine.”

“And you'll—hopefully soon—be married to the happiest woman in the world.”

He gently cupped her face with his warm hands. “I do love you, Sunshine, and I promise to make you a good husband. And Tessa a good father.”

“I don't doubt that for a moment.”

Grady chuckled. “I'm not sure how God managed this. We did our best to botch up His plans, didn't we?”

“We did.”

“So I guess we need to show Him our appreciation and make up for lost time.” With that declaration and a twinkle in his eyes, he leaned in to tenderly press his lips to hers.

Epilogue

“I
t's beautiful, Grady.” Sunshine held out her hand to admire the glittering diamond ring, her breath coming as a frosty cloud on the crisp mid-November morning air. Returning from an exhilarating forest hike, they'd paused at the edge of Hunter's Hideaway property, where they'd soon join Tessa, Tori and Grady's family for an engagement celebration brunch.

How quickly her life had changed. Whoever would have imagined what God had in mind when she'd come to Hunter Ridge, determined to uncover the truth about her great-great-grandparents? She'd never have guessed what He had planned the day she'd brazenly marched up to Grady, demanding he call off the noisy workers next door. Whoever would have thought she'd win a council seat and her assistance would help Grady receive unanimous approval to pursue his dream of a wildlife-photography element at Hunter's Hideaway? Or almost unanimous. She didn't count his uncle Doug's dissenting vote.

“That ring isn't half as beautiful as you are.” Grady leaned in for a lingering kiss, then gently tugged her leather glove back on. “If you keep taking that glove off, your fingers are going to turn into blocks of ice.”

“I'm not worried.” She slipped her arms around his scarf-wrapped neck. “Isn't it your job to keep me warm now?”

“You think so, huh?” His eyes twinkled as he pulled her close. Or as close as they could get with them both wearing down-filled jackets. “I believe I can handle that assignment.”

She cuddled into him. “I'm glad we won't be waiting until next summer to get married. Valentine's Day is perfect.”

“I wish it could be Christmas. Or Thanksgiving.” He gently rested his forehead against hers. “But hopefully, if the chemo finally begins to work its wonders, Mom will feel up to enjoying the wedding by February.”

“She still has long way to go, doesn't she?”

“More treatments. More meds. More physical therapy. But, God willing, next year she and Dad will celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary together, and then each year thereafter for a long time to come.”

“I think she's relieved not to be facing another four years on the town council.”

“I get that impression, too—that pulling out of the campaign took a lot of pressure off her.” His gloved finger touched the tip of her nose. “Thanks to you.”

“Me?” She laughed. “Oh, right. I challenged her for the council seat and won by default. I'm sure it's going to take your folks a while to forgive me for that.”

“They're grateful. Especially Dad. Mom never would have withdrawn if she didn't think you could beat Irvin. She'd have kept pushing herself, wearing herself out.”

She tilted her head. “She thought I'd beat him?”

“Hands down. And look how it's turned out.” He arched a brow. “The town council seat remains in the Hunter family. The tradition unbroken.”

“Ah, but don't forget.” She lifted her chin with mock defiance. “I'll be representing the artists in the community, too, you know. Not just Hunters.”

“I know that, and I'm proud that you will be.” He again captured her lips with his and, with a quick intake of breath and pounding heart, she returned the kiss, marveling that God had given her—and Tessa—a man like Grady Hunter.

“Hey, you two!” Guiltily jerking apart at the sound of a gruff voice, they looked across the clearing to where Pastor McCrae stood at the back patio door of the inn, motioning them forward. “There's plenty of time for that lovey-dovey stuff later. Get yourselves on in here. Time to eat.”

“Spoilsport!” a grinning Grady taunted back at his cousin, then reached for Sunshine's gloved hand. “So are you ready to officially unveil that ring? The whole family will be in there by now, waiting to see it.”

The
extended
Hunter family. Consisting of many who might not be thrilled that she'd won the election instead of Elaine. Who might be less than thrilled that she was marrying into the Hunter clan, claiming Grady as her own.

“Once they get to know you, they're going to love you.” He'd guessed what was on her mind. “Just as I do.”

Then, before she could protest, he leaned in to again move his warm lips gently on hers. She could barely keep her knees from buckling or from throwing herself into his arms.

“Hey!” Garrett called again, amusement evident in his tone. “What part of ‘bacon and eggs getting cold' don't you two understand?”

Sunshine giggled and Grady drew back, shaking his head. “I never knew a preacher could be so annoying.”

Gazing up into Grady's warm blue eyes, she linked her arm with his. “I guess we'd better not force him to come out here after us, huh?”

He sighed. “Guess not.”

With her free hand, she reached up to touch her beloved's face, her words coming softly. “I love you, Grady.”

“I love you, too, my very own Sunshine.”

Smiling, they headed toward the inn—and a lifetime shared together.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
HER FIREFIGHTER HERO
by Leigh Bale.

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Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Hunter Ridge! I loved writing Grady and Sunshine's story—the journey of two wounded hearts learning to trust God so He can enable them to overcome past betrayals and learn to love again.

It's a rocky road at times. Not only do they have their personal pasts to overcome, but their lives are uniquely entangled with others who have come before them—both in the recent and distant past.

Have you ever felt betrayed by someone you trusted? Did it impact your ability to trust others? Or perhaps made you so fearful of letting others down that you haven't always listened to and obeyed God's direction? Never forget that one of the beauties of a relationship with God is that He tells us “never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.”

You can contact me via email at
[email protected]
Please visit my website at
glynnakaye.com
—and stop by
loveinspiredauthors.com
,
seekerville.net
and
seekerville.blogspot.com
!

Glynna Kaye

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Her Firefighter Hero

by Leigh Bale

Chapter One

“O
rder up!” Megan Rocklin slid a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns beneath the warming lamp. As she wiped her damp hands on a clean dish towel, she took a quick glance at the tables in the diner. All but two were full, and the place buzzed with the happy chatter of satisfied customers. Not bad, considering she owned the only restaurant in town. If only it were this busy every other day of the week, she could pay off a few bills and breathe a bit easier.

Turning back to the grill, she picked up a spatula and flipped a series of pancakes. The air smelled of breakfast, warm and nice. It was her favorite part of the day. But she still needed to slice vegetables and fruit for the afternoon salad bar.

She slid open the glass pane of the window and welcomed the gush of fresh April air. Blazing sunshine taunted her. She'd like nothing more than to close up the diner, load her two kids and a picnic lunch into their rusty old truck and drive the twenty miles to Duck Creek Park. But taking a day off work was a luxury she couldn't afford right now. She'd graduated from one of the top culinary schools in the nation, and look where she'd ended up. Living in the small, remote town of Minoa, Nevada.

Speaking of which. Where was Frank? The cook's ten-minute break should have ended five minutes ago.

Megan tossed an irritated glance toward the back door. No doubt he was outside in the alleyway, puffing on a cigarette. She wouldn't complain, though. Frank worked long hours without protest. A good, solid employee. She was just tired and grouchy, that's all.

She forked a giant ham steak off the grill, slapped some eggs over easy and thick fries on the side, and garnished the plate with a slice of orange. Through the cutout window to the restaurant, she caught a glimpse of Connie racing back and forth to take orders, shuffle food and refill drinks. Megan should be out there helping her.

Blinking her gritty eyes, she gave the pancakes another flip. From all outward appearances, she didn't miss a beat. But inwardly, her arms and legs felt like leaden weights. She hadn't slept well the night before. In fact, she rarely slept through the night these days. Not since Blaine's death last summer. And boy! Did she ever miss him today.

“So, what have we got?” Frank lumbered into the kitchen, a burly man of forty-eight years. Pulling his chef's hat onto his balding head, he gave a deep, hacking cough. At least he covered his mouth. An invisible fog of cigarette smoke seemed to follow him as he stepped over to the double ovens. Megan hid a grimace.

“That bad habit of yours is gonna kill you one of these days, Frank. I wish you'd give it up,” she said.

She meant well but tried not to sound too much like his mother. Lately, she sounded like everyone's mom. An old harpy, that's what she'd become. She figured if she held on tight enough, she could control the world around her and keep from being hurt again. Her common sense told her that was an insane notion, yet she couldn't let go completely and allow herself to be the happy, naive woman she'd once been. Not as a widow with two kids to raise and plenty of bills to pay.

“I know it's not good for me, but now that my Martha's gone, I ain't got nothing but this job to live for,” Frank said.

His words sank deep into her heart. Blaine was gone, too, but at least she still had Caleb and June, her five- and eight-year-old children. If not for them, she wouldn't have much to live for, either. And life shouldn't be that way. Not ever.

“You've always got a place here with us, Frank. You mean a lot to me, which is why I wish you'd give up those cigarettes.” She reached up and squeezed his arm affectionately, meaning every word.

“Thanks, ma'am.” He flashed an unassuming grin, his ruddy cheeks wobbling.

She handed him the pancake turner. “You've got biscuits in the oven ready to come out and cakes on the grill ready to come off right now. And we're out of sourdough.”

He didn't bat an eye but went right to work assembling plates of food like a pro. Always calm, always steady. Megan thought she could learn something from his example. Outwardly, she appeared serene and collected. But inside, she was screaming. Too much work. Too little money. Too little sleep. And way too lonely.

The truth was, she didn't want to be a single mom. She shouldn't be a young widow. There was so much life ahead of her. So much love she wanted to share. But one thing was certain. She'd never, ever love another man that worked in a dangerous profession. After losing her husband fighting wildfires last summer, her heart couldn't take it. No, sirree. Not ever again.

Stepping out into the restaurant, Megan reached behind the front counter for the coffeepot and made the rounds at each table, refilling cup after cup.

“Thanks, babe,” Connie trilled as she zipped past carrying four steaming plates of food.

Besides waitressing, Connie was also her dear friend. And after Blaine's death, she'd been there for Megan. A sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Comforting and encouraging. Someone Megan could confide in.

“No problem,” Megan called in a light voice. “Just think. Only nine more hours and we can all go home.”

“You've got nine hours, but I've got just five,” Connie shot back with a laugh.

Yeah, Megan was abundantly aware of that fact. She'd opened the restaurant at six that morning and would be here until it closed at nine that evening.

She pushed that weary thought aside and reminded herself that she had a lot to be grateful for. It hadn't been easy, but God had taken care of them.

The bell over the door tinkled, heralding the arrival of another customer. A tall, well-built man stepped inside. In a room filled with people, Megan felt his presence even before she glanced up. Her mouth dropped open and she stared. Not because he was a stranger, but because of how he looked.

High cheekbones, a chiseled chin, dark blond hair and devil-may-care eyes. More handsome than a man had a right to be. The kind that could have walked straight off the cover of
GQ
magazine. His blue jeans, cowboy boots and white T-shirt hugged his muscular body to perfection. Tall, lean and strong, he glanced about the room, taking it all in with a confident lift of his head. He radiated self-assurance. As though he owned the place.

Megan blinked, wondering who he was and what he was doing in a sleepy town like Minoa, Nevada.

Lifting a hand, he slung his thumb through a belt loop at his waist and glanced around the room. Two tables sat vacant, but Megan hadn't cleared them yet. His gaze brushed past, screeched to a halt, then rushed back to settle on her. She felt the weight of his gaze like a ten-ton sledge. A frisson of awareness swept over her. She couldn't move. Her feet felt as if they were stapled to the floor.

He walked toward her with a masculine swagger that told her he knew where he was going and exactly what he wanted once he got there.

Megan ducked her head and pretended to organize a panel of hot water glasses, fresh out of the dishwasher. From her peripheral vision, she watched the man sit on a bar stool directly opposite her and lean his elbows on the clean counter.

“Good morning.” She placed a menu and a glass of ice water in front of him.

“Morning, ma'am.” His deep voice sounded like rolling thunder.

She didn't meet his eyes but could feel his gaze boring a hole in the side of her head.

A rattle of dishes caused her to turn just as Caleb and June ran past the bar stools in a game of chase. With fast reflexes, Megan snatched both of her kids by the arms and pulled them back behind the counter.

“Hey, you two little imps. What did I tell you about running through the restaurant?” she scolded in a low voice.

“Sorry, Mommy.” June gazed at her with wide, uncertain eyes. A smattering of freckles stood out across the bridge of her button nose, her blond ponytail bouncing.

“Yeah, we're sorry, Mom,” Caleb crowed happily. So much like his father. Too agreeable to really understand that he'd done anything wrong. He just went along with his big sister.

As Megan smoothed Caleb's rumpled T-shirt and flyaway hair, she gazed at her children's sweet faces. Thinking how much they each looked like their daddy. Thinking this was no place to raise two active little kids. During the school week, she had them in an after-school program. But nights and weekends, they were here with her. She spent so little time with them as it was that she wanted them near her whenever possible, even if she had to keep working. Besides, she couldn't afford a lot of child care. Not on her tight budget. Thank goodness most of her customers were friends and neighbors who didn't mind seeing her kids in the diner now and then.

Megan hugged her children close, breathing deeply of their warm skin. A wave of unconditional love swept over her. Just what she needed to dissolve her frazzled nerves.

“How about if I take you to the park for an hour later this afternoon to play?” she said.

“You're not too busy?” June asked.

Megan shook her head. “I'll make time. We'll go once the lunch rush settles down a bit. I'm sure Connie can handle things for a while.”

“You know I can. You guys go and have a little fun,” Connie said as she whisked by, carrying a tray of food for table number five.

“That would be fun,” June said.

“Yeah, and we can play kick ball,” Caleb said. He drew back his leg and kicked the air for emphasis.

“Okay. We'll do it. But aren't you tired now?” Megan asked.

She'd gotten both kids up at five that morning. As always, they hadn't uttered a single complaint. Just rubbed their sleepy eyes and trundled out to the truck in their jammies. They'd changed into their street clothes later that morning. Because she practically lived at the restaurant, Megan had created a homey environment for them in the back office, where they could have some privacy to watch TV, color or sleep. But sometimes, they got restless. Like today.

“Nope, not a smidgen,” June replied, mimicking a phrase her father had often used.

Megan fought off a rush of guilt. Her kids should be outside, running in the tall grass and swinging in the park. They were just children, after all. This situation wasn't their fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. But they still had to cope.

“You will be tired, my little June bug.” Megan brushed her index finger across the tip of her daughter's nose.

After they'd played in the park, she knew they'd both collapse on the cot she'd set up in the back office. Just in time for another rush of customers wanting their dinner. In the meantime, it was more than difficult to keep an eye on two wriggly children while she was working.

“Why don't you go in the back and watch TV for a while?” she suggested.

“I don't want to,” June said.

“Do you want to help me instead?” she asked them, her voice enticing.

“Sure,” Caleb chirped with a ready nod of his head.

Megan swept a jagged thatch of hair back from her son's forehead. “I've got two bags of garbage sitting beside the back door. If you work together, you can carry them outside and throw them into the dump. And after you've had your lunch, I told Frank to save a slice of fresh banana cream pie for each of you.”

“Yum!” Caleb gave a little hop and clapped his chubby hands.

June smiled wide, showing a missing tooth in front. “Okay, Mommy. We'll do it.”

And off they went.

“Cute kids,” the handsome stranger at the counter said.

Megan glanced his way, feeling pleased, but suddenly self-conscious that he'd overheard her entire conversation. “Thanks.”

Swiveling on her flat, practical heels, she faced him. Her gaze dipped to the menu, which he hadn't touched.

“Thanks, but I don't need it.” He shook his head, a subtle smile curving the corners of his full mouth.

She slid the menu into the holder at the side of the cash register. Gripping her notepad and pen, she forced herself to meet his dazzling blue eyes.

“So what'll it be, then?” she asked.

He flashed a magnetic grin. Wow! He had gorgeous blue eyes. Intelligent yet soft, with smile lines at the corners. His sun-bronzed skin told her he liked being outdoors.

“Steak and eggs, cooked medium rare and over easy. Fire potatoes, two griddle cakes and whole wheat toast with plenty of strawberry jam.”

Yep, his order was completely masculine, just like him. Coasting on autopilot, she slid a dish of prepackaged jams close to his hand. She jotted some notes, trying to get his order down before her muddled brain forgot everything.

He gave an infectious laugh. “You sure write fast. Have you got it all? I can repeat it, if you like.”

“Nope, I've got it. Anything to drink?” she asked, forcing herself not to look up.

“A tall glass of orange juice, please.”

“Coming right up.” She swiveled around and snapped his order up for Frank.

Forcing herself to keep working, she fled to the kitchen refrigerator to pour him some juice. She returned and had just set the glass in front of him when little Caleb came running in from the alleyway out back. He tugged on her apron and spoke in a shrill voice.

“Hurry, Mommy! Fire! Outside,” the boy cried.

The handsome man sitting at the counter jerked his head up, his eyes widening.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Megan scurried after her son and muttered under her breath. “What could make this day any crazier?”

* * *

The moment Jared Marshall heard the word
fire
, he was out of his seat. Without a backward glance, he followed Megan Rocklin down the hallway leading to the back door.

Yes, he knew the woman's name. He was new in town, but Tim Wixler, his assistant fire management officer, had told him what she looked like. Though the description he'd been given didn't do Megan justice. No, not at all.