Lakeside Reunion

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

“I remember the ones you and your dad used to share.”

Lindsey peered at Stephen over the edge of her mug, and then looked away. She would not cry in front of him … again.

“Man, I’m batting a thousand today. I didn’t … I mean … I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth.”

“No, no, not your fault. It’s just that, well, those were special times. Since Dad’s death, I haven’t found a good enough reason to have breakfast.” She traced the wood grain in the oak trestle table with her finger. “You must think I’m such a dork.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Her finger stilled, and her breath caught.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Stephen walked to the door, turned and gave Lindsey a long look. “You’ll find someone special to share breakfast with again.”

Problem was, Lindsey didn’t want just anyone. She wanted Stephen.

Dear Reader,

Twenty-three years ago, a handsome marine stole my heart, promising never to give it back. That marine dreamed of becoming a police officer like his dad. Just before his enlistment was up, though, I begged him to give up his dream. I was terrified of losing him in the line of duty. Lindsey and I have a lot in common—we didn’t trust God to protect those we loved.

Lakeside Reunion is a story of forgiveness, trust and having a second chance at love. We draw close to those we love and trust, just as God wants us to draw close to Him. When we put our faith in Him, He restores our relationship and helps us overcome those fears that keep us from living. God always promises to be by our sides, no matter what trials we experience.

Stephen and Lindsey are dear to my heart, having been rattling around in my head for over a decade. I’m so thrilled you took the time to read this story of my heart. Don’t be a stranger to Shelby Lake. I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me at [e-mail] or visit my website, www.lisajordanbooks.com, to learn what’s next for the residents of Shelby Lake and my writing.

Lisa Jordan

Lakeside Reunion

Lisa Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart

and with the full assurance that faith brings,

having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us

from a guilty conscience and having

our bodies washed with pure water.

—Hebrews 10:22

Dedication

How does someone thank the one person who sacrificed his dream for the woman he loves, while being a continual supporter of hers? A lifetime of gratitude and love goes to Patrick Jordan, my incredible husband, who gave up his badge for a scared, insecure wife over twenty years ago. I love you more than words can ever express. You are my real-life hero. I’m honored to be your wife. Semper Fi.

For Scott and Mitchell. You inspire me to be a better mother and a better writer. Thank you so much for reheating leftovers and loading the dishwasher so I could write. I love you forever. Thanks to the rest of my amazing family for your constant encouragement. I love you all.

For the men and women in law enforcement who put their lives on the line daily for our safety and for their families who support them.

For Your Glory, Lord. Without You, none of this would have been possible.

Acknowledgments

When a book takes over a decade to go from an idea to a published novel, many people have a role in the story process.

Thanks to my agent, Rachelle Gardner, of WordServe Literary Group and my editor at Love Inspired Books, Melissa Endlich, for taking the story of my heart from dream to reality.

Thanks to writing mentors who have shaped me into the writer I am today: Linda Leshinski taught fiction fundamentals to an idealistic freshman at UPB, Dorice Nelson measured me for my first alligator skin in Word Slingers, Ruth Logan Herne taught me how to move past rejection, and finally the My Book Therapy dynamic duo, Susan May Warren and Rachel Hauck, brainstormed life into Stephen and Lindsey’s story, teaching me to dig deeper by constantly asking “Why?” I’m so blessed to call you mentors and friends.

Thanks to Patrick Jordan and Mark Mynheir for answering U.S.M.C. and law enforcement questions. Thanks to Dr. Richard Mabry, Dr. Ronda Wells, Leslie Pfeil, Laurie Sherriff and Gerry McIntyre for their medical advice. Any mistakes are mine.

Thanks to the Word Slingers, the Penwrights, the Writer C.H.I.C.K.s and the Tough Cookies for their very helpful feedback. Thanks to The Ponderers, the Coffee Girls, Susan Saar, Jo Moore, Carolyn Vibbert, Sara Patry, Amanda, Marie-Anne Mouthaan, Roxanne Sherwood, Beth K. Vogt and Reba J. Hoffman for your prayers, friendship and encouragement. I’m so grateful to have all of you in my life.

Chapter One

Any moment now, Lindsey could put the car in Drive, touch the gas pedal, drive past the green-etched Welcome to Shelby Lake sign and return to her past. Another hundred feet and she would be back.

Visitors traveled to the northwestern Pennsylvania lakefront community to get away. She escaped to put her life back together.

Center Street unfurled like black satin ribbon under a canopy of evergreens and multicolored maples and oaks that would take her right down memory lane. Past the elementary school where Mom taught kindergarten. Past Aunt Claire’s sewing shop. Past Mrs. Lawson’s pink-sided house with the plastic yard goose she dressed each holiday. Past the church where Lindsey almost said “I do.”

Mom, why did you have to fall down the stairs?

Lindsey gripped the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against the powder-blue fuzzy cover. Maybe banging her head against it would knock some sense into her brain. She’d made promises that never, ever, not in a thousand years would she return to Shelby Lake.

But promises didn’t account for widowed mothers who might slip on a dirty sock on the stairs to the laundry room.

Next to her, on the seat of her friend’s borrowed Taurus, her cell phone chimed. She read the display. Perfect—Granddad checking in. He probably expected her to hedge at the city limits, weighing the pros and cons.

Like for the past half hour.

She answered the call. “I’m on my way, really.”

“No doubt in my mind, sweetness. Your mama’s been taken to X-ray. She’s asking for that quilt—you know, the one with all those circles—off the recliner near the davenport. Could you pick it up on your way?” Granddad’s voice betrayed an edge of stress—playing family watchdog for the past five years whittled any visible panic from his voice. “Can you hurry?”

“Yes … sure. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes or so.” She ended the conversation and clenched the phone.

Quilt with circles, Granddad had said. The wedding ring quilt on the recliner near the couch. Dad’s recliner. Closing her eyes, she could picture him sitting there—feet crossed at the ankles, hands tucked behind his head. An ache pinched her chest. But she would do it. For Mom.

She imagined her mother, fragile, her eyes wide with pain, maybe even fear as she lay puddled at the bottom of the stairs, or trying to drag her broken body toward a phone. If Lindsey hadn’t swept the Shelby Lake dust off her feet, she might have been there. Might have heard her cry out. Or rather, might have been the one carrying the laundry downstairs.

She glanced at the sign again and released a loud sigh. Okay, so the town had fewer than five thousand people. Entering city limits didn’t guarantee she’d see him. Or his son. Or run smack into the humiliation of being left at the altar.

It felt that way. Come on, who calls off a wedding a week before the big day?

Still. No one really lived down being jilted for another woman. Especially when they married within a month of her broken engagement. She couldn’t stand the looks of pity that would follow her like a stray pup.

Can you hurry?

She’d grab the quilt, pop into the hospital to check on Mom, make sure someone from the church signed up to serve meals and then head back to her small country inn in Maple Valley.

Where she belonged.

In, out, fast, simple, and with any luck she wouldn’t bump into the man who had left her heart in pieces, scattered across Shelby Lake.

Clouds resembling curdled milk smudged the morning horizon. Raindrops pinged her windshield in a lazy-Sunday-afternoon manner. A sliver of sunlight sliced through the tree limbs, over the rooftops of the houses lined up like first graders, beckoning her, calling her to come closer.

If she didn’t do it now, she’d end up putting her car in Reverse and making the two-hour return trip to Maple Valley without looking back. But she couldn’t disappoint Mom. Not this time.

She shifted into Drive and checked for traffic. None, of course. She had just coasted over the county line into Shelby Lake when she heard the blip of a siren.

What—?

A cruiser pulled up behind her.

Seriously? She was barely moving, let alone speeding.

Putting the car into Park, Lindsey dragged her fingers through her hair and rested her elbow against the door.

Maybe the officer would be one of the older guys. One of Dad’s buddies.

Please, God.

She used to have the entire force on her Christmas card list, but, life had taken a detour the morning her father had been shot during a routine traffic stop and died a couple of hours later. And a girl had a right to close the door on a chapter of her life and start over, right?

The door to the cruiser opened. Lindsey squinted in the rearview mirror to see if she recognized the officer. With his head turned, she saw only dark hair cut above his collar. He paused to talk into his radio.

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Come on. Come on.”

He approached the car. She leaned over to scrounge through napkins and ketchup packets in the glove compartment for the vehicle registration and insurance card. Of course her car—a silver convertible that she would have preferred driving for this foray into her past—sat in the shop, getting the brakes replaced.

A girl should have at least a month’s notice before she returned to her former life—lose those extra five pounds, get her hair cut, a decent manicure and definitely get her hard-earned sporty wheels detailed.

Still, Rita’s ancient beater had saved her hide. And again, it wasn’t as if she’d run into anyone she knew.

A rap on the driver’s window sent her heart skidding. Lindsey cranked the window open with one hand while trying to free her driver’s license out of its plastic holder with the other. A rain-scented breeze frisked her cheek.

“What’s the matter, Officer?” Eyes glued on her wallet, she tried, oh, how she tried, to keep the annoyance from her voice. “I was barely moving.”

“Ma’am, did you know your left taillight is out?”

Oh. She’d turned her lights on during the rainstorm. Busted. “The car’s not mine. Belongs to a friend.”

“I need to see your driver’s license, vehicle registration and proof of insurance, please.”

For the first time, she heard, really heard, the voice. Deep, with threads of humor around the edges, and the finest sense of control. A man of patience, of honor.

She closed her eyes. Really, God?

He was so not on her side.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes, just a minute.” Stephen. Or maybe Officer Stephen Chase. She ground her teeth, focusing on the fake pine-tree air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror.

“Stephen.” His name slid out as a strangled whisper. Then, because she had to, she hazarded a look. And yes, God certainly knew how to spear her in the heart, because if possible, Stephen had only become more handsome.

Apparently that’s what marriage and fatherhood did to a man.

Clearly five years wasn’t enough to get over those blueberry-colored eyes, that dark, wavy, run-her-hands-through-it hair, the devastating cleft in his chin. His smile belonged in an ad for men’s cologne. And still managed to send her heart into a tailspin.

Now, he just roamed about in her dreams, in the hours between waking and sleeping when she had no defenses.

Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. Just to make sure. Nope, he hadn’t been a figment of her imagination.

Stephen’s eyes had widened even as his mouth dropped open. Good. She shouldn’t be the only one squirming here.

Unfortunately, he recovered more quickly. “Lindsey Porter. It’s been what? At least five years?”

“Something like that.” Five years, two months and three days, if someone bothered to count.

“This is not your vehicle.” He stood with hands on his lean hips and feet shoulder-width apart.

“I believe I mentioned that.” She refrained from adding “Captain Obvious.” No need for sarcasm. He was only doing his job.

Because, you know, apprehending hardened taillight-defying criminals would certainly solve the world’s problems. Or find her father’s killer.

“Mine’s in the shop. Borrowed this from my assistant manager.”

He nodded and then crossed his arms over his chest. The stretched navy fabric of his uniform emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. She averted her eyes.

ABBA came on the radio, belting out “Take a Chance on Me.”

Lindsey flicked off the radio. So not going to happen.

“I should probably give your friend a ticket. It’s dangerous to drive around without taillights—especially in weather like this. You just missed a downpour that came through here. What if the cars behind you couldn’t see you slowing down or turning?”

“What cars? And no, I didn’t miss it—drove through it, thank you. Without an accident, even. Imagine that.”

He stared at her, and she seemed to see the words linger outside of her body, as if she wasn’t sure where they came from. In the wake of her sarcasm she wanted to slink into her seat, maybe climb under it.

His cheery demeanor vanished. “I’m serious.”

She blew out a breath, staring at her whitened knuckles clenching the steering wheel. Schooled her voice. “Sorry. Look, I know. I’ll be sure to let Rita know, okay? Write me a ticket or whatever, but please hurry. I have to go. It’s an emergency.”

Suddenly she needed her mother.

“If you were in such a hurry, why did you idle near the sign for the last thirty minutes?”

“You were watching me?” She fought to keep the squeak out of her voice. She didn’t expect any spectators while she psyched herself up to cross the county line. Should have known better.

“Someone called in suspicious activity. I had to check it out.” He frowned, but the hard set of his jaw relaxed. “What kind of emergency?”

Blinking back sudden, crazy tears, Lindsey forced herself to hold Stephen’s gaze. “Mom. She fell down the stairs and broke her leg.”

Stephen relaxed his stance, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and softened his tone. “Linds, I’m sorry. That’s tough. How can I help?”

How could he help? How about making sure she didn’t run into him the first twenty-four hours she was in town? How about picking up the pieces of her broken heart, pasting them back together? How about telling her that he’d been wrong for choosing Bethany over her?

No, she didn’t want that. Not anymore, at least.

“Let me go so I can get to the hospital.” And out of Shelby Lake as fast as possible.

He stepped back, nodding. She waited a moment for a “nice to see you” or even “want to get a cup of coffee?” But it didn’t come.

It would never come.

Because some things simply couldn’t be fixed.

Stephen jammed himself behind the wheel of the cruiser. Thunking his head against the headrest, he groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face.

The life he put back together piece by piece during the past five years scattered like Ty’s bucket of Legos with a single glimpse of her.

Seeing Lindsey stole his breath. He expected a middle-aged woman driving the late ‘80s blue Ford Taurus. Not his former fiancée.

Wow. She looked amazing. Time had only done her favors. Her hair still looked like the sunrise over the lake, and how he longed to touch it. Weave it through his fingers. It was shorter, although he liked it above her shoulders. Made her look less like a teenager, more like a woman. A woman who hated him. He needed to keep that fact in the center of his thoughts.

The police band chattered in the background, reminding him to radio dispatch and let them know he was back in service. But he tuned it out for a minute. He needed to regroup—force his hands to stop shaking and bring his thudding heart under control. A cold sweat slicked his face. He lowered the window. The crisp breeze fanned his clammy skin.

His cell phone vibrated against his hip. He released it from the belt holster and glanced at the display. His sister. He flipped it open. “Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

“Stephen, why are you answering your phone? You’re on duty.”

“Uh, you called me?”

“An eye for detail, as always.”

“Mel …”

“Okay, okay. Listen, I didn’t expect to talk to you. I mean, I called, but I figured I’d get your voice mail. Nate and I are grilling tonight. With friends. Why don’t you and Ty join us?”

“Which friends? It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

“The patio is covered. Bring a sweatshirt. Oliver and Amy are coming. And, well, Ginger, a new girl in our morning Bible study who could use someone to show her around.”

“Isn’t there a church rule that says pastors’ wives are forbidden to torture their brothers with their not-so-subtle matchmaking schemes?”

“Hey, I’m not doing anything of the sort.”

“Leave the matchmaking to the Tea Grannies, Mel.” He referred to the group of five ladies in his church who felt it was their God-gifted mission to make sure the singles in the church were paired up—whether they wanted to be or not.

“I just thought … well, it’s been almost a year.”

“Forget it. Not. Interested.” Knowing she was only trying to help, he softened his tone so he didn’t sound so much like a jerk. “Thanks, anyway. I need to get back to work.”

“Well, stop by and grab something to eat.”

“Maybe.” He hesitated, not sure if he should say anything yet, but she’d find out soon enough. “Hey, Mel. Uh, Lindsey’s back in town.”

“What? When? How do you know?”

“Someone called in a lurker down by the welcome sign. Had to check it out. Turned out to be Lindsey. Apparently Grace Porter fell and broke her leg.”

“You’ve seen her. Oh, Stephen … I’m so … How are you doing? I mean, seeing her must have been … wow, like a total shock or something.”

“That would be the understatement of three lifetimes. Listen, I really have to go. Call Ma, will you? I’m sure she’ll want to know about Grace.”

“Yeah, sure. As soon as Nate’s done with his sermon prep, we’ll head to the hospital to check on Grace. Maybe I can catch Lindsey. Call me later if, you know, you want to talk or anything.”

Stephen snapped the phone shut and dropped it on the seat beside him.

Life couldn’t be easy, could it?

Today was supposed to be like every other—wake up, drop Tyler off at school, head to the station. Since his wife’s death almost a year ago, juggling his responsibilities—single parenthood, law enforcement officer, upholding the family honor—without screwing up too badly consumed his waking hours.

And now Melissa had it in her head that he needed to date again. Was she crazy? He could barely keep his head above water as it was. Forget about romance.

Unless …

Stephen shook his head. Don’t even think about it. Lindsey hated him. He could see it in her thick-lashed, look-at-me green eyes. She had every right to never want to see him again.

Five years was a long time. She was probably involved with someone. Possibly even married. No, he would’ve heard if that had happened.

The thought of her with another guy twisted his gut. Yet, he had no right. His stupidity was the reason they weren’t together anymore. What she had been up to for the past five years was no longer any of his business. Plus, it wasn’t as if he would have been at the top of her must-see list. Girls really didn’t like to hang out with the guys who crushed their hearts.

He was an idiot. Of gigantic proportions.

He needed to get a grip. He had a job to do.

His cell phone vibrated again. Probably Melissa letting him know she talked to Ma. He grabbed it and answered. “Chase.”

“Mr. Chase, this is Carolyn Patry, the school nurse at Shelby Lake Elementary. I’m afraid there’s been a little accident.”

“What sort of accident?” A child wailed in the background. Familiar sobs that knifed his insides. “What’s wrong with Tyler?”

“He and another child collided while playing indoor soccer in gym class. Tyler fell and hurt his arm. I’m afraid it may be broken. He needs medical attention. Would you like me to call the paramedics, or do you want to take him to the emergency room?”

“I’ll take him. I’m on my way.” He ended the call, radioed the station to let them know where he was headed and shifted the patrol car into Drive. He pulled away from the shoulder, spitting gravel beneath the tires.

A broken arm wasn’t life-threatening. But the poor kid’d had a rough year and didn’t need anything else to make it worse. Especially a trip to the hospital—a place they’d come to know all too well and hated.

What if he ran into Lindsey in the E.R.?

Second chances didn’t come along every day. Now that she was back in town, maybe, just maybe he could make amends—fix what he had broken in the past. Next time she left town, it wouldn’t be because of him. Or maybe, God willing, he’d make sure she never wanted to leave again.

Chapter Two

Lindsey rushed into Shelby Lake Memorial’s emergency department. Her feet stopped at the edge of the rubber mat. The automatic doors hissed open and closed behind her. Her brain told her to move. But her legs … well, they refused to cooperate.

The stench of antiseptic saturated the air, coating the back of her throat and unleashing a flood of memories. Sea of blue uniforms swarming the waiting room. Mom’s body hunched in repetitious prayer. The waiting for word about Dad’s condition … praying for a miracle.

Beads of sweat dotted her upper lip and forehead. Inside her skin, her muscles tightened, nerve endings pulsed. Chills crawled across her flesh.

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t go back to the exam rooms, only to have the doctors say how sorry they were, but there was nothing more they could do. She couldn’t bear to listen to Mom’s griefstricken howls. Except, this time, those cries would be hers.

Ringing.

From the registration desk. Focus, girl.

Lindsey blinked a couple of times.

Emergency department.

Right.

Mom hadn’t been rushed to the O.R. with a bullet in her chest like Dad had been. She’d be fine. After all, who died from a broken leg?

Lindsey scanned the room, searching for Granddad’s steel-gray crew cut or Grandma’s cotton-colored curls.

Instead, she locked eyes with an elderly woman wearing a pink-and-white crocheted hat that resembled a toilet-paper cover. She wore a stretched-out white T-shirt, green polyester pants with a snag in the knee, white ankle socks and blue knockoff Crocs. She clutched a wicker purse with a beaded handle. Her jaw worked a piece of gum like one of Granddad’s Holsteins.