Waiting Out the Storm. Ruth Herne Logan
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Sarah.”
Craig extended his hand. She placed hers in it. He invaded her space, inhaled and smiled. “Your perfume. Meadow Romance.”
“You remembered.”
“Couldn’t possibly forget.”
Sarah stepped ahead of him, then turned and caught him appreciating the view. Her heart stuttered and his grin made her feel young. Pretty. She had no clue what to say or how to react.
Then she noticed the amazing smells wafting from the kitchen. “You’re cooking? Really?”
“I said I would.”
Despite her internal admonition, her heart leaped at his promise to spend time with her. She slanted him a quiet look. “If you cook, I’ll clean.”
“Promise?”
Craig’s expression said he was two steps ahead of her in a game she’d never played. But she was beginning to like being on the board. “Promise.”
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders and the dirt….
Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her Web site at www.ruthloganherne.com.
Waiting Out the Storm
Ruth Logan Herne
Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.
—James 2:15–17
To my earthly favorite fisherman, my husband, Dave, who glimpsed the woman within the girl….
And married her anyway.
And to Helen Dunn and her family, whose lives were touched by sadness at a young age. If only there’d been an Aunt Sarah around back then.
God bless you and keep you, Helen.
Acknowledgments:
Huge thanks to my children, whose help knows no bounds. Special thanks to Beth and Mandy for road-tripping the North Country with me, and huge thanks to Seth and Lacey for stepping into whatever job proved necessary. Matt, Karen, Zach and Luke…thanks for believing in me like you do, and special thanks to Sandra, Andrea, Tina, Audra, Glynna and Mary.
To Nancy A. Wood, of Wild Irish Rose Farms, a specialty farm producing goat milk soaps, and to Al and Rita Ostrander, proprietors of Ostrander’s Bed and Breakfast. Thanks also to Mary Jarvis of Groveland Farm in Superior, Wisconsin for her love of Maremmas, to Kay Mott for her counsel on Native Americans and Nancy Vandivert, who offered advice on hand spinning.
Delighted thanks to Melissa Endlich of Steeple Hill Books for extracting the romance from the original manuscript, helping bring this story to fruition.
And always to the Seekers, women banded by love of God and romance, who put up with me every single day. You ladies rock!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Dr. Craig Macklin saw nothing but the massive creature before him, a huge, white and hairy Maremma guard dog beleaguered by a face full of porcupine quills. The obvious suffering in the dog’s dark eyes implored Craig to help.
Craig squatted to examine the embedded bristles. The animal’s curiosity had pushed him beyond caution. The face full of quills—a nasty lesson learned. Porcupines were best left alone.
Murmuring to the shaggy white canine, Craig positioned the adjustable light and peered into the Maremma’s face. The dog’s whimper made Craig’s decision easy. “I’ll have to put him under for a few minutes. The depth and quantity make it tough to handle without a tranquilizer. I’d be causing him a lot of pain otherwise. What’s his name?” Turning, Craig looked at the owner for the first time. Sarah Slocum.
Well. That explained Julie’s initial hesitance, the concern he’d heard when his assistant summoned him. But his veterinary partner had left for the day and Craig was here. That left no choice but to treat Sarah’s dog.
Her face washed pale under rich tones. Eyes as dark and deep as the dog’s stayed trained on the beast’s muzzle. She didn’t make eye contact with Craig. “Gino. From Sofia’s last litter.” She emitted a half sigh, half shudder as the dog whined. She stepped forward, crooning, her melodic tone soothing the animal much as a mother would a small child.
Julie watched as if expecting him to do—what? Scream? Shout? Berate the woman before him for her genealogy and refuse to treat her dog?
He wouldn’t do that. But his medical duties didn’t mean he had to go out of his way to be nice, either.
There was a reason he avoided Slocums. A real good one. The thought of the criminal history between their families tightened Craig’s jaw. Sarah’s older brother had pioneered a Ponzi scheme, bilking a fair share of locals out of their hard-earned money, including his grandparents. Grams and Gramps Macklin had invested everything in Tom Slocum’s guaranteed-returns package, and lost it all when Tom’s misappropriation was discovered. Gramps had passed on over a year ago, but Grams was living out her later years dependent on others’ kindness, with nothing but small Social Security checks to call her own. A tough old bird, Gramps used to call her, and