Close to Home. Deborah Raney

      Copyright Page

      CLOSE TO HOME

      Copyright © 2016 by Deborah Raney

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission can be addressed to Permissions, The United Methodist Publishing House, 2222 Rosa L. Parks Blvd., P.O. Box 280988, Nashville, TN, 37228-0988 or e-mailed to [email protected].

      The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

      Published in association with the Steve Laube Literary Agency

      Macro Editor: Jamie Chavez

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      ISBN: 9781501817441

      Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.TM

      Dedication Page

      For our two newest grandbabies,Jase Micah and Nora Kate

      Mimi can’t wait to get to know you!

      Epigraph

      Sing to God, sing in praise of his name,

      extol him who rides on the clouds;

      rejoice before him—his name is the Lord.

      A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,

      is God in his holy dwelling.

      God sets the lonely in families,

      he leads out the prisoners with singing.

      —Psalm 68:4-6a

      Chapter 1

      1

      Can I bother you for a minute?”

      Bree Whitman looked up from her desk to see Aaron Jakes standing in the doorway to her cubicle. Popping her earbuds out, she motioned to him. “Sure. What’s up?” She tilted her computer screen downward so he’d know she was listening—and so she wouldn’t be tempted not to.

      “Do you mind coming down to my office for a minute?”

      She laughed and stretched to peer over the half wall dividing the cubicles. His was two “doors” down. “This better be important if you’re going to make me walk all the way over there.”

      “It’s important.”

      She shot him a questioning look. Except for Wendy, the college girl who served as front-desk receptionist for all three companies housed in their complex, Bree and Aaron were the only two still in this wing.

      But Aaron had already turned and headed back to his cubicle.

      She glanced at the clock on her computer. She needed to leave in fifteen minutes. She’d promised Audrey she’d stop at the bakery for some rolls on her way to Tuesday family dinner tonight, and she was supposed to pick up Grandma CeeCee in Langhorne on her way out to the Chicory Inn.

      Sighing, she slid from behind her desk and went to Aaron’s cubicle. She glanced across the office through the plate glass window that faced the street. The time-and-temperature sign on the bank across the street flashed from 101 degrees to 102. “Are we seriously in triple digits again?” She lifted her long brown hair off her neck, twisted it into a bun, and held it in place for a few seconds before letting it fall to her shoulders again.

      “Well, it is July,” he said without looking up. Standing beside his desk, his expression said he was agitated by whatever was on his computer screen.

      “Okay, so what’s up?” she asked again, suddenly nervous about being alone in the office with him.

      Aaron leaned over his desk and pulled up a spreadsheet on the computer, then pulled out his desk chair and stepped aside, indicating she should have a seat.

      “What’s this?” She sat down and looked at the screen. “Oh, the Broadhogan conference? I thought you had that all worked out.”

      He gave a low growl. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger, right? Isn’t that the way the saying goes? Please tell me that’s the way the saying goes.”

      “What’d they do now?” She rolled his desk chair closer to the screen and studied the logistics timeline he’d been working on for close to two weeks now.

      Aaron put an arm on the desk and leaned in close enough that she could smell his woodsy aftershave. “I thought I finally had a workable schedule, and they sent it back again.” He pointed over her shoulder at several highlighted changes he’d made in the spec book for the job.

      This had to be at least the fourth time Aaron’s proposal had been rejected. If Bree were running the company, they would have declined the job after the third try. But Cape Girardeau was a small town and Sallie Wilkes, their boss, couldn’t afford to turn down work—or burn bridges. Even if they had to put in five times the hours on this event than any other conference they’d done in the history of the company. And that was saying a lot, given that Wilkes Event Planning had been in Cape for a quarter of a century.

      Sallie often assigned her and Aaron to the same events because of their age. Barbara, one of the older employees, referred to them as the “hip young team.” She and Aaron usually got handed the events at the college, the arts council, large weddings, or anything else that would draw a younger, more contemporary crowd. It made sense.

      She and Aaron made a good team, too. Aaron was the more organized one—although his lackadaisical attitude toward this show didn’t reveal it—and he was good with the technical stuff. Bree shined when it came to the details—decorating and swag and signage. And handling people.

      Aaron pointed at the spreadsheet again. “Would you just look this over once more before I send it back? Please? Because if I have to redo it one more time, I will seriously just go flip burgers or get a job as a lifeguard or a nanny or something.”

      She laughed. “You’ll do no such thing. Besides, you’d be a terrible nanny.”

      “Hey!”

      She ignored him and studied the document, scrolling down the pages, and mentally walking through the event in her head as she’d learned to do. But it wasn’t easy to concentrate with Aaron hanging over her shoulder, his warmth making her overheat, and his peppermint breath pleasantly distracting. “It looks good to me.”

      “That’s what you said the last two times I had you look it over. Not that I’m blaming you,” he added quickly. He patted her on the shoulder, his hand lingering there a fraction of a second too long.

      Aaron was a flirt. Not the obnoxious kind, but maybe the kind that wouldn’t be so fun to be married to. In the past few weeks he’d definitely been turning on the charm when she was around. She hadn’t done anything to encourage him. At least she didn’t think so. But it was hard to work as closely as the two of them did and not become . . . friendly.

      She