by Gayle Roper
PRAISE FOR GAYLE ROPER’S
Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two
“Once again, Gayle Roper shows herself to be a master at creating compelling characters.”
NANCY MOSER, AUTHOR OF THE SEAT BESIDE ME
“Gayle Roper has combined her special brand of wit and wisdom to weave a highly entertaining tale with just the right touch of mystery. I’m already looking forward to my next visit to Seaside.”
DEBORAH RANEY, AUTHOR OF BENEATH A SOUTHERN SKY
AND A VOW TO CHERISH
“Suspenseful drama, sweet romance, and breezy seaside setting … Gayle Roper’s Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two is ideal for summer reading.”
DEANNA JULIE DODSON, AUTHOR OF IN HONOR BOUND AND
TO GRACE SURRENDERED
“Gayle Roper’s interesting characters, not to mention heart-swelling romance and heart-racing suspense, will keep you turning the pages of Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two long after you planned on turning out the light!”
LISA E. SAMSON, AUTHOR OF THE CHURCH LADIES AND WOMEN’S INTUITION.
Spring Rain
“Spring Rain is a heartwarming love story that doesn’t shy away from tackling tough subjects like homosexuality and promiscuity. Ms. Roper handles them with grace and compassion, never compromising the hope-filled truth of God’s Word while giving us a bang-up tale of romantic suspense!”
LIZ CURTIS HIGGS, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF BAD GIRLS OF THE BIBLE
“Spring Rain contains all the mystery, suspense, and romance a reader could want. As someone who has lost a dear gay friend to AIDS, I also appreciated the story’s ‘something extra’: realism and candor. Thank you, Gayle, for speaking the truth in love!”
ANGELA ELWELL HUNT, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE NOTE
“This is a realistically portrayed story of love and forgiveness, filled with emotion and grace.… A compelling read.”
ROMANTIC TIMES MAGAZINE
“Spring Rain weaves powerful lessons on contemporary moral issues into a wonderful story—a very powerful combination!”
BOB DAVIES, NORTH AMERICAN DIRECTOR, EXODUS INTERNATIONAL
“Gayle Roper is in top form with Spring Rain. Her storytelling skills make this one a page-turning experience readers will love.”
JAMES SCOTT BELL, AUTHOR OF BLIND JUSTICE AND FINAL WITNESS
“Spring Rain is a gripping story from beginning to end. The characters are endearing yet very real and down to earth.… This romance will soften the hardest of hearts and keep you smiling throughout the summer days.”
AOL ROMANCE ONLINE
The Decision
HOLT MEDALLION AWARD WINNER
which honors outstanding literary talent
REVIEWER’S CHOICE AWARD WINNER
from Romantic Times magazine
“If you’re looking for a contemporary mystery with wit and romance, Gayle Roper is the author you’ve been waiting for.”
ROBIN JONES GUNN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE GLENBROOKE SERIES
“The Decision packs a powerful punch as Gayle’s endearing characters come to terms with love and reconciliation. Set in Lancaster County, the author’s attention to detail shines in her portrayal of the Amish people. The Decision is one of the best novels I’ve reviewed to date.”
ROMANTIC TIMES MAGAZINE
“The Decision combines gripping suspense with heartwarming romance, and a touch of humor besides. You’ll grow close to Jake, Rose, and their families, share in their pain and frustrations, and exult with them in their victories from the first page to the last. A wonderful book!”
INSPIRATIONAL ROMANCE PAGE
Novels by Gayle Roper
The Decision
Enough!
SEASIDE SEASONS:
Spring Rain
Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two
Autumn Dreams (June 2003)
THE AMHEARST MYSTERIES:
Caught in the Middle
Caught in the Act
Caught in a Bind
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two
published by Multnomah Books
© 2002 by Gayle G. Roper
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from:
The Holy Bible, New International Version
© 1973, 1984 by International Bible Society,
used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House
Other scripture quotations:
Holy Bible, New Living Translation (NLT) © 1996.
Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,
a division of Random House Inc., New York.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission.
For information:
MULTNOMAH BOOKS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, CO 80923
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Roper, Gayle G.
Summer Shadows: Seaside Seasons Book Two / by Gayle Roper.
p. cm. — (Seaside seasons; bk. 2)
eISBN: 978-0-307-78166-6
1. Accident victims—Family relationships—Fiction.
2. Mothers and daughters—Fiction. 3. Hit-and-run drivers—Fiction. 4. Widows—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3568.068 S86 2002
813′.54—dc21
2002000327
v3.1
For Anne, Dave, Don and all the others who made
my Seaside summers so special.
Thanks for the wonderful memories.
And Don, thanks for introducing
me to Chuck. Who knew, huh?
With special thanks to Julee Schwarzburg and Karen Ball
for their excellent editing and encouraging support.
I am most fortunate.
Abby would like to thank Vicki León for her books Uppity
Women of Medieval Times and Uppity Women of the Renaissance.
They were a great inspiration.
Sing to God, sing praise to his name,
extol him who rides on the clouds—
his name is the LORD—and rejoice before him.
A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling. God sets the lonely in families.
PSALM 68:4–6A
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Epigraph
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 T
wenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Books by Gayle Roper
One
ABBY STARED UP the flight of stairs and mentally kicked herself. The rigors of climbing to the second floor every day hadn’t seemed such an overwhelming challenge when she talked to the realtor over the phone. All Abby had paid attention to was “on the beach,” and that made up her mind for her. That and her desperate need to escape.
Idiot, she muttered under her breath, though even now “on the beach” tempered her self-criticism to a mild reprimand rather than a blistering diatribe.
Sighing, she grabbed the banister and began the arduous trip up the outside stairs to her new second floor beachfront apartment, pulling herself from step to step, trying to ignore the pain. After all, there was a time not too long ago when it would have been much worse. She gritted her teeth and “pushed through.”
How she hated that phrase.
Her physical therapist had yelled it at her for months. “Push through, Abby,” Helene always called. “Push through. You can do it. I know you can.” Easy for Helene to say as she stood there on two strong legs while Abby with her damaged hip and leg tried to climb one step, then two, walk the length of the room, then back, dripping with sweat and almost retching from pain.
Because Abby had no choice other than a life of immobility, she had pushed through, crying as she pushed. Three times a day, then twice, then once. Then three times a week, then twice, then once, she had pushed through the torture known as physical therapy. As a result she walked without a cane unless she had to be on her feet for a long time or had to traverse an uneven surface.
Tipping her mental hat to Helene, she continued to climb the stairs to her new apartment, step by straining step. She couldn’t help smiling. Sometimes such small things were really momentous victories.
“Excuse me, but just what do you think you’re doing?” The deep voice was cold, the question accusatory. “This is a private residence.”
Abby gripped the banister to steady herself and turned. Even looking down from her vantage point halfway up the stairs, she could tell he was one big man. He was also an irate one. His mouth was pressed thin, and his dark eyes shot sparks. His hands were fists on his hips. In each fist he held a messy sheaf of papers that fanned out on either side of him like a stiff tutu. Abby could see handwritten corrections in bold, black marker scribbled about the typing. She must have disturbed his work, and he didn’t appear to handle interruptions well.
It was sad, his surly attitude, because otherwise he was really quite impressive. A beautiful fallen angel, she thought, struck with a flight of imaginative if theologically incorrect fancy, an angel who lacked civility. She sniffed the air in curiosity. All the supernatural, Peretti-type novels said she should smell the brimstone if he were indeed a fallen angel, but she didn’t catch any hint of sulfur in the clean sea air.
“Well?” he prompted, his fair hair falling across his forehead. The sun struck it so it looked like a gleaming golden halo. He was too handsome by half.
She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders as she tried to remember his original question. Neither fallen angel nor grumpy man was going to intimidate her. She backtracked mentally from her image of an angel and brimstone through impressive and irate to—She grinned. What was she doing here? That was the question. She even knew the answer, not that he deserved it.
“Marguerite de la Roque,” she said. “Without the moral baggage.”
He blinked. “Well, Marguerite, I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“My name is not Marguerite. She has been dead for several centuries.”
He looked understandably bewildered.
“She sailed from France to Canada in 1541, the first European woman to reach the New World. Like her, I am embarking on a great adventure. I am moving to Seaside today.” To my New World full of promise. She smiled brilliantly at him.
“I hate to tell you, but you’re hardly the first woman to reach town,” he said dryly. “And, I’m sure, not the last. Now why are you here? Climbing these particular steps, I mean.”
A loud woof brought her gaze to the dog that stood at the man’s side. The rottweiler stared at her, his brown eyebrows pulled together in an unblinking frown that matched the man’s.
Great. Steps, a grumpy neighbor, and an ugly monster besides. Wait until Puppy sees him. She’ll have a coronary on the spot.
“I’m Abby Patterson,” she said, remembering at the last minute to look at the man, not the dog. “I’m not trespassing. I’m renting the second floor indefinitely.”
“Oh.” He looked nonplussed, and she was irritated enough at him to enjoy his discomfort. “You’re not coming until tomorrow.”
She shrugged. “Change of plans.” If ever she’d uttered an understatement, that was it. But how could she possibly explain to this glowering man that coming today was her private Declaration of Independence. Her own giant leap for mankind. Her personal strike against tyranny as she raised the banner signaling the belated liberation of Abigail Lynn MacDonald Patterson, aged twenty-nine.
She waved the keys she’d gotten at the realtor’s. Then she turned her back and continued her climb. She was surprised to feel the wood vibrate beneath her feet. She looked over her shoulder. Both the golden man and his monster dog were ascending her steps. Her private steps.
She reached the small landing at the top and turned to him, her back against the sturdy wooden railing. He stepped onto the landing too, followed by the monster. Talk about crowded.
“What?” she asked, voice abrupt. He and the dog unnerved her standing in the tight space with her. As a result she gave him her frostiest stare to prove she wasn’t bothered by his nearness. It was just that he loomed, sort of like her father did.
He stared at her, every bit as frosty as she. It was a wonder snow didn’t fall on this strip of New Jersey beach in spite of the balmy mid-June temperature. “I’m Marsh Winslow.”
She was so busy wishing he would back up onto the porch, which ran across the width of the building, and give her breathing room that it took a minute for the name to register.
“You’re Marsh Winslow? My landlord?” Abby was appalled. She had to share the house with this snarling, ill-tempered person? She glanced down. And his monster dog?
The dog nudged his master’s hand for all the world like he wanted to be introduced too.
The man looked at the monster, his face softening into a smile. “This is Fargo, the wonder dog.”
“I’ve got a cat,” Abby said, staring at Fargo with distaste. He was so big. “Puppy.”
Marsh Winslow blinked again. “You have a cat and a dog? I thought you only had a cat. That’s all we agreed on in the lease.”
This time she blinked. “I do.”
“Er, you do what?”
The man couldn’t even follow a conversation. “I do have just a cat,” she patiently explained. “I’d have told you if I had a dog.” She glanced at Fargo. “They’re hard to hide.”
“But you just said you had a puppy.” Fargo nodded his agreement. “They’re even harder to hide.”
“I said I had a cat named Puppy.”
“A cat named Puppy?”
It was his quick look at the dog that made her angry. It was like the two of them thought she was playing w
ith less than a full deck. It was too much like the way her parents had looked at each other when she told them about her new job in Seaside.
Well, contrary to public opinion, she was not an idiot. Her mental deck was a full fifty-two cards, carefully shuffled and ready to play.
“I suppose naming a dog after a city in North Dakota makes more sense?”
Her landlord scratched his ear like he couldn’t believe he was involved in such a foolish conversation. Fargo sat, lifted his rear leg, and began scratching his ear too.
Fleas? Both of them?
Marsh took a deep breath, the kind you take when you are putting up with someone who has tried you to the limits. “I, um, I need to apologize if I sounded a bit abrupt,” he said abruptly. “I didn’t realize who you were.”
She looked at him a minute without reacting. He didn’t appear sorry. His mouth had the puckered look of someone who’d just swallowed something extremely sour or someone whose mother had forced him to apologize countless time when he didn’t want to.
“Don’t let it worry you,” she said, waving her hand regally in the air. “You couldn’t have known.” Having dismissed him, she turned ninety degrees to look out over the beach and the ocean. “It’ll be a case of Isabella and Ferdinand.”
Fargo woofed in question as Marsh said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Isabella and Ferdinand.” She again waved her hand to shoo him away.
“Of Christopher Columbus fame, I assume? You’re Isabella and I’m Ferdinand?”
She nodded. She was Queen Isabella dismissing the diminutive Ferdinand—except that Marsh Winslow was anything but little and he didn’t seem to realize she’d dismissed him. Still, if they could work out a policy like Isabella and Ferdinand did, they’d probably manage all right. As coregents of Spain, Isabella ruled Castile while Ferdinand ruled Aragon. She would rule the second floor, her Castile, and Marsh the first, his Aragon. If such an arrangement allowed the royal marriage to survive, certainly it would allow the two of them to coexist through the summer and beyond.
“How many miles to the horizon?” she asked suddenly.