You Can't Hurry Love

by Beth K. Vogt

  “I agree.” Elisabeth snuggled up against him as the carriage swayed with the movement of the horse. “You know, I can probably count on one hand the number of times you’ve kissed me since I saw you at Peter and Tori’s wedding almost a year ago.”

  “Oh, I promise you’ll lose track soon enough, wife.”

  “That’s a promise I insist you keep, husband—”

  “Say no more.” He pressed his lips against the soft skin just below her ear. “Never let it be said that I’m not a man of my word.”

  “Jamie—” Elisabeth fought to finish her sentence as his kisses strayed closer to her lips. “We’re in an open carriage . . .”

  “Not to worry. It’s nighttime and I tipped the driver extra for a longer ride—” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And to look straight ahead the entire time.”

  “Oh, in that case, then—” Elisabeth gave him a lingering kiss. “—let’s lose count.”

  Jamie’s whispered “One . . .” faded into a delicious chuckle that was silenced by a kiss worth waiting for.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Not to us, LORD, not to us but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness.

  —PSALM 115:1 (NIV)

  You Can’t Hurry Love holds a special place in my heart because there’s a little bit of my own love story woven into this novella. I met my husband, Rob, the summer after he graduated from the US Air Force Academy. At the time, I lived in Maryland and he was heading to his first assignment in California. So, yes, we embarked on a long-distance relationship. We will celebrate our thirty-sixth wedding anniversary on May 24, 2016, so we are proof that long-distance romances do last. And yes, as a military wife, I did experience my husband deploying overseas. We survived a four-month separation thanks to e-mails, once-a-week phone calls, and several video conferences. And I have all of our e-mails printed out and saved in several three-ring binders.

  My family deserves a special thank-you because I juggled writing this novella with rewriting and editing Almost Like Being in Love—and my first draft was written during November and December 2015. Yes, right during the holidays. And don’t you know I got about ten thousand words in and decided to start over? But they all cheered me on and prayed for me and understood when I disappeared into my office. And yes, there were times I ignored the novella and spent time with my family—because real people are more important than imaginary ones. Special kudos to my husband, who read through the whole manuscript for me right before I hit Send. He stayed up until midnight that night, reading and reminiscing about our long-distance romance.

  Thank you, Rachel Hauck, for always being there when I FaceTime you and say, “I’m stuck.” You take time out from your own demanding writing deadlines and help me. Sometimes our conversations result in a quick revision of the plot. Sometimes I’m faced with a complete overhaul. This time it was the complete overhaul and you assured me, “The story will write itself.” I admit to being skeptical. But God’s ears are open to our prayers (Psalm 34:15), including the prayers of a frantic writer on a tight deadline, and the story came together quickly and in a way I never imagined.

  I’ve come to believe every writer needs a writer-friend who is also a walking buddy. Mary Agius, thanks for all the walks and brainstorming sessions. I love it whenever you say “What if . . .”

  It’s wonderful to have a trustworthy publishing team. I’m blessed to have just that at Howard Books. I’m so thankful for senior editor Beth Adams, who is always available and makes me feel as if I’m her only writer, as well as the insight provided by associate editor Katie Sandell, and the skills of production editor Linda Sawicki.

  Rachelle Gardner, it’s been six years since you said, “Let’s see if we can establish you as a novelist.” Thank you for everything . . . and I do mean everything. The guidance. The feedback. The encouragement. The reminders that writing is not brain surgery.

  Casey Herringshaw: You keep me sane. Enough said.

  My Book Therapy, the writing community founded by bestselling author Susan May Warren—whom I’m blessed to have as both my friend and mentor—has played a huge part in my writing success. If you’re reading this and dreaming about becoming a writer, visit the My Book Therapy website:

  learnhowtowriteanovel.com

  KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

  Coming June 2016 from Howard Books

  ONE

  A new day—another opportunity to prove herself to her boss.

  Of course, Caron had complicated the whole “prove herself” challenge by working for her father.

  She leaned back in the driver’s seat of her car, inhaling the faint citrus scent of Armor All lingering in her SUV. From the hubcaps to the dials of the CD player, the car gleamed. Dash and door handles wiped down with cleaner. Windows streak-free. Floors vacuumed so that not a candy wrapper or Hot Tamale lurked beneath her car seats. At this moment, she sat in the perfect car for a Realtor to transport clients to see properties.

  Not that her father conducted weekly inspections of his employees’ cars. But he could inspect hers, if he wanted to.

  Caron unbuckled her seat belt with a sharp metallic click. Time to get to work. It was almost six o’clock in the morning. Showing up before sunrise might earn a brief nod of acknowledgment from her father, but only if he’d been there to see her early entrance into the empty building.

  She paused in the reception area long enough to place a fresh arrangement of bright purple irises and vivid blue cornflowers in the vase on the glass-topped coffee table, then switched the outdated copies of Real Simple and HGTV magazines with more current ones. She returned to her SUV to grab the bags of pillows she’d purchased over the weekend. Removing the teal and muted silver ones set along the back of the sofa, she added the circular pops of yellow, white, and royal blue. The final touch—a single spray of cornflowers added to the tall glass bottle on the receptionist’s desk.

  Her father might not ever acknowledge her attention to detail, but their—his—clients appreciated the welcoming touches. And the coming summer season was the perfect time to update the look in the reception area.

  Once she was in her office, the minutes disappeared into the silence, her thermos of cold sweet tea ignored on the corner of her desk as she studied the new homes on the MLS list. She e-mailed a prospective buyer, a military spouse flying in midweek to house-hunt, attaching photos of a few of the houses she had in mind for the family of five. Later today, she’d go visit some of the homes she’d marked down and begin mapping out the showings.

  “You heading into the morning staff meeting?” Jackie appeared in the open doorway to Caron’s office, holding a mug of coffee emblazoned with the company logo.

  Caron rested her chin on her hand, resisting the urge to rub her eyes and smudge her mascara. “Is it almost nine o’clock already?”

  “Yep.” Jackie nodded toward the conference room, causing her sleek black ponytail to sway. “I think your dad—I mean the boss—brought in some sort of motivational speaker this morning. I only got a quick look, but there’s something familiar about her.”

  “What? My father didn’t mention anything during Sunday’s barbecue.”

  Of course, he didn’t have to tell Caron everything—or anything—just because they worked together. But there were the very rare times they talked business, sitting in his office at the back of the house until her mom came looking for them and demanded that they stop.

  “Well, we won’t know what’s going on until the meeting starts.” Jackie took a step back. “And we both know the boss likes his employees to be punctual.”

  Caron slipped on her floral heels, organizing the top of her desk before joining Jackie and making their way to the conference room. “Did you have a good Memorial Day weekend?”

  “Spent it out on the bayou, water-skiing. What about you?”

  “The traditional barbecue with m
y family and Alex’s family.” Caron lowered her voice as they entered the conference room, nodding to her father. “Alex didn’t get called away once on an emergency.”

  “All the air conditioners on the Panhandle managed to stay functioning for a day, huh?”

  Caron muffled her laugh with her hand, turning it into a cough as her father took his place at the head of the long table. It was their Monday-morning staff meeting—only on Tuesday morning, thanks to the holiday weekend. Time to focus, to be professional.

  Caron used the logo-branded pen to surround the list of topics on the paper in front of her with various-sized arrows as her father worked his way through the list.

  • Scheduling for Continuing Education Courses

  • Agents’ New Listings

  • Open House Weekly Caravan

  • Office Total Production for Month/Quarter/Year

  • Agents’ Production for Month/Quarter/Year

  “I wanted to single out one agent in particular this morning—Caron Hollister.”

  At the mention of her name, Caron dropped her pen so that it rolled across the table with a clatter of plastic against glass, her attention pulled away from her doodling.

  “Congratulations on surpassing the proposed quota in sales not only for the month, but for the quarter.” A brief smile creased her father’s face. “If you keep this up, you’re likely to be in the top ten percent of sales in the country by the end of the year.”

  A flush heated her neck, rising to her face—the round of applause from her colleagues mere background noise to her father’s public praise. Yes, the sales meant she’d satisfied her clients, but she’d also made her father proud, which made all the early mornings and late nights worth it.

  “And now that we’ve discussed the usual business agenda—” Her father smoothed his royal-blue tie against his starched white dress shirt. “—I have an important announcement that affects the future of this company.”

  As he spoke, a petite woman, who appeared no more than ten years older than Caron, entered the room and came to stand beside him. She was all polish and poise. Immaculate deep red dress that almost shouted designer-made. Mile-high heels. Airbrushed makeup. Blond hair cut into a classic bob. Bleached-white smile.

  Wait . . . who was she? Caron scrolled through her brain, trying to put a name to the vaguely familiar too-perfect face.

  Nothing.

  A hush settled over the room as if everyone took a collective breath and held it. No exhale.

  Wait for it . . . wait for it . . .

  “I’d like to introduce Nancy Miller. I’m sure you’re all familiar with her reputation along the Emerald Coast as a well-respected Realtor. After some lengthy negotiations, I’m very pleased to inform you that Nancy is joining Hollister Realty . . . as my partner.”

  The room remained quiet, as if people weren’t sure if a round of applause was in order. Caron gripped the fabric edge of her chair to keep from bolting to her feet. His partner? Her father didn’t share his business with anyone. Caron stared down through the clear glass table. Maybe if she let go of the edge of the chair, she’d fall through the glass like some modern-day Alice. Fall, fall, fall into some other world where things made sense.

  Her father’s voice chained her to the how-can-this-be-true reality.

  “As I’m sure you’re all aware, Nancy has a thriving real estate firm in Navarre. I’ve watched her for years and I respect her business prowess and all she’s accomplished in the past decade. We both realized that together we’d be a realty force to be reckoned with.”

  Her father was standing there . . . praising Nancy Miller . . . announcing she would be his new partner . . . only minutes after he’d finally acknowledged Caron was successful—on her way to possibly earning national acclaim.

  “This is going to mean great things for our companies. A name change, for one. We’ll become Hollister Realty Group. We’re already working on our ad campaign to announce our merger and our new name.” Her father beamed like a man announcing the birth of his firstborn. “At this time, no one needs to worry about any adjustments to our staffs.”

  Around the room, the employees relaxed in their chairs, a collective exhale whispering through the air.

  “As a matter of fact, we may need to hire additional employees. But that’s all to be determined. This morning, I just wanted to share that today’s a new beginning for our company.”

  Applause splattered around the room.

  “To celebrate, I requested champagne and cake. I’m not sure what the delay is.” Her father motioned Nancy forward. “I also wanted Nancy to say a few words and to give her the chance to tell you her vision for our future. While she does that, I’ll slip out and see what’s the holdup on the bubbly.”

  As a wave of laughter flowed among the employees, Nancy worked the room like a pro, starting off with a joke about her early years as a Realtor. Caron slipped from her chair and caught up with her father in the hallway.

  “What was that?” Her words were a timid verbal tap on his shoulder.

  Her father didn’t slow his stride. “What was what?”

  “That.” Caron motioned back toward the conference room. “That announcement.”

  “Just like I said—it’s the future of this company.”

  “I was at the house two days ago for lunch and you never said a word.”

  “That was a family gathering. You found out today, with the rest of the employees, Caron.”

  “But I’m your daughter.”

  “Exactly. At home, you’re my daughter. Here, you’re my employee like everyone else.” He stopped outside the kitchen, where two of the receptionists arranged clear plastic champagne glasses and plastic plates with slices of cake on two rolling carts. “And I decided it was best you found out today.”

  “How long have you been planning this?”

  “Six months, maybe a little longer than that.”

  Six months? For a moment, the scene in front of her blurred—the receptionists pouring streams of champagne into tiny cups seemed to fade in and out. “You didn’t think I would want to know? Didn’t realize how this would affect me?”

  “My decision affects you the same way it affects any other Realtor who works for me. It’s a wise move for the business.”

  Caron’s fingers worried the collar of her linen dress. “Dad, you made Nancy Miller your partner. You’ve always said that this company was yours—a family-owned business—”

  “And it still is. I’ve retained majority ownership in the business.”

  “But Nancy Miller isn’t family—”

  “No, she’s not. She’s my partner. And I chose to expand my business by making the best decision for this company.”

  Nancy Miller. Her father’s partner.

  And where did that leave her?

  Caron swallowed past the sharp ache slicing the back of her throat. This was not the time to give in to emotion. Her father had taught her the importance of remaining calm when negotiating. “But . . . you knew my dream was to . . . to one day . . .”

  Her father stepped away from the other women, blocking them as he turned to face her. Lowered his voice, his gray eyes glacial. “Dreams don’t get handed to you. Having the Hollister name doesn’t guarantee you anything. I make business decisions based on what’s best now as well as in the future. Granted, you’ve surprised me by settling in here and proving to be a good Realtor. But Nancy Miller has years of experience that you don’t have. She’s rocketed past anyone’s expectations for her success. A good employee doesn’t question her boss’s decisions—in public or private. Given time, you’ll realize this was a wise decision.”

  With that, her father addressed the receptionists, his voice smooth. Caron braced a hand against the wall. With her father’s unexpected decision to form a partnership, she’d lost her way. His “surprise” at h
er success erased any indication she’d made real progress. It was as if he’d removed all the signs, all the mile markers, from the road map of her life.

  Her father took a few steps past her, back toward the conference room. Stopped. “Are you coming?”

  Was she coming . . . where? Back to the conference room to watch everyone fawn over the woman who’d stolen her dream?

  No, that wasn’t true. Nancy Miller hadn’t stolen her dream. Her father had handed Caron’s dream to her, with no thought of how it would destroy his daughter’s professional goals.

  By aligning himself with Nancy Miller, her father had betrayed her. Was she going to betray herself?

  Caron forced herself to stand straight, fisting her hands at her sides. How . . . why had her father done this to her? She’d poured hours into being the best Realtor she could, all the while hoping that one day she’d be her dad’s partner. How was she supposed to work under Nancy Miller?

  “Dad, you’ve worked hard for what you’ve accomplished. Made the decisions you thought best.” Her body flushed hot, then cold. “It’s . . . only right I do the same.”

  A nod of agreement. “Now you’re talking.”

  “I don’t understand your latest decision . . . how I fit in . . .” Caron searched for the next words. The necessary words. The words that would stamp FINAL on today. “—so . . . so I think it’s best that I’m not a part of Hollister Realty Group.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She hesitated for only a moment, waiting until she could say what needed to be said without her voice quavering. “I quit. I’ll draw up the standard two weeks’ resignation today—”

  “Don’t be rash, Caron. You’re not in high school anymore.”

  High school.

  With those two words, her father reduced her to a seventeen-year-old with streaks of vivid pink in her hair.