He gave a short snort, making Cambri laugh, and she poked him again. “Don’t make me have to kiss you awake.”
His lips twitched slightly, letting Cambri know he was awake, but his eyes remained closed.
“Okay, you asked for it.” Cambri unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned toward him. “But I think it’s only fair to warn you that I just ate the last of the sour cream and onion chips.”
One dark brown eye popped open. “Rain check?”
“Not on your life.” She leaned the rest of the way and planted a full kiss on his lips. Then she blew into his face and laughed when he puckered.
She slugged him in the arm. “Stop it. I was only kidding about the chips. My breath doesn’t smell that bad, does it?”
“No.” He gave her a peck on the lips to prove his point. No matter how many times he did that, it never got old.
She cocked her head at him and smiled. “Did you know that you snore?”
He frowned. “Do not.”
“Do too. You sounded like an angry warthog making a huge fuss over—well, nothing.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“Next time I’m going to record it on my phone, and then you’ll see.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Will there be a next time?”
“Sure, we can do it right now.” Cambri nodded toward the house. “Go challenge Dad to a game of chess, and you’ll be back asleep in no time.”
“You’re right. That should do the trick.” Jace flopped his head against the back of the headrest and glanced at the house. “Remind me to have a pre-nup drawn up with a clause stating that I will never have to play chess with that man. Fishing, I can handle. Chess, not so much. It’s like…”
Jace continued to talk as though he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, but Cambri’s racing heart said otherwise. He’d just said pre-nup, right? Had she heard wrong? Jace finally stopped talking and looked at her, his eyebrow quirked up. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“You said pre-nup.”
Jace lifted an eyebrow, as though he had no idea why she was making a bid deal out of it. “So?”
“Pre-nup, Jace!” Cambri said. “That’s not something you toss out in the middle of a conversation about chess. Especially when you’re not engaged or planning—”
“Not engaged yet.”
Cambri gaped at him, feeling a little stunned. Most couples approached this subject with a little more subtlety and warning, didn’t they? What did that mean anyway? Was Jace popping the question, or just telling her he was planning to pop it?
“Cat got your tongue?” he teased.
She gaped at him, then shook her head to clear her thoughts. “When, exactly, are you thinking of getting engaged?” A little warning would be nice, unlike this conversation.
Jace leaned forward and gave her mouth another peck. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, but I really hope you’ll say yes when it happens.” He reached for the handle. “C’mon. Let’s go check on your dad and get some dinner. I’m starved.” Then he was out of the car, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
Cambri, on the other hand, sat frozen.
Jace was planning to propose. To her.
The house, the dark-haired, dark-eyed children, Jace—it could all be hers.
She stared out the window, feeling like she’d just stumbled upon a meadow filled with the most beautiful wildflowers imaginable. The overcast sky became rich with sunlight. Warmth and happiness rushed around her, dancing across her skin. She’d never felt so alive, so complete, so—
“Coming?” Jace had walked around and opened her door, and now held out his hand. Cambri looked up at his handsome face with his endearing, lopsided smile. She didn’t deserve him.
“Earth to Cambri,” Jace said, breaking through her thoughts. His fingers wiggled, inviting her to take them, which she did. He pulled her from the car and kept her hand securely in his as they walked toward the house, where her father waited on the front porch in his favorite rocker.
“About time you got out of that car. You’d think after being in it all day, you couldn’t wait to get out.”
Jace smiled at Cambri. “We were just… making plans.”
“What did you do, propose?” said her father.
“I wouldn’t dare without asking your permission first.”
Harvey shook his head at Jace as though he were a dimwit. “Boy, if you don’t already know what my answer will be, you’re about as smart as a bag of rocks.”
Jace chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Harvey leaned back in the rocker and looked at Cambri. “Get things worked out with your former boss?”
“Not quite former, just yet,” she said. “He’s not happy with my decision—or with me, for that matter—but I know a lot about this project, so he still wants me involved. It will mean a bunch of conference calls and maybe a few visits out there in the fall, but I think I can manage.”
Her father harrumphed in response.
Cambri leaned against a pillar and looked over the yard that she’d spent so many hours recreating for her father. A few weeds had sprung up in her absence, but other than that, it was the same, filled with young and budding life. Or, at least almost the same.
She squinted at the far corner of the lawn, seeing small orange flowers that weren’t there before. She rose and walked to them. Someone had dug a too-deep hole and shoved in three marigold starts next to each other. It was the work of rough and unpracticed hands. Her father’s hands.
Marigolds had been her mother’s favorite flowers because they reminded her of sun on a beautiful summer’s day. Every year she’d planted three. One for Cambri, one for her father, and one for herself—just like her father had done here. Cambri swallowed the lump in her throat as tears stung her eyes.
“Guess I should have planted one more for Jace,” came Harvey’s voice from behind. Cambri spun around and threw her arms around her dad. He tensed at first, but then relaxed and hugged her back.
“Thank you for remembering,” she said.
He cleared his throat, but Cambri could hear the raw emotion. “I’ve never forgotten,” he said. “I tried to, but then you had to go and show me that I was wrong, and I hate being wrong.” He moved to the side, but kept an arm around his daughter as he looked over all the changes Cambri had made. “When we first moved in, there was grass everywhere, and your mother made me dig up all those flowerbeds. Then she planted and planted and planted. I kept getting after her to stop spending so much money on frou frou, but she just smiled and told me I’d be glad when it was all done. And she was right. She made this house a home. I didn’t realize how much until I’d gone and messed it all up.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Thanks for bringing her back to me.”
Cambri swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks. Happy tears—the kind you get when someone reaches into your heart and touches it with a gentle and loving hand. Although her father would always be rough around the edges, underneath all that roughness was someone worth loving and someone who loved her.
Cambri looked up and caught Jace watching from the front porch with his shoulder leaning against the post and his eyes focused on her. She smiled, wiping at a few remaining tears.
Some might say that the world was filled with imperfect people, and because of that, perfect moments didn’t exist. But Cambri knew better. This moment proved it, though it wasn’t easy to come by. It took leaving, coming home, lowering her pride, and learning to find the good. It took heartache, loneliness, tears, and sorrys, as well as forgiveness, acceptance, love, and a whole lot of growing up.
And looking back, Cambri wouldn’t change a thing. All that hard stuff had turned her into a stronger, wiser, and better person than she was before—someone who realized that she had something worth having. And that something was pretty great.
Continue on for a sneak peak of Book 4 (Lydia’s story) in the Ripple Effect Series.
&n
bsp; Dear Reader,
I’m so grateful to you for taking time out of your day to read Righting a Wrong. I hope that it gave you a much-needed break from the craziness we call life.
If you can spare the time, I can’t tell you how much I’d appreciate a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever else you feel inclined to leave one. Word of mouth is the best kind of advertising there is, and we could use your help getting the word out about this series.
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Thanks again and happy reading!
Rachael
To Karey and Kaylee, my co-collaborators in this project. You are both brilliant writers, wonderful editors, and good friends. I hope this is the beginning of a lot more fun projects to come.
To Donna K. Weaver, Julie N. Ford, and Jennifer Griffith—you guys rock! The stories you imagined and wrote are so unique and fun. Thank you for putting your trust in us and for being so great to work with.
And to my family, for being the wonderful, supportive people you are. Especially my husband, Jeff. I thank Heavenly Father every day for your presence in my life.
A USA Today bestselling author, Rachael Anderson is the mother of four and is pretty good at breaking up fights, or at least sending guilty parties to their rooms. She can't sing, doesn't dance, and despises tragedies. But she recently figured out how yeast works and can now make homemade bread, which she is really good at eating.
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Next in the Ripple Effect Romance Series
Lydia was supposed to have an adventurous and exciting summer. Instead she's done nothing more than read and eat takeout. Now it's time to go home, and what does she have to show for it? A big fat nothing. Unless, of course, her trip to the airport somehow turns into something more than just a flight home.
Blake feels like he's been sent on a wild goose chase. While work is piling up back in Denver, he's on the other side of the country, hunting for some mysterious box that his grandfather left him. Well, no more. Nothing inside that box could possibly be more important than the opportunity to make it as the youngest partner at his firm. So he's going home, and that's that. But that's before he discovers his flight has been cancelled.
When these two strangers meet at the airport, they make a split-second decision to search for the box together. Maybe with both of them on the hunt, Lydia can have her adventure and Blake can find the box. And maybe, if they’re lucky, they’ll even find some romance.
Lydia lifted her bag onto the scale and crossed her fingers it would meet the weight restrictions.
“Either you’re a mighty fine packer or you’re right lucky,” said the man behind the counter. “Forty-nine pounds for one and forty-nine and a half pounds for this one.” His thick, mahogany mustache moved as he spoke and reminded Lydia of a squirrel’s tail.
“I guess I’m a little of both. I weighed them on a bathroom scale, but you never know how accurate they are. The scale said they’d be three pounds under.”
“Now you know your scale weighs light. Probably didn’t want to know that, did you?” He laughed at his little joke and Lydia tried not to stare at the rodent on his upper lip. “You need to go to Gate C-14. Glad you gave yourself some time. That gate’s quite a jaunt from here.”
Squirrel Man pointed to his right. “Go past the restaurants and stores, and you’ll find the C concourse on your right. It’s just past The Traveler’s Friend. Now that’s a piece’a irony, calling it a traveler’s friend. I can buy a gallon of O.J. for what they’re chargin’ for a Dixie cup.” He held his fingers up to demonstrate the tininess. Does that sound like a friend to you?”
Lydia laughed. “No, sir. It doesn’t.”
“You have a nice flight, Miss Sutton.”
Lydia headed in the direction Squirrel Man had pointed. She’d taken only a few steps when the wheels of her carryon malfunctioned and the bag flipped onto its front side—the side without wheels—again. “This is the last trip I’m taking with you,” she muttered to her suitcase. Of course, considering this summer, maybe she’d never take a trip again.
After Lydia made it through security, she stopped at a little deli and bought a sandwich before continuing to her gate. Squirrel Man had been right. The walk to C-14 was long, made even longer by the cheap wheels of her carryon.
Lydia felt clammy and uncomfortable. The air conditioning in North Carolina’s humid heat was a ninety-pound weakling fighting a steroid-swollen heavyweight champion. The C concourse had to be at least the length of a football field. Up ahead was C-14—just past the mob of people waiting at C-12 for a flight to Miami.
Lydia maneuvered her way through the throng. “I’m so sorry,” she said after her suitcase flopped over and upended an older gentleman’s bag. Finally, the crowd thinned and she was at her gate, next to a few scattered early birds who sat in the powder-blue, vinyl chairs. Eyeing the seats facing the window, she cut through two rows. As she turned the corner, her suitcase flipped again and snagged on a chair leg, upsetting her balance. Her purse slipped down her arm to the crook of her elbow. Lydia wrenched the suitcase back to its wheels and kept moving. The purse, now dangling from her elbow, caught on the armrest of a chair, yanking her to a stop. Her Sensational Sandwich sack flew out of her hand and landed on the floor a few feet away.
Lydia took a deep, cleansing breath, unhooked the purse strap from the armrest, righted the carryon, and looked for her wayward sandwich.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked a handsome man.
Perfect. Of course Lydia’s sandwich acrobatics would have to be witnessed by a guy who looked like a movie star. And not a Nick-Nolte-mugshot movie star, either. This guy was more like a Ryan-Gosling-freshly-shaved-and-in-a-perfectly-tailored-navy-suit-with-a-super-crisp-white-shirt movie star.
“Thank you,” she said and took her sandwich before dropping into the closest chair. Forget looking out the window. It wasn’t worth the effort. Lydia blew the hair out of her eyes and dragged her bag closer to her feet.
“You doing okay?” the Ryan Gosling lookalike asked from across the aisle. Laughter was barely contained behind his very nice smile. Lydia sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“I am now.”
The man turned his attention back to his laptop, but his smile lasted several more seconds. Lydia pulled her turkey on wheat sandwich from the crumpled bag. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had been a sad little spread. Earlier in the week, Lydia had packed up Cambri’s few remaining belongings and shipped them to Colorado. Yesterday, she had completely cleaned out the apartment, including the few condiments that were left in the refrigerator. She didn’t want to lose her deposit because of a half bottle of ketchup and an expired jar of relish. This morning, the only thing left to eat had been a browning banana and the last few swallows of milk.
When Lydia took the second bite of her sandwich, a tablespoon-sized glob of mayonnaise oozed out the bottom and into her hand. She fumbled one-handed through the bag in search of a napkin. Was this a joke? The only thing left in the bag was a mayonnaise packet. Didn’t need that. “I can watch your bag while you go wash up.” It was the handsome man, and his mirth had reached beyond his fantastic smile (he had a perfect dimple that appeared by the right corner of his mouth) and up to his twinkling blue eyes. Lydia looked from the man to her fistful of mayonnaise. A robotic female voice in Lydia’s mind recited lines about leaving bags unattended and not accepting packages from strangers. “I promise I won’t take it and make a run for it,” he said.
“You’d be terribly disappointed if you did,” Lydia said, making up her mind. She returned the rest of her sandwich t
o the paper bag, pulled her purse onto her shoulder with her condimentless hand, and headed for the restroom, holding her mayonnaise like a gift in front of her. “I’ll hurry.”
When Lydia approached her seat a few minutes later, an airport security officer with a shiny face and a little paunch was standing in the aisle by her suitcase.
“Is this your bag?” he asked.
“Yes. Is everything okay?” Why hadn’t she paid attention to the voice in her head?
“It appeared to be left unattended. In the future, I’d advise you to either take your bag with you or move it closer to your boyfriend when you leave.”
Lydia shot a surprised glance at the movie star, and he shrugged. “Sorry, babe. I told him you’d be right back, and I offered to move your bag over by me, but he wanted me to wait for you to come back.”
Lydia almost choked. She knew he was just rescuing her from the security guard, but no one had ever, ever called Lydia “babe” before and certainly no one as handsome as Ryan Gosling. It had a wonderful ring to it. Was her racing heart because of being questioned by an officer of the law or because this man had just called her “babe?”
Lydia dragged her distracted gaze back to the much less interesting man standing by her bag. “I’m so sorry. I just had to make a little run to the ladies’ room. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t. Airport security is no laughing matter.” Was she laughing? “Have a nice flight.”
Lydia sat down by her bag. “You should probably move over here by me since you’re my girlfriend. We don’t want to make him suspicious.”
“Oh. Of course. I should have thought of that.” Did the movie star want Lydia to sit by him? Lydia rolled her eyes at her silliness. He was just trying to keep from being hassled any further. He went back to working on his laptop as she moved her things across the aisle. “Sorry about that,” Lydia whispered.
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