Diamond Lake Series: Complete Series (Bks 1-7) Boxset

by T. K. Chapin

  “Here we go.” She stopped flipping pages. Her eyes followed lines of verses until she stopped and looked up at me with a smile. She handed me the Bible, and I took it into my lap as she said, “Verses 23 and 24.”

  23. Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, 24. Since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.

  Colossians 3:23-24

  It was the exact passage I needed. Looking up from the page, I saw her still beaming with a smile through the pain of illness. Sick and unable to take care of her daily tasks around the inn, she still kept hold of her joy in the Lord. Her poise and level-headedness were admirable. “How do I do it, though?”

  “It’s simply choosing to, Miley.” The fireplace popped, and she looked over. “We have a new set of choices every single day of our lives. We have to choose God, not people.”

  Closing the Bible, I stood up and set it down on the coffee table. “In the heat of the moment, I can’t help but act emotionally and out of control. I don’t know how to stop it.”

  “It starts with your inner life, Miley. Your soul. If you spend your time worrying or fretting or focusing on the bad things going on, you’re going to have more bad days than you wish.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “But my circumstances—”

  Serenah raised a hand. “Your circumstances change from day to day, moment to moment. You can’t let those superficial moments on the top level have an effect on the lower levels. Right? If Wendy freaks out and screams, you have a choice. Ignore it and focus on something good that’s going on. It’s not a perfect system because we are not perfect. We need God.”

  Letting a bitter laugh escape my lips as I clung to ‘focus on something good,’ I shook my head. “Something good?”

  “Yeah,” Serenah retorted. Her tone was becoming impatient. “You’re not dead, you have a car, you’re not hungry . . . you didn’t get beat up last night.” Surprised she would make a mention of her past, I raised an eyebrow. She shook her head. “Sorry. Just put God first and feed the good thoughts in your life. The rest will follow.”

  “It makes sense.” Glancing over the couch and to the lake, I asked, “How have your numbers for the inn been going?”

  Shrugging, she snuggled back under her blanket, lying prone as Charlie came in with a damp washcloth. He placed it on her forehead. She looked at me. “It’s been a hard winter. Fewer guests.”

  Charlie added, “Yep. Jody always had rougher winters. The good season helps float the off-season. Luckily at the will reading we found out we inherited the diner also, so that helps float us.”

  “Well, that’s good at least,” I replied. Pulling out my phone from my pocket, I saw I was running late for my hair appointment with Chantelle at Sally’s Beauty Salon in Newport. “I have to get going. Thanks for the chat, Serenah. You always know what to say.” Going over to her, I bent down and gave her a hug.

  “Anytime, gal.”

  Releasing from our embrace, I said, “Thank you for everything.”

  “Hey, don’t forget that we have that Feed the Hungry thing in three days.”

  “I know. The tenth, right?”

  She nodded. Feed the Hungry was a group that our Sunday school class from Newport Christ Community agreed to help out within the city. Serenah and I decided to go along with a few others on the tenth of January in the early morning—five, to be exact. As I left the inn, I thought about how she had already emailed me, texted me and posted a comment on my Facebook wall reminding me about being there at five on the tenth. It was annoying, but Serenah wanted to make sure it didn’t turn into last year’s event. Nobody showed but her out of the eight who agreed. It made sense why she was so obsessive with the reminders.

  CHAPTER 2

  Laying another order in the server window the next day, I waited for the cook, Eric, to come back over to the window. He was a kid fresh out of high school who couldn’t put together a meal to save his life. Always fumbling around the kitchen and sweat pouring off his forehead, he was a poor replacement for Diego who left for more pay and opportunity at his second job at the automotive store. Wendy, though, in all her stupidity, wanted to pay someone on the cheap, and the high school dropout pot smoker was her ticket to lower labor costs. My suspicions about her disdain toward Diego because of his bloated salary were confirmed when she picked up this Eric kid.

  “That salad was dry,” I said as he finally arrived over to the window. My eyes fell to the salad I set down in the window.

  “What? That doesn’t even make any sense.”

  Shrugging, I said, “Table three said it, not me. I asked what they meant, and they said the ranch to salad ratio wasn’t enough to even coat all the lettuce.”

  He clenched his jaw. He looked like he was one bad comment away from throwing his hands up and walking out. Through his teeth, he said, “Okay. I’ll remake it.”

  Leaving the window, I went back out to my table I knew needed topping off on drinks. Arriving at the table, I asked how the food tasted and took cups for refills. Mouths full, the husband and wife nodded with big smiles, and I left over to the server station to begin refills. Wendy walked over.

  “When is your lunch?” she asked. Her tone made my thoughts drift negative, but I pulled them back to a happy place like Serenah told me. I have a job. That’s good, I told myself.

  “It’s here in ten minutes. How come?” Setting a drink to the side, I brought the next cup up and filled it. Please don’t make me take more food to that guy.

  “I need you to take an order to that house again.”

  My heart pounded. “What? Why? That guy was crazy!”

  She narrowed her look at me but then nodded. The nod was the kindest gesture I’d seen in months. Clearing her throat, she adjusted her footing. “I meant to call him and let him know that the meals that Don Atkins set up for him would start that day. My bad. Anyway, he knows now, I guess. His name is Hunter. He’s a Marine who lost a leg over in Afghanistan and now is living in his dead uncle’s house. Just be nice. Please? Don is paying double just to have it delivered. The money is nice.”

  Sure, I thought. Be friendly to the good looking man that gave me a look like he wanted to strangle me on the spot when I was only trying to bring him some food. Go back to the same house and knock again so maybe then he could pull a gun on me? The verses pressed against my mind. I woke up today, that’s good. Clearing my throat, I asked, “How is this safe for an employee? I was fearful.”

  Wendy smirked. “He didn’t expect you. It’ll be fine, Miley.”

  I’m breathing, I told myself, trying desperately to control my emotions in the moment. My dislike for Wendy was probably written all over my expression, but I couldn’t control everything. Every part of my being didn’t want to go back over to that house again, but I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to keep my job. Wendy had been looking for a good reason to fire me, just like with Diego before he up and quit. If I refused to go, I knew she would fire me on the spot and hire some high school kid for three dollars an hour plus tips. Sure, I could try to sue or something outlandish like reporting it to the Employment Securities Department of Washington State, but then what? That’d only hurt Serenah, and even if it didn’t, I’d wait months for them to maybe read an email or agree to a meeting, only to sit through more months waiting for court and then hope I win a lawsuit. But then again, I’d be partially suing Serenah, and I didn’t want that either. I’d take the order and deal with it.

  My heart pounded as I walked up the sidewalk to the house again. Looking over the wired fence toward the door, my heartbeat was so hard I could feel it in my ears. My hair looks really nice. Chantelle did a great job, I reminded myself, trying to stay positive. I might die today, but hey, my hair would look cute. Trembling fingers toyed with the annoying gate once again as I opened it.

  I took my time walking up the crumbling cement path toward the house. Each step
was weighted, each muscle screaming out to turn around and run. The door opened before I made it to the porch.

  Using crutches, he came out.

  I stopped.

  Hunter didn’t appear to have a gun anywhere around him, so that was a good start. My nerves began to settle as he smiled, no look of anger or craziness in his eyes. His dog came out behind him and sat right next to him. Cute, I thought as I watched Hunter lean a crutch against the porch’s railing. “Sorry about yesterday . . .”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” I lied. It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. He scared me.

  He shook his head. “No. It wasn’t all right. You don’t have to lie to me. It was dumb on my part.”

  Walking the rest of the distance up to the porch and to him, I took a step up a stair and handed him the sack. “You didn’t know I was coming. I guess it makes sense, in some way.”

  “Thank you for coming back.” He took the sack. “What’s your name?”

  “Miley.”

  “I’m Hunter.” He extended a hand. “It’s nice to meet you officially.”

  When we shook hands, I noticed a tattoo of a butterfly. It caught my eye, not only because a guy had it imprinted on him, but because butterflies were my favorite thing in this world. I was obsessed. My lampshade in my bedroom had butterflies, and my throw blanket that I kept on my couch had them too. Even my shower curtain had butterflies on it. I felt I was in the cocoon stage of life, waiting to someday break out of my shell and become something beautiful.

  I turned to leave, but he spoke, stopping me in my tracks at the gate.

  “I like what you did with your hair, Miley.”

  Turning to him, I smiled. Nobody had mentioned it up until that moment. Not even my co-workers I worked with daily. It was nice that someone took notice. “Thank you.”

  “Have a good one.” He leaned over and grabbed his crutch. Turning around, he went inside with his dog.

  “You too,” I said gently as I watched him go back inside. As I walked the sidewalk, a pinch of curiosity entered my mind. What’s his story? Why isn’t he married? Any guy that attractive had to have some sort of issue for not being married. A moment later, I reminded myself that I didn’t know if he was married or not.

  As I came through the front door of the diner, Wendy immediately pulled me into her office. Thinking I had done something wrong, I apologized profusely. That was something I learned to do with her, even when I didn’t do anything, but she stopped me this time and raised a hand.

  “It’s not that. How’d it go with Hunter? I heard he’s a bad seed.” Her breath was warm and her forehead started to perspire. She held a smirk on her face like she was hoping the time went horribly wrong. Sitting partially on the end of the desk, she stared, waiting.

  “It was all right.” It was brief and straightforward. There was no way I’d admit the compliment he paid me. Wendy would find someone else to do it just to take it away from me. “Why are you asking?”

  “Oh, hush.” She furrowed her eyebrows, the smirk falling from her face. It was true. She was hoping it would have fallen apart.

  Her breath’s odor became intolerable. Glancing over to the door, I asked, “Can I go?”

  “Sure. You’ll be taking lunch to Hunter from now on.” Wendy walked around the corner of her desk and sat down in her chair.

  If she gave me this news before today’s delivery, I would have been furious, but I wasn’t. The truth was that I was a bit excited to deliver food to the handsome war vet. Sure, I was a little too interested in his story, but what single girl wouldn’t mind having her ears tickled while she misses work and provides hot food to a piece of eye candy who fought for our country? No girl would mind that. No girl at all.

  When my shift was over and I was out at my car, I glanced down the sidewalk that led to where Hunter lived. Maybe he’s sitting out on the porch. Maybe if I walk by, he’d invite me in? My conscience scolded me for such a ridiculous idea. It reminded me of the core-rattling experience I had just the other day with the man. Don’t be stupid, I told myself as my eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk in his direction. What was wrong with me? I receive a single compliment and I’m suddenly drawn to a stranger? Unsure if it was okay to do so, I called Serenah and told her about Hunter and the dilemma I was facing. She thought it was a little strange, but she said to go for it. “We only live once,” she said in a cliché kind of way. Hanging up with her, my steps headed down the sidewalk. My heart raced and I wanted to turn around and run back to my car, but I kept going. My feet carried me down the sidewalk and around the corner toward his house.

  Hearing shouting as I came along the shrubs that sat in front of his neighbor’s house, I stopped and listened.

  “Real funny, coming from a guy who’s sucking on the government’s teat!” Hunter’s voice had an edge to it, sharp and direct.

  “We had no business going to war with those countries and you know it. If we just minded our own business, we’d be a lot better off.”

  Hunter laughed, no humor in it. “Okay, smart guy. I’m done here.”

  Hurrying my steps to be in plain view, I continued down the sidewalk in the hopes of him seeing me before he went back into his house. Walking slowly and looking straight ahead, I attempted to make it look like I didn’t plan this whole thing. My neck wanted to turn itself toward Hunter’s house as I passed by. That’d be desperate, though, so I didn’t. I kept walking. The dog was out, and he let out a yelp.

  “Miley?” His voice was smooth and welcoming as he addressed me from the porch.

  “Oh, hey, Hunter.” Stopping, I traced him with my eyes, letting them take in every feature hidden beneath that tightly fitted V-neck.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes glancing the direction I was walking. “Do you live around here?”

  I shook my head. “Just walking.”

  A faint whistle of a teapot sounding echoed from inside his house, catching his attention for a moment. He rubbed the stubble on his chin with his free hand and then grabbed onto his crutch. “You want to come in and have some tea?” It was strikingly odd that a war vet would drink tea, but I wasn’t going to say a word.

  “Yes! I mean . . . Sure, that’d be fine.” Trying to keep my composure relaxed and like I didn’t care he’d invited me in was difficult. Perhaps if I went inside his house, we could talk and get to know each other. Maybe he would like more things about me. My eyes, my personality . . . me. Fidgeting with the gate, I got it open and flashed him a smile like I wasn’t annoyed with trying to work his gate every time I came over.

  Getting inside, Hunter maneuvered with his crutches into the kitchen to get us tea while I was left to peruse his living room. The light was dim, only glints of it streaming in between the slight openings in the curtains. Though there wasn’t much light at all, it was easy enough to see the pictures on the walls. There were also a few bookcases full of knick-knacks and other memorabilia of someone’s life. A pile of magazines was strewn across a coffee table in front of the couch. “These your pictures?” I asked as I surveyed the landscape of memories that hung on the wall.

  “No. This is my uncle’s house. I’m just staying here. His ex-wife lets me crash out here until I figure something out. She lives in Spokane.”

  “I see . . .” Spotting a picture of Don Atkins, I asked, “You an Atkins?”

  Shaking his head as he peeked in, he said, “No. My uncle was friends with him and his wife. Want to come grab these cups? I should have my prosthetic this coming week. I’ve been going to physical therapy for a while now, and we almost have the right fit and parts to make it perfect. I’m sick of these crutches, especially after having a couple hours here and there with the prosthetic. They’ve come a long way. It almost feels like I’m normal when I wear it.” Listening to his words, I thought about the missing leg. I hadn’t paid much attention to it. That’s one of those things you don’t want someone to catch you looking at, and you definitely don’t want to star
t conversations around the topic.

  “That should be good.” It was brief and enough to acknowledge what he said. I came into the kitchen. “Do you have any sugar for the tea?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  I laughed. “It’s okay. I promise.” I grabbed our cups of tea he had prepared, and bringing them into the living room, I set them both down on the coffee table as we sat. Hunter took a sip of his tea, then turned to me as he returned it to the table.

  “Did you see that neighbor out there?”

  “I didn’t.” I didn’t lie, per se. I only heard him and the neighbor. I saw nothing.

  “That guy doesn’t work, lives off the government, and then has the nerve to try to talk to me about how black lives matter.”

  Confused, I shook my head. “Why would he speak to you about something like that?” I had heard part of the conversation, but nothing about the Black Lives Matter movement.

  “I don’t know.” Hunter paused and glanced up at the ceiling. His eyes were squinted. A tense look melted off his face, and he nodded as his eyes drifted to connect with mine. “I know what it is. He had to have heard the conversation I had with my buddy, Jefferson, this morning.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head.

  “Do tell,” I said, encouraging him to continue.

  “I was talking about how we fight for all lives, not just one kind or another.” Hunter took another drink of his tea. Setting the cup down, he rubbed his jawline slowly and shook his head more. Reaching over to the edge of the couch, he grabbed his crutches and stood. Going over to the mantle, he set a crutch against the fireplace and pulled a dagger off a display stand that sat up on the mantle in the midst of an old clock, a picture of him and a buddy in Afghanistan, and a few family photos that belonged to his uncle. The blade was reflective, the edge razor-sharp. Holding it by the hilt, he grabbed a crutch and hopped back over to the couch. A few feet from me, he lowered the blade down and handed it to me. “That was my father’s knife, and before him, my grandfather’s.”