Cover image: Romantic Couple © boggy22, courtesy iStockphoto.com
Cover design copyright © 2015 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2015 by Krista Lynne Jensen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: June 2015
For my great-aunts Ruth, Viola, and Betty. I miss your sweet souls.
For my aunts Jackie and Barby; thank you for introducing me to Camano and the tulip fields. I didn’t get to come nearly enough.
Love you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my readers. Thank you for the e-mails and reviews, and thank you for your encouragement. Hearing that you love my stories and that they’ve touched you in some way is one of my favorite things.
Thank you to the writing community, my crit groups, and my friends. Special thanks to Jenny Moore, Ranee Clark, Annette Lyon, Luisa Perkins, and Robison Wells for your sharp story sense and feedback for Kisses. Writing Friendzy, Bear Lake Monsters, LDStorymakers, where would I be without you? Probably living some kind of normal life, whatever that is.
To those at Covenant Communications, including Kathryn Gordon, and my editor, Samantha Millburn, my deepest gratitude for taking chances with my ideas and helping to make my dreams come true.
Thanks to Colonel Dan Fuhr of the UHP, who answered all of my motorcycle questions and has always been one of the nicest guys I’ve been blessed to know.
Thank you, Suzy G, for being there. Shiny.
To my family, I just really, really love you. Thank you for your support and hope and cheerleading. I will never be able to express how much it means to me. And I’m a writer, so that’s saying a lot.
To Washington State, thanks for being my home, you big, diverse, productive, beautiful hunk of earth. I missed you.
Thank you, Brandon, for pushing me to finish this book amidst the most chaotic year of our lives together. Keep doing that heroic stuff. Me likey. Love you.
The only three things a guy should want to change about a girl:
her last name, her address, and her view of men.
Chapter 1
Jace Lowe never had cared for blondes. That was a lie. His leg swung over the seat of his motorcycle, and he jerked his helmet over his head a little too roughly. Brenna, blonde and beautiful, still watched from the window of her apartment, along with Brad What’s His Name, so Jace fired up the gratefully angry engine beneath him, let go of the throttle, and peeled out on the wet roadside, spraying Brad’s Lexus with mud. He allowed a grin as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching Brad storming out, yelling words Jace couldn’t care less about not hearing.
After a few miles of weaving in and out of Seattle traffic, though, his smug attitude faded. He shouldn’t have lost his temper like that. But this whole time he’d been played. Just a lure to bring back the one who got away. He’d believed Brenna’s smile was for him when it had really been for her successful planning. He was bait. And he’d completely fallen for it. She hadn’t even denied it. She’d just stood there crying. In Brad’s arms. Brad, who had actually thanked him. Thanked him. Jace revved the engine and leaned forward into the freeway traffic, no longer enjoying the clear day as he had on his trip into the city.
How had the guy said it? Thank you for helping me see how much Brenna really means to me.
The heat of humiliation churned Jace’s gut. He’d spent a year—over a year—dating Brenna. He’d looked at engagement rings. He’d hinted with Brenna wrapped in his arms. She’d been coy. She’d rebuffed his questions playfully, and she’d somehow let Brad know it was now or never. Brad had chosen now.
What had Jace been thinking? Chump. He passed a sedan and crossed three lanes to the empty carpool lane, eliciting a few honks, then opened the throttle. Though it was nowhere near commuter traffic congestion, the midmorning travel in the regular lanes was still too slow for his need right now: speed.
Of course, that ended with flashing lights. He keenly felt the rush and zoom of each passing car as he sat on the side of the highway, waiting for the officer to dole out his punishment, which ended up being a $200 ticket. But when Jace thanked the officer under his breath, he meant it. It should have been worse.
Less than an hour later, Jace pulled into the shared carport of his fourth-row hillside duplex facing the water. Puget Sound stretched out past Whidbey Island to the open water beyond. When the weather was clear enough, a misty view of Canada provided a beautiful backdrop for the scene. Today it was clear.
A friendly bark greeted Jace’s ears as the motorcycle engine cut.
“Hey, Kitsap.”
The Aussie-shepherd mix bounced up and down behind the chain-link fence at the back of the carport. Jace put his helmet on the back of his bike and opened the broken refrigerator where he kept the dog food. After Kit’s bowl was filled, the dog could barely contain his excitement, his entire body wagging at the gate. Jace let out a reluctant laugh. “I’ve only been gone a couple hours.”
He unlatched the gate and gave his dog a hearty rub. He pulled Kit’s ears straight back, stretching his eyelids into slants, then scratched his neck. Kit’s eyes, one blue and one gold, watched his owner with contentment. All was right in his world. Easy, for a dog, Jace thought. Kit yawned, satisfied, and turned his attention to the bowl. Jace stood and opened the side door to his home. “Holler if you need me.” The screen door shut behind him.
Jace didn’t worry too much about Kit wandering off. As soon as the old dog finished eating, he’d drop down in the sun somewhere on the small property and wait for their walk. That was how they’d met. Jace had been in his house on the island less than a week when he’d opened the front door to check his mail and found the dog lying in the rare sunshine. It hadn’t taken long to determine that the dog was completely harmless—though hopelessly matted—and would do anything for a Nilla wafer.
Jace had taken him all over Camano Island, including a long walk up and down the west shores and Port Susan on the east, and he’d even put an ad in the paper, reporting a lost dog. No one ever claimed him, so before a trip to the vet and getting a license, Jace had looked up a little Seattle history. He named the dog Kitsap after the leader of a historical indigenous Indian tribe, then he’d determinedly bathed and brushed Kitsap and deemed him the brother he’d never had—the shorter, hairier brother that didn’t say much and was always happy to see him. There couldn’t be a more satisfying partnership anywhere on the island.
“Dogs are easy,” Jace said to himself, eyeing his phone. “It’s the creatures who smell good you’ve got to watch out for.” He checked his messages. He’d missed a call from his dad during the drive home. He opened his voice mail and listened.
“Jace, this is your father. Just wanted to tell you we have the date for your sister’s graduation. Hope you can make it. Your mom doesn’t want you on that bike if you’re gonna make the trip. Talk to you soon.”
Jace set the phone down on the kitchen counter and rubbed his face. He opened the fridge, removed a Styrofoam container and a Vernor’s ginger ale, and warmed up some lunch. He didn’t want to call his dad yet. He was still pretty knotted up i
nside and would probably say something he’d regret later. He and his dad didn’t exactly agree on his . . . anything.
He shook his head, taking a steaming bite of the fried cod he’d shoved into tartar sauce. His sister Addy was graduating from high school this year. He should be there. It was still a ways away, and he had time to plan. He wouldn’t be spending any money on girls for a while, so he could save there. He downed a hard swallow of the ginger ale and broke off another chunk of fish. The tartar sauce needed more pepper, fewer pickles.
He decided to ignore his dad’s “subtle hint” about his motorcycle. He could stop stressing about getting a car. He’d been considering it because he’d wanted to take Brenna out when it was raining, which happened often, but his old Honda Shadow had been great for school in Nevada, and the gas mileage was awesome. It got him where he needed to go just fine, even if it wasn’t ideal for dating around the wet Puget Sound.
No, he wouldn’t be worrying about that again for a very long time. He sat up. “Man, the speeding ticket.” That would set him back. He kicked back the last swallow of Vernor’s and threw his trash away, tossing the empty can into the recycling bin with a crash. He ran his hands under warm water in the chipped sink and glanced at the picture of him and Brenna at the zoo, stuck to the fridge with a Space Needle magnet. Peeking out from beneath the picture was a pair of theater tickets.
“Aw, crap.” He dried his hands and grabbed the tickets, ignoring the magnet and photo as they dropped to the floor. He’d bought the tickets last week after Brenna had expressed interest. Some play called Shipwrecked: An Entertainment.
Ironic.
He’d bought them as a surprise. He rubbed his chin. Maybe his boss would be interested. Maybe one of the guys from the ward. Maybe Mrs. Feddler, his landlady. He shook his head and blew out a breath of exasperation. He threw the tickets into a random drawer, grabbed his phone, zipped up his jacket, and opened the door to the carport, frowning.
“C’mon, Kit. Let’s walk. This sunshine isn’t supposed to last long.”
* * *
Georgiana Tate rested her chin on her hands and stared at the view out the window, battling the dull but persistent pain in her head. Misty rain dimpled the salty waves of the small bay, and shifting clouds of varying grays weighed the world down, enclosing the island of Camano in a fold of cold wet wool. A single gull bobbed on the waves, mottled white against the dark teal waters of Puget Sound, its head tucked under its wing.
“Have you seen the whales yet? Any sign?” Her aunt Faye leaned forward above her, searching the water. Technically the house belonged to Faye and her husband, Dar, but Faye’s sister lived with them too, so Georgie had grown up referring to the cottage as “the aunts’ house.”
Georgie lifted her head and peered farther out over the waves. “No. Should I?”
Her aunt Faye shook her head. “Mm, maybe not today.” She sighed. “Not today, but you can see them out there this time of year. Of course, this weather isn’t helping visibility. Wait till it clears up again. You’ll see the Olympics then.” She dried a bowl from lunch with a flour-sack towel tied around her waist like an apron.
Georgie’s eyes found the gull again. It had been three days since she’d arrived at the aunts’ house on Camano Island, which wasn’t completely an island. A narrow slough, a shallow ditch of salt and river water, separated the island from the mainland state of Washington, and a single land bridge crossed it. The Sound surrounded the majority of the ear-shaped island rising in tree-covered hills, allowing its luckier residents a view of Mount Baker, Mount Rainier, and the Cascades from the east and the Saratoga Passage and San Juan Islands from the west. Her aunts lived on the northwest side, facing the bay, or channel, or whatever it was called.
Three days it had rained steadily. The earth soaked it up like a hungry sponge.
“Would you like to read? We’ve got lots of books. Novels, mostly. Some really good ones that even a twenty-something like yourself would enjoy, I think. What do you like?”
Georgie paused. “No, thanks.” Since the accident, it often hurt to read, though it had once been one of her favorite pastimes. She’d spent summers in her bedroom reading Little House and Ramona and, later, everything by Louisa May Alcott and Meg Cabot. Her mother had introduced her to Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, and in high school she’d been buried beneath American and world lit titles, eking out time for novels she actually wanted to read. Having to set aside her romances in college, she’d analyzed Ulysses, Don Quixote, and others. But she hadn’t read for pleasure in a long time.
Faye touched her shoulder, her gray eyes perceptive. “Maybe later?”
Georgie nodded and focused on the gull again. Books. Part of who she’d been.
“I’m fine, really.” Her head throbbed. She absently reached for what was once a swollen black-and-yellow bruise on her arm. Her cast and braces were long gone. Nothing much to show for the injuries now.
Faye stood, unsure. “Can I get you some Tylenol?”
Georgie knew Tylenol wouldn’t touch the ache, but Faye looked so concerned she gave in and nodded.
Faye turned and removed the towel. “We could go to a movie later. I’ll call to see what’s playing.” The sound of her footsteps faded as she left the room.
Movies. Movies and books and dances and music and parties. Books and school and speeches and good posture and confidence. Confidence. Friends. Leadership. College. That girl. She had been that girl. And in one year, it had all changed.
Now, here she sat, staring at a gull, terrified that if she looked away too long something would come up from the deep, dark water and engulf it, drag it down, a wing trailing behind, reaching for light, soundless.
Fly away.
A wave rose, and Georgie gasped as the gull disappeared.
A voice from behind interrupted her alarm. “Sometimes I wonder why they don’t just fly to shelter. Stupid birds. Ridiculous.”
Georgie exhaled as the gull appeared again, unharmed.
Aunt Tru, Faye’s twin sister, looked out the window with her hands on her hips as she scanned the sky. “It was bright and sunny last week. You should’ve been here. But it’ll come again. Look at that darn bird sittin’ freezin’ in that cold water.” She shook her head. “Stupid.” She gestured with her arms as she talked to the bird. “Hello? You’ve got wings. Fly.” She gave her arms a flap and then shrugged.
Georgie had learned long ago to be patient with Aunt Tru’s quirks. Her father had taught her at a young age about Tru’s mild intellectual disability caused by a blockage and lack of oxygen at birth. Georgie had also been taught how to see a person beyond the disability. Even with her quirks and brash manner, Tru had a big heart.
And heaven knew Georgie had brought a whole catalog of her own quirks. She watched the gull. Maybe the bird was just too wet. Too tired.
Faye bustled back into the room. “There’s a matinee at two. The new Gerard Butler movie. Georgie, what do you think?” She handed Georgie pills and a cup of water.
Georgie took the pills and didn’t answer about the movie.
Faye raised her eyebrows. “You don’t like Gerard Butler?”
Yes. Yes, she did. “I love Gerard Butler.” She was safe here. She could say what she liked. She could say Gerard Butler was hot if she wanted.
“Oh—there he goes.” Tru watched through the window, and Georgie turned again. The gull had lifted and was flying toward the trees down shore. “Not so stupid after all.”
“What do you think, Tru? Want to see a movie?” Faye asked her sister.
“I’m reading a book, and I’ve got some laundry to fold.” Tru turned to leave. “Besides, I’m betting Gerard is not a flannel man.” She walked away and slapped the backside of her pajamas.
Faye laughed at her sister, shaking her head, then came to sit next to Georgie on the window seat. “We’ll have Tru go digging for clams and have chowder for dinner tomorrow. Would you like that?” A hand touched her shoulder again. “Georgian
a?”
Georgie blinked. “What?”
Faye shook her head and dropped her hand in her lap. “Is there something you need?” She reached her fingers just far enough to brush Georgie’s blonde hair away from the scar above her eye. “Do you want to talk?”
Georgie shook her head, her gaze unfocused. It had been nine months since the accident and seven since she’d left the hospital. She knew she still came across as slow, though her mind seemed in a constant mode of trying to find the next word, the next thought, the right response. Fight or flight. Most of the time, though, she just didn’t want to engage. But she’d come here to change that.
“All right, then.” Faye gave her a patient smile but didn’t move to leave. She only leaned against the window and rubbed her arms a little. “The rhodies love this. Look at that color.”
The mist turned to heavy drops on the glass outside, and the thick rhododendron leaves bounced under the rain.
“You have a job interview next week?” Faye asked in her encouraging way.
“Yes. Thanks for spotting the opening.” Georgie was grateful, but a knot tightened in her stomach. A restaurant on the island was hiring, and she knew she had to go for it, though it was taking all of her nerve not to back out. Getting a job was on her list of things to get her moving forward.
They didn’t say anything more for several moments, but Georgie felt words pressing to get out. It almost hurt keeping them inside, but her aunt’s calm presence encouraged her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what, honey?”
She swallowed, and her nose stung with emotion. “Everything. Needing to come here.”
Two warm hands lifted her face. “You are welcome here. It warms my heart knowing you chose this place of all places. What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t gotten involved with Ian. And he would still be—”
Alive. Ian would still be alive. No matter what kind of person her fiancé had been, he hadn’t deserved to die in that car crash.
Kisses in the Rain Page 1