Trouble in Paradise: A Novel

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  She breathed deeply, then released it, reminding herself it was only a riding lesson she waited for. Just a lesson. Nothing more.

  The telephone rang. Nat had told her to answer it whenever she was in the house alone. On the fourth ring, she decided to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  There was a lengthy hesitation before a woman said, “I’m sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

  “Wait. Were you calling the O’Connell ranch?”

  “Yes.” Another pause. “Is Nat there?”

  “Yes, he is. I’ll see if he’s available.” She laid the handset on the kitchen counter, then returned to the front of the house, pausing at the base of the stairs. “Nat?” She thought the water had stopped running. “Nat?”

  A few moments later, she heard the creak of an opening door. “Yeah?”

  ‘Telephone for you.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get it up here.”

  She hurried back to the kitchen and discreetly hung up the telephone, resisting the temptation to listen and perhaps discover the woman’s identity. It wasn’t any of her business. And she would rather eat crushed glass than admit she felt a twinge of jealousy.

  As if she had any right to feel such a thing.

  “He is only a friend and neighbor,” she reminded herself. “And there is nothing wrong with that. I am perfectly capable of setting boundaries and sticking to them. Besides, I’m not his type, and he certainly isn’t mine.”

  She crossed the room to look out the window toward the barn, thinking how pleasant it would be to spend the afternoon with him. Just the two of them. Alone.

  “I like being on my own. I like having a place all to myself. I want to write my stories. That’s what’s important to me now.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then let it out. There. That was better. She was her calm, collected self again. No more wild thoughts.

  Her newfound composure lasted about fifteen seconds.

  “That was my sister.”

  She jumped at the sound of Nat’s voice, whirling around to face him as he entered the kitchen. His hair was damp, his jaw freshly shaved. He looked relaxed and handsome. Much too handsome. Her rebellious heart quickened at the mere sight of him.

  “Your sister?”

  “On the phone. Leigh. My sister in Florida. I told you about her.”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “Did you make the sandwiches?” He glanced at the kitchen counter, then back to her.

  Had he guessed she’d felt jealous at the possibility of another woman in his life? Oh, how she hoped not.

  He raised an eyebrow as he met her gaze. “The sandwiches?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “No, I didn’t make them yet. I was just about to start.”

  “Well, I’d better help you. We need to eat something before we go. We might be out for two or three hours.”

  “Two or three hours?” She sounded like a parrot, the way she repeated everything he said. What was the matter with her?

  He opened the refrigerator. “Yeah. I thought I’d take you over to Elk Flat. It’s an easy trail, and it’s got mighty pretty scenery. We won’t want to rush.”

  “I hadn’t planned to be out that long. I need to write this afternoon.”

  It was the truth. It was also an excuse.

  “You creative types need to refill the well every so often.” He straightened, lunch meat and sandwich spread in his hands. “This’ll do you good. I promise.”

  I doubt that, she thought as she returned his gaze.

  But she stayed, as she’d known all along she would.

  Shayla was a natural with horses. She showed no fear once she was in the saddle. Of course it helped that Pumpkin was a docile horse.

  After giving Shayla a brief refresher, Nat had enough confidence in both her and the mare to leave the ranch house behind and head up the trail.

  They rode in companionable silence, Shayla observing the scenery and Nat observing Shayla.

  Her new duds—felt cowboy hat, shiny black boots, and a shirt the same dark blue as her eyes—shouted, Greenhorn! Especially the shirt that was trimmed with long, white fringe, both front and back. Patsy Whitehall, who owned the women’s clothing shop in town, must have seen Shayla coming from a mile away.

  But Nat thought she looked cute in it all the same.

  “It’s the shirt, isn’t it?”

  He grinned but didn’t answer.

  “I knew it was a bad choice.” She glanced at him. “The fringe, right?”

  He shrugged, trying not to laugh.

  “I thought so. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, this is only for rodeo queens and country-western bars. Don’t buy it.”

  Now he laughed.

  “I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.” She returned his smile, then joined his laughter with her own. “I guess I wanted to be Dale Evans,” she added after she caught her breath again.

  “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  “I suppose not.” Her smile faded as their gazes held.

  The impulse to kiss her returned. If he reached for Pumpkin’s reins, he could draw both horses to a halt and then…

  Shayla glanced away.

  “Tell me about the book you’re writing,” he said, hoping to make her look at him again.

  She didn’t

  “Have you killed anyone this week?”

  That did the trick.

  Mischief sparked in her eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’m about ready for my third corpse.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Definitely male. A clothing critic, I think.”

  “Knife?”

  “Pistol. Easier to ambush someone. Especially if he’s riding alone out on some trail…like this one, for instance.”

  “Did I mention how much I like your shirt, Miss Vincent? Especially that fancy white fringe. Real attractive, if you ask me.”

  She laughed again.

  It was the prettiest sound he’d heard in a long, long while.

  “You are an extremely wise man, Mr. O’Connell. Extremely wise.”

  “Thanks, ma’am. I do what I can.” He winked at her, then turned serious. “Now, tell me more about your writing.”

  “Are you really interested?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  A flicker of a smile curved her mouth as she turned her gaze up the trail. “I’ve been in love with books since I was a kid. I always loved to read. And to write, too. My favorite kind of books were mystery novels where I had to solve the clues along with the characters. Stories that captured my imagination and had characters who were honest and moral.” Her smiled faded. “But as an adult, it became more and more difficult to find the kind of books I liked that didn’t have things in them I didn’t want to read.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I wanted stories that would build me up in my Christian faith. Like in the Bible where it says to fix our thoughts on what’s true, honorable and right and to think about things that are admirable, excellent and worthy of praise. I wanted stories that showed life as it is, not some make-believe world, but that also had protagonists who looked at life from a Christian worldview and then solved their problems because of their faith.”

  Nat couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in her eyes, the passion in her voice as she spoke.

  “I’d almost given up hope of finding what I was looking for.” She met his gaze. “But then I began to find just the sort of books I wanted to read—mystery and suspense novels that were grounded in the characters’ Christian faith. That’s when I first knew, deep in my heart, what I wanted to do with my life. What I was born to do. I wanted to write novels that glorify God.”

  “Something tells me you’re going to do just that.”

  Her whole face lit up with a smile. “Thank you, Nat. You may be the first who believes it. You and the Lord.”

  In that moment, Nat realized what attracted him so much to his neighbor. It w
asn’t because she was cute or because she was a little different—although she was both of those things. No, what attracted him was the depth of faith he perceived in her. He wanted his own faith in Christ to go as deep as hers.

  Could God have more than one purpose for bringing her to Rainbow Valley? Was it possible Nat was also part of God’s plan for Shayla Vincent?

  By the time the two of them reached Elk Flat, Shayla had told Nat more about her work-in-progress than she’d imagined she could share with someone. It took her by surprise, how easy it was to tell him her ideas, to talk about her characters and her plot. He made her forget her usual reticence. With his carefully interspersed questions, he also made her forget her fears of having to return to Portland a failure, proving all the doubters right. Instead, his interest made her feel as if she had already succeeded.

  As the trail came out of the dense forest, opening into a huge meadow, Nat drew back on the reins and softly announced, “This is what I hoped you’d get to see. It’s why I left the dogs in the kennel.”

  A herd of elk raised their heads in unison, watchful of the human trespassers but not frightened away. A stag with an enormous rack stared directly at Shayla.

  She drew an awestruck breath. “Oh my.”

  “That’s how I feel when I see them,” Nat whispered.

  “What a beautiful sight.”

  “They feed here the better part of the summer.”

  “I’ve never seen elk outside of a zoo.”

  “This is how they ought to be seen. Wild and free.”

  She looked at him. “You love it here. This land. Nature. Everything. It’s a part of you, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” He met her gaze. “The way you know God has called you to write? That’s the same way I feel about this ranch. God’s called me to be here. He prepared me long before I came to know the Lord. He gave me a love for the business of ranching, for working outdoors and tending the animals. It’s hard work, but I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

  “That’s easy to understand.” She motioned with her hand. “Look at the beauty God has surrounded you with.”

  The way he studied her made her stomach flutter. There seemed to be a question written in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite understand.

  He glanced away. “Let’s walk awhile. My legs could use a stretch before we start back.” He dismounted, then waited for her to do the same.

  Remembering his earlier instructions, Shayla gripped the saddle horn with her left hand, swung her right leg over Pumpkin’s rump and eased herself to the ground. She felt a bit of pride in her ability to do it without any help or additional tutoring. The feeling disappeared the moment her right knee started to buckle beneath her.

  “Easy there.” Nat’s hand gripped her arm, keeping her upright while she steadied herself.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to look like an amateur in front of him. He did everything so easily, so perfectly.

  She looked up, found him watching her, felt her insides twist into a knot.

  Before she knew what was happening, he leaned down and his mouth captured hers. What strength the ride on horseback hadn’t sapped from her legs, his kiss did.

  He straightened and took a step backward, but his eyes remained locked with hers and his hand still gripped her arm.

  “Why did you do that?” she whispered, touching her lips with her fingertips.

  “Why do you think?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  He drew close, cupping her chin with the callused fingers of one hand, forcing her to continue to meet his intense gaze. “Because I wondered if you would taste as sweet as you look.” He lowered his voice. “And you do.”

  Nat wondered if he’d lost his mind, because everything in him wanted to do something stupid. More stupid than the kiss.

  He wanted to ask her to stay in Rainbow Valley forever, to put up with the long winters and the hot summers. He wanted to ask her to never return to Portland and her parents and brothers and sisters. He wanted to ask her to marry him and share his home. He wanted to ask her to be the mother of his children.

  Not just stupid. Insane! A sane man didn’t think about proposing to a woman he’d known such a short time. A sane man took his time, made sure he’d found the right woman. A sane man didn’t rush in where angels feared to tread.

  God, You said that if a believer needs wisdom, all he has to do is ask You in faith. Well, I’m asking. Give me wisdom.

  He waited a few moments, hoping this would be one of those prayers that was answered instantaneously. It wasn’t.

  Nat took a step back from her, allowing his hand to drop to his side at the same time. “I guess we’d better start back.”

  “Yes.” She turned her back toward him, once again gripping the saddle horn. “Let’s go.”

  “Shayla—”

  “Don’t say anything. Let’s pretend this never happened.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Nat.”

  He’d hurt her feelings. Hurting her was the last thing he’d meant to do. Was it the kiss? Was it the reason he’d said he kissed her? Or was it because he withdrew when he should have pressed forward?

  “I’d like to go, Nat. I need to get home to my writing.”

  Everything in him wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again. Everything except the instinct that said, if he rushed her now, he would lose all hope of winning later.

  Nat didn’t want to lose all hope of that. Wise or not, he knew he’d begun falling in love.

  The telephone company installed Shayla’s phone the next afternoon. Needing to get her thoughts off of Nat and onto something else, she dialed Portland, certain her family could be counted on to succeed where she had failed.

  “Oh, honey,” her mother said, “it’s good to hear your voice. You didn’t call last week, and we were getting worried.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been busy. But my phone’s in now. Let me give you my number.”

  Reba Vincent repeated the number as she wrote it down. When she finished, she said, “Now tell me what’s kept you so busy you couldn’t call home sooner.”

  “My writing mostly.”

  “And what else?”

  Shayla felt a sting of disappointment. She’d harbored a secret hope that her mother would ask how the book was going, that she would express interest—as Nat did yesterday.

  Heat rushed through her as she recalled for about the hundredth time the tender way he’d kissed her, the way standing so close to him had caused her heart to thrum. How it had weakened her knees…not to mention her brain.

  “Shayla dear, are you still there?”

  She gave her head a quick shake. “Yes, Mom, I’m here. What did you say?”

  “I asked what you’ve been doing with all your free time. There’s nothing to do in Rainbow Valley, as I remember. Not even a movie theater.”

  “Well, for one thing, I’ve got a job.”

  “A job? Doing what?”

  “I’m working part-time as a housekeeper for a neighbor. And he’s making some repairs to the cabin.”

  “A housekeeper?” Reba let out a long sigh. “That’s a horrible waste of your skills. I do wish you’d come back to Portland. I know you could find decent employment if you would only try. Besides, I can’t bear to think of you living in that horrible cabin.”

  “But it isn’t horrible, Mom. It’s wonderful. And yesterday, I went for a horseback ride with a neighbor and saw a herd of elk and—”

  “Sis!” an excited voice interrupted. Olivia had picked up the extension. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me.”

  “You’ll never guess who asked me out on a date. Go on. Try. You’ll never guess.”

  By the time Shayla hung up the phone twenty minutes later, she’d learned the answer to Olivia’s question—she’d been asked out by the high school’s star quarterback. She’d also learned that her youngest sister, Crystal, had garnered a spot on the junior high swim team, he
r brother Dwight had been promoted at work, her sister Anne had been asked to oversee a church fundraiser, her brother Ken had moved into an apartment with one of his college buddies, and her youngest brother George was now bagging groceries at the nearby supermarket. But no one asked Shayla about her novel.

  She sat on the sofa, staring at the telephone in its cradle, resentment flooding her chest. She knew they missed her. Everyone said so. Yet not one of them seemed to care about what mattered so very much to her.

  Nat cared enough to ask me.

  She groaned. Yes, Nat cared. Perhaps too much. And after that kiss yesterday, she realized he was also the greatest threat to her realizing her dream of becoming a published novelist. Falling in love would be a distraction from her purpose. And marriage? She didn’t see that in her immediate future, either.

  Wasn’t it the Apostle Paul who wrote that extra problems came with marriage, that when a woman was single she could be more devoted to the Lord? Yes, Shayla was certain the Bible said that. Of course, it also said that marriage was a good thing and that children were a blessing.

  Releasing another groan, she rose from the sofa and walked to the mirror at the end of the hall. “You need to focus,” she told her reflection. “Nat O’Connell is a kind and caring individual. God didn’t bring you here for romance. Remember that. Forget Nat and think about your writing.”

  Much easier said than done.

  CHAPTER 9

  L eigh called again the following Sunday.

  “Mom said to tell you she’ll come and stay at the ranch for the month of October. Do you think you can get along with the girls on your own until then?”

  “Of course.” He sounded more confident than he felt. “How hard can it be?”

  Her soft laughter didn’t do much to reassure him.

  “Listen, there are plenty of folks around the valley who’ll be glad to give me advice if I need it” He thought of Shayla. “My neighbor, the one living in the old Erickson place, is the oldest of seven kids. I can always ask her what to do if I don’t know.”

  “Is that the woman who answered your phone last week when I called?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”