Reason to Breathe

by Deborah Raney

  They jogged to the end of the lane, Quinn holding the flashlight high as they navigated the wide board steps up to the clearing. Phylicia was barely winded, and he was beginning to regret dating a high-school track star. “Have you ever been up here after dark?”

  “Never. It’s … kind of a different place at night.” She looked up at him. “I’m really glad you didn’t just drop me off.”

  He stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth to call Jo and Britt.

  But Phylicia tugged on his shirt. “Shhh. Wait till we get to the top of the stairway. I don’t want to make a commotion and upset our very first Airbnb guests.”

  They climbed on to the top and, in unison, called out to her sisters. “Jo? Britt?”

  After they’d waded a few yards through dense trees and brush, the clearing opened up. The tent was pitched between two of the long log benches and glowed from within, thanks to lanterns. Phylicia called to her sisters again.

  From the corner of his eye, Quinn spotted movement. “There they are!” He pointed to the far side of the clearing, where two flashlight beams flitted up and down.

  They trudged across the clearing, calling again.

  Jo and Britt shined their lights directly at them. Then seeing who it was, they dashed across the clearing. Britt stumbled, but caught herself.

  When she reached them, she rambled on at ninety miles an hour, her voice wavering. “That stupid woman decided at nine o’clock that she didn’t want Melvin sleeping in the house with them.”

  Phylicia put a hand on Britt’s arm. “Calm down, sis. Why didn’t they want him there?”

  “She wouldn’t say. I think she just probably didn’t want to get any cat hair on her precious cashmere sweater.”

  “Britt …” Phylicia went into a mother-hen mode that Quinn rarely saw.

  Joanna shined her flashlight down the hill. “He must have gone off the property, because we have covered every square inch of this clearing with no sign of him.”

  Quinn pointed his flashlight in the same direction. “Melvin’s not declawed, is he?”

  Britt shook her head. “No. Why?”

  “Then I really think he’ll be fine. Cats can defend themselves in a lot of ways. And the worst he’d run into up here is a coyote, or maybe a raccoon bigger than he is. But I think he could outrun either one.”

  Jo wrinkled her nose. “I’m more worried about him cozying up to a skunk.”

  Quinn resisted mentioning that Melvin looked quite a bit like a skunk himself. “He’s probably just taking advantage of his freedom and exploring the big, wide world.” Quinn was probably in danger of being accused of lacking compassion, but he felt sure the cat would come back as soon as it got hungry.

  But Britt was near tears. “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  He’d forgotten until now that Melvin had been Myra’s cat. Suddenly it seemed more important to find him than it had a few minutes ago. “Do you have any of his food up here?”

  Britt nodded. “In his carrier.”

  “Canned food or dry?”

  “Both.” Britt sounded defensive.

  Joanna gave a little snort. “She wanted to bring the litter box up here too. Until I pointed out that this entire property is one big litter box as far as Melvin is concerned.”

  For Britt’s sake, Quinn swallowed back his laughter. “Maybe if we open the can of cat food, that’ll get him up here. It has a much stronger smell than dry food. When was the last time Melvin ate?”

  “I don’t know. His bowl was empty, so probably pretty recently.”

  Phylicia put an arm around her sister. “It’ll be all right, Britt. He’ll be fine.” Quinn thought he detected a thread of worry in Phylicia’s voice too.

  For the next hour, they circled the woods with a can of stinky cat food, calling Melvin, rustling bushes, and turning over logs and even leaves. Quinn made them stop several times to listen, but once the crickets started their nightly chirping, it was hard to hear anything else.

  They’d first split up, going four different directions. But Quinn argued that tactic might confuse Melvin, so the four of them searched together. The term “herding cats” came to Quinn’s thoughts several times. He still thought it would be best if they sat in the clearing and waited for Melvin to come to them.

  “Maybe we should be looking up,” Phylicia said, craning her neck toward the treetops.

  “Melvin has never climbed a tree in his life.” But Britt looked up too.

  “There’s always a first time.” Joanna followed their line of vision. “He’s never had a chance to climb a tree. But you know he’d give it a try if he could.”

  Quinn shined his flashlight back and forth on the trees overhead. “Wouldn’t it be funny if this whole time, he’s been up there watching us search?”

  Silence from the sisters. Apparently, there wasn’t much funny about Melvin being missing. Quinn made a note to self: Just shut up and search.

  Joanna walked a few feet from the group and looked up. “I wonder if he would come down if we—” A muffled ring came from her coat pocket. She fished the phone out. “This is Joanna …”

  She listened for a few seconds, then strode purposefully over to the three of them, waving her free hand. “You guys! He’s down at the house!”

  Britt pounced on Joanna’s phone, but Jo turned away from her, speaking into the phone. “Yes, we’ll come right away. I’m so sorry for the disturbance.”

  “Someone found him?” Britt’s eyes were bright with hope.

  Joanna hung up, muttering something about “that witch staying in the cottage,” then turned to explain to the waiting search party. “Apparently, ‘that cat’ is howling outside the back door of the cottage, and could we please do something about it?”

  “Oh, we’ll do something about it all right.” Britt clenched her fists and paced the floor of the clearing. “I vote we kick her sorry self out and tell her to never come back.”

  “Britt! We can’t do that.” Phylicia spoke softly. “These people are counting on having a place to say. And they’re paying us good money.”

  Joanna laughed. “That’s not what you were saying when I was trying to convince you not to cancel the reservation.”

  “I didn’t say”—Phylicia huffed—“oh, never mind.”

  “Come on, Britt. Let’s go get him.” Joanna started for the stairs. “You bring the carrier. And make sure it’s latched this time.”

  “It was latched!” Britt grabbed the carrier from the tent and hurried after her sister.

  “And be nice!” Phylicia called after them.

  “I know, I know,” Britt grumbled. “These people are paying us good money.”

  “Hey, listen …” Quinn waited for the sisters to come back close enough to hear him. “You guys would be more than welcome to come out to my place and stay if you want. I don’t have beds in the guest rooms yet, but you could bring your sleeping bags. At least you’d have a roof over your heads. And a bathroom.”

  Phee looked hopefully at her sisters, but she knew better.

  Joanna zipped her coat up to her chin. “Thanks for the offer, Quinn, but we’re kind of excited about having this little initiation for our woods.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Quinn.” Britt hefted the cat carrier. “That’s thoughtful of you, but you can’t really expect us to bring Melvin to a house with a cat-eating dog.”

  Quinn smirked and turned to Phylicia. “That’s something we might have to talk about at some point.”

  Britt tossed her head. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  Shaking his head, Quinn stepped out of the way and tried not to laugh, still mystified by the world of women. And sisters. These three in particular.

  Chapter 38

  Quinn held up a hand and cocked his head, listening. “Sounds like all’s quiet on the western front.”

  “Yep. I think they’re all asleep, except maybe Melvin.” Phee laughed softly and leaned her head back against Quinn�
��s knees, trying to get comfortable on their perch on the wooden steps below the clearing.

  Above them, all was quiet in the tent where her sisters slept. The crickets had ceased their noise, and now the only sounds were the distant lapping of the river behind the cabins, the occasional hoot of an owl, or a plaintive cry from Melvin, who was safely crated and zipped into the tent with Jo and Britt for good measure.

  It was after midnight, but Phee and Quinn had sat here on the steps and talked about everything … and about nothing. And she’d loved every minute with him.

  She looked into the night sky, the moon high over the trees now, and a myriad of stars twinkling down on them.

  Quinn chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’ve got to say, that was not the evening I was expecting.”

  “Better than a milkshake though, right?”

  “Almost. Not quite. I could go for a milkshake about now.”

  She laughed. “I’d go down to the cottage and make you one if there wasn’t a witch staying there right now.”

  “Your sisters are something else.”

  “I know, but what would I do without them?” She tipped her head back and smiled up at him, but turned serious when she realized he was watching her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. “What?”

  “You are such an enigma.”

  “I am?”

  “I honestly do not know how you escaped marriage.”

  “What are you talking about? Escaped?”

  “Phylicia, you should have a thousand guys beating your door down.”

  “Stop.” She hoped he couldn’t see that she was blushing.

  “I’m serious. There is no way that you should have been here … available … when I was finally ready to find you. I’m just going to chalk it up to God saving you for me.”

  “That goes both ways, you know.”

  “And thank the good Lord for that.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

  “To be honest”—she wrapped her arms around herself—“I’ve worried sometimes. That something might be wrong with me . . . that I never found anyone I liked enough to go out with more than once or twice, let alone marry. I did have a few show interest.” She nudged him, grinning so he wouldn’t worry that he’d hurt her feelings.

  “I remember. You could count them on one-and-a-half hands. That’s what you told me.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember everything about you, Phylicia.”

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be married. I just always wanted a marriage like my parents had. The kind of love that gives you a reason to live, a reason to breathe. But after I thought Dad had betrayed Mom—and vice versa—I wondered if any such marriage had ever existed. I even started to feel grateful I hadn’t wasted any more time on boyfriends. And so when you started to show an interest, of course, I … rejected you almost immediately.”

  He frowned. “So I noticed.”

  “It’s funny. I was thinking about that earlier this evening, while I waited for you to pick me up.” That seemed like a lifetime ago. “I don’t think any of my … reluctance was about you at all, Quinn. It was about the whole idea of loving someone. Really loving them, sacrificially and unselfishly. Like I know now, my parents did. So few people have that kind of love.”

  He shrugged. “I know. It’s a little scary. And scarier the older I get. Because it’s so rare. Shoot, I know people my age who are already on their second marriages.”

  “That’s so sad. But I kind of get it. I mean, I thought Dad had proved there was no such thing as a good man. And who could I trust if I couldn’t trust my own father?” She looked up at him, feeling sheepish. “Not fair, I know. To you or Dad. I’m just telling you how it was in my mind.”

  “I understand that. I really do.” In the dim light of the hovering moon, Quinn’s face had a bluish glow. “I wish I’d understood better … when I was working so hard to woo you.”

  She grinned. “Well, it didn’t help that you were trying to sell me that money pit at the same time you were trying to woo me.” She pointed down to where a few dim lights flickered from the cottage. She could imagine their guests—likely very nice people who just didn’t want to share their little getaway with a strange cat—curled up on the sofa, enjoying their time at The Cottage on Poplar Brook Road. And none the wiser to the mayhem that had gone on up here in the clearing.

  “Money pit?” Quinn scooted down to sit on the step beside her. He leaned back and studied her, as if trying to be sure she was teasing. “You don’t regret it, do you? Buying the property?”

  “Oh, Quinn, no.” She gazed up into the canopy of stars sparkling overhead. “This place … all of it … is possibly the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Whoa! Wait… what am I? Chopped liver?”

  Giggling, she gave him a little punch. “Watch it, old man.” But she let her smile fade, not ever wanting him to doubt. “Quinn, the only thing that would make this place more perfect would be to share it with you. To have you here always.”

  That infernal spark came to Quinn’s eyes. “That sounds like a proposal to me.”

  “Well, if it does, then please say yes.”

  He cocked his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m not teasing, Phylicia.”

  “I’m not either.” Her pulse beat erratically. What had made her so bold? But she knew the answer—hope.

  “I don’t know … Are you going to be okay if this is our story? Forever after?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That you proposed to me?” The twinkle was still in those brown eyes of his, but there was an earnestness behind it now. “I’ve always thought you were kind of a traditional girl.”

  “I guess I am.”

  At that, Quinn took her hand in his and took a knee on the step beside her.

  Tears flooded her throat. “Yes.”

  He laughed down at her, but put a finger over his lips. “You can say yes, but I’m still going to ask the question. Just so I can say I did.” Now he pulled her closer. “Phylicia Beth Chandler … Phee … I love you with everything that is in me. Will you marry me?”

  Her heart swelled. “Oh, Quinn. Yes. I … I love you too. I don’t know what took me so long to come around.”

  He made a goofy face. “I don’t either, because we elderly don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”

  “There isn’t enough time in the world.” It came out in a whisper, and sadness threatened to overwhelm the joy she was feeling—that Mom hadn’t lived long enough to share this joy. That she and Quinn were getting a late start. That she’d wasted too much of her life worrying about things that didn’t really matter.

  A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Quinn wiped it away with his thumb and pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling her to sit back on the step beside him. “Don’t cry, Phee. We’re going to pack a whole lot of living into however many years God gives us. I promise.”

  She smiled through the tears. Believing him completely. But thrown by a tiny detail. She looked up at him, stroked his cheek, loving its roughness beneath her palm. “You called me Phee. Have you ever called me by my nickname?”

  He grinned. “I wondered if you’d notice. Do you know why I didn’t like it … at first … your nickname?”

  She shook her head, trying to remember if he’d ever told her, but drawing a blank.

  “Nobody likes paying a fee for something. I never liked thinking of you that way. Besides”—he traced his finger along the bridge of her nose—“Phylicia is such a pretty name. I’ve always thought so.”

  “So, why did you call me Phee just now?”

  “Because I’d pay any price to make you mine.”

  “Oh, Quinn.” She didn’t want to cry. Not now.

  Seeming to sense that, he winked. “And because it cost me a small fortune to finally win you over.”

  She giggled. “Well, it might take a while, but I’ll t
ry to make it worth your time.”

  He kissed her again, long and slow. “You already have, sweet woman. You already have.”

  A Note from Deb

  Dear reader,

  Thank you for choosing the first book in my Chandler Sisters Novels series! I don’t think readers ever fully understand how very much we authors treasure you and value your opinion. I always say that hearing from a reader is like fuel to my writer’s engine. You are the very reason I write!

  When I set out to write a series about three sisters, I couldn’t help but think of my own sisters. As I said in my dedication, Vicky, Kim, and Beverly were the first friends I knew, and while Kim has been in heaven for many years now (tragically killed in a car accident as a twenty-one-year-old newlywed), Vicky and Bev remain my dearest of friends. We’ve been blessed to live in the same town for most of the past six years, and my sisters would be in my Top Five list for any road trip or girls’ night out.

  I knew writing about sisters might be fraught with tension as I did my best to not make my Chandler sisters too much like my real-life sisters. I was not successful! Let’s just say that any lovely and winsome qualities in Phylicia, Joanna, and Britt Chandler came straight from my own sisters. And any of the annoying or frustrating qualities of the Chandler sisters are purely inventions of my imagination (or perhaps those traits spring from my own personality? After all, I was the bossy eldest.)

  All jesting aside, I hope this novel ultimately shows sisterhood in the beautiful, loving light I’ve known it to shine. Those we shared our childhood home with understand and know us like no one else can. And—hopefully—they love us despite our many flaws. In short, sisters are a gift from God and a blessing beyond words. (And brothers too! My dear, longsuffering brother Brad managed to grow up unscathed, despite being the lone brother of four sisters. Poor guy!)

  My deepest thanks goes out to the many people who made this book possible. My agent, Steve Laube; my editors at Gilead, Becky Philpott, Karli Jackson, along with Lynne Everett; my beloved critique partner and friend, Tamera Alexander, and others who read my manuscript and offered suggestions and corrections—especially my dear friend Terry Stucky and my sister Vicky Miller. Last and most of all, thanks to my best friend and love of my life, my husband Ken Raney, without whom none of this would be any fun at all, and with whom life has been more amazing than I ever dreamed possible. God is good, and I am blessed beyond words.