Family in His Heart. Gail Gaymer Martin

the warm breeze but forgetting the fresh scent and hopeful sense of something new he’d had earlier. He and Gary had become an old argument for the past two years. The first year after Jill’s death had been one of silence. The last two had been years when silence would have been a gift.

      His shoulders slumped as he pulled away. If he didn’t love his son so much, he wouldn’t care, but Gary was all he had now, his purpose for waking in the morning. With Jill gone—the word made him cringe—life had changed, and despite their rough times, his life had not just faded but died with her. He woke in the morning, ran his businesses, arrived home to be with his distant son and went to bed, wishing they’d never gone waterskiing that ill-fated day, wishing he’d never looked back at Jill.

      The sunlight blurred against the hood of his SUV and he brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. He’d lost the sense of family. He’d become alienated from his son. Time to make changes. He needed to do something about his relationship with Gary. What, he didn’t know, but he hoped the Lord would guide him. He and Gary had to come to an understanding, at least a tolerable existence, and Nick knew he had to live again.

      A voice sounded in his head—Rona Meyers, a feminine powerhouse. Maybe he could learn something about life from her. He’d seen those stormy eyes tinged with the hint of sunny hope. He needed hope and he definitely needed energy.

      The late afternoon sun streaked across the lake as Rona exited the Harbor Inn the way she’d come in that afternoon.

      She headed for her car, then stopped and looked back at the brick-red clapboard building with wide windows, letting reality sink in. She worked here.

      The difference between Harbor Inn and the last café she’d worked struck her. Walking on the plank floor all day at Harbor Inn had been easier than the typical city-diner slab floor covered by tile or cheap carpet. Harbor Inn had a homey feeling. People knew people. They talked and joked. And if she needed anything right now, it was a sense of home.

      She ambled past her car, drawn by the lulling roll of the lake. Small fishing boats lined the harbor along with private speedboats to carry passengers from the mainland to their homes on the islands—thirty-six islands, she’d learned from Bernie when he’d accepted her application and taken a minute to talk.

      Pausing a moment, Nick Thornton’s image settled over her. He lived on the large island across the stretch of water. The distant homes looked lovely, large rambling houses with large boathouses, many two stories with rooms for guests. This kind of life she’d never experienced and never would.

      She grasped her shoulder bag and crossed the street, heading toward the white building near the water, the marina’s office, where people could gather information and perhaps book a fishing trip. Beyond the office, a white gazebo stood in a small patch of grass closer to the water, too small for a bandstand, but it added charm to the landscape.

      Lake water and fish scented the air, a vital smell that made her feel alive. Rona leaned against the gazebo and drew in a deep breath as she regrouped her courage and reminded herself why she came to this town in a little hook of land in the upper peninsula.

      Wondering what life might be like across the rolling blue water, she turned back and headed for her small sedan, but before she opened her car door, she noticed a grocery store across from the Harbor Inn. Her cabin didn’t have a kitchen, but she could use some cereal and she could store milk in her cooler until she found something more permanent.

      She veered across the street and headed inside. She gazed around the store sizing up what they had to offer. Cereal and milk for breakfast, a bag of chips and a six-pack of orange pop would serve her for now. She’d had a good meal at the inn and tomorrow she’d make more definite plans.

      Rona paid the clerk, then stepped outside. Pressing the remote, she heard the comforting click of the locks. She shoved the grocery bag inside, then gave the lake a final look.

      Her heart jigged a moment when she saw a broad-shouldered man with wind-tossed hair drive past her. His bristled jaw and solid features assured her. Nick. Rona followed his SUV with her eyes. When the road ended at the harbor, he turned left along the piers and boathouses.

      Though feeling like a stalker, Rona climbed into her car and followed, curious as to where he was headed. Holding back, she saw him slow up and turn into a grassy area. She waited and soon he strutted from behind the cabins and crossed the street.

      She rolled forward, seeing him march along the pier and stop in front of a good-size speedboat.

      Nick untied the front ropes, then stepped into the craft and removed the back moorings. He vanished inside the cabin, and in a moment, she heard the motor hum and saw the boat head into the lake.

      Her curiosity growing, Rona rolled closer to the pier and put her sedan in Park. She followed the wake of the bow as Nick headed to the big island. Nick steered along the shoreline, then rounded the bend. Marquette Island. It had to be.

      She could picture his home, like him, manly and sturdy, but the image caused her to pause. He hadn’t worn a ring but he could still be married. He had a son. She lowered her gaze, mortified that she’d been ogling a man who might very possibly have a wife.

      Rona shifted into gear, turned around in the nearest driveway and headed back to Highway M-134, determined to keep her curiosity under control.

      The motel appeared ahead. Hardly a place to call home, but she would make the best of it until she had the chance to find a rental she could afford. The job offer at Harbor Inn had been a gift from God.

      God. She and God had been estranged for a long time. All her life she’d believed that the Lord guided her steps, but the day her brother duped her into giving him a ride had been the day she figured God might guide other people’s plans but He’d allowed Satan to guide hers. Where had her fortress and shield been that day?

      The remembrance shot through her and she didn’t want any part of the recollection. Her life had nearly ended that day, and instead of struggling with it, she preferred to pretend it hadn’t happened. That’s why she’d moved away.

      She pulled in front of her log cabin and dug into her bag for the key. Logs seemed to be the popular building material in the area. It made sense; Nick had mentioned his family were loggers and she realized logging still provided jobs for many workers. Too bad she wasn’t a strong, outdoorswoman. Logging could provide her with a good income.

      Nick had been on her mind since she’d met him. When he’d slid the newspaper in front of her, she decided at first it had been because he knew she wanted a better job than being a waitress, but when she saw the housekeeper ad, she wondered if he’d been interested in hiring her.

      She questioned her good sense. The man didn’t know her. She could be a thief or an addict…anything. Why would he consider her?

      She couldn’t imagine living in a house on an island, a big house with lovely furniture and at least some luxuries. Housekeeper? Could she handle a job like that. Why not? She’d cleaned many houses—her parents, her own when she’d been married, and then the variety of apartments she’d called home for short periods of time. Housekeeping as a job would hardly pay better than the waitress job. Still, it offered a room. Wondering why she’d let her mind wander to the ridiculous, she stopped herself from second-guessing.

      A long, lonely evening lay ahead of her when she stepped inside the single square bedroom with a small bathroom. One glaring overhead bulb hung from the ceiling and a single lamp sat on the nightstand where she placed her purse and room key. She pulled open the brown-and-green plaid curtains to let in the five o’clock light. Night still came early in the north and she longed for long summer evenings.

      She tossed the potato chips on the dresser along with the box of cereal, then checked her cooler for ice. Low. She’d need to add some cubes from the motel’s stash until she could buy a bag.

      Sinking into the only easy chair, Rona looked around the room with its dark walls, mass-produced paintings and thread-worn towels beside the sink. What would it be like to live in one of those lovely homes on Marquette Island or any island for