Renee Andrews - Healing Autumn's Heart

Matt indicated the pin. “You’re a survivor, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Hannah said, always finding it easy to smile with the thrill that she was in remission now. “But I also lost my mother to breast cancer, like Autumn. So I know how much it hurts.”

Matt tilted his head, curiosity at Autumn’s awareness still evident on his face. “Well, for some reason, she was drawn to you.”

Hannah felt flattered … and honored. She remembered her silent prayer, asking God to let her help this little girl. He’d undoubtedly granted her request. “Maybe because I’m meant to help her?”

That made him smile, and Hannah couldn’t deny the impact that his smile had on her heart. He was so genuine, so honest and so concerned with his daughter.

“I know this will sound a little odd,” Matt said, “but I think maybe you’re right. Maybe the reason I picked this town, the reason Autumn and I are here is … because of you.”

Dear Reader,

Current statistics show one in every eight women in the United States will develop breast cancer over the course of her lifetime. By telling Hannah’s story, I tried my best to cover the way she held on to her faith for both the good and the bad news she received from having the disease. Battling trials brings us closer to God, but some choose to turn away from God in times of struggle. I hope that Healing Autumn’s Heart may cause someone who has turned away in times of struggle to reconsider their faith and hopefully find their way back to our Savior.

I enjoy mixing facts and fiction in my novels, and you’ll learn about some of the truths hidden within the story on my website, www.reneeandrews.com. You can enter a contest on my website to win a pair of Toms shoes similar to the ones worn by Hannah in the book. I am very impressed with this company and the fact that they donate a pair of shoes to a child in need for every pair purchased.

Additionally, my website includes alternate scenes for some of my novels and deleted scenes that didn’t make the final cut. If you have prayer requests, there’s a place to let me know on my site. I will lift your request up to the Lord in prayer. I love to hear from readers, so please write to me at renee@reneeandrews.com.

Blessings in Christ,

Renee Andrews

RENEE ANDREWSspends a lot of time in the gym. No, she isn’t working out. Her husband, a former All-American gymnast, co-owns ACE Cheer Company, an all-star cheerleading company. She is thankful the talented kids at the gym don’t have a problem when she brings her laptop and writes while they sweat. When she isn’t writing, she’s typically traveling with her husband, bragging about their two sons or spoiling their bulldog.

Renee is a kidney donor and actively supports organ donation. She welcomes prayer requests and loves to hear from readers! Write to her at Renee@ReneeAndrews.com or visit her website at www.reneeandrews.com. Check her out on Facebook and Twitter as well.

Healing

Autumn’s Heart

Renee Andrews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This novel is dedicated to my husband,

J.R. Zeringue, and my boys, Rene and Kaleb Zeringue.

“A happy family is but an earlier heaven.”

—George Bernard Shaw

The Lord is good, a refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in Him.

— Nahum 1:7

Special thanks to breast cancer survivor Doris Green

Zeringue, my wonderful sister-in-law,

for sharing her diary, her knowledge and her heart.

All mistakes are mine.

Matt Graham had to walk with a slight lean to hold Autumn’s small hand as they exited Nelson’s Variety Store. He’d hoped that the uniqueness of the old-fashioned five-and-dime with its soda jerk counter, malt machine and 1950s charm would appeal to his six-year-old daughter and maybe even result in a smile. Or, if he could be so lucky, more than a single word.

He glanced down and admired the shiny miniature black and white tiles displaying the store’s name on the concrete in front of the building. The letters were block-style and reminded him of Autumn’s homework from last night. Her first-grade class had been learning about a different letter of the alphabet each week since school started, and this week’s letter was E . For each of the last four weeks, while she studied A, B, C and then D, he tried to bring her homework into their daily conversations, or rather his daily conversations, since most of their discussions were entirely one-sided. It was merely another attempt to converse with his daughter. So far, he hadn’t had much success, but maybe this week would be different.

God, let me break through her wall somehow. And please, God, let it be soon.

Matt sighed, wondering why he still found himself praying at all. He supposed it was more habit than anything else. Because he’d prayed continuously two years ago, and it hadn’t saved Rebecca.

He looked back at the tiles and hoped God had decided to give him a little help this week with his daughter. Heaven knew he needed all the help he could get.

“Look, Autumn, that says Nelson’s. And it has an E right there—” he pointed to the letter “—just like the ones you were writing on your paper last night.”

Her soft brown curls brushed against his arm as her head tilted to look at the tiles.

Matt paused, waited, hoped.

After a couple of beats, he prompted, “Maybe we could buy some tiles or blocks from the toy store and you could make your letters the way that they did to spell the name of their store. We could put them on the coffee table in the playroom or on the kitchen table, if you like.” He smiled. “I think it’d be fun to make letters that way, don’t you?”

Brown doe eyes, his precious Rebecca’s eyes, looked back at him, and the sadness filling their depths pierced his soul.

Matt’s heart squeezed tightly in his chest. She looked so much like her mother. He forced what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “What do you think? Does that sound fun?”

She blinked, looked back at the tiles and whispered, “Maybe.”

Matt swallowed, nodded and started down the sidewalk toward Tiny Tots Treasure Box, the toy store located on the other side of the town square. He tried to feel positive about the fact that at least she held his hand. There was some form of connection left between them if she’d still do that, or that’s what the last psychologist they visited in Atlanta had said. But Matt didn’t want a “connection” with the one person he cared for more than any other.

He wanted a bond.

Moving to the tiny community of Claremont, Alabama, had been his last-ditch effort at making that happen. Away from Atlanta, away from his research, and away from the home that held way too many sad memories and not nearly enough happy ones.