Mae Nunn - Hearts In Bloom

He caught Jessica to his chest, muscular arms wrapped protectively around her. She’d never felt such relief in her life. Suddenly there was a sense of completeness where there had been a huge void.

“What on earth is wrong?”

“The wedding is less than nine hours away, my work crew just canceled and I can’t even begin to tell you what’s at stake today. I know I don’t deserve it, but if you’ll help me, Drew, I promise I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”

He smiled, dimple and all, and guided her to the sidewalk.

“Let me make a couple of phone calls. I’ll meet you in the Commons in five minutes.”

He ran his hand down the back of her hair as she turned to walk away.

A glance over her shoulder sent a thrill of hope through her heart. He was still watching, tenderness etched in his features.

MAE NUNN

grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, Mae hung up her spurs to become a Southern belle. Today she and her husband make their home with their two children in Georgia. Mae has been with a major air-express company for twenty-five years, currently serving as a regional customer service manager. She began writing four years ago. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill family, Mae summed her response up with one word, “Yeeeeeha!”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In his heart a man plans his course,

but the Lord determines his steps.

—Proverbs 16:9

For my precious Maegan, who gave up so many

Saturday outings so her mama could write. For my

critique partner, Dianna, who is a gift straight from

heaven. For my friend Larry, whose incredible story

inspired me to get it started. And for my husband,

Michael, who makes it all worthwhile.

Dear Reader,

Five years ago I was amazed by the true story of a Green Beret’s survival after dropping 40,000 feet with a defective parachute. I was compelled to spin a tale around this real-life hero and I wanted to create an equally special heroine for him. A woman with a real-life body and all the real-life fears that go along with it. Picture me getting started: a laptop on my bathroom counter, my faithful dog draped across my lap. After two years of watching me spend my weekends in the bathroom, my very own handsome hero transformed a closet into a workspace, and I became a “real writer.”

My self-imposed rule was not to write anything that would offend my mother or my daughter. Try as I might, I couldn’t ignore the call to do more, to use my words to glorify our Heavenly Father. Hearts in Bloom is my debut Love Inspired novel. I hope spending time with Jessica and Drew blesses you as much as writing their story has blessed me. Share your thoughts when you visit me at maenunn.com.

Until next time, let your light shine.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Dirt.

There was just something so appealing about dirt.

Jessica Holliday couldn’t remember a time in her twenty-six years when she hadn’t been fascinated by the stuff and the miracles it generated. She breathed deeply of its comforting smell and lightly massaged the site of her knee injury.

Atlanta’s top orthopedic surgeon had performed the anterior medialization, grafting bone and marrow, inserting titanium screws and closing the knee with thirty-five staples. But no amount of medical skill would ever restore full strength to her leg.

A small price to pay, considering Adam Crockett was lost forever to his grieving family. A family who blamed her for his death.

At least she had the chance to start again. She’d planned better than her mother, who’d ended up with no education and a child to support after her ex-military husband had abandoned them. Thanks to a green thumb and a very tight budget, Jessica had learned something besides dance. She could design, plant and tend gardens of all kinds, and the proof covered the ten-acre campus of Sacred Arms.

Sitting cross-legged in the shade of six-foot-high fuchsia and white azalea bushes, she admired the beds in bloom. Tall clusters of purple iris and feathery, light pink plumes of astilbe surrounded her. Fragrant bunches of lavender waved in the warm spring breeze.

An afternoon sun glinted through the shady gardens of the town-home complex and she ducked her head to avoid the momentary brightness. Her downcast eyes were drawn to her hands, to the nails that were in desperate need of a manicure. The fashionable mid-town salon had probably figured out months ago that she wouldn’t be keeping her regular appointment any longer.

She’d kept her nails maintained only out of responsibility anyway, hating the busy metallic clicking of the clippers and the rough filing and the smell of acrylic. But a principal performer for the Atlanta Dance Theater could hardly greet supporters with soil under her fingernails. Now the trace of dirt beneath her short nails was a welcome sight.

How quickly priorities could change. One moment she had been navigating the dark highway, the next she’d been blinded by the overhead lights of the operating room.

From where she sat, Jessica had a clear view of the security gate. It swung open to admit a fancy white sedan that pulled a little too quickly into the parking lot. That could mean only one thing. Valentine was late to meet a prospective buyer.

With the always immaculately dressed real estate agent close by, Jessica paused to consider her own attire. She surveyed the baggy sweat suit, stained with everything from mulch to mustard. She needed new clothes desperately, but refused to acknowledge the result of her sixty-pound weight gain in such a permanent manner.

From outside the gates, a sports car’s too-loud engine growled. A shiny blue car glided to a stop beside the sidewalk and a hulk of a man rose from the car and stepped into the sunshine. Standing ramrod straight, he surveyed the community of private town houses. With an arm raised to shield his eyes against the glare, he appeared to salute.

Jessica scoffed at the memory it evoked. Her worthless father had teased her mother with a similar gesture on the rare occasions when he’d meandered through their lives. The braided rug beside Jessica’s childhood bed had worn thin where she’d knelt. Prayers for her father to stay with them had gone unanswered, so she’d given up on prayer altogether.

She wagged her head to shake off the daydreaming, a thick ponytail swishing about the neck of her shirt, and swiped at her forehead with a dirty hand.

With an aluminum cane tucked beneath her arm, she returned to the task of fertilizing the prizewinning azaleas. She scooted backward across the grass to the next spot needing attention, eased over, careful to avoid the still-mending leg, and returned to work.

Drew Keegan had emerged from the shady interior of his perfectly restored ’67 fastback into the afternoon sun. He stood, hand raised to block the glare, admiring the grounds of Sacred Arms. In many ways the property, located in the historic Grant Park district of Atlanta, still had the look of the 1920s Christian school it had once been.