Gail Martin - Groom in Training

And one day he wanted to tell her about his broken engagement, but it opened too many doors right now. Later maybe, when he knew how things were going with them. Now they were friends. Friends almost too fast, and that scared him.

Her faith. The concern knotted in his mind. He liked her too much. They had things in common—the love of dogs, laughter, pride in their work—but that wasn’t enough. His love for God was primary in his life, and he needed that in his marriage.

Marriage? Where did that come from? His heart had rushed past his good sense. Marriage wasn’t an option until he got his act together and until he felt God’s leading to a life partner. But that’s what bothered him. Nick did feel something different. He sensed Steph had come into his life for a reason and for a deeper purpose. They had a comfortable relationship together already. When he dropped by, the pleasure sparked in her eyes. But he’d also seen the look of question there, too, and he longed to know what it meant.

A former counselor, Gail Gaymer Martin is an award-winning author of women’s fiction, romance and romantic suspense. Groom in Training is her forty-second published work of long fiction with three million books in print, and many of her novels have received numerous national awards. Gail is the author of twenty-five worship resource books and is the author of Writing the Christian Romance from Writers Digest Books. She is a cofounder of American Christian Fiction Writers.

When not behind her computer, Gail enjoys a busy life—traveling, presenting workshops at conferences, speaking at churches and libraries, and singing as a soloist, praise leader and choir member at her church, where she also plays handbells and hand chimes. She also sings with one of the finest Christian chorales in Michigan, the Detroit Lutheran Singers. Gail lives in Michigan with her husband, Bob. To learn more about her, visit her Web site at www.gailmartin.com. Write to Gail at P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI 48076, or at authorgailmartin@aol.com. She enjoys hearing from readers.

Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.

—Luke 15:6

In memory of our daughter, Brenda Martin Bailey, and to our son, Dave Martin, who is the real songwriter and lead singer of Clay Adams Band.

And to Jinx, our terrier, who experienced the real two-week trek until he found his veterinarian, and we rejoiced when we brought him home. He’s now in doggy heaven, but he was a character we’ll never forget.

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

Questions for Discussion

Hearing a ruckus in the backyard, Steph leaped from the kitchen chair and darted to the patio door. She slid it open with a thud and stepped outside. “Fred. Stop.”

The yips and barks split the air while Fred wagged his tail and leaped along the fence with a shaggy gray mop of a dog on the other side.

Steph’s gaze shifted to a man leaning against the fence, her new neighbor she presumed. An amiable grin curved his full lips, and he gazed at her with twinkling saddle-brown eyes.

“Fred. Come.” She clapped her hands to get her border collie’s attention. He twisted his neck, and she could see his struggle to respond to her call or to stay with his nose against the chain-link fence while his shaggy friend mesmerized him. Finally Fred bounded toward her.

Steph approached the stranger, who lifted his hand in welcome and then ran his fingers through his dark brown, wavy hair. It looked tousled and made him seem playful. As she studied his classic good looks, Fred tangled around her feet, and she nearly tripped. So did her pulse.

The stranger gestured toward Fred. “It’s nice to see another dog in the neighborhood and right next door.”

Steph chuckled. “Not everyone feels like that.” She’d forced the levity, startled by the sensation she’d felt when she looked in his eyes. She lowered her gaze to his ring finger. Bare.

What was she thinking? Steph released a puff of air and managed to meet his gaze again.

He grinned. “I’m getting a kick out of the dogs.”

“I noticed.” His warm smile heated her face.

He grasped the fence rail and tilted back on his heels. She watched as he lowered his body to the fence again, as if thinking of what to say next. She forced her focus away from his arms.

He straightened. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“You didn’t disturb me at all.” Not true. His beautiful eyes disturbed her. “But Fred and his furry friend did.” Furry friend? She cringed listening to herself. She sounded like an idiot.

“My furry friend is Suzette.”

Happy to have another place to focus, she looked at the slate-gray dog, its eyes nearly covered by long silky bangs. “Nice to meet you, Suzette.” Managing to get her wits under control, Steph lifted her head. “And nice to meet you, too.” She extended her hand. “Stephanie Wright. Steph to my friends.”

“A pleasure.” He gave her fingers an easy squeeze. “Nick Davis.” He smiled and tilted his head toward the dogs. “They seem to like each other. It’s too bad people can’t make friends that easily.”

She eyed the dogs, grinning at their wagging tails and their snouts sniffing against the chain links. “You mean, as easily as rubbing our noses together?”

His grin broadened. “Sure, if we were Eskimos.” He winked.

Why had she said “our” noses? Noses would have been bad enough. Feeling the heat reach her cheeks, she averted her eyes. While she grappled with her discomfort, she watched the dogs’ antics. Fred appeared smitten.

When her cheeks cooled, Steph decided the dogs were safer conversation. “Your dog looks like a big rag mop. What breed is she?”

Nick’s dark eyes twinkled. “A Bouvier.”

“Bouvier. So that’s what they look like.”

He glanced over his shoulder, appearing to look for an intruder, then leaned closer as if sharing a secret. His breath whispered against her cheek. “If you ask my brother her breed, he’d tell you Suzette is a Bouvier des Flandres. She’s actually Martin’s dog.” He drew back, giving her a crooked grin. “Martin thinks it sounds classier.”

“Well, la-di-da.” La-di-da? Get a grip. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Fred’s just a border collie from Michigan.” Steph hoped she sounded sane.

“But a very nice one, I’m sure.”

He’d ignored her lunacy or else didn’t notice. That made her feel better.

“Martin’s pitiful with his pretentiousness at times. I don’t know where he gets it.”

Steph appreciated the distraction. “I’d like to strangle my brother once in a while.” More often than she wanted to remember. He’d upset her much too often. “My parents were thrilled to finally have a son to carry on the family name, and Hal knew it. He seemed to think he’d been born with a crown, and he expected us to bow to his every need.”

She peered at Fred, his tail slapping against the grass.

“Fred usually doesn’t carry on like that. He’s used to being around other dogs.”