Irene Hannon - Child of Grace

It was foolish to deny the obvious. But neither was she about to explain her reaction to this stranger.

Luke rested his elbows on the table. “Have I done something to offend or alarm you during our short acquaintance?”

“No. You haven’t.” She took a deep breath.

He pinned her with an intent gaze. “This youth center is too important to fall victim to a personality quirk. If you don’t think we can work together, tell me now.”

Kelsey was taken aback by his candor. From everything she’d heard and seen, he appeared to be a principled, compassionate…safe man. What could she have to fear from a former army doctor?

She forced herself to meet his eyes. “The truth is, I’m a bit battle-scarred myself. I apologize if I’ve offended you. Maybe we should start over.”

He gave a slow nod and lifted his coffee cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

writes both romance and romantic suspense and is the author of more than thirty-five novels, including the bestselling Heroes of Quantico series—Against All Odds, An Eye For An Eye and In Harm’s Way. A four-time RITA ®Award (the “Oscar” of romantic fiction) finalist, she took home the golden statuette in 2003. Her books have also been honored with a Daphne du Maurier award, two Reviewers’ Choice awards from RT Book Reviews magazine and a HOLT medallion. A former corporate communications executive with a Fortune 500 company, Irene now writes full-time. She and her husband make their home in Missouri. For more information, Irene invites you to visit her website at www.irenehannon.com.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I consecrated you.

—Jeremiah 1:5

To my husband, Tom—

Thank you for being my partner on this journey called life.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Someone was on his beach.

Frowning, Luke Turner stopped halfway down the forty wooden steps that led to what was supposed to be a private beach on the shores of Lake Michigan. But the brim of a large, floppy hat peeked above the wide swath of tall grass between the base of the steps and the open sand. And it was low to the ground. Meaning the woman who owned it was sitting, not just pausing to admire the view while strolling by.

A definite breach of beach etiquette in this part of the world.

Stifling a sigh, he resettled the frame of his chair on his shoulder, took a sip of coffee from his mug and resumed his descent. He hadn’t planned to start his visit to Pier Cove with a confrontation. He’d seen enough conflict during his past ten years as an army doctor to last a lifetime. Now that his enlistment was up, he just wanted some quiet time to reacclimatize to civilian life, complete one final mission before heading home to Atlanta and the E.R. job that awaited him, and chill.

And he’d planned to do a lot of that chilling on his private beach.

At the bottom of the steps, he stopped again to take another sip of coffee. He didn’t want to make a scene. But he didn’t appreciate trespassers, either. When Mark had offered him the use of his place, he’d said the house next door, which shared the beach, had been unoccupied since the owner died last fall. Luke was well within his rights to tell the woman to move on.

And maybe this would be easy. It was possible she was a vacationer who didn’t know most Michigan beaches were private. If so, he could direct her to the public beach a short stroll away. Then he could enjoy this sunny Saturday morning in peaceful isolation.

Fortified by that little pep talk, he followed the narrow path through the swaying grass and stepped onto the sand.

The interloper was angled slightly away from him, seated in a beach chair, her long, shapely legs stretched in front of her, a pair of flip-flops askew in the sand beside them, as if she’d kicked them off. She was wrapped in a gaudy beach towel to ward off the morning chill Mark had warned him was common on the lakeshore even in mid-July, and her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses. Shoulder-length blond hair peeked beneath the brim of her hat, and her head was bent as she perused a book. Beside her, a thermos was stuck into the top of an overflowing beach bag, and she was juggling a mug of coffee in one hand.

In other words, she was settled in for the duration.

Bracing himself, Luke cleared his throat.

At the sound, the woman jerked toward him. The coffee sloshed out of her mug, and she yelped as the hot liquid splashed onto her skin.

Nice approach, Turner. Scare her half to death.

Luke took a step forward. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Keeping a wary eye on him, she dumped the rest of her coffee into the sand and struggled out of the low-slung chair. The book slid off her lap as she rose, and the towel slipped from around her shoulders. She grabbed it…but not before he got a good look at her rounded figure.

She was pregnant.

Very pregnant.

And apparently unmarried.

Her empty ring finger was front and center as she readjusted the towel around her shoulders and clutched it in front of her.

So was the pink spot on the back of her other hand.

He took another step toward her, eyeing the burn. “Cold water will…”

She stumbled back, almost tripping over her chair on the uneven sand.

He stopped.

So did she.

But she scanned the beach, as if seeking…help?

Although he couldn’t see much of her face under the large hat, and her eyes were hidden behind the glasses, he was picking up fear. Not just leftover fear from being startled, but panic almost. She seemed poised to flee. As if she thought he might become violent.

Did he look that angry?

Maybe. More than one medic had told him he was intimidating—especially when aggravated. Plus, at six-one he usually had a height advantage in any confrontation. And today he had a big one. The woman across from him couldn’t be more than five-three, five-four. But he wasn’t that mad about her being on his beach.

He forced his taut features to relax and summoned up a smile. “I’m not in the habit of…”

“This is a private beach.”

At her accusatory tone, his smile faded. “Yes, it is. My beach, as a matter of fact.”

Her brow wrinkled. “No, it’s my beach. Maybe you got turned around coming through the grass.”

“Maybe you did.” He gestured toward the top of the bluff with his mug. “I’m staying at Mark Lewis’s place. I got in late last night.”

The creases marring her forehead deepened. “I live next door.”

Luke didn’t try to hide his skepticism. “Mark told me the owner of that house had died and the place was empty.”

The muscles in her throat contracted as she swallowed. “The owner was my grandmother. She passed away in October. I inherited the house and moved in four months ago.”

Although the woman still seemed nervous, she tipped up her chin and held her ground.

Spunky little thing.

Luke took a sip of his coffee as he mulled over her claim. Mark had been out of the country for months, on an overseas assignment for his company. It was possible he wasn’t up-to-date on his neighbors. And this woman didn’t appear to be lying. Nor did she seem to be any happier about sharing the beach than he was.