Lisa Jordan - Lakeside Reunion

“I remember the ones you and your dad used to share.”

Lindsey peered at Stephen over the edge of her mug, and then looked away. She would not cry in front of him … again.

“Man, I’m batting a thousand today. I didn’t … I mean … I’m sorry for putting my foot in my mouth.”

“No, no, not your fault. It’s just that, well, those were special times. Since Dad’s death, I haven’t found a good enough reason to have breakfast.” She traced the wood grain in the oak trestle table with her finger. “You must think I’m such a dork.”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Her finger stilled, and her breath caught.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Stephen walked to the door, turned and gave Lindsey a long look. “You’ll find someone special to share breakfast with again.”

Problem was, Lindsey didn’t want just anyone. She wanted Stephen.

Dear Reader,

Twenty-three years ago, a handsome marine stole my heart, promising never to give it back. That marine dreamed of becoming a police officer like his dad. Just before his enlistment was up, though, I begged him to give up his dream. I was terrified of losing him in the line of duty. Lindsey and I have a lot in common—we didn’t trust God to protect those we loved.

Lakeside Reunion is a story of forgiveness, trust and having a second chance at love. We draw close to those we love and trust, just as God wants us to draw close to Him. When we put our faith in Him, He restores our relationship and helps us overcome those fears that keep us from living. God always promises to be by our sides, no matter what trials we experience.

Stephen and Lindsey are dear to my heart, having been rattling around in my head for over a decade. I’m so thrilled you took the time to read this story of my heart. Don’t be a stranger to Shelby Lake. I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me at lisajordanbooks@gmail.com or visit my website, www.lisajordanbooks.com, to learn what’s next for the residents of Shelby Lake and my writing.

Lisa Jordan

Lakeside Reunion

Lisa Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let us draw near to God with a sincere heart

and with the full assurance that faith brings,

having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us

from a guilty conscience and having

our bodies washed with pure water.

— Hebrews 10:22

How does someone thank the one person who sacrificed his dream for the woman he loves, while being a continual supporter of hers? A lifetime of gratitude and love goes to Patrick Jordan, my incredible husband, who gave up his badge for a scared, insecure wife over twenty years ago. I love you more than words can ever express. You are my real-life hero. I’m honored to be your wife. Semper Fi.

For Scott and Mitchell. You inspire me to be a better mother and a better writer. Thank you so much for reheating leftovers and loading the dishwasher so I could write. I love you forever. Thanks to the rest of my amazing family for your constant encouragement. I love you all.

For the men and women in law enforcement who put their lives on the line daily for our safety and for their families who support them.

For Your Glory, Lord. Without You, none of this would have been possible.

When a book takes over a decade to go from an idea to a published novel, many people have a role in the story process.

Thanks to my agent, Rachelle Gardner, of WordServe Literary Group and my editor at Love Inspired Books, Melissa Endlich, for taking the story of my heart from dream to reality.

Thanks to writing mentors who have shaped me into the writer I am today: Linda Leshinski taught fiction fundamentals to an idealistic freshman at UPB, Dorice Nelson measured me for my first alligator skin in Word Slingers, Ruth Logan Herne taught me how to move past rejection, and finally the My Book Therapy dynamic duo, Susan May Warren and Rachel Hauck, brainstormed life into Stephen and Lindsey’s story, teaching me to dig deeper by constantly asking “Why?” I’m so blessed to call you mentors and friends.

Thanks to Patrick Jordan and Mark Mynheir for answering U.S.M.C. and law enforcement questions. Thanks to Dr. Richard Mabry, Dr. Ronda Wells, Leslie Pfeil, Laurie Sherriff and Gerry McIntyre for their medical advice. Any mistakes are mine.

Thanks to the Word Slingers, the Penwrights, the Writer C.H.I.C.K.s and the Tough Cookies for their very helpful feedback. Thanks to The Ponderers, the Coffee Girls, Susan Saar, Jo Moore, Carolyn Vibbert, Sara Patry, Amanda, Marie-Anne Mouthaan, Roxanne Sherwood, Beth K. Vogt and Reba J. Hoffman for your prayers, friendship and encouragement. I’m so grateful to have all of you in my life.

Any moment now, Lindsey could put the car in Drive, touch the gas pedal, drive past the green-etched Welcome to Shelby Lake sign and return to her past. Another hundred feet and she would be back.

Visitors traveled to the northwestern Pennsylvania lakefront community to get away. She escaped to put her life back together.

Center Street unfurled like black satin ribbon under a canopy of evergreens and multicolored maples and oaks that would take her right down memory lane. Past the elementary school where Mom taught kindergarten. Past Aunt Claire’s sewing shop. Past Mrs. Lawson’s pink-sided house with the plastic yard goose she dressed each holiday. Past the church where Lindsey almost said “I do.”

Mom, why did you have to fall down the stairs?

Lindsey gripped the steering wheel, pressing her forehead against the powder-blue fuzzy cover. Maybe banging her head against it would knock some sense into her brain. She’d made promises that never, ever, not in a thousand years would she return to Shelby Lake.

But promises didn’t account for widowed mothers who might slip on a dirty sock on the stairs to the laundry room.

Next to her, on the seat of her friend’s borrowed Taurus, her cell phone chimed. She read the display. Perfect—Granddad checking in. He probably expected her to hedge at the city limits, weighing the pros and cons.

Like for the past half hour.

She answered the call. “I’m on my way, really.”

“No doubt in my mind, sweetness. Your mama’s been taken to X-ray. She’s asking for that quilt—you know, the one with all those circles—off the recliner near the davenport. Could you pick it up on your way?” Granddad’s voice betrayed an edge of stress—playing family watchdog for the past five years whittled any visible panic from his voice. “Can you hurry?”

“Yes … sure. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes or so.” She ended the conversation and clenched the phone.

Quilt with circles, Granddad had said. The wedding ring quilt on the recliner near the couch. Dad’s recliner. Closing her eyes, she could picture him sitting there—feet crossed at the ankles, hands tucked behind his head. An ache pinched her chest. But she would do it. For Mom.

She imagined her mother, fragile, her eyes wide with pain, maybe even fear as she lay puddled at the bottom of the stairs, or trying to drag her broken body toward a phone. If Lindsey hadn’t swept the Shelby Lake dust off her feet, she might have been there. Might have heard her cry out. Or rather, might have been the one carrying the laundry downstairs.

She glanced at the sign again and released a loud sigh. Okay, so the town had fewer than five thousand people. Entering city limits didn’t guarantee she’d see him. Or his son. Or run smack into the humiliation of being left at the altar.