Child of Grace Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Irene Hannon’s Novels

  CHILD OF GRACE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  SEASIDE REUNION Excerpt

  About the Author

  CHILD OF GRACE

  Encore Edition

  IRENE HANNON

  ©2011 by Irene Hannon

  First edition published 2011 by Harlequin Love Inspired

  Encore Edition published 2021 by Irene Hannon

  (An Encore Edition is a previously published novel that has been re-edited and reissued with a new cover.)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 9781970116236

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Praise for Irene Hannon’s Novels

  “An intense, emotional, thought-provoking read.”

  —Best Reads (2010-2020) on Child of Grace

  “Hannon’s multithread plot is woven beautifully together to create a tapestry that will enchant romantics of all ages.”

  —Publishers Weekly on One Perfect Spring

  “Inspiring prose and embraceable characters…capture the reader from the very first pages.”

  —New York Journal of Books on That Certain Summer

  “A great summer read…relatable characters with real-life problems.”

  —Radiant Lit on Seaside Reunion

  “An exquisite read! A compact love story with all the substance of a longer novel.”

  —Amazon review on Second Chance Summer

  Can two hurting people make peace with their pasts—

  and find a new beginning together?

  After a devastating trauma derails all her plans, Kelsey Anderson leaves her high-powered corporate job and moves to her grandmother’s lake house in Michigan to open a quilt shop, begin a new life, and make a difficult decision. Quiet is what she wants—and quiet is what she has…until war-weary ex-Army doctor Luke Turner invades her world. In town for a few weeks to fulfill a promise, he’s no more interested in romance than she is. But Kelsey’s public relations background is just what he needs to complete his mission. As they work together, sparks fly…but will Kelsey’s secret—and the looming choice she faces—derail their romance almost before it begins?

  Bestselling author Irene Hannon pens another heartwarming novel that demonstrates the power of love to triumph over obstacles—and how good can often come even from the worst situations.

  Buy Seaside Reunion—Starfish Bay Book 1

  Buy Second Chance Summer

  Buy That Certain Summer

  Buy One Perfect Spring

  Complete book list at www.irenehannon.com

  Chat with Irene on Facebook www.facebook.com/pages/Irene-Hannon

  To my husband, Tom—

  Thank you for being my partner

  on this journey called life.

  1

  Someone had invaded his territory.

  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. 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 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. Starting his visit to Pier Cove with a confrontation held zero appeal—especially after all the conflict he’d seen during his ten years as an army doctor. All he wanted to do on this trip was reacclimate to civilian life, complete one final mission before heading home to Atlanta and the ER job that awaited him, and chill.

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

  At the bottom of the steps, he stopped again to take another sip of coffee. If the information Mark had provided when he’d offered his house as a getaway was correct, the woman was clearly trespassing. According to his friend, the house next door that shared this beach had been unoccupied since the owner died last fall. Luke was well within his rights to tell the trespasser to move on.

  And maybe this would be easy. It was possible she was a vacationer who didn’t know that 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.

  Plan in hand, 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 legs stretched in front of her, a pair of flip-flops askew in the sand—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.

  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 clear look at her rounded figure.

  She was pregnant.

  Very pregnant.

  And perhaps 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, assessing 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?

  Despite the large hat that shadowed her face and her concealing dark glasses, her fear came through loud and clear. Not just leftover fear from being startled, but panic almost. She seemed poised to flee. As if she thought he might become violent.

  Did his demeanor convey anger?

  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 lips flattened. “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 lifted his mug toward the top of the bluff. “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 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.

  He surveyed the strip of sand. It was narrow, but long. They ought to be able to make this work.

  “I’ll tell you what—why don’t we start over, since we’ll be neighbors for a few weeks?” Once more he tried the pleasant approach. After setting his mug on the sand, he moved toward her and extended his hand. “Let me introduce—”

  Her grip on the towel tightened, and she took another step back.

  He halted again.

  Geez. What was with her? Maybe they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, but he hadn’t done anything threatening.

  As she secured the towel around her shoulders, a pink spot on her hand registered. It was turning red—suggesting a blister would soon form.

  He motioned toward it. “You should put that under cold water—and it would help to cover it with sterile gauze. Cutting off the air will ease the discomfort and protect the skin. I have those supplies at the house if you—”

  “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  She worked her feet into her flip-flops, then picked up her mug and book and shoved them into the beach bag—all the while keeping tabs on him. After slinging the canvas tote over her shoulder, she folded up her chair, tucked it under her arm, and started toward the stairs.

  The thought of her trying to navigate the steep, narrow steps in her condition while juggling the chair and tote sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

  “Why don’t you let me help you haul all that up?” He fell in behind her.

  She picked up her pace. “I can manage. I’m used to doing this myself. Thanks.” The expression of gratitude was tacked on, like an afterthought.

  He fell back, watching as she plunged into the tall grass, followed the faint path, and labored up the wooden steps. When she took a quick peek back toward the beach from the top, he raised a hand in farewell.

  She ignored him.

  Five seconds later she disappeared toward the small bungalow tucked among the trees that was visible from his bedroom window.

  Talk about strange encounters.

  Luke retrieved his mug and moved farther down the beach, near the edge of the property line. As far away from the pregnant blonde’s spot as possible. They might have to share the beach, but it was big enough for both of them. And his privacy should be safe. His neighbor didn’t seem like the warm, friendly, talkative type.

  On the bright side, if he had to have a neighbor, at least she wasn’t part of a large, noisy family with a passel of kids who would disrupt his coveted and much-anticipated beach time.

  Of course, it was possible his aloof beach mate had a husband or boyfriend or kids stashed in the bungalow.

  Yet his gut said she was here alone.

  So where was the baby’s father? Why wasn’t he here to help her carry stuff up and down the steps?

  Not your problem, Turner.

  Pushing thoughts of the blonde out of his mind, he unfolded his chair and settled in to enjoy the expansive view of the sparkling lake. He’d spent the past ten years caring about people in distress. Sometimes too much. Combat medicine was brutal, the injuries grievous, the mortality rate high. Eventually, the loss of life ate at your gut. He was here to heal. To keep a promise. To move on.

  The last thing he needed was one more person to worry about.

  * * *

  As she held her hand under the cold running water in her kitchen sink, Kelsey Anderson focused on the dazzling expanse of blue water stretching to the horizon. The view that always carried her back to the carefree visits of her youth, when she and her parents and sister had come here for two or three weeks every summer.

  The view that had consoled her when she and Gram came alone all the summers after her mom died, while her dad had been working and her older sister had been busy with her part-time job.

  The view that had calmed her in the four months since she’d moved into this sturdy little cottage that had been built to withstand the brutal winter winds and ice of the Michigan lakeshore.

  But thanks to a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders, a powerful chest, and biceps that were more scary than impressive, it didn’t console her today.

  With her free hand, she gripped the edge of the sink.

  If she had to have a neighbor, why couldn’t it have been a single woman? Or an older couple? Or a family?

  Why did it have to be a strong, lone male?

  A shiver ran through her, and she turned off the tap. But memories, not cold water, accounted for her sudden chill. Memories she’d been trying hard to contain. And she’d succeeded, for the most part.

  Until today.

  Taking a slow breath, she examined the coffee burn on the back of her right hand. A blister had already formed, as her neighbor had predicted. He’d suggested she cover it with gauze—but who kept gauze on hand? A Band-Aid would have to suffice.

  As she rummaged through her first aid supplies in the bathroom vanity, she sighed. Her solitary Saturday mornings on the beach were sacrosanct. Those quiet early hours before she opened her quilt shop for the weekend kept her centered.

  But that peaceful interlude wasn’t going to happen today. Perhaps it wouldn’t happen again until her neighbor left in a few weeks. Which would take them to the end of summer—and the end of morning weather conducive to sitting on the beach.

  Major bummer.

  But maybe the allure of the sand and surf would wear off for him after a few days, and she’d have the beach to herself again. That often happened with visitors.

  At least she could hope.

  * * *

  The view was great—so why couldn’t he relax and enjoy it?

  Luke shifted around in his beach chair, but finding a comfortable position was proving difficult. The restless energy coursing through him wasn’t conducive to chilling out. Nor was the guilt.

  He shouldn’t have chased off the jittery blonde. She seemed as much in need of a quiet respite as he did.

  Ten minutes later, he faced the truth. His relaxing morning was a bust. May as well unpack, stock up on groceries in Douglas or Saugatuck, and get his thoughts together for Monday’s meeting. He could try the beach again tonight. Watch the sunset, perhaps. They were supposed to be spectacular around here.

  After draining his mug into the sand, he rose, folded up his chair, and set off for the steps.

  As he waded through the tall grass, his foot came into contact with a book. The one the blonde had shoved into the top of her beach bag before her hasty departure?

  He read the title as he rescued it: Banishing Fear—How to Find Courage in Crisis.

  Brow furrowed, he weighed the book in his hand.

  What was his neighbor afraid of? And why was she seeking courage?

  Of more immediate concern, what was he supposed to
do with the book? Given her quick escape, she wouldn’t appreciate him showing up at her door—especially holding a book with a revealing title like this. But he couldn’t leave it in the sand, either.

  She had a back porch, though. He’d glimpsed it this morning from his bedroom window. If he left it there, there’d be no need for face-to-face contact.

  Decision made, he started up the steps. It was a long haul, and despite his stringent exercise regimen, he was breathing harder after the steep climb. Pausing at the top, he glanced at the back of the bungalow next door, visible through the trees that divided the properties. The trek up would have been much tougher for his pregnant neighbor. Based on the quick glimpse he’d gotten when her towel had slipped, she was seven or eight months along—and she’d been lugging far more stuff than he was.

  Yet she’d refused his offer of assistance.

  A woman of mystery, no question about it.

  He made a quick detour to lean his beach chair against one of the two Adirondack chairs behind Mark’s Cape Cod-style, white clapboard house, setting his mug on the broad arm. Then he crossed the lawn, circled around the woods, and strode toward his neighbor’s porch.

  His step faltered, however, as the screened structure came into view.

  She was inside.

  If she hadn’t been balanced on a ladder, reaching toward the fixture in the ceiling as she attempted to change a lightbulb, a fast retreat would have been in order.

  But the ladder didn’t seem any too stable.

  So instead of doing an about-face, he picked up his pace.

  All at once, as if to reinforce his conclusion that she was on dangerous ground, the ladder wobbled. He broke into a sprint as she clutched at the sides. The bulb shattered on the floor, and he took the two porch steps in one leap, opened the door, and lunged for the ladder, tossing the book onto a wicker settee.