“You cut your hair,” she whispered, “and shaved your beard and bought new clothes and ice skated . . . for me?”
“For you,” he confirmed. “I wanted to learn how to become someone you’d consider. And I wanted to spend time with you.” Sheepishly, he scratched the side of his jaw with his free hand. “It was a risky plan and I’m sorry I misled you, but it was all I could think of. I’d ice skate every day for you, if that’s what you wanted.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I’m crazy about you.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I always have been. Crazy about you.”
Silence passed between them like a caress. She was overwhelmed in the best way—trying to process . . . This was happening! To her. Connor liked her! He’d done all this for her. “I’m pleased to inform you that your dating consultant is crazy about you, too.”
He looked afraid to believe her.
“I am definitely, certifiably crazy about you,” she said. “And I would definitely, certifiably love to go to the Winter Market with you.”
“Shay.” The single syllable held deep emotion. He said no more and if she had to guess, she’d say that was because amazement had stolen additional words.
She knew the feeling.
“I’m only sorry,” she said, “that I didn’t realize how you felt about me and how I felt about you sooner.”
“Looking back, I think there was a reason for that. It wasn’t the right time.”
“We were too young,” she acknowledged. “But now? Now feels so right.”
“Exactly right.”
He kissed her and she kissed him back in a field dotted with people, a stable, a shining star, and sheep trailing behind Genevieve.
The kiss went from soft to passionate back to soft again, so good it literally made her weak in her long-underwear-clad knees.
When she came up for air, her lips tingled as they observed each other. Over his shoulder, quite a distance away, Shay spotted movement and realized it was Penny, pumping her raised fists in the air.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas.”
She’d wondered what it would feel like to have a boyfriend who was willing to go the extra mile.
It felt like a sacred trust, like hope, and amazing good fortune she didn’t deserve.
Come to think of it . . .
It felt a lot like Christmas.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”
Jeremiah 31:3
Keep reading for a peek at Luke Dempsey’s story . . .
Turn to Me
A Misty River Romance
Becky Wade
© 2022 by Rebecca C. Wade
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Printed in the United States of America
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 publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
ISBN 978-0-7642-3562-7 (paper)
ISBN 978-0-7642-4008-9 (casebound)
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Scripture quotations labeled esv are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. ESV Text Edition: 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover photography by Todd Hafermann Photography, Inc.
Author is represented by Linda Kruger
Baker Publishing Group publications use paper produced from sustainable forestry practices and post-consumer waste whenever possible.
Prologue
November
Finley Sutherland’s father had left her several things in his will, the most surprising of which was a clue.
“But . . . I don’t understand,” she said to Rosco Horton, attorney-at-law.
“Your father planned a treasure hunt for you.” Mr. Horton leaned forward over his impressive potbelly, huffing at the exertion, to extend a white envelope to her across his desk. “He stipulated that you be presented with this, the first clue in the treasure hunt, at the reading of his will.”
She accepted the envelope, instantly recognizing her father’s handwriting and the thick flow of black ink from his favorite fountain pen.
For Finley, he’d written on the outside.
“He asks that you store the envelope in a safe location,” Mr. Horton said, “and wait until the morning of your next birthday to open it. When is your next birthday?”
“January.”
“Do you think you can resist peeking until then?”
“Absolutely.” It felt sacrilegious to even consider violating a request left for her in her dad’s will.
Finley held the envelope carefully, aware of the attorney’s attention on her as she looked down at it in her lap. Her father had named Mr. Horton the executor of his will. And since she was the only child of a bachelor, he’d named her his sole beneficiary. After the will cleared probate, she’d inherit his property, bank accounts, investments, and assets. And yet this—a simple envelope—was the thing stirring both grief and wonder within her.
Her father had died suddenly in prison one month ago.
She hadn’t expected him to speak or write another word to her. Yet through this mysterious, surprising letter, he’d found a way to continue communicating with her. For Finley.
“Your father told me that he used to create birthday treasure hunts for you when you were growing up,” Mr. Horton said.
She raised her face. “Yes. Every single birthday before I left for college, he’d send me on a treasure hunt to find my gift.”
“Sounds like a nice father-daughter tradition.”
“It was.” Memories rushed like a film reel through her brain. Her gasps of discovery when she’d solved one of his clues. His deep chuckle. The patter of her feet as she’d race to see if she’d guessed the location of the next clue correctly. Tearing away shiny pink paper to reveal the dollhouse he’d given her when she turned seven.
Astonishingly, her father was reaching out from the grave to give her one final gift.
Chapter One
January
This wasn’t the first time that Luke Dempsey had been burned by his belief in the concept of honor among thieves.