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Falling for Grace

By Janet W. Ferguson

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Chapter 1

It was finally over.
Like some kind of cruel joke, mile after mile of long rays of Florida sunlight splashed across the steering wheel of the Toyota Camry, highlighting Grace Logan’s empty ring finger.
Though her divorce had finalized more than a year ago, and the separation had begun a year before that, she’d clung to a scrap of denial. As if what had taken place in her life had merely been an awful dream.
But in reality, Trevor had left. Claimed he wasn’t happy, and he didn’t love her anymore.
That announcement had ripped her in half—made her feel that she’d failed as a wife. The wound of rejection was still mending two years later.
Of course, the truth had eventually become obvious. Alexa had been the deciding factor. Apparently, Grace’s best friend was able to make Trevor happy. Her friend succeeded where Grace had failed.
They’d married last weekend, and the betrayal had plunged Grace into an abyss.
She’d held her emotions together…until she’d seen the social media pictures post. The photos of the couple, smiling and hanging all over each other in the Caribbean, displaying their new bands of gold, bands that represented how they’d promised to be faithful until death parted them. The images twisted Grace’s insides into an impossible knot, unleashed a new depth of grief over the loss of her marriage.
Vows were a covenant. Grace had taken them seriously. Hadn’t she done more than her part to honor her commitment?
Grace attempted to hold in her tears, but her traitorous lip quivered for the millionth time that week. Christmas time had been difficult since her divorce. Amazing how fast things came around when you dreaded them. Not that she didn’t love her family, but she couldn’t take another year of holiday turkey served with a side of sympathy. This trip to Santa Rosa offered her a sanctuary before the state legislature convened in January. Time to pray through some of her negative emotions. When her boss suggested working remotely to prepare the upcoming season’s reports—even loaning her the family beach house—Grace had taken her up on the opportunity. Brooklyn Barlow, the head of Roundtree Group and top lobbyist in Georgia, had lived through difficult times and had become a great support through Grace’s personal disaster.
Grace slowed to scan beyond the pampas grass and wax myrtles lining the road. Her navigator announced the destination was near, but every three or four feet, another palm tree blocked her view. She squinted, attempting to better read the mailboxes or any address signs on the ornate wrought iron fences that outlined the beachfront properties. At last, she spotted the house number on an intricate metal gate in front of a brick driveway. She turned, stopped the car, and punched in an access code. The arms of the gate rose and allowed her entrance.
Pulling inside, she took in the crème-colored two-story mansion. This stately house boasted French doors upstairs and down with decks overlooking a pool on one side and the Gulf of Mexico on the other. Beautiful, but she’d expected no less from Brooklyn. Once she’d pressed a remote to open the garage, she parked and let her head rest on the steering wheel. Her breathing came in shallow puffs, so she inhaled deeply through her nose, held in the oxygen a moment, and then released it. She could get through this.
God, please help me get through this.
With shaking hands, she opened the car door and stepped out. Her flip-flops caught on each other, and she hurtled forward, barely catching herself on the Camry.
“Close call.” She expelled a relieved sigh. The fact that she’d been named Grace had become something of a joke to her friends and family…and coworkers and random strangers who’d witnessed her multiple acts of klutziness.
No harm done. So far. Her suitcase lay across the backseat with her computer case. She grabbed them both and cautiously lugged them up the stoop. A serious fall here alone would be a catastrophe. She imagined the pathetic scene. Desperate and alone, she’d lie on the ground with a broken leg, calling for help. No one to hear. Flailing and bellowing like a beached manatee.
Stop it, crazy-head. That was not going to happen.
She never got seriously hurt. Not physically. And she’d keep her phone with her at all times, just in case.
She pressed another code on a wall keypad and then opened the door. A white chandelier hung above a massive abstract painting with blues and pinks and yellows merging together to resemble a shoreline.
A beachy scent enveloped her, soothing her frazzled spirit. How did that happen inside a house just because of its location? Too bad she couldn’t bottle the aroma and take it home. If she had a home… She’d ended up renting a friend’s extra bedroom way longer than she’d planned. At first, she’d thought surely Trevor only needed time. He’d change his mind. At some point she’d realized intellectually that they were finished, but starting over in a new place required a lot of time and emotional energy. The high prices of real estate in Atlanta, along with a busy position, didn’t leave a lot of either to spare. She’d have to make finding her own place a high priority after the session ended this spring. No more dwelling on the past.
With slow and deliberate steps, she climbed the staircase to the second level, where Brooklyn had said the master bedroom was located. Stairs had never been her friend. Falling up them, though seemingly impossible, had become her unintentional custom around the Georgia State Capitol, earning her quite the reputation with the representatives. The Speaker of the House had even given her an honorary certificate on the floor, Most Falls without a Lawsuit. Brooklyn had loved the attention the silly award brought, claiming Grace had endeared herself to the entire body without a word. Just a few bruises.
The bedroom materialized behind the first door at the top, and she dropped her bags just inside. More coastal-style oil paintings adorned three pale yellow walls, and a massive king-sized bed centered the other. A plush white comforter and pillows covered the mattress, a color a klutz would never invest in. This place was gorgeous. Hopefully she’d be able to keep it that way. She’d like to look at the rest of the rooms, but touring the house could wait. What she really wanted at this moment was to feel warm sand beneath her feet and sun on her skin. Though today was the first of December, the temperatures flirted with the mid-seventies.
The clear blue skies called to her. Come to the beach.
She slipped off her jeans and pulled on her one-piece bathing suit. Not as many worries about her waistline since twenty pounds had disappeared within the first few months after Trevor’s announcement. Wasn’t hard to diet when food’s appeal dwindled. She slathered sunscreen on the exposed skin.
All she needed was a towel, her phone, her beach hat, and maybe a novel—if she could concentrate.
Five minutes later, she shuffled across the boardwalk leading to the beach. An orange-and-black butterfly flitted by, carried on the breeze with the clear water and sky as a backdrop. How amazing. No one had set up camp around this little area of shore, so she’d have some peace and quiet. Just the sound of the surf and seagulls. Perfect.
Grace’s foot dropped lower than she’d expected at the end of the walkway, and she toppled to the sand and rolled onto her side. “Oops.” She hadn’t been watching for the end of the decking. But another great thing about the beach was it made a softer landing place.
“Hey, are you okay?” a male voice called on the breeze.
She glanced around but her wide-brimmed hat had shifted, interfering with her view and leaving her no clue where the voice had come from.
“I’m fine.” On the outside anyway.
She gathered herself and made her way close to the surf, spread the towel and lay down. A light, salty breeze tickled her face. It rattled across her ears, toyed with the edges of her floppy beach hat. A faint buzz lifted her gaze skyward. Two propeller planes from the airbase drew white lines of exhaust as they crossed in front of her, their structure a mixture of airplane and helicopter. Brooklyn had called them Ospreys, told her locals said they were the sound of freedom. Then the planes disappeared, and the soft rhythm of the ocean took over. The white powdered sand and clear water rivaled the Caribbean.
Ah. Her anxious spirit unwound. She let her eyes close, hoping her muscles would relax and the gentle waves would wash away the emotions harassing her.
A scream ripped the air.
Letting out her own scream, she jerked up and swiveled toward the row of majestic homes facing the sea. “Does someone need help?” she called.
To the right of Brooklyn’s house, a flash of movement caught Grace’s eye. She squinted to focus in the bright light. A man in a backwards baseball cap clomped across the next-door neighbor’s deck and ran in her direction down the boardwalk. Wavy caramel brown hair poked out from the edges of the cap. Faded jeans fit his trim form, and the blue T-shirt he wore clung over broad shoulders. Nice. The short sleeves allowed the ripple of a bicep to peek out, too. She should really stop gawking. Where was he running? Was someone drowning nearby?
The man seemed to be aiming at her. “Were you hurt after all?”
“Me?” Grace glanced around to check if the man was speaking to someone else, but the closest group of people was at least three houses down.
“Didn’t you holler for help?” His work boots dug into the sand as he came near and squatted beside her. Light blue eyes bored into hers. “Did you hit your head on a board?”
“Is there a bruise on my face?” She felt around her forehead for a knot or sore spot she’d forgotten.
“You seem out of it.” His voice was silky and caring. A warm voice, if there was such a thing.
“I was enjoying the peace and quiet, then some loud noise scared the life out of me.”
A hearty laugh shook the man’s whole body. “My saw? That’s what this is about?”
“A saw? I thought an animal might be dying.”
“A wee bit dramatic, aren’t we?”
What? “You’re the one who ran down here like a lifeguard on Bay Watch.” An extremely cute lifeguard on Baywatch.
~~~
Something about her made him smile.
Navy eyes stared out from under the lady’s crumpled hat. The pale skies behind her only punctuated the depth of her deeper tone. The color couldn’t be any bluer, like the dark hue of the American flag. Smile lines crinkled the corners of her eyes, though her expression remained serious. A smattering of honey-brown freckles, the same shade as her hair, dotted her perky nose. He resisted the urge to straighten the floppy hat. He should introduce himself instead of grinning like his cousin’s performing poodle. “My name’s Seth. I’m working on a few noisy projects out on that deck.” He pointed toward the neighboring house.
“I’m Grace.”
He quirked a brow before he could stop himself.
“Don’t. Even. I’ve heard that joke my entire life.”
“You mean it’s a perpetual condition?”
“Apparently.” She raised her elbow. “Got the scars to prove it.”
He had a momentary vision of this adorable woman falling off the boardwalk. Only this time he was there to catch her.
Weird. When did he start having out-of-body experiences? He’d been alone for three years, and this kind of crazy reaction had never happened before. The warmth flooding him sent his fingers to scratch at the crew neck of his T-shirt.
“Thank you for your concern. I didn’t mean to interrupt your work.” She seemed to be dismissing him. “I’ll know to expect a lot of racket coming from next door.”
“You’re staying at the Barlows’ house? Are y’all related?” He hadn’t noticed her pull up, and she didn’t look like any of Brooklyn’s usual crew.
“She’s my boss.” Her shoulders slumped, and Grace seemed to shrink a little. The posture incongruous with the smile lines that softened her face. “She loaned me the house for a while.”
More protective instincts kicked in, along with some curiosity. “You’re from Atlanta, then? That’s where I’m from.” Though he hadn’t been back in a while now.
Her head bobbed, and her lip might’ve quivered.
Oh, not a crying woman. His gut twisted. How that tore him up inside, especially when there was no way to make things better. He’d love to tuck tail and run, but a nudge in his spirit held him in place. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded again and offered a forced smile. “Long day. Long story. Thanks for the concern.”
“You’re welcome. I…I’ll see you later.” He took two side steps before turning away. His work boots sank into the sand, and he trudged back toward the house, his radar for pain sounding an alarm. Like looking in a mirror, he knew heartache when he spotted it.

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