The Chapel Springs Romance Collection by Denise Hunter

Author:Denise Hunter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2015-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Wishing Season

In loving memory of Diann Hunt

You taught me by example, you inspired me with your beautiful spirit, you made me laugh until I cried. But most of all you loved me, just as I am. I’m so grateful God brought you into my life. You will forever be in my heart.

“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.”

Proverbs 31:25

Patricia “Diann” Hunt

August 2, 1955–November 29, 2013

Chapter One

PJ MCKINLEY WAS ALMOST READY TO CALL IT A NIGHT when she heard the sound. She paused in her bed, hand stilling over her tablet.

Slam.

It was probably just the wind. Or the old furnace or a loose shutter. She’d been in the rental less than a week, wasn’t familiar with its sounds. She needed to chill. She was always freaking out over nothing.

She saved the changes she’d just made to her marketing plan. It was almost perfect. Just two more days. She took a breath, her nose filling with the savory aroma of the fettuccine carbonara she’d made hours before. Next time she’d try it with pancetta instead of bacon for a less smoky flavor. Maybe a touch less Parmesan and a splash of white wine.

Thud.

The sound was close. On the porch. She swung her feet to the floor. Not a 911 emergency yet, but she’d feel better with her cell in her hands. Unfortunately, she’d left it charging in the kitchen. Her heart pumped wildly.

Stop freaking, PJ.

This was Chapel Springs, not Indianapolis. But she was used to living on campus surrounded by dozens of students, not alone. Much less set back off the road in the woods.

Clunk.

Her heart raced. That one was even closer. At the front door. She reminded herself to breathe.

She had to get to her phone, never mind the curtainless picture window or her flimsy tank and boxers. It was definitely 911 time. What good would hiding do if someone were breaking in? She eased off her mattress and tiptoed across the room.

Please, God . . . I know it’s been awhile, but—

The doorknob rattled as she reached the living room. She sucked in a breath, her eyes darting to the door. The light from her bedroom shone into the darkened room, gleaming off the brass knob.

It turned.

Her breath became shallow. Think, PJ! She grabbed the first thing she saw: a French violet in a sturdy clay pot. She darted to the back side of the door, lifting the planter overhead just as the door cracked open.

Her breath froze in her lungs. Her fingers curled around the pot. The door flew open, banging against her bare toes and bouncing back into the body that stumbled in. A man. Tall and broad.

She went up on tiptoes, aimed for his head, and came down with the pot as hard as she could. The clay broke apart in her hands as a squeak escaped her throat.

The man grunted, swaying in the doorway. Please oh please oh please! He dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.

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