Child of Grace. Irene Hannon

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      Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I consecrated you.

      —Jeremiah 1:5

      To my husband, Tom—

      Thank you for being my partner on this journey called life.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Someone was on his beach.

      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. But 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 beach 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. He hadn’t planned to start his visit to Pier Cove with a confrontation. He’d seen enough conflict during his past ten years as an army doctor to last a lifetime. Now that his enlistment was up, he just wanted some quiet time to reacclimatize to civilian life, complete one final mission before heading home to Atlanta and the E.R. job that awaited him, and chill.

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

      At the bottom of the steps, he stopped again to take another sip of coffee. He didn’t want to make a scene. But he didn’t appreciate trespassers, either. When Mark had offered him the use of his place, he’d said the house next door, which shared the beach, had been unoccupied since the owner died last fall. Luke was well within his rights to tell the woman to move on.

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

      Fortified by that little pep talk, 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, shapely legs stretched in front of her, a pair of flip-flops askew in the sand beside them, 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 СКАЧАТЬ