Return to Devotion: Pawleys Island Paradise, #6

Return To Devotion

CAN MEN AND WOMEN BE just friends?

Loneliness.  It has a way of creeping in and taking over.  Rita Ashbrook should know the drill.  After all, she’s been married to Bo, a true American hero, for years, and this is his third deployment.  But this time, the loneliness is nearly unbearable.

Determined to get out more, make some friends, and immerse herself in the community, Rita embraces the church and all the camaraderie it offers, while helping others at the same time.  Becoming friends with Glenn Arby fills the emptiness she experiences while her husband’s  gone.  

Still reeling from his wife’s death, Glenn welcomes the companionship another member of the church brings. Having a friend makes him feel alive again—something he never thought he’d want again.  But when their closeness leads to one, innocent kiss, Glenn and Rita begin to question everything—their friendship, their future, and possibly even her marriage.  Now, Rita must find a way to reveal the truth to Bo, the only man she’ll ever love. Will the truth destroy everything they’ve built as man and wife? 

RANDOM MOON BOOKS

A PHASE FOR EVERY FANCY

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Return to Devotion

Draft2Digital Edition

Copyright © 2016 by Laurie Larsen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

All Content by author Laurie Larsen

Cover Art by Steven Novak

Formatting by Formatting Done Wright

Print ISBN: 978-1539642619

Ebook ISBN:  978-0-9975630-1-6

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

My sincere thanks go to all the people serving in the military in our country, and the supreme sacrifices they make to preserve our freedom and our safety.  And another huge thanks to the spouses and loved ones of those brave people.  My personal thanks to Eric and Hallie Cook, a military reserve couple who gave me all kinds of great information and details to write my feature storyline.  I am indebted to them for the afternoon we spent talking as they brought back memories of their own deployment experiences—Eric in Afghanistan, Hallie at home with an extremely young family, keeping the wheels turning without him.

Table of 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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Leave a Review ... Please!

Laurie’s Letter to Readers

Other Books by Laurie

Rita Ashbrook lifted her arms above her head and stretched slowly, pushing out with her legs. A deep, relaxing breath filled her lungs.  Sunday mornings in their bed ... her own little heaven.  In their busy lives, uninterrupted sleep mornings only came around once a week and she withheld the urge to moan, afraid of waking the sleeping hunk beside her, her husband Gary.  He deserved to sleep in, too.

She lowered her hands to her sides, and then, softly dragged the back of her knuckles across his cheek.  It was stubbly with whiskers, and pale from months without sun but it was still one of her favorite spots on him to caress.  That, and his hair ... she reached up to run a few fingers gently through his dark waves. 

Her Bo, together over twenty years now.  She introduced him by his real name, Gary, when he was meeting others.  But she’d nicknamed him Bo when they’d first met, and that’s how she thought of him.  He seemed to like her pet name for him.  Their own little intimacy.

The phone on the bedside table rang.  She jerked, darting a look at Bo, then back at the phone.  She snatched it up to quiet it, then realized too late that when she spoke, it would probably wake him anyway.  Hello, she said in an urgent whisper.

Staff Sergeant Gary Ashbrook, please.

She blinked.  Her breath caught in her chest.  She looked over at Bo who was starting to stir.  Why would the Army be calling on a Sunday morning at ... she glanced at the alarm clock beside the phone ... nine am, unless they had news she didn’t want to hear?

She considered telling the voice that Bo was asleep, Bo was away, anything to delay the inevitable.  However, Bo had figured it out.  For me? he croaked. 

Heck, he probably knew from her reaction that it was the Army.  He held out his hand.  They locked gazes for a few seconds and she placed the phone in his open palm.

Staff Sergeant Ashbrook.  His voice was raspy from unuse.  Yes, sir.  His eyes roamed the far wall, came back and rested on hers for a split second, then moved on.  Uh, when was that?  He pursed his lips and nodded his head.  I see.  Yep, I’ll be there.  He held the receiver away from his ear, suspended for a moment before he handed it back to her.

She concentrated on getting it back into the cradle.  She didn’t even want to ask.  If he told her out loud, it would make it real.  Unavoidable.  Irreversible.  She lay back down and closed her eyes.  She didn’t even realize that she had tears streaming down her face until he leaned over her and used his thumbs to wipe them away, then laid his lips on hers.  Shhh, baby.  It’s okay.  You know the drill.

Yes, she knew the Army Reserves drill.  And she wanted to scream.  She wanted to pound her fists on his chest.  He’d done his duty.  They’d called on him enough.  Let someone else do it.  Someone younger.  Someone fresher.  Someone who hadn’t already been there twice before.

I’m going back to Kabul.  I’ve got about three weeks.

But she couldn’t scream, shouldn’t cry.  He was right.  She was the wife of a soldier and he did what he did to serve his country.  She couldn’t worry him about how her heart was tearing apart.  He had a job to do, and he had to do it.

So instead, she got up and left the bedroom.

LATER, AFTER SHE’D allowed herself to cry silently in the shower with the water streaming over her, after she’d dried off and carefully applied makeup over her puffy face and eyes, and after she’d dressed in jeans and a sweater, she headed downstairs to the kitchen.

She ran her hand over the polished oak bannister of the huge sweeping staircase leading from the upstairs – their living quarters – to the downstairs – her business during lunch and dinner hours.  When they’d been looking to upgrade from their first-married apartment to a home of their own, Rita had found this ancient beauty and instantly fell in love with it.  It was more of a monster than a mansion then, old and shabby and falling apart.  But she could see it through eyes filtered with how beautiful it could be, with a little TLC and elbow grease.  Well, a lot of both.  Of course, Bo, being in construction, could do the vast majority of the renovation work, and what he couldn’t do himself, he had contacts that did the work at a discount. 

She was quite certain that Bo thought she was crazy at first, looking at this worn out old house and seeing its potential.  But she was in love with it, and because he was in love with her, he’d agreed.  He took on the challenge and the debt to make this thing the masterpiece in her vision.

And now, it was.  Not only did the whole house gleam with polished woodwork, charming furnishings and attractive decorations, it was also the place Rita made her living.  It had taken six years to renovate the old place to the house of her dreams.  And then, another two to transform it into The Front Porch – Rita’s restaurant where she concocted delicious lunches and dinners every day of the week – except for Sundays.  Because if Bo had the day off from his job house-building, she would take the day off from cooking and serving, too.

Every inch of this house represented labor from the four hands of Rita and Bo.  Every furnishing was decided upon, every ounce of paint was stroked on, every nail was pounded in.  And she remembered every single minute.  She and Bo, working together to make their dreams come true.

She walked through the sitting room, transformed into a waiting room for her guests, through the doorway into the big dining room with a dozen tables capable of holding six diners each, and through the swinging doors into the heart of her business.  The industrial-sized kitchen had always been a spacious work area, but after the renovations, it was a massive, modern workspace where she created her craft.  Delicious culinary concoctions that locals flocked to, for lunch or dinner.

But today, it was just for the three of them – Rita, Bo and their son, Nathan.  She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a skillet, her mind circling about what to make.  Grabbing a wooden cutting board, she decided on garden-fresh omelets with a ton of vegetables, bacon and cheese.  She set to work chopping and mixing.  Soon, she had three mouth-watering omelets cooking and she turned to her pastry display.  She still had a variety of breakfast muffins she’d whipped up yesterday and pulled out three.  Chocolate chip, blueberry and cranberry.  Then she started a pot of coffee.

Within minutes, the smell harkened her two hungry men.  They went to the big country kitchen sink and washed their hands, then slid into their seats at the old, worn worktable.  She placed piping hot breakfast plates in front of them and smiled as they breathed in the steamy aroma.  They joined hands and said a prayer in unison, an old favorite Nathan had learned way back in pre-school at church, God is great, God is good and we thank Him for this food. By His hands we all are fed, thank You for our daily bread.  Amen.  Some things never got old.

You outdid yourself, Rita, Bo said, appreciation evident in his voice. 

She squeezed his knee under the table.  Thanks.

Yeah, really good, Mom, said Nathan as he grabbed the chocolate chip muffin.

After moments of chewing, Bo turned to Nathan.  So, school about over, bud?

Nathan looked at his dad.  Two more weeks.  I’ll have finals the third week of December.

How many?

Four.

When will you start studying?

Well, you could say I’ve been studying all along.  The final covers everything we’ve learned all semester.  I’ve kept all my tests and I look over them every once in a while to keep it fresh.  But I’ll have to study to do well on the test.

Bo nodded while he chewed.  You got it planned out, son?

Nathan shrugged.  I’m working on it.

Bo fell silent.  Rita studied her son for a moment before letting her eyes drop back to her eggs.  Nathan had worked hard to recover from a failed first semester of college two years ago.  Bo had been deployed and Rita was busy managing the restaurant, when Nathan went away to college.  She didn’t hear from him much, but then again, she figured that was normal.  He was a boy, independent for the first time, and she assumed he was trying to make it on his own.

Oh, he was making it, all right.  Making a mess of it.  At college, he was introduced to marijuana and a sad variety of other drugs, and by the time he came home for Thanksgiving he’d flunked out of school.  He’d skipped classes, he hadn’t asked for help.  It was a flat-out failure.  Worse though, he’d developed a drug habit that he wasn’t motivated to give up.  He didn’t see anything wrong with smoking pot or taking an occasional stronger drug.  What he couldn’t see clearly was that his whole life was circling the drain.

Rita closed her eyes tight, stopping her thoughts from going back to those dark times.  They’d worked hard, the three of them, to get Nathan back on track.  A lot of forgiveness, and a lot of second chances.  Optimism and a healthy dose of wait and see. 

If you want my help mapping out a study schedule over the next two weeks, just let me know.

Nathan nodded, distracted by the remaining food on his plate.

Rita sighed and looked down at her eggs.  She realized that while her men had almost finished theirs, she’d barely eaten a few bites.  She sat back in her chair, leaning against the wooden back.  She grabbed her cranberry muffin and pulled the paper wrapper away. Maybe she’d just have this and call it a meal.  As she took a bite, she caught Bo’s gaze and raised her eyebrows, an unspoken question.

He nodded, put his fork down and cleared his throat.  Nathan.

The boy looked up at his dad.

Got a call this morning.  I’m heading back to Afghanistan.

Nathan’s fork clattered onto his near-empty plate.  He exhaled a large breath and studied his dad, then his mom.  Wow.  Again?

Yeah.

Front line?  Artillery?

Nathan knew what his dad had done the last two deployments.  Fighting the enemy.  Avoiding fire himself.

No, no.  Combat’s over for the US. We’re just there to help the local militias.  They assigned me to a Training and Support unit.

Rita’s head jerked to look at him.  She’d been so busy wallowing in her misery she’d never even asked him.

What’s that do? Nathan asked, and Rita wondered the same thing.

My unit works with military advisors from other countries to help train the Afghan security forces.  They need to professionalize their forces so they can sustain themselves over the long term.

So the US can get out entirely, Nathan said.

Yes.  We’ve pulled out the majority of troops.  Now, this is the tail end.  It’s just that the tail keeps wagging.  Bo smiled at his son, trying to convey confidence and nonchalance to both of them. 

Rita’s mind whirred.  This assignment had to be safer than his past ones.  Of course, there were still insurgent attacks and airstrikes popping up all over Afghanistan; she’d seen that on the mainstream US news reports.  And what better targets than trained war professionals like American forces?  However, she would keep that fear to herself.  Nathan looked worried enough without knowing the full story.

So, where will you live?

In an American outpost, not in combat zones like last time.  He reached over the table and covered Nathan’s hand with his, squeezed.  Completely different assignment.  We’re not actively fighting now.

Nathan nodded, but in Rita’s mind she heard, not unless the Afghani student soldiers get attacked and need the American forces’ help.  How often did that happen?  Once a month?  Once a week?  She drew in a shaky breath.

Having him gone was hard enough.  Knowing that he was putting himself in danger every moment of every day in a violent third-world violent just made it worse.

Nathan nodded, seemingly satisfied.  When do you leave?

Around Christmas.  We’ll hope it’s just after, not just before.

For how long?

At this point, they’re saying three months.  Rita knew that was just a target.  His tour could change once he got out there, and the change was never shorter.

Bo placed his other hand over Rita’s, forming a connected triangle of family.  I’ll be fine.  I need you two to work hard here at home and you, son ... he drilled in on Nathan, giving him the eagle eye, ... you keep everything together.  No falling off the trail.  You got me?

A myriad of emotions flew over Nathan’s face.  A flash of anger, followed by embarrassment, ending with resolve.  Yeah, I got it.

Your mother will have enough to worry about with the house and the restaurant.  She doesn’t need to deal with a son causing trouble.

I said, Nathan’s voice flared, then calmed, I got it.  Bo released both their hands and Nathan’s head moved back and forth to bring in both of them.  I’m smarter now than I was last time.  I’ve got goals.  And I know what to stay away from.  His face blushed and he cleared his throat.  You can count on me.

Bo smiled and roared, Good man!  Just what I want to hear.

Rita looked over at Nathan and love cascaded through her heart.  She hoped he was right.

Leslie Harrison sat at the big kitchen table at the Old Gray Barn, enjoying the solitude and peacefulness of Christmas break.  She absolutely loved teaching.  She loved her sixth graders, she loved the little beach school on Pawleys Island and she felt grateful to have been asked to teach there.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t savor every moment of her weeks off.

She was almost done with Christmas shopping.  Her list only had a few items left on it, and those were mainly for Pedro, who was a relatively new addition to the Malone/Murphy/Harrison clan.  Her daughter Jasmine’s fiancé, Dax Murphy, had signed the papers to officially become Pedro’s foster father.  The early teenaged boy and the young man who had grown up without parents himself, were a perfect fit.  But she had to wonder about her own beloved girl, admittedly pampered during her childhood as an only child, now working hard and living her dream as a fashion designer in New York City.  Where did Pedro fit into her life?  And how much of a strain would instant parenthood present for their eventual newlywed status?

Well.  Although parenting never ended, even when the child was an adult, Leslie recognized that this was not her problem to solve.  This was up to Jasmine, Dax and Pedro to work through.  And Leslie would be there to support all of them.

So ... what would a thirteen-year-old boy she’d never met, want for Christmas?  What would be such a hit to him that he would consider calling her Grandma, and welcome her into his heart?

The front door to the big beach house opened and her husband, Hank strode in.  Although he didn’t have weeks off for Christmas like she did, his job as a handyman to the majority of the beach houses on Pawleys Island was thankfully slow during the holiday season, so he could work shortened days.

Hi, darlin’, he said, breezing by the table to plant a kiss on her cheek and drop the mail on the table in front of her.

Hi, how’s it going today?  His scent of wood chips and coffee accompanied him into the house and she breathed it in.  The familiarity