Love in Season Read online

  The explanation sounded empty and hollow even to his ears, exactly like the excuse that it was. Pride was a bitter pill to swallow in light of the truth. Kip blinked back tears, swallowed hard the lump in his throat.

  “I’m tired,” he admitted, “Physically, mentally, and emotionally.”

  “Spiritually?” she queried. Her voice, though soft and sad, was not accusing.

  Kip shrugged, gritted his teeth, fought the urge to break down and sob. He nodded.

  “Quit. Or take a break,” she suggested.

  “Wish it were that simple,” he muttered.

  “It can be.” She ran hand down his back in a subtle caress, and then quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

  Her soft voice offered quiet assurance, and her touch sent flames of hope curling in his heart that were crushed at her sudden withdrawal. Kip shook his head, his heart aching as possibilities collided with cold reality. “You don’t understand. It’s hard to stay at the top once you get there. You’ve got to be out there with the fans.”

  He never realized how lonely it was at the top.

  “I understand a whole lot more than you know. Have you ever heard of Kameron Skye or Skip Cameron?”

  “The songwriter and the novelist? Sure, Skip’s one of my favorite writers. I’ve recorded several of his songs. Never met the guy though; they say he’s a hermit. Just sends in his music and collects his checks. And Kameron Skye, man she’s great. Three novels in five years and her first book is still on the top ten lists. I’ll never forget when one of the back-up singers bought it.” He chuckled at the memory.

  “‘Kameron Skye’ sounds more like something you look at than a real person,” he mused, turning his gaze southwest, toward Cameron, Louisiana. Kip considered his words a full minute before continuing. “But, her writing is brilliant, different. Not just ordinary romance but love and faith and hope. She mixes all of those things together with real life situations and creates a best seller every time. I get a lot of song ideas by reading her work.”

  “Thank you,” Camie whispered. “I’ve never received a more beautiful compliment.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned to face her. “You’re Kameron Skye?”

  She nodded, “And Skip Cameron.”

  “You’re kidding?” he exclaimed, unable to hide the surprise and disbelief in his voice.

  Camie merely eyed him, a delicate lift to her brow; letting him know she was telling the truth.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what, avoid the hype?” She shrugged, and then paused as if choosing her words with care. “It’s all in the choices you make, Kip. You chose to roam. I chose a home. Both of our dreams have come true. I just have more peace with mine.”

  He looked around, noting for the first time the simple elegance of his surroundings. “You don’t live like a best-selling author and songwriter.”

  “True happiness doesn’t come from materialistic wealth.” She smiled at him. “Now, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get to church in time for sunrise services.”

  The early morning Mass was beautiful in the little country church. Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, creating tiny bursts of rainbows on the walls and floors.

  Kip reflected on his life over the past eight years, thankful for all he had, hopeful for all he wanted and realizing with stark clarity everything he’d missed out on. After Mass, a heavy stillness surrounded them as they made their way to his parents’ home.

  “I want to tell you something.” Camie broke the silence when she turned into the driveway, knowing that this might be her one, her only chance to reach him with the truth. Taking a deep breath, she sent a quick, silent prayer that she was making the right choice in opening her heart to him.

  “I had a dream not too long ago. An angel appeared and assured me that no prayer would go unanswered as long as I continue to keep the Lord as center of my life, and faith the focus of my writing.” Her eyes searched his, praying that he understood what she was telling him. Taking a gamble of the heart, she told him the rest. “Then the angel handed me a baby—a child with rusty-gold hair and sea green eyes—just like yours. The songs, the novels, they were all written with you in mind.”

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her face in a gentle caress, but the expression in his eyes told her that he had no idea as to the depth of what she was saying or how much it cost her to do so. After a moment of silence, he feathered his lips over hers and got out of the car.

  Camie blinked back tears as she went home. The seed was planted. Now it was up to God to make it grow. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. He’d still have to perform; she’d still have to write. It was their gift, their calling. But she knew it could work. They could do it together. So she had a room built, furnished it with the latest and greatest technology in recording sound, and continued to pray.

  ****

  Kip hesitated. A full year had passed since his last visit with Camie. A long, dreadful year, an unsuccessful year, he thought, remembering the struggles he’d had, the album he’d yet to finish, and the tour he’d refused. Everything he’d done, every place he’d gone, the memory of their night together had haunted him. It chased his dreams, tortured his thoughts, and warmed his heart until peace could only be found in obedience and in returning home.

  Though his parents had kept him abreast of local news, and he knew she wasn’t married, he had no idea how Camie would react to his simply showing up on her doorstep. Glancing down at the gift he’d brought for her, he raised his eyes to the star studded sky and said a quick prayer. He turned back, knocked once, then a second time. “Camie!”

  Camie struggled from a sound sleep to the thud of someone pounding on her door and calling her name. She recognized his voice immediately. The voice she’d loved since high school, the same one that serenaded her daily and inspired her writing. Throwing on a robe, she raced to the foyer and flung open the door. She gasped, covering trembling lips with fingers just as shaky when Kip held out a rose.

  He stepped forward and took her trembling hand in his. “You were praying for me, weren’t you? Well, your prayers have been answered, Camie,” he whispered. “I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.”

  Overcome with emotion, all she could do was shake her head, blink back tears, and force a trembling smile. She reached for the rose, its symbolism known only to her and the saint to whom she’d prayed for intercession with the Lord Jesus.

  “I had a dream last night,” Kip continued. “You were holding a baby, a child with rusty-gold hair and hazel eyes. I love you, Camie. Always have. I’ve decided to come home for a while and to change my focus. You’re the first person I wanted to see when I got into town.”

  The tears escaped, dripping down her cheeks as he said the words she had always wanted him to speak. “Welcome home,” she whispered, as his arms wrapped around her and his lips met hers in a kiss ripe with passion and the promise of a future.

  Dear Reader,

  For all of you long-time friends, it is my prayer that you enjoy my short stories as much as you enjoy the novels. To all of my new friends, may these stories provide not only enjoyment but also entice you to taste and see the goodness of the Lord in reading my other works.

  As we can see in this story, Camie and Kip had similar dreams but chose different paths. Every day we choose how we are going to live our lives…we can choose to be negative or positive, happy or sad, content or despondent. However, the Bible gives us examples of what we should choose; Deuteronomy 30:19 says… “I have set before you life and death…therefore, choose life.” Jesus said, “I am the way and the life…follow me.”

  If you don’t know Him already, I pray that you will pursue a relationship with the Lord Jesus, and if you do, that you will continue to walk in the love of God—through Jesus and the abundant life He died to provide for you….Remember…this is your choice.

  As always, may God bless and keep you and yours in the palm
of His mighty hand!

  Pamela S Thibodeaux

  “Inspirational with an Edge!” ™

  Cathy’s Angel

  Cathy Johnson headed out the back door of her modest home. The sun peeked over the horizon, turning the sky various shades of pink and gold. Fingers of orange and yellow reached down; bathing the path she jogged with light. The early spring air was perfumed with scent from flowers blooming along the roadside and in fields across the way. Her heart swelled with gratitude at the many blessings of God, and she communed with Him in her heart and aloud.

  “Thank You, Lord for this beautiful morning and all the blessings in my life. I worship and adore You, Jesus, and I surrender this day to You. Give me Your will and Your strength to get through the challenges that I may face, Lord.”

  Taking a deep breath, she rounded the curve and picked up her pace a notch. “I give You my successes—which are all Yours anyway—and my failures, which are all mine, and ask only for Your strength, wisdom and direction...Oh, and a little help in the physical realm would be nice. I’m so grateful that Your Spirit infuses me with the strength and energy I need to handle my day, but, Lord a flesh-and-bone helping hand now and again would be great! And it doesn’t have to be a man, either.”

  She snorted; the men she’d met since her husband’s death had all but run off in a panic when they met her children. A shadowy figure came into view, interrupting her prayer.

  “What’s he doing on my road?” she demanded, her heart switching from gratitude to attitude in the span of a thought. “This is my road, my time, the only hour of the day I have all to myself, free from the rat race of my life and I don’t like sharing it,” she insisted, glaring at the unwelcome stranger when he ran by with a nod and smile.

  ****

  Jared rolled his eyes with a grunt.

  “Lord, the worst sight in the world this time of day is a frowning woman,” he muttered under his breath, as he jogged past the petite, green-eyed, brunette who looked as though she’d swallowed a lemon. Shaking the image from his mind, he forced his thoughts back to more pleasant ones. That, coupled with running, was the only way he could prepare for his daily obligations.

  Being a self-employed Computer Programmer & Networker had it’s pro’s and con’s, more often leading to the con’s. Day after day of setting up businesses, networking them into or out of the Information Super Highway and training their employees didn’t just put a strain on his mind, but emotions, as well. Relief could be found in an early morning run, which was why he leased a house on this particular road in this specific subdivision just last week. Never one for idleness, the month-long hiatus from work that he’d allowed himself was currently filled with unpacking and settling into his new home.

  Rounding the final curve in the road, which would take him back to the house, he saw his unknown running partner sitting on the ground and holding her foot.

  ****

  “Great, Lord, just great,” Cathy muttered. “All I need today, any day is a sprained ankle. Besides, I asked for a well-trained angel not a sprained ankle,” she bemoaned, as though God had actually misunderstood her one consistent plea. Being the single mother of four, ages three to eleven, and running a small home-based business was hectic to say the least.

  Her only salvation had been the peace and quiet she found in an early morning run. Burying her head against her knee, Cathy loosened her tennis shoe and fought the urge to sob. Still, the tears came, rolling slowly down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lord,” she mumbled. Nothing induced repentance quicker than a crisis. “What am I going to do now?” she groaned.

  Hearing footsteps, she looked up to see the man she’d passed earlier fast approaching. He paused in front of her.

  “Are you all right?” He kept jogging in place to bring his heart rate down and cool his muscles.

  Cathy ignored the shivers of delight that curled up her spine at the sound of his velvety-rough voice and glared at him for the second time that day. Nice voice, dumb question. Unless he was blind, he could see the tears on her face. She swiped at them. “No, I’m not all right. I twisted my ankle and it’s all your fault.” She dropped the blame squarely at his feet.

  He halted his movements. “Me? What’d I do? I don’t even know you, Lady.”

  “You interrupted my quiet time.”

  “Well excuse me for living and breathing.” He glared down at her. The gold flames of fury sparking his dark eyes demanded that she not interrupt his tirade. Still, she jerked up her chin a notch, and narrowed her gaze, but bit her tongue.

  “I happen to be new to this neighborhood and haven’t run across any signs informing me to ‘stay out of Ms…’ what’s your name?”

  “Cathy.”

  “Ms. Cathy’s quiet time.”

  To Jared’s surprise and consternation, she burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m usually not so rude.”

  “Of course you’re not,” he soothed. “PMS I’m sure,” he remarked, patting her shoulder and feeling even more awkward. Women were never his strong point. They were too emotional, and his analytical mind couldn’t cope.

  “I don’t have time for PMS,” she wailed, confirming his opinion. “My oldest child is right now fixing breakfast for the other three, and I’ve got to get home.”

  OK Lord, he thought with a sigh, you leave me no choice but to play the Good Samaritan. Reaching down, he swung her up in his arms. She stiffened.

  “Easy now, I’m not going to hurt you,” he chided. “Where do you live?”

  “Two blocks down, first house on the right,” she muttered. Unable to resist the comfort his broad shoulder offered, Cathy buried her head in it and sobbed. “I try to be strong, to take care of everything and everyone,” she mumbled. “And I’m so tired of doing it all.”

  “No one can do it all.”

  “I have no choice!”

  She was hysterical, he decided, and he was at a complete loss as to what to do about it. “OK, OK,” he soothed. “Take it easy. You won’t have to do it all today.”

  Standing on her porch, he looked into the tear-drenched green eyes. “Do you think you can open the door?” he asked, arching a dark, elaborate brow at her. “I happen to have my hands full.”

  Shifting in his embrace, Cathy reached down and turned the knob. The door swung open with a squeaky complaint.

  Needs oiling, Jared thought, stepping through the doorway. Looking around, he met with three pair of wide eyes, all various shades of green and gold.

  “What happened?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Why are you carrying my mama?”

  The questions came all at once. Jared answered them in the same manner. “Hurt her foot, she can’t walk. Jared. What are your names?”

  “Samantha,” the oldest child replied. “Sabrina and Salena,” the other two chorused while he carried their mother into the kitchen. “And this is Samuel,” they pointed to the baby who sat in a high-chair playing with his oatmeal instead of eating it.

  “Lots of S’s,” he remarked, taking in the chaos in front of him.

  “Our dad’s name was Samuel too.”

  Must be quite a winner, he thought, wondering what possessed people to give children names based on their initials.

  “He died before Sammy was born,” Sabrina (or was it Salena?) informed him, making Jared ashamed of his unwarranted thoughts.

  “Are you going to be our new daddy?”

  He chuckled, surprised at the question. Out of the mouths of babes.... “Not that I’m aware of. How old are you, Sweetheart?”

  “Six.”

  “Well Miss...?” He waited for her to fill in the blank.

  “Sabrina.”

  “Miss Sabrina. Do you think you can run and get a couple of pillows for your mom’s foot?”

  Nodding she rushed off.

  “We’ll need an ice pack too,” he informed the other little girl, placing his cargo in a chair and propping up her foot on another on
e.

  “What’s an ice pack?” Salena asked.

  “In the freezer,” Samantha answered, taking care of the baby while keeping one eye on him. “That’s it,” she assured her sister, when the little girl opened the freezer door and picked up the ice pack with a questioning look.

  Sabrina arrived with the pillows, and Jared removed Cathy’s shoe, noticing the rapid swelling and discoloration of her ankle. Placing the ice pack on it, he surveyed the youngsters. They looked back at him, anxious, expectant.

  “What next?” he asked Cathy.

  She sighed, closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “The baby needs to be cleaned up and changed. The twins need to be dressed and their hair brushed. Lunches have to be made and the dishes put in the dishwasher...” She broke off, looking as if she were trying to stifle a smile.

  No way, Jared thought. She’d listed nearly a dozen or more chores to be accomplished in the span of sixty minutes. Seventy max, he concluded consulting his watch. Squaring his shoulders and assuming the authoritative stance he learned during twenty years in the Navy, he faced the four helpless creatures before him and delegated duties.

  “Samantha, change the baby and then get yourself ready. Girls show me your room, and I’ll help you pick out your clothes. You can dress yourselves, can’t you?” He sighed with relief when they nodded.

  Cathy smiled at him when he returned. “I think we got off on the wrong foot this morning. At least I did.” She eyed her foot with a rueful frown. “I’m Cathy Johnson,” she held out a hand in greeting.

  “Jared Savoy,” he remarked shaking it, noting how her eyes sparkled when she smiled.

  After cleaning and changing the baby, Samantha brought him to her mother then hurried to get dressed and help the twins while Jared fixed lunches.