Winter turns to spring, p.1
Winter Turns to Spring, page 1
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Winter Turns to Spring
Copyright © 2008 by Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman. All rights reserved.
Cover illustration copyright © 2008 by Doug Martin. All rights reserved.
Authors’ photograph by John Capelli/Capelli Photography. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, King James Version.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Palmer, Catherine, date.
Winter turns to spring / Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman.
p. cm.—(Four seasons ; #4)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4143-1168-5 (pbk.)
ISBN-10: 1-4143-1168-0 (pbk.)
1. Marriage—Fiction. 2. Ozarks, Lake of the (Mo.)—Fiction. I. Chapman, Gary D., date. II. Title.
PS3566.A495W56 2008
813'.54—dc22 2008010148
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Printed in the United States of America
14 13 12 11 10 09 08
7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
NOTE TO READERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
FOR TIM, WITH LOVE
C. P.
New love is the brightest,
and long love is the greatest;
but revived love is
the tenderest thing known upon earth.
THOMAS HARDY
NOTE TO READERS
There’s nothing like a good story! I’m excited to be working with Catherine Palmer on a fiction series based on the concepts in my book The Four Seasons of Marriage. You hold in your hands the fourth and final book in this series.
My experience, both in my own marriage and in counseling couples for more than thirty years, suggests that marriages are always moving from one season to another. Sometimes we find ourselves in winter—discouraged, detached, and dissatisfied; other times we experience springtime, with its openness, hope, and anticipation. On still other occasions we bask in the warmth of summer—comfortable, relaxed, enjoying life. And then comes fall with its uncertainty, negligence, and apprehension. The cycle repeats itself many times throughout the life of a marriage, just as the seasons repeat themselves in nature. These concepts are described in The Four Seasons of Marriage, along with seven proven strategies to help couples move away from the unsettledness of fall or the alienation and coldness of winter toward the hopefulness of spring or the warmth and closeness of summer.
Combining what I’ve learned in my counseling practice with Catherine’s excellent writing skills has led to this series of four novels. In the lives of the characters you’ll meet in these pages, you will see the choices I have observed people making over and over again through the years, the value of caring friends and neighbors, and the hope of marriages moving to a new and more pleasant season.
In Winter Turns to Spring and the other stories in the Four Seasons fiction series, you will meet newlyweds, blended families, couples who are deep in the throes of empty-nest adjustment, and senior couples. Our hope is that you will see yourself or someone you know in these characters. If you are hurting, this book can give you hope—and some ideas for making things better. Be sure to check out the discussion questions at the end of the book for further ideas.
And whatever season you’re in, I know you’ll enjoy the people and the stories in Deepwater Cove.
Gary D. Chapman, PhD
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
So many people affect the writing and publication of a novel. I wish to publicly express my deep appreciation for Dr. Gary Chapman. His God-given wisdom and his amazing books have enriched both my writing and my personal life beyond measure. I’m so grateful to have been given this opportunity to partner with a true gentleman, a man who reveals his commitment to God in all he does.
For sharing both laughter and tears, my longtime friends are treasures I cherish. Janice, Mary, Sharon, Roxie, Kristie, BB, and Lucia, I love you. My prayer support team holds me up before God, and I can’t thank you enough, Mary, Andrew, Nina, and Marilyn.
I also thank my Tyndale family for all you have meant to me during these past ten years. Ron Beers and Karen Watson, bless you for making this series a reality. Kathy Olson, I can’t imagine having the courage to write a single word without you. Your careful editing and precious friendship are truly gifts from the Lord. Thanks from the bottom of my heart to Andrea and Babette in marketing, along with the public relations department, the amazing sales team, and the wonderful design department.
Though I often leave them for last, first on my list of supporters, encouragers, and loved ones are my family. Tim, Geoffrey, and Andrei, I love you so much.
Catherine Palmer
CHAPTER ONE
Brad Hanes walked across the parking lot toward Larry’s Lake Lounge with one goal in mind—and she would be sitting at the far end of the bar. Yvonne Ratcliff, the tavern’s entertainer, had a rich, earthy voice that welled out, filled the crowded, smoky room, and strummed every sinew of Brad’s body.
Aware that his wife wasn’t fond of Yvonne—or the other regulars at Larry’s—he had debated letting his coworkers from the construction site go on without him. In December, the water’s surface at Lake of the Ozarks reflected the ice-gray sky. The wind whipping across the town of Tranquility bit right through his denim jacket. It wouldn’t be a good night to stay out late, Brad knew. Still, nothing sounded better than a few brews, some laughs with his friends, and a couple of hours shooting pool while listening to music.
“You sure Ashley won’t mind us hanging out at Larry’s for a while?” Mack Lang, another member of the construction crew, ambled alongside Brad. “My number-two ex wanted me home for dinner at six every night on the dot. She about suffocated me with all her rules and regulations.”
“Nah.” Brad shook his head. “Ashley’s probably not even at the house. She started that sideline business selling necklaces, remember?”
“Them homemade beads?”
“Yeah, and with Christmas just around the corner, she’s working day and night to fill orders.”
“Still clocking in at the country club, too?”
“Sure. Ashley’s not giving up that job.” As he and his friend neared the tavern, Brad reflected on his wife—her black-and-white waitress outfit clean and pressed, her long red hair wound up in a bun, and her pale neck stacked with beaded necklaces she’d made.
Ashley would know her husband planned to go to Larry’s this evening, though she’d asked him a hundred times to steer clear of the place. She complained that Brad drank too much, came home smelling like a dirty ashtray, and always went off to work the next day with a headache. Some of what she said was true, though he argued that he didn’t see anything wrong with having a few beers with his friends.
“She probably wouldn’t even notice if I did come home,” Brad said, a surge of frustration filling his chest. “I’m a plain guy, you know. I don’t ask much of a wife—a clean house, the laundry done, and three squares. With the necklace production going full steam, Ashley can hardly stay focused enough to tie her own shoes. She never fixes my supper anymore. I have to scrounge up a can of soup or a box of macaroni. Pretty pitiful after a long day building condos in the middle of a Missouri winter.”
“Welcome to the club,” Mack said. “I hated marriage, but I hate being a bachelor, too. I guess you’ll have to find your fun wherever you can. Speaking of which … sounds like Yvonne is on stage.”
Brad tried not to react to the comment, undoubtedly a reference to the growing attraction between himself and the singer. He hadn’t realized it was so obvious.
Yvonne—or Why-vonne, as she pronounced it—had a beautiful voice, and she was easy on the eyes, too. She had a kid, she’d told Brad, but childbearing hadn’t hurt her figure any. With her long brown hair, black-rimmed green eyes, and skintight jeans, she could do things with her voice that kept every male eye in the place riveted.
But Yvonne’s focus was always on Brad. Every song she belted out was aimed straight at him, and when she took her usual place at the end of the bar, he couldn’t do anything but amble over and buy her a drink or two.
Reaching for the door, Brad heard Yvonne launch into
“Yow! Wow, wow, wow.” After a moment, the sequence ended with a softly muttered “ow.”
“What in the—?”Brad took off his ball cap and scratched his forehead as he studied the rapidly filling parking lot.
“Sounds like a baby crying,” Mack said as the two men took tentative steps in the direction of the wails.
“No way. Who would leave a kid out in this cold? Things like that happen in big cities, not here.”
“Yi! Why, why, why, why?” the voice howled. “Nee-ow-rah. Boo-rah-rah.”
“Hey!” Brad called out. “Who’s there?”
Though it was only a little after five in the afternoon, the light was so dim he could hardly see. He dropped his cap onto his head again and adjusted the brim.
“Lookit.” Mack elbowed him. “Over there.”
At the corner of the brick wall that edged Larry’s Lake Lounge sat a cardboard box. And it was moving.
Colder than the evening breeze, a chill zipped down Brad’s spine. He and Mack neared the box. Brad noted blue and red lettering that indicated it once had held beer cans. As he peered inside, a pair of large brown eyes looked up at him.
“Wow!” The tiny mouth displayed two rows of sharp white teeth as it cut the air with a piercing “Woe, woe, woe!”
“Holy moley,” Mack said. “It’s some kind of critter.”
Relief flooding his chest, Brad hunkered down beside the box.
“What are you anyhow?” he asked the lump of dusty gray fur. “You a raccoon? Or a kitten? You’re putting up a mighty big fuss; that’s for sure.”
“Don’t touch it,” Mack warned. “You could get bit and die of rabies.”
“Yi! Yi! Yi!” The creature tried to turn around, bumped into the side of the box, and then lifted its head to howl. “A-woo! Oooo! Yow, yow, yow.”
“Rabies,” Brad muttered. He reached into the box and slipped his hand under the soft, downy belly. Cupping the animal, he made a cursory examination. Ears, eyes, tail, snout, fuzzy legs, and four paws.
“It’s a puppy,” he pronounced. “And the talkingest one I’ve ever met.”
“Yawp.” The little head darted forward and a small pink tongue licked Brad’s nose.
“Agh, not that!” Brad wiped away the moisture with the back of his hand. He flipped the puppy over and determined he was holding a male. “Who left you here, fella? You must be freezing.”
“Brother,” Mack said in disgust. “You gotta be some kind of jerk to dump a puppy in weather like this.”
Brad knew that Missouri country folks often didn’t have the means to get their pets fixed. That meant thousands of mixed-breed, unwanted puppies and kittens were abandoned on the roadside each year. Animal shelters and city pounds usually picked them up, but many starved, were killed by larger predators, or got hit by cars.
“At least they put him near a public place,” Brad observed. “I guess they figured he’d find a home.”
“He ain’t finding a home with me.”
“Me neither.”
The jukebox started up inside the tavern. Yvonne must have finished her song set and would be taking her usual place at the bar. Married nearly a year now, Brad knew he shouldn’t give the woman a second thought. The sultry songbird was older than Brad by several years, and she had been around the block a few times. She told him she had tried to make it in the Nashville music scene but found the going too rough. She had sung backup at one of the big shows in Branson for a while too. But eventually she came home to the lake area—single, sexy, and looking for a good time. That siren call was getting harder to resist by the day.
“Wow!” The sharp yelp startled Brad. The pup had curled up in the crook of his elbow. “Ick, ick, ick.”
“What are you talking about now, you little yapper?” Brad murmured as he stroked the matted fur. Pressing his small head against the man’s palm, the dog expressed his delight in human touch. Brad grinned. “What do you want, boy? Huh?”
“Uh-oh,” Mack said. “You’re starting to sound like a sucker.”
“I’m not taking him home. But still … he can’t be more than a couple of months old.”
“I bet he’s barely off his mama’s milk. We had dogs when I was growing up. You shouldn’t take ’em from the mother too soon.”
“I always wanted a dog. My dad ran off strays with a shotgun.”
Though the puppy appealed to some tender place inside him, Brad knew things were going so badly with Ashley that it would be a mistake to arrive home with a puppy. She’d probably pack up her beads and run back to mama and daddy. Which might be a good idea after all.
Brad wasn’t looking for a relationship with Yvonne or any of the other attractive young women who made Larry’s their regular watering hole. He didn’t want Ashley to leave him, either. But how long could two people go on this way? Chilly silence interspersed with arguments. Blame. Name-calling. Accusations.
Sex was a rare occurrence in the marriage too, and that didn’t sit well with Brad. Before their wedding, Ashley couldn’t get enough of him—and vice versa. Lately, they hardly had time for a kiss. With him working days and her working nights, they were rarely even in bed at the same time. You couldn’t expect a twenty-two-year-old man in the prime of life to forgo that kind of pleasure. Pleasure? No, it was a need.
“Brrrp … brrrp …”
Brad glanced down to find that the puppy was snoring softly. “Great. He went to sleep.”
“What did you expect? Probably been out here freezing most of the day.” Mack gave a snort. “Might as well take him home. You know you want to.”
“I don’t want a dog. But how can I put him back in that cardboard box? We’ll walk out of Larry’s in a couple of hours and find him frozen stiff.”
Brad couldn’t imagine abandoning the dog to the ice-cold air and stepping into the warmth of the bar without wearing guilt like a chain around his neck. He wanted to head inside, settle down next to Yvonne, and smell that perfume she wore. She’d start flirting with him, and he’d buy her a few drinks. Then she would saunter back onto the stage and sing to him until he was so woozy with beer and temptation he could hardly stumble to his car.
He had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he gave in. Why-vonne the Con, most of the men called the sensuous songstress. It was no secret that Yvonne used her looks and her wiles to get what she wanted out of a man. But at this point, Brad hardly cared. He wanted the same thing. A little fun. No strings. No expectations. No responsibilities. It all sounded good to him.
“Brrrp … brrrp … brrrp.”
His hand on the puppy’s head, Brad studied the front of Larry’s. Three or four couples had gone inside since he first picked up the pup.
“Someone else will find the dog and take it home,” Brad told his friend. “We’re not responsible for the mangy little mutt. Come on.”
Without allowing himself time to think, he set the puppy back inside the box and yanked open Larry’s front door.
“Yow!” The terrified shriek tore through Brad’s brain and went straight to his heart. “Yow-wow, yow-wow! Owoooooo!”
With a muttered curse, Brad bent over, scooped up the dog, tucked it under his jacket, and headed for his car. He could hear Mack laughing behind him.
“Sucker!” his friend called. “I’ll tell Yvonne hi for you!”
Gritting his teeth, Brad opened his car door. This was a mistake. A big, big mistake. He and Ashley didn’t have room for a dog in their small house. They didn’t have a fenced yard. No one could look after the puppy while they were at work. The whole thing was a very bad idea.
He plopped the puppy onto the passenger’s seat. Maybe someone in the neighborhood would take the animal. He slid in and started the motor. Jaw tight, he drove out of the parking lot and onto the short stretch of road that led down to Deepwater Cove. This was not what he wanted to be doing. Maybe Ashley was right and he shouldn’t spend so much time around Yvonne and the other bar patrons, but why should he have to go home and watch TV alone all night?
