A Christmas Homecoming
Sunriver Series Book Three Sneak Peek
Books by Kimberly Rose Johnson
A CHRISTMAS HOMECOMING
Sunriver Dreams Book Two
By Kimberly Rose Johnson
A Christmas Homecoming
Published by Mountain Brook Ink
White Salmon, WA U.S.A.
All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.
The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of Mountain Brook Ink, nor do we vouch for their content.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible. Public domain.
© 2016 Kimberly R. Johnson
The Team: Miralee Ferrell, Kathryn Davis, Nikki Wright, Cindy Jackson
Cover Design: Indie Cover Design, Lynnette Bonner Designer
Mountain Brook Ink is an inspirational publisher offering fiction you can believe in.
Printed in the United States of America
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my beta readers, Janice, Tina, and Sherry for their insightful input. You ladies rock! I would also like to thank my editor Kathryn Davis for her suggestions as well. Without all of you this story would not be what it is.
Thank you!
Chapter One
Bailey Calderwood pulled the knit hat her mother had given her last Christmas lower on her head as freezing wind whipped her long hair, tossing it into her face. Wind whistled between the tall ponderosa pines that surrounded her employer’s house near Sunriver, Oregon.
Why had she agreed to move to Mona Belafonte’s home? On a good day her employer was difficult to please, but now that she’d had a stroke, most of the time she was impossible. Not that Bailey blamed the woman for being difficult. She had to be frustrated and angry at her situation and slow recovery.
Bailey needed to take care of her task quickly and get back to the house. Mona didn’t like to be alone. Thankfully the youngest of the Belafonte brothers was returning from France next week in time for the holidays. From what she’d been told, he worked with the design side of the business as well as the construction side, and she was hoping having him here would brighten Mona’s mood and speed her recovery. The task of freshening his cabin should go fast. But since it had been closed up for the past two-and-a-half-years, there’d probably be a good deal of dust to contend with.
Crunching metal and shattering glass punctuated the early afternoon air. Bailey’s stomach clenched, and
her pulse jumped.
Oh no!
The noise had come from the direction of the road. Snow nipped at her ankles as she jogged along the driveway that wove through the woods to the road.
A small pickup with steam rising from under the crumpled hood had wrapped around a huge pine. The driver slumped behind the wheel. She bounded through the snow and yanked open the door. Blood streamed down the man’s face. She fought rising panic. What if he was dead? She nudged the man’s shoulder, noting his expensive suit and tie. “Sir, wake up.”
Please be alive.
“Don’t.” He pushed at her. “Leave . . . me . . . alone.” His head rolled to the side.
She yanked her hand away. Was he drunk? She sniffed but didn’t smell alcohol. What should she do? She’d left her cell phone at the house. He may not want her help, but he definitely needed it. She patted his face. “Hey, wake up. We need to get you out of here.”
No response.
Maybe if she shook him—no. What if he had a head injury? She bit down on her bottom lip. A glance at the steaming hood caused her panic to rise.
She didn’t think the pickup would catch fire, but she’d seen enough vehicle explosions on TV to prompt fear. He was too large for her to get him out on her own. She needed him conscious.
What do I do, Lord?
Looking around for anything that could help, her gaze rested on the snow. It was worth a try.
She balled clean snow in her hands and applied it to his head. The cold ought to wake him, and it would help with the nasty gash too.
A minute later, he groaned and slowly his lids opened. “What happened?”
Maybe he had a brain injury.
“You crashed. Other than the gash on your head, are you okay?” She wanted to shout at him to hurry and get out but forced herself to at least appear calm. No flames were coming from the hood—yet.
He shifted and winced. “I think so, but I hurt in places I didn’t know existed.” He barked a laugh.
Fear gripped her. Was this man gravely hurt, or had he miraculously escaped serious injury? What if he had internal injuries? She straightened and looked around at the scene. There was no evidence of another vehicle being involved—probably a deer or a patch of black ice had caused him to lose control. At least the engine had stopped smoking or steaming or whatever it’d been doing. “I imagine you’re going to be sore for a few days. By the look of your eye, I’m guessing you’ll have a shiner too.”
He brought his hand to his face and flinched when he made contact with the area around his eye.
“Your pickup is a mess and won’t be going anywhere without a tow.”
Blood oozed from the gash on his forehead. Suddenly woozy, she rested a hand on the pickup. This man needed her help, and she was the only able-bodied person around for miles. A tissue box on the floor at his feet caught her attention. “Hold on a second. We need to get you out of here, but first . . .” she slid her arm beneath his legs and grabbed a wad of tissues, then pressed them to his forehead. “We should stop this bleeding.”
He jerked away. “Hey!”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
He laid his hand over hers. “It’s okay.” His voice gentled. “I’ve got it. Thanks.” He released his seatbelt and gingerly stepped out of the Ford Ranger 4x4. He swayed.
She slipped an arm around his waist. “Easy there. Don’t want you falling or passing out.” She chuckled nervously. “I’ve already got one invalid to take care of.” She shot him a smile, hoping to ease the tension that hung between them.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “How is my mother doing?”
She loosened her hold on the man and looked at him more closely. He had the Belafonte blue eyes and broad shoulders. “You’re Stephen?”
He nodded, then gasped.
Her insides knotted. Though obviously in pain, he put up a strong front. She admired his strength. Maybe keeping things casual would help get his mind off his discomfort. “We weren’t expecting you until next week. Your mom will be thrilled to see you.” She shot him a grin.
“Mother made it sound like she needed me, so I came back early. Are you her assistant?”
“Yes. I’m Bailey.”
“Good to meet you. However, I wish I’d made it to the house first. Let me grab my bag.” He gingerly moved away from her supporting arm.
The man, who towered over her five-foot-seven-inch frame, slowly ducked his head and reached across the seat.
He twisted back around, holding a small duffle bag. Pain etched on his face.
She pushed her glasses up higher onto her nose and stuffed her gloved hands into her jacket pockets. “Is that all you have?”
“I like to travel light.”
“But you’ve been out of the country for a long time. How could you only have one small carry-on?” She’d heard of traveling light, but one bag was extreme.
He quirked a grin. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny. The airline lost my luggage.”
“Figures. You’re really having a bad day.”
“I’ve had worse.” A haunted look darkened his eyes as he limped along the snow-covered driveway toward the house.
Her heart tripped. From what she’d been told, he had experienced much worse. She matched his slower pace. “I’m sure Mona will be thrilled that you came home early. Should I take you to the hospital? Or would you like to come to the main house and let me bandage the cut on your head, and wait and see how you feel?”
“I’m fine. Let’s go to the house. I’m anxious to see my mother.”
Stephen glanced at the woman beside him, still trying to understand what his mother had been complaining about in her emails. Bailey seemed pleasant enough, even sweet. Her tender concern for him touched him deeply. It’d been a long time since someone showed that kind of care toward him.
Mom tended to get caught up in appearances so that was probably where Bailey failed. Her attire didn’t meet his mother’s standards. The red and hot pink knit cap on her long, kinky hair looked homemade, and the too large jacket she wore over her jeans didn’t do her any favors. His teeth chattered. If he didn’t pick up the pace, they’d both end up with hypothermia. He lengthened his stride even though every step hurt. He should have thought to have his brother, John, leave an extra pair of boots in his pickup. At least then, he wouldn’t have soaking cold feet. No one besides John knew he was coming home a week early. His brother had been a huge help by dropping his pickup off at the airport. He still couldn’t believe Mom had had a stroke.
He glanced toward Bailey and caught her watching him closely. Compassion lingered in her hazel eyes. She pushed her large, dark-rimmed glasses higher on her nose and shot him a look of concern—or was it unease? “Are you okay?”