Destination: Romance: Five Inspirational Love Stories Spanning the Globe Read online

  Bare Feet and Warm Sand © 2017 Kim Vogel Sawyer Sufficient Grace © 2017 Constance Shilling Stevens Better Together Than Apart © 2017 Rose Allen McCauley A Shelter in a Weary Land © 2017 Julane Hiebert Cotton Candy Skies © 2017 K. Marie Libel

  Poetry in Cotton Candy Skies © 2017 K. Marie Libel Published by Wings of Hope Publishing Group Established 2013

  www.wingsofhopepublishing.com

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording— without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Hiebert, Julane; Libel, K. Marie; McCauley, Rose Allen; Sawyer, Kim Vogel; Stevens, Constance Shilling

  Destination: Romance

  Wings of Hope Publishing Group

  Digital edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-944309-19-0 ISBN-10: 1-944309-19-5

  Th is is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover artwork and typesetting by Vogel Design in Hillsboro, Kansas.

  Table of Contents

  Bare Feet and Warm Sand

  Kim Vogel Sawyer

  PAGE 7

  Sufficient Grace

  Constance Shilling Stevens

  PAGE 55

  Better Together Than Apart

  Rose Allen McCauley

  PAGE 119

  A Shelter in a Weary Land

  Julane Hiebert

  PAGE 185

  Cotton Candy Skies

  K. Marie Libel

  PAGE 241

  BARE FEET AND WARM SAND

  Kim Vogel Sawyer

  For David,

  who loves sea turtles; and for Kendall, who loves going barefoot “So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living thing with which the water teems and that moves about in it, according to their kinds…

  And God saw that it was good.”

  genesis 1:21 niv

  CHAPTER 1

  Grand Cayman Island Mid-November Tamiera Davison kicked o ff her flipflops and crossed the warm, white sand bank. Glistening particles coated the bottoms of her damp feet and caught between her toes, but what did she care? Back in North Dakota, people could be wearing boots and trekking through snow. As much as she missed the people from her childhood home, she didn’t miss November’s snowstorms. She’d gladly take the island’s sunshine and tropical breezes instead. Besides, there weren’t any green sea turtles in North Dakota.

  She examined the drag marks extending at least a dozen feet from the farthest reach of the tide to a patch of disturbed sand. She crouched and ran her fingers lightly over the slight mound, certainty making her chest go tight. A turtle had nested during the night. Her pulse sped into double beats—part excitement, part worry. If she’d found the spot, predators would, too.

  She stood and waved both hands over her head, her signal for her helper, Manny, to bring down a wire cage and netting.

  The young teen came running, arms laden. His broad smile formed a slash of white against his dark skin. “Success, Miss Tamiera. Yes?”

  As usual, he over-emphasized the “meer” consonant of her name, giving it an island lilt. She’d never liked the unusual pronunciation—Tameera rather than Tamra—until she heard it from the lips of the Jamaican people.

  She offered the lanky youth a smile and nod. “Absolutely success.” She took the mesh frame and moved behind the mound, scowling against the bright sunshine. “Now let’s do what we can to make sure these babies hatch, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  Using her hands as scoops, she gently dug. About twelve inches down her fingertips encountered the pile of round, white orbs. She carefully excavated the circumference of the nearly perfectly round hole, then she and Manny pushed the wire mesh tube around the periphery of the eggs. “Careful—don’t disturb them.” She didn’t need to warn Manny. He’d helped her with at least a dozen nests and knew what to do, but the instructions left her lips without conscious thought. “A little deeper, I think. No sense in taking any chances.”

  Perspiration beaded on Manny’s dark skin. “If people would keep their dogs at home, we wouldn’t have to worry, would we?”

  She shot him an approving grin. “You’ve learned well, Manny.” How many lectures had she given about the importance of pets not being allowed to roam free on the island? And yet people refused to heed her warnings. The sea turtles had fewer wild predators than domesticated ones. And out of all the domesticated predators, humans were the worst.

  With the wire completely surrounding the nest, they pushed sand back over the eggs. Tamiera draped netting over the frame, and Manny secured it with wire ties. When they finished, Manny sat back on his heels and sent an expectant look across the top of the enclosure.

  “You gonna pray now, Miss Tamiera?”

  Some might think her foolish for praying for sea turtles. But in her opinion all of God’s creatures—human, mammal, reptile, marine, or fowl—were valuable in His eyes. Why else would He have placed them on the earth? She nodded and bowed her head. She offered gratitude that they’d found the nest, she asked that the protective measures she and Manny added would hold the entire seven or eight weeks needed for the eggs to hatch, and she finished on a rasping plea. “Let these turtles live long lives in the sea. Amen.”

  Manny echoed, “Amen.”

  She brushed the sand from her feet and donned her flipflops. As they ambled up the rise to her Jeep, Manny nudged Tamiera’s arm. “It’s pretty quiet along this stretch of beach. Do you think all the eggs will hatch and the turtles will make it to the water?”

  Another hundred or so turtles added to the wild population would make Tamiera turn cartwheels of joy. Yet it was unrealistic to expect all of them to make it. Sadness settled on her as she considered the odds against this batch of turtles living long enough to grow to adulthood and possibly return here in twentyfive years to lay their own eggs in the sand. But she wouldn’t defeat this young man who cared about the sea turtles as much as she did.

  She slung her arm across Manny’s narrow shoulders. “We’ve done our part. Now it’s up to God and nature to do the rest.”

  Joe Phelps stayed at the rear of the group of people listening to the tour guide’s instructions for holding baby sea turtles. He doubted he’d hold one of the year-old turtles himself. Couldn’t a person get salmonella from turtles? But others were certainly eager to take advantage of every opportunity available at the sea turtle farm. Their eagerness filled him with excitement. Surely Dad had made a wise choice for the location of his corporation’s next resort hotel.

  Dressed in a tropical print shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals, he fit in well with the tourists who’d signed up for a Caribbean Sea Turtle Farm and Conservatory tour. No one would suspect he held ulterior motives for joining the excursion. He’d never been one to engage in subterfuge, but his dad’s last words before he boarded the plane for Florida still lingered in the back of his mind.

  “It’s your time to shine, Joe. Listen well, learn much, and choose wisely. I trust you.”

  Not once in the six years since he’d joined the family’s
resort business had Dad placed his full trust in his youngest son. It made him determined not to disappoint his father.

  The group swarmed behind the guide to a basketball court sized concrete pad containing what looked like a dozen hot tubs. He peeked over the edge of the closest one. Perhaps fifteen turtles, a little bigger in circumference than the salad plates used in the hotel’s dining room, swam around each other, as graceful as ballerinas. For a moment, he stood, transfixed by their seemingly choreographed dives and swoops.

  The teenage girl next to him reached into the tub, her long brown braid dipping within an inch of the surface of the sparkling water. She caught a turtle, lifted it from the water, and held it over the tub the way the guide had directed. The turtle flapped its flippers, nearly clapping above and below its head.

  The girl squealed. “Oh, quit that! I don’t want to drop you, little guy!” Joe instinctively reached to help steady the wriggling turtle.

  A woman with a floppy straw hat and huge mirrored sunglasses held up a cell phone. “Tickle its neck, Casey. Remember? The way you’d tickle a cat’s jaw.”

  Grimacing, the girl extended one finger and stroked the underside of the turtle’s wrinkly neck. The wild flapping slowed, and then its flippers sagged. Joe could have sworn he heard the little reptile sigh.

  The woman clicked the phone several times and beamed at the girl. “Got it!”

  The girl lowered the turtle toward the water, but she flicked a sideways glance at Joe. “Did you wanna hold him?”

  Joe shook his head and backed up a step. “No, thanks. Go ahead and put him back where he belongs.”

  She shrugged and placed the turtle in the tank. It darted underneath the other milling turtles. The girl trotted to the hand washing station, and the woman followed, both of them jabbering about the fun excursion.

  Joe used a squirt of the hand sanitizer at the washing station even though he hadn’t actually touched the turtle and then ambled along a winding concrete pathway to a large enclosure with a sloping sand bar leading to a pool of water. Turtles as big as the turtle-shaped sandbox he’d bought his nephews for Christmas a few years ago lazed in the sun on the sand or swam in the crystal blue water.

  He stacked his forearms on the concrete block wall surrounding the enclosure. The sun beat hot on his head, but a breeze kept him comfortable. He watched the swimming turtles, smiling at how they managed to maneuver around each other even though the water teemed with activity. Did they have some inner radar that prevented them from bumping into each other?

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he straightened. A young couple stood close. The man held out his camera—a smaller, digital model with a telephoto lens attached.

  “Would you mind taking a photo of us? I’d do a selfie, but she wants more of the background in the pic.” He gave a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes twinkled with humor.

  The young woman aimed a crinkling grin at the man. “Thanks, hon.”

  Joe took the camera and backed up several feet. The two positioned themselves next to the wall, looped their arms around each other, and smiled. Joe centered them against the backdrop of sand and turtles and snapped the photo. As he handed the camera back to the appreciative pair, a clumsy movement at the edge of the pool caught his attention.

  He resumed his observation spot and focused on a turtle struggling to climb the sandbar. None of the turtles moved as gracefully on land as they did in the water. Their weight obviously affected them. But this one’s progress seemed especially laborious. He squinted through the lenses of his sunglasses and examined the turtle. To his shock, he realized it had a stub where its right front flipper should be.

  “Well, I’ll be… Wonder what happened to you, buddy?”

  “A fishing net.”

  Joe zipped his attention to the blond-haired woman leaning on the wall only a few feet from him. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, but now he was glad he had. The woman wore matching khaki shorts and a safari type shirt with a sewn-on patch on her left shoulder announcing Caribbean Sea Turtle Farm/Conservatory and her name.

  He slipped his sunglasses to the top of his head and grinned. “You must know a lot about the turtles here…” The spelling of her name threw him, but he made a guess. “Tameera.”

  She grinned. “Yes, I do.” She pointed to the turtle, which now positioned itself in a sunny spot and dug its snout in the sand. “Her name is Vera, short for Perseverance, an attribute she certainly has. We found her a couple of years ago, washed up on the beach and half dead from a festering wound. She’d gotten tangled in a fishing line, and who knows how long she swam out there, suffering, before a storm blew her in.”

  Joe shifted his attention from the turtle to the woman. The pain in her blue eyes was evident, and he experienced a twinge of guilt even though he hadn’t had anything to do with the turtle’s unfortunate circumstance.

  “Our staff veterinarian amputated the flipper and treated the infection, all of us on staff teamed up and gave her around-the-clock care, and I did a lot of praying. Her recovery was slow with a few setbacks, but four months after the surgery, we released her into the general population of adults.”

  “Not back into the wild?”

  Tamiera pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. “Although we work hard to replenish the wild turtle population by releasing about a hundred turtles a year into the ocean, Vera wouldn’t survive in the wild. But here, she’s able to live a fairly normal life, and a few weeks ago, she laid her first nest of eggs in the sandbar. That was a major celebration time for all of us. We’ve already transferred the eggs to our incubator, and when they’ve hatched, we’ll take some of them to the ocean’s edge and let them go. So at least part of Vera will swim free.” She grimaced. “And we can pray they’ll have the chance to grow to adulthood.”

  Curiosity caused Joe to blurt a question. “What would keep that from happening?”

  She turned a somber look on him. “You.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Th e man drew back and gaped at her. Tamiera couldn’t blame him. She’d been accusatory, and not completely by accident. People needed to understand how their thoughtless behavior affected marine animals. If shock value would get their attention, then so be it. Even so, she didn’t want to scare off a paying guest. The ticket purchases helped fund the biology side of the tourist attraction.

  She extended her hand. “Forgive me for being so blunt. In my years as a marine biologist, I’ve seen the harm that man’s garbage and inconsideration for animals has wrought. I suppose I’m a little prickly and defensive about it.”

  “A little?” He chuckled, and the look of shock faded beneath a grin of amusement. He shook her hand—a firm but not pinching handshake, the kind her military foster father had taught her. His dark brown hair was cut military short, and his trim physique spoke of one who was accustomed to long jogs. But his cheeks bore a heavy shadow, as if he’d skipped a day of shaving. Something the military wouldn’t allow.

  She slipped her hands into her pockets and squinted at him against the afternoon sun. “I’m Tamiera Davison, one of the three marine biologists who live here at the farm and care for the turtles.”

  “I’m Joe Phillips. It’s nice to meet you.” He slid his mirrored sunglasses into place, hiding his blue-green eyes from her view. “You said you live here?”

  She nodded. “Right on the compound in staff cottages. It lets me track the turtles’ growth, their habits, their mating behaviors. The more we know about them, the better chance we have to increase their population.”

  He settled his weight on one hip and tilted his head slightly. “I guess I hadn’t thought about marine biologists taking care of turtles. I figured they’d focus on whales, seals, dolphins…that sort of thing.”

  She smiled. “I like whales, seals, and dolphins, too, but my main focus of study was on endangered marine life, and sea turtles—especially the green sea turtles, like we have here at the farm—won my heart. They really are such ma
jestic creatures. I enjoy educating people on their contribution to our ecosystem and how we can insure they don’t become extinct. I—”

  A representative from one of the many tourism companies connected to the cruise industry jogged up to them. “Are you Mr. Phillips?”

  Joe nodded.

  “The driver sent me to tell you the time here is done. The bus needs to leave for the rum factory.”

  Joe glanced at wrist watch. Tamiera glanced, too. A face as large as a fifty-cent piece contained four small dials in addition to the time dial. It reminded her of the control panel on a small airplane. To her surprise it was after two thirty. She needed to get to the theater for the three o’clock lecture.

  She took a sideways step away from the men. “It was nice meeting you, Joe.”

  He raised his hand, and she stopped. He turned to the rep. “If I skip the remainder of the excursion, is there a way for me to get back to my hotel?”

  “You could take a cab, but you’ll have to pay for it yourself, and you won’t get a refund for the parts of the tour you didn’t see.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Joe pulled out his wallet, withdrew a five dollar bill, and pressed it into the rep’s hand. “Thanks. I’ll see to myself from here on.”

  “Suit yourself.” The young man trotted off.

  Joe aimed his smile at Tamiera. “Okay, that clears my afternoon. You were saying…?”

  For a moment, she found it difficult to form a reply. She couldn’t remember any other tourist giving up a rum factory visit to stick around and talk about turtles. The choice immediately endeared him to her. Admittedly, it didn’t hurt that he was as handsome as a young Tom Selleck, her foster mother’s favorite actor.