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Reunited Hearts
Ruth Logan Herne
Back in his hometown, military hero Trent Michaels comes face-to-face with a twelve-year-old boy who looks just like him. Same dark curly hair.Same blue eyes. And the boy calls Trent's old flame, Alyssa Langley, mom. Trent was a foster kid from the wrong side of the tracks when he fell in love with Alyssa. But she cast him aside because he wasn't good enough–or so he thought. Now Trent is determined to connect with his newfound son. And to get the truth from the woman he never stopped loving….
“You need help?”
Oh, no.
Alyssa stared up into Trent’s face. “No, I’m fine, actually. I was just…” She tried to pull herself up and out of the jungle gym tunnel, but her cuff was caught.
Before Alyssa could protest, Trent caught her arms and pulled.
“I wasn’t really stuck.” She nodded her daughter Cory’s way. “We were playing a game.”
“But you were,” Cory protested. “You wescued her, mister.”
He smiled. “You can call me Trent.”
“And you can call me Cory. And now we can be fwiends.”
A group of small children entered the playground from below. Cory turned, hopeful. Alyssa nodded their way. “Yes, go ahead.”
Trent moved toward the slide. “It seems there’s only one way down. I’ll go first.”
He slid down, then stood grinning from the ground below. “Your turn.”
Was it the thought of her getting caught on the slide that sparked his grin or was he just trying to cajole a laugh out of her?
As he did so long ago…
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and the dirt…
Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.
Reunited Hearts
Ruth Logan Herne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have
no compassion on the child she has borne? Though
she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have
engraved you on the palms of my hands.
—Isaiah 49:15, 16
This book is dedicated to my four boys,
Matthew, Seth, Zach and Luke, four delights in my life
whose antics and humor have kept me laughing, which
is about the only thing that spared their lives some days.
Thanks for the constant kudos, the love,
the support and your belief in me. I’m so grateful.
And to Jon, my erstwhile and kindly son-in-law,
a gentle man in all respects. I love you guys.
Acknowledgments
First to Rene, Patty, Colleen, Rita, Andrea, Fran,
Meaghan and Susan, who’ve steadfastly believed.
To my buddy Kevin, who’s read them all
and makes me feel good about myself. You guys rock!
To the Song-Prayers, who’ve been wonderful supporters,
first readers and have my back in times of trouble.
I love you guys, prayer-warriors all. My day-care moms,
such a great group of women. I love that you
entrust your precious children to Baby: Survivor.
To my family, who juggle their schedules to help mine.
I could not ask for more, except maybe more chocolate.
And a maid. A maid would be really nice.
Thanks to Jason Sweeney for his advice on
military contracts and contacts, and to
Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hall from MIT for his advice
on military education and command. Huge.
Thanks to Cher Neidermeyer and Glenn Pierce of the
Ronald McDonald House in Rochester, and a special
thanks to Dr. Vermilion and Bernadette of the Golisano
Children’s Hospital at Strong. Thank you for your time
and expertise, helping me get it right. I’m very grateful.
To Dave for sitting next to me in church, jumping in all
over the place and pretending to love sandwiches, dust
and clutter. Your gentle support is a true blessing.
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
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Two words jerked Trent Michaels out of his comfort zone, tunneling him back a dozen years, pre-West Point, pre-deployment, a young man searching for answers. For hope.
“Alyssa. Hello.”
Heart pumping from a swift adrenaline punch, Trent stared straight ahead as his high school love leaned down to accept his new boss’s hug, looking…
Amazing. Beautiful. Wonderful.
His heart ground to a stop, unwilling to believe what his eyes held true. Dark brown hair, clipped back, framed a face no less beautiful at thirty. Probably more so, the mature features offering a true version of what girlish looks had only hinted. Dark brows arched over hazel eyes, tiny spikes of gold lighting the color from within, her profile as dear and familiar now as it had been twelve years past.
But what was she doing in Jamison, New York?
He’d checked before accepting Helen Walker’s offer of military liaison with Walker Electronics. A good soldier always appraised his front line, and Trent had a slew of battlefield commendations testifying to his thoroughness. As of last week, Alyssa had been living in a squirrel’s hole-sized town in eastern Montana.
“How’s your father, dear? The surgery went well, I hear?”
Lyssa nodded, her expression warm, a small smile curving soft, sweet lips he remembered like it was yesterday. “Yes, thank you, although he’s already chomping at the bit. My mother has her hands full.”
Helen clucked womanly empathy. “I’ll bet she does, but at least you were able to come back.” She squeezed Lyssa’s hand in a silent message, her look sympathetic. “That’s a big help right there.”
“I hope so.” Lyssa straightened, her gaze traveling the table full of men with a polite smile of welcome, right until she came to him.
She stopped.
