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Family in His Heart
Gail Gaymer Martin
MILLS & BOON
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Dedication and Acknowledgments
To my sister, Jan Hoffman,
who was my research companion for this book.
Thank to Capt. James Shutt of Dream Seaker Chapters who agreed to a spur of the moment three-hour tour of the Les Cheneaux Islands and provided me with tremendous information. If I erred or distorted facts, accept it as an author’s prerogative.
Thanks also to Officer Troy Johnston of the Mackinac County Sheriff’s Department in St. Ignace for his assistance.
I am very grateful to the booksellers at Safe Harbor Books and The Book Nook for welcoming me, and to the Les Cheneaux Community Library and to Betty Bailey and her husband at the Drummond Island Tourism Association information center.
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 One
“Oh, no!”
The cry jarred Rona Meyers from her contemplation too late to escape the hot liquid that seeped through her pant leg as the waitress hit the floor along with the silverware. With customers’ exclamations ringing in her ears, Rona scooted from the bench to help with the mess, but a man in a nearby booth had scrambled up first.
Of all the men present, he’d been the only one to come to the waitress’s rescue and Rona admired the man’s gallantry. The more she looked, the more she admired him. His rugged handsomeness, his tanned face and his brawny stature caused him to stand out among the others present.
With his help, the waitress rose, her face glowing the color of a ripening apple while she still clutched the empty tray. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she ran behind the counter and through the door into the kitchen, leaving behind the mess of broken china and uneaten food.
Feeling distress for the young woman, Rona watched the intriguing man return to his booth before focusing on the dark spots soiling her otherwise clean beige pants. She grasped a paper napkin and daubed the stain, grateful the coffee had only been hot and not scalding.
When she looked up, the gentleman was eyeing her as if to acknowledge she’d tried to help the waitress, too. Rona gave him a feeble grin and looked away, uneasy with his obvious attention and hoping he hadn’t noticed her gaping at him.
The kitchen door remained closed and Rona watched it to see what would happen now. Would the young woman regain her composure and return to clean up the mess, or would she sulk for a while in the back room?
Rona had experienced the same feelings. Being a waitress wasn’t easy. The recollection settled into her mind—the hard work, low wages and the sometimes tip-less tables that she’d found so discouraging.
Ridding herself of the memory, Rona gazed out the window at the sun glinting against Lake Huron on Michigan’s north shore. The muted silvery gold streak rippled like the yellow line on the highway through the rain—or through tears.
A short distance across the lake one of the Les Cheneaux Islands rose above the water, its shoreline thick with trees and dotted by an occasional home—large homes with elaborate two-storied boathouses. She’d noticed the island on trips to the area with her friend Janie, who’d come to Hessel to visit her aunt. The memory had remained and had drawn her back here now when she needed to get away from her disturbing life.
Distant voices came from the kitchen; Rona watched the door, but the voices only grew louder. She looked away and noticed the stranger watching her again. He sent her a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle. His hair looked tousled. If he’d stop looking at her, she would enjoy looking at him.
Finally the kitchen voices silenced. The door swung open and a tall, lanky man charged behind the counter pulling meals from the serving window and scanning the crowded tables. He studied the tickets, then gave a nod as if he’d discovered his answer and slid the dishes up his arm and headed to a table across the room. He wore an apron, so she assumed he was a cook. This appearance brought an obvious question into her head. Where was the waitress?
Rona followed the man’s journey with her eyes, watching him hand over the dishes with skill, then head back toward the kitchen. As he passed, the good-looking man’s hand shot out and nabbed the cook.
Curious, she leaned closer, hoping to hear the conversation, but his soft voice didn’t carry.
The cook’s did.
“She quit, Nick,” he said, his arm swinging toward the kitchen door. “Walked out the back door screaming that she hated the job. Now I’m really shorthanded. No busboy today, either.”
Shorthanded. The word skittered down Rona’s spine, worked its way into her head. Her throat tightened with the words that formed in her mind.
Nick gave the cook’s arm a pat along with what appeared to be a look of encouragement, then his gaze captured hers
