Saving
Hope
By Margaret Daley
Abingdon Press, March 2012
Abingdon Press, March 2012
ISBN
#978-142671483
Blurb for Saving
Hope:
When a teenager goes missing
from the Beacon of Hope School, Texas Ranger Wyatt Sheridan and school director
Kate Winslow are forced into a dangerous struggle against a human trafficking
organization. But the battle brings dire consequences as Wyatt's daughter is
terrorized and Kate is kidnapped.
Now it's personal, and Wyatt
finds both his faith and investigative skills challenged as he fights to
discover the mastermind behind the ring before evil destroys everyone he
loves.
"Saving Hope is a story
straight from the headlines. Missing teens, a Texas Ranger Dad, and a woman who
just wants to make a difference in the lives of the girls she loves, all come
together in an explosive story that will make you turn the pages as fast as
possible to get to the end--which has a nice twist that you won't see coming.
Just make sure you have plenty of time to read because you WON'T want to put
this one down. A fabulous romantic suspense." -- Lynette Eason, best-selling,
award-winning author of the Women of Justice Series.
Excerpt from Saving
Hope:
Rose gripped her cell phone so tightly
her muscles ached. "Where are you, Lily?"
"At—Nowhere
Motel." A sob caught on the end of the last word.
"Help—me."
Lily's breath rattled, followed by a clunking sound as though she'd dropped the
phone.
Rose paced the
small bathroom at Beacon of Hope. "Lily?" Sweat coated her palms, and she rubbed
her free hand against her jeans.
Silence taunted
her.
What have you
done? But the second that Rose asked that question, an image came to mind of her
friend lying on the dingy gray sheets in the cheap motel, wasted, trying anyway
she could to forget the horror of her life.
"Lily, talk to
me. Stay on the line." Pulling the door open, Rose entered her room. When she
saw her roommate, she came to a stop.
Cynthia's
wide-eyed gaze fixed on Rose for a few seconds before the fourteen-year-old
dropped her head and stared at the hardwood floor. Rose crossed to her dresser,
dug into the back of the top drawer, and grabbed a small, worn leather
case.
She pushed past
her roommate and headed into the upstairs hallway.
Striding toward
the staircase, Rose dismissed her room- mate's startled expression and focused
on the crisis at hand. "Lily, are you still there?"
A sound as
though someone fumbled the phone and caught it filtered through the connection.
"Rose, I need—you."
"I told you I
would come if you wanted to get out. I'll be—"
A click cut off
the rest of Rose's words. No, Lily. Please hang on.
Rushing down
the steps to the first floor, she quickly re- dialed the number and let it ring
and ring. When she approached the program director's office, she finally
pocketed her cell, took out her homemade tools, and picked the lock, a skill she
learned to give her some sense of control over her life. In the past she'd done
what she had to in order to survive.
Guided by the
light through the slits in the blinds, Rose entered Kate's darkened office and
switched on the desk light. A twinge of guilt pricked her. If Kate found her in
here after- hours, how could she explain herself? Especially with what she was
going to do next to the woman who had saved her and taken her
in.
Kate's gonna
be so disappointed in me for stealing—no, borrowing—the van. She's put so much
faith in me. But I've got to save Lily. I promised her. When I bring Lily back
here, Kate will understand.
Rose used her
tools to open the locked drawer on the right. Pulling it out, she rummaged
through the papers to find the set of keys at the bottom, then bumped the drawer
closed with her hip.
I have no
choice, Kate. Please forgive me.
The memory of
the words, I need you, spurred Rose to move faster. She had to get to her
friend. Get her out . . . finally. Bring her to Kate.
Clutching the
keys in one hand, she turned off the lamp and carefully made her way to the
office door. She eased it open a few inches and peered out into the short
hallway. The empty corridor mirrored the feeling inside her.
When would
it go away? When will I feel whole?
After she
checked to make sure the office door was locked, she hurried toward the side
exit of the building that housed the residential program for teens like her.
Outside the summer heat blasted her in the face even though it was past
midnight. Her heart pounded as hard as her feet hitting against the concrete.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she rushed toward the parking lot to find Beacon
of Hope's van. The security light cast a yellow glow on the vehicle at the back
of the building. Visions of her friend slipping into drug-induced unconscious-
ness, no one there to care whether she died or not, prodded her to quicken her
steps.
I won't let
you down, Lily. She was
the reason her friend was where she was right now, stuck in a life that was
quickly killing her.
As Rose tried
to unlock the white van, her hands shook so badly the keys dropped to the
pavement. Snatching them up, she sucked in a breath, then another, but her lungs
cried for more oxygen. With her second attempt, she managed to open the door and
slip behind the steering wheel. Her trembling hands gripped the hot plastic.
After backing out of the parking space, she pressed down on the accelerator and
eased onto the street in front of Beacon of Hope. With little driving
experience, she would have to go slower than she wanted. She couldn't get caught
by the cops. This was her one chance to save her friend. If all went well, she
could be back here with Lily before morning.
She tried to
clear her mind and concentrate totally on the road before her. She couldn't.
Memories of her two years as a prostitute tumbled through her mind, leaving a
trail of regrets. One was having to leave Lily behind.
Nowhere
Motel—her and Lily's name for one of the hell- holes where they'd had to earn
their living. A place—one of several used when they were brought to Dallas—near
the highway on Cherry Street. A place where inhuman acts happened to
humans—young girls who should be dressing up for their prom, not their next
trick.
She'd escaped
only because she'd been left for dead on the side of the road when a john
discarded her like trash. But the Lord had other plans for her besides death. A
judge had seen to it that she came to the Beacon of Hope program, and Kate had
given her a glimpse of a better life.
And I'm
gonna start with rescuing Lily. I'm not gonna let her die. She's gonna have a
chance like me.
Rose slowed as
she neared the motel, two rows of units. Bright lights illuminated the front
rooms, which maintained an appearance of respectability, while the rooms in the
back were shrouded in dimness.
After she
parked across the street from Nowhere, she sat in the van staring at the place,
its neon sign to welcome travelers taunting her. Sweat rolled down her face, and
she swiped at it. But nothing she did stopped the fear from overwhelming her to
the point of paralysis. Memories of what went on in the back rooms of the motel
threatened to thwart her attempt to rescue Lily before it
began.
I owe her. I
have to make up for what I did to her.
She pried her
hands from the steering wheel and climbed from the van. After jogging across the
two lanes, she circled around to the second building that abutted the access
road to the highway.
The sounds of
cars whizzing by filled the night. People going about their ordinary life while
some were barely hanging on. A loud, robust laugh drifted to her as she snuck
past the first unit, heading for room three, the one Lily always used at
Nowhere.
Someone opened
a door nearby and stepped out of a room ahead of her. Rose darted back into a
shadowed alcove at the end, pressing her body flat against the rough cinder
block wall. Perspiration drenched her shirt and face. The stench of something
dead reeked from a dumpster a few yards away. Nausea roiled in her
stomach.
Two, sometimes
three, of his guards would patrol, making sure the girls stayed in line. She
wasn't sure this was a guard, but she couldn't risk even a quick look. She
waited until the man disappeared up the stairs, then hurried toward the third
unit. With damp palms, she inched the unlocked door open and peeked through the
slit.
Dressed in a
little-girl outfit that only underscored Lily's age of fifteen, she lay sprawled
on the bed, her long red hair fanning the pillow, the sheets bunched at the end.
Her friend shifted, her eyes blinking open. Groaning, she shoved herself up on
one elbow, only to collapse back onto the mattress.
Footsteps on
the stairs sent a shaft of fear through Rose. Her heartbeat accelerated. She
pushed into the room and closed the door, clicking the lock in place. She almost
laughed at her ridiculous action as though that would keep anyone out. But she
left it locked.
The scent of
sex, alcohol, and sweat assailed her nostrils and brought back a rush of
memories she'd wanted to bury forever. For a few seconds she remained paralyzed
by the door as memories bombarded her from all sides. Hands groping for her. A
sweaty body weighed down on top of hers. The fog she'd lived in to
escape.
She shook them
from her thoughts. Can't go there. Lily is depending on
me.
Turning toward
her friend, she started across the room. Lily's glazed eyes fixed on her. For
several heartbeats, nothing dawned in their depths. Then a flicker of
recognition.
She tried to
rise, saying, "Rose, so sorry . . ." Lily slurred her words as she sank back.
"Sor—reee."
"I'm here to
get you out." Rose sat on the edge of the bed.
"You've
got—"
A noise behind
her and to the left cut off her next words. She glanced over her shoulder as the
bathroom door crashed open, and he charged into the room.
"Did you really
think I'd let you go?"
His gravelly
voice froze Rose for a few seconds. King never came to Nowhere Motel. Too
beneath him. He should be—
Finally, terror
propelled her into action. She scrambled off the bed and ran for the door. She
grappled for the lock, her sweat-drenched fingers slipping on the cold
metal.
*Do not
reproduce without permission
Margaret
Daley
http://www.margaretdaley.com
Barnes and
Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/saving-hope-margaret-daley/1105315589?ean=9781426714283&itm=10&usri=margaret+daley
Christianbook.com:
http://www.christianbook.com/saving-hope-men-the-texas-rangers/margaret-daley/9781426714283/pd/714283?item_code=WW&netp_id=939187&event=ESRCG&view=details
* * *
THE BAKER'S
WIFE
© 2011 by Erin
Healy
"Healy's fascinating
plot is fast-paced and difficult to put down once started. The meaningful faith
message is communicated through various ways and will help the reader's own
faith to grow. The characters are easy to relate to in both their good and bad
choices, and the delectable bakery descriptions will have readers hungering for
more." –Romantic Times, 4-1/2 stars
To save her husband and
son, Audrey Bofinger must rescue her enemy, who has vanished like the morning
fog. With only an excruciating spiritual gift, an ex-con, and the missing
woman's estranged daughter to help search for clues, Audrey has six hours to
find her.
*
The day Audrey took a
loaf of homemade rosemary-potato bread to Cora Jean Hall was the day the fog
broke and made way for spring. Audrey threw open the curtains closest to the
dying woman's bedside, glad for the sunshine after months of gray light.
Audrey moved quietly
down the hall into the one-man kitchen, where she sliced the bread into toast,
brewed tea, then leaned out of the cramped space to offer some to Cora Jean's
husband, Harlan. He refused her without thanks and without looking up from his
forceful tinkering with an old two-way radio. Over the past month, his
collection of CBs and receivers had overtaken the small living room. His
grieving had started long ago and was presently in the angry stage. Clearly, he
loved his wife. The retired pharmacist dispensed her medications with faithful
precision but didn't seem to know what else to do. If not for the radios, Audrey
believed, he might have wandered the house helplessly and transformed from
smoldering to explosive.
As Audrey arranged the
snack on a tray, one of her earrings slipped out of her lobe and clattered onto
a saucer, just missing the hot tea. She rarely wore this pair because one or the
other was always falling out, but Cora Jean liked the dangling hearts with a
rose in the middle of each. The inexpensive jewelry had been a gift to the women
of the church on Mother's Day last year.
She put the earring
back in her ear, then carried the tray to Cora Jean's room, settled onto an old
dining room chair by the bed, and steered their conversation toward happy
topics.
Cora Jean was dying of
pancreatic cancer, the cancer best known for being unsurvivable. Audrey sat with
the woman in the late stages of her illness for many reasons: because she
believed that people who suffered shouldn't be left alone; because she was a
pastor's wife and embraced this privilege that came with the role; because Cora
Jean reminded Audrey of her own beloved mother.
She also went to the
woman's home because she couldn't not go. In the most physical, literal
sense, Audrey was regularly guided there, directed by an unseen arm, weighty and
warm, that encircled her shoulders and turned her body toward the Halls' house
every week or so. A voice audible only to her own ears would whisper Please
don't leave me alone today. It was no pitiful sound, and Audrey never
resented it, though from time to time it surprised her. In these moments she
thought, though she had never dared to try it, that if she applied her foot to
the gas pedal and took her hands off the wheel, her car would take her wherever
God wanted her to be.
This five-years
familiar experience had not always involved Cora Jean, but others like her, so
Audrey had long since stopped questioning how it happened. The why of it was
clear enough: Audrey was called by God to be a comforter, and she was glad for
the job.
Audrey had a knack for
helping people in any circumstance to look toward the brightness of life—not the
silver lining of their own dark cloud, which often didn't exist—but to the Light
of the World, which could be seen by anyone willing to look for it. In Cora
Jean's case this meant not dwelling too long on the details of her prognosis,
but in reading aloud beautiful, hopeful, complex poetry, especially the Psalms
and the Brownings and Franz Wright. It meant watering the plants (which Harlan
ignored) and offering to warm a meal for him before she left. It meant giving
candid answers to Cora Jean's many-layered questions about Audrey's personal
faith—in particular, about sin and forgiveness and justice.
And about the problem
of so much suffering in a world governed by a "good" God. Cora Jean seemed
preoccupied with this particular question, and her focus seemed to be connected
to the yellowed family portrait hanging on the wall opposite the bed.
There were two brunette
girls in the thirty-year-old picture. Audrey judged the age by Cora Jean's
bug-eyed plastic-framed glasses, Harlan's rust-colored corduroy blazer, and the
children's Dorothy Hamill hairstyles. Audrey had a similarly aged childhood
portrait of herself with her parents. She guessed the daughters to be nine,
maybe ten, and they appeared to be twins, though one of them was considerably
chubbier than the other.
A pendant on a
large-link silver chain hung from the upper left corner of the cheap wood frame.
The pendant was also silver, crudely hammered into a flat circle, like a washer,
that framed a small translucent rock. Audrey suspected it to be an uncut
diamond.
It would be rude to ask
whether she was right about the stone, but on the day the fog broke and the sun
brought a wispy smile to Cora Jean's pale face, Audrey decided to ask about the
portrait she often stared at.
Audrey lifted her
teacup to her lips and blew off the steam. "Tell me about your family," she said
gently, indicating the picture with her eyes.
Cora Jean's smile
crumpled, and the soft wrinkles of her skin became a riverbed for
tears.
Audrey wished she
hadn't said anything. Meaning to apologize for having heaped some kind of
emotional ache on top of the cancer's pain, she returned her sloshing teacup to
the tray, then reached out and placed her hands on top of Cora Jean's, which
were clutching the sheets.
That was the second
unfortunate choice Audrey made that day, with a third yet to occur before the
sun set. The woman's sorrow—if it could be thought of as something
chemical—entered Audrey's fingertips, burning the pads of her fingers, the
joints of her knuckles, her wrists. The flaming liquid pain seeped up her arms,
searing as it went: elbows, shoulders, collarbone. And then the poison found her
spine, an aqueduct that delivered breathtaking hurt to every nerve in Audrey's
body. She yelped involuntarily. Here was a sensation that she had never
experienced.
She wished that she
could save the dying woman from the terror. She also wished that she had never
dipped her toe into these hellish waters.
The pain bowed her over
Cora Jean's fragile body, a posture at once protective and impotent, and
paralyzed Audrey. The women cried together until every last drop of the agony
had let itself out of Audrey's eyes.
In time Cora Jean said,
"Thank you for understanding" and fell asleep, exhausted.
Audrey, who understood
not a bit of what had transpired, said nothing. She tuned the radio to Cora
Jean's favorite classical station, then waited, agitated and restless, for the
hospice nurse to arrive.
For more information
about The Baker's Wife, including a free download of the first four
chapters and links to reader reviews, please visit Erin's website. To find a store where
The Baker's Wife is sold, please click the "buy now" link on Erin's page
at Thomas Nelson.
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