But love ye your enemies, and do good,
and lend, hoping for nothing again;
and your reward shall be great.

                                                                                            Luke 6:35 KJV

When Karen Chapman visits her newly widowed grandfather’s farm, she is trapped in a tree and aided by a cajoling, handsome stranger. In minutes she realizes he is the grandson of Lionel Kendal. Like the infamous Martins and McCoys, the Chapman-Kendal grandfathers have feuded for years. Now she must decide if she will join the family feud, or do what the Lord says and love her enemy.

Excerpt from Chapter One

The sun spilled a dappled pattern along the wood’s leaf-strewn path. Balanced high up on an oak branch, Karen Chapman drew in a deep calming breath. Trees and meadows burdened with Michigan wildflowers soothed her city nerves. In another month, she would return to the city and her difficult job of working with the courts as a child advocate. Still, no matter what tense moments lie ahead, today was heaven.

Though not yet September, autumn hung on the air. Karen leaned her back against the rough bark and breathed in the scent of ripe apples that drifted on the breeze from her grandfather’s orchard. Overhead the green leafy canopy splattered with gold and red hinted of cooler days.

God’s handiwork glowed in the afternoon sun, and a song lifted in her heart. For the beauty of the earth, for the beauty of the sky. She began to hum, thinking about her newly widowed grandpa back at the house and praising God that He’d guided her to come to the farm for a visit.

The words of another hymn spilled from her thoughts to her lips. "Earth and all stars," she sang, then chuckled when she lilted the verse about "engines and steel" and "loud building workers." Too much reality there, she thought, recalling the Detroit suburb’s constant construction and traffic noise. Her song echoed through the trees, arousing the birds and exhilarating her spirit.

"Very nice, lady in the tree."

The voice from below unsettled her. Karen jammed her lips together, cutting off the last syllable and gazed down at the man standing beneath her. "Sorry. I thought I was alone."

"No need to apologize. I heard you singing out here yesterday."

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she eyed the branches below her, wondering how to make a quick escape, rather than face the embarrassing situation. She bit her lip, seeing no human way to vanish from the limb. "I guess I’d better keep my singing for church."

He rested his weight on one booted foot and leaned his fist against his trim, jeans-covered hip. A smile curved his full lips, and his chuckle rose to meet her. "Why? I like free concerts." He leaned against the tree. "Mind if I stick around and listen?"

"You can do what you like, I suppose, but the concert’s over. Anyway these aren’t my woods." The woods belonged to her grandfather however, and she almost told him so.

"I know."

She eyed him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it’s not your woods."

An uneasy feeling shuffled through her. She peered at him through the tree limbs. "It’s not your woods either, I don’t imagine." She cringed calculating that she’d passed her grandpa’s property line and was now sitting in the Kendall’s tree.

"This is my grandfather’s land." He lifted an eyebrow, his broad hands on his hips.

She winced.

"Lionel Kendall. Do you know him?" he asked.

"Not really." But she remembered him, all right. He scared her when she was young. His grandfather and hers had been battling for years. Knowing who the stranger was, she wanted nothing to do with him or his grandfather. "Well if that’s the case, let me get out of your tree."

With what decorum Karen could muster, she edged her straddled leg over the limb and slid the other one down to the next branch. So far so good. Somehow, it seemed easier climbing up, than down. When she attempted to guide her leg down to the next branch, she couldn’t release her other foot. Her shoe had lodged in a deep, angular crook of the tree limb.

Her hot cheeks heated to boiling. As Karen struggled to move her bound leg, he stood below her, a teasing smirk twinkling on his face. His laughter traveled up the trunk faster than she was climbing down.

"Stuck?" he asked,

His voice reeked with humor. So much so, she refused to answer. What did he think? She wasn’t hanging in the tree for fun.

He stepped forward and grasped a lower branch. "I guess, you are. Let me help." He clutched a limb, raised himself, and swung his lean, nimble leg over the branch.

She wanted to refuse his assistance, but it was one of those "cut off your nose to spite your face" situations. She grasped the limb with one hand and, with the other, reached above and tugged wildly at her jammed shoe.

The branch she clutched, dipped, then lurched, and she clung like gum to a sole, praying she wouldn’t fall to the ground. But falling would at least free her from the situation. The image made her smile.

The man loomed beside her, the muscles of his arms swelling as he raised himself to the branch above.

"Okay," he said, "let’s slip your foot out of your shoe. Then I’ll get it loose."

His large hand gripped her ankle while the other unlaced her sneaker. Finally, her foot escaped its prison. Wearing one shoe, she clamored down the branches to the ground, feeling like a child rescued by a cocky policeman.

At the same time, her liberator dropped to the ground beside her, his grin like the Cheshire cat. He lifted his arm and held out her scuffed sneaker. "Cinderella? I believe I have your glass slipper."

She snatched the shoe from his hand, too embarrassed to look him in the eye, and muttered, "Thank you." Spinning on her shoed foot, she hobbled down the sun-speckled path toward the orchard, her shoe clasped in her hand.

"You’re very welcome," he called out after her. "And you don’t have to run away, Cinderella. It’s not anywhere near midnight."

His footsteps padded behind her, and the closer he got, the quicker she walked. Suddenly, her stockinged foot landed on a jagged stone, and she released a loud "ouch." But without a break in her step, she hobbled away.

"If you slowed down . . . or put on your shoe, you might save a doctor bill."

She’d reached the orchard and glanced over her shoulder. Now, he was on her grandfather’s property. A bough heavy with apples stood within arms reach, and she snatched one off the limb and, with a glance, tossed it over her shoulder toward him.

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," she called. For good measure, she plucked one for herself and, with a snap, sank her teeth into the sweet tangy pulp. She didn’t stop until she reached the meadow, and when she did, he was gone. Like finishing a lovely novel, she felt disappointed it had ended.