The eternal God is your refuge,
and underneath are the everlasting arms.

Escaping her difficult past, Rona Myers finds a new life in the Les Cheneaux Islands. Her kind boss, Nick Horning, seems to be God’s answer to security and love until her ex-con brother muddies her life. Rona must learn to trust God and be honest with Nick or runaway again.

Excerpt Chapter 1

"Oh no!"

The cry jarred Rona Meyers from her contemplation too late to escape the hot liquid that seeped through her pantleg as the crash of dishes, silverware, and the waitress hit the floor. With customers’ exclamations ringing in her ears, she scooted from the bench to help her, but a man in a nearby booth had scrambled up first, and Rona settled back into the bench.

Of all the men present, he’d been the only one to come to her rescue and she admired the man’s gallantry. The more she looked, the more she admired the man. His rugged good looks, his tanned face, and brawny stature caused him to standout among the others present.

With his help, the waitress rose, her face glowing the color of a ripening Jonathan 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 hoping he hadn’t noticed her gaping at him. As far as the waitress went, she’d done what any kind person would do.

The kitchen door remained close, and Rona watched it to see what would happen now. Would the young woman gain 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, she recalled from experience. The recollection settled into her mind like a sliver—-the hard work, low wages, and sometimes the 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 boathouses. She’d seen this intriguing shoreline before on trips to the area with her friend Janie who’d come to Hessel to visit her aunt. The picture of the islands had remained in Rona’s memory and had drawn her back here now when she needed to get away from her disturbing life.

Distant voices came from the kitchen, and 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 before sliding the dishes up his arm and heading to a table across the room. He wore an apron so she assume 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 backdoor screaming that she hated the job. Now I’m really shorthanded. No busboy today either."

Shorthanded. The word skittered down Rona’s spine, then worked it’s way into her head. Her throat tightened with the words that formed in her mind.

The man the cook called Nick gave the other man’s arm a pat along with what appeared a look of encouragement, then his gaze captured hers again, and her stomach twisted.

Nick reminded her of a lumberjack. She could picture his broad shoulders and wide chest pivoting as his powerful arms swung an ax. She couldn’t help but think of Michigan’s legendary lumberman Paul Bunyan. Nick "Bunyan" slid through her mind, and she grinned.

When she focused, Nick Bunyan was smiling back at her. She wanted to sink into her seat. Instead, she turned her eyes on the cook as he headed her way.

"Sir," she said, keeping her voice low while hoping he heard her.

The cook glanced at her without really looking. "I’ll get your bill in a minute. I’m short a waitress."

Though she’d tried to hold them back, her need caused words to fly from her mouth. "I’ve done waitressing."

Her comment jerked him to a stop. "You what?"

"I’ve been a waitress. If you need someone, I’ll give you a hand."

His surprised look shrunk to a frown. "You’re willing to fill in for Gerri? You’re pulling my leg."

"No. I’m new in town and need a job. One day’s work is better than nothing." Her heart rose to her throat.

His jaw sagged as he seemed to contemplate what she’d said.

Looking at his expression, she wondered why she’d opened her mouth. Waitressing wasn’t her favorite work, but if he liked her, it could mean a start in the new town. She’d look for something more suitable after she had settled. Her meager bank account wouldn’t last forever.