Watching you spread your wings has been the most beautiful sight a father could ever behold. And I’m reminded of what our favorite poet, Robert Frost, once said….
“There is freedom in being bold.”
You, Sweet P, are not your mother or your father.
Your wings are guided by both passion and prudence. And I trust you to fly with a sense of adventure and sound judgment.
Oh, the heights you will reach because you have respect for the ground.
Today, I go on a solo quest. I learned your mother has returned to the women’s shelter and I plan to try one last time. But whether I return alone or not, you will receive this letter, my sincerest apology, and my faithful promise to answer any other questions you might have.
All my love,
Dad
Hunched over the desk, Penny buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably as each sob tore through her body. The cruel irony of her father’s letter—and the fact that he’d never come home at all—proved too much for her weary heart to withstand.
He’d called her brave, and yet, he’d never know that the day she received the phone call about his death, she’d returned home and closed herself off from the outside world.
She wasn’t bold. And she certainly wasn’t free.
Fear crippled her, to the point she couldn’t even confront Colt about his decision to leave Poppy Creek. Or more importantly, to leave her behind.
Her thoughts drifted to the photograph of the two girls building a sandcastle. Somewhere out there she had a sister. Penny found the thought impossible to comprehend.
So much in her life was about to change. And she had a choice….
Did she cower in fear?
Or embrace it with courage?
* * *
His heart hammering in his chest, Colt brought the spoon to his lips. A lot was riding on this concoction, and it needed to be perfect.
Taking a slow sip, his eyes brightened in excitement.Bingo!After three failed attempts, the coffee marinade tasted like pure, caffeinated heaven. After making a quick notation on the recipe card, Colt pulled the steaks out of the refrigerator.
Since he planned to wow Jack at the Fourth of July cook-off in two days, and the steaks needed that long to marinade, he wouldn’t have time for a complete dry run. He’d have to cross his fingers and hope for the best.
A deafening blare shook through the house, and Colt nearly dropped the steaks on the kitchen floor. Recovering from the shock, he slid them on the counter before wiping his hands on a dish towel, shaking his head ruefully.
Making his way into Frank’s study, Colt shot a stern frown at the rabble-rouser lounging in the chenille recliner. “I’m really regretting not going with Beverly’s suggestion of a soft, tinkling bell.”
With a wry grin, Frank brandished the bullhorn. “But this is much more effective, don’t you think?”
“If your main objective is ruining both of our hearing.”
As Frank chuckled, Colt marveled at the huge shift in his mood ever since he’d had a heart-to-heart with Beverly.
“What can I get for you, Your Highness?” Colt bent forward in an exaggerated bow, complete with a hand flourish.
“I need a favor. But first,”—Frank sniffed the air—“are you developing a top secret war tactic for the government? I’ve been smelling coffee all afternoon but haven’t seen a single drop.”
Colt snorted in laughter. “Sorry. Ihavebeen working on a top secret project. But I promise, I wasn’t trying to torture you. I’ll grab you a cup.”
Popping back into the kitchen, Colt filled a lightweight ceramic mug with the brewed coffee left over from the marinade.
Returning to the study, he handed it to Frank. “So, what’s this favor?”
