Summer Dreams Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Paradise Pines

  Paradise Pines Series

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  Thank you

  You Can Help!

  God Can Help!

  Free Book Offer

  Summer Dreams

  Delia Latham

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Summer Dreams

  COPYRIGHT 2017 by Delia Latham

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. eBook editions are licensed for your personal enjoyment only. eBooks may not be re-sold, copied or given to other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Contact Information: [email protected]

  All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

  Scripture quotations, marked King James are taken from the King James translation, public domain. Scripture quotations, marked Living Bible, are taken from The Living Bible copyright © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  www.pelicanbookgroup.com PO Box 1738 *Aztec, NM * 87410

  White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2017

  Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-975-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Paradise Pines

  Spring Raine

  5-STARS! Not only is this my first book by Latham it’s the first in a new series. I absolutely cannot wait for another by this amazing author.

  ~ J Haney, NetGalley

  4-STARS! A very sweet love story…

  ~ L Digman, NetGalley

  4-STARS! This was a great story. It's the first book I have read by this author and it won’t be the last. It is a great read with interesting characters…

  ~ S Clay, NetGalley

  Paradise Pines Series

  Spring Raine

  Summer Dreams

  Autumn Falls

  Winter Wonders

  Prologue

  The messenger hovered above a young man sleeping peacefully in his home. In angelic form and invisible to humans, he folded his wings—in subservience and utter respect—and bowed his head when the Father joined his vigil.

  “Raine and Declan are together and happy, Messenger. I am well pleased.”

  The angel’s crown of radiant white hair glistened in the dark room. “Thank you, Father. I’m glad the last mission was successful.”

  “As am I.”

  They paused to gaze down at the young man. Like most people in this region of Earth, he lay in darkness, deeply asleep. But a slight uplift of firm, well-shaped lips spoke of something pleasant within his dreams. As they looked on, the small smile gave way to a little crease between dark eyebrows, indicating something puzzling or troubling to his mind.

  The man’s sleeping mood shifted like the sands of the sea near which he lived.

  “And now it is time to guide this man and the woman I created for him to each other. Your task will not be easy.”

  The angel nodded. Bringing two people together in heart and soul often proved difficult. Why was it that humans often used the free will the Father so graciously gave them to strain against His will?

  “I have already begun,” he murmured. “As long as You are with me, I do not fear failure.”

  “I am with you always, Messenger. You are never alone.”

  “I know, and I am grateful beyond words.” He hesitated. “The dreams I have initiated, Father…You approve?”

  A gentle touch on his shoulder reassured the angel. “I have used dreams to communicate with My children since the beginning of time. You are following My lead, and My Spirit will direct you, as always.” The Father’s answer, spoken softly and with immense love, comforted the messenger.

  “Thank you, Father.” Large, white wings tipped with purest gold trembled beneath the powerful love he felt for his Creator. “I live to please you.”

  “And you do, Messenger. You are the finest of emissaries.” After a moment of silence, the Father gave one wing a gentle stroke, thereby conveying His divine support, approval, and a promise to remain close throughout this new mission. Then He withdrew.

  The messenger remained where he was for some time, strengthening his work within the heart of the sleeping man.

  ****

  Logan Bullard sat behind an expensive easel that held a canvas fixed firmly inside strong support braces. Many of his paintings depicted the Pacific Ocean in one or another of her many moods. The wind often buffeted the shores from which he wielded his paintbrush, requiring special measures to keep his canvas from sailing into the sea.

  He’d found this niche in the rocks above the private beachline some time back. Miss Angie, who either owned or oversaw the beautiful Paradise Pines Lodge—no one seemed to really know which—had given him permission to work there whenever he pleased, and he’d taken full advantage of the opportunity. His own home also bordered a private section of the coastline, but he liked to capture the sea from as many angles of her impressive body as possible.

  This morning, the water’s stunning turquoise and deep teal tones reflected a bright sun and a clear blue sky. Still, Logan struggled to bring the scene together beneath his paintbrush. He scanned the shoreline and the waves, trailed his gaze across the miles of ocean, and stared into the sky. Nothing seemed out of place. He knew why he was bothered, although he couldn’t have explained how he knew. What he was seeing lacked some element that needed to be on this canvas. He knew that to be true without a doubt, but where had the odd idea come from? He returned his troubled gaze to his work.

  No one else, looking at the unfinished piece of art, would know it wasn’t right. But it wasn’t.

  For a time, he added a stroke here, a flourish there, a whitecap on the occasional wave. Nothing he painted onto the scene filled the empty spot he knew existed. At last, heaving a frustrated sigh, he looked once more to the ocean…and forgot to breathe in again.

  The missing piece of his painting stood at the edge of the waves, bare toes digging into the sand. Golden-blonde hair swung around narrow hips as a young woman in a long, full, white skirt swayed to music only she could hear. Face lifted to the sky, eyes closed, arms stretched out at her sides, the young beauty seemed to soak in not just the sunshine, but the very air around her.

  Logan drew in a gasping breath at long last, but could not look away.

  The girl whirled on her toes, conducting a perfectly executed spin. Did her tiny feet even touch the ground? After slowing—or perhaps floating to a stop, she swung her upper body one way and then t
he other in an infinitely graceful motion that seemed almost like…a dance!

  Yes. Enlightenment set his heart racing, while he returned to his painter’s stool almost without conscious thought, and his hand set to work, painting quick, strong strokes of color onto the canvas.

  Praise dancing.

  She held no colorful scarf, bore no flag in hand, had no audience—at least, none that she was aware of—and yet, the beach beauty was clearly lost in praise and worship, all alone on a private strip of seaside property near Cambria, California.

  He’d never seen such perfect form, nor such natural grace.

  Logan painted with feverish abandon, almost blindly, removing his gaze only bare seconds at a time from the barefoot stranger dancing at the edge of the sea with such glorious abandon. Beneath his brush, she soon appeared on his canvas—not in great detail, but a vague reflection showed itself with enough clarity to be unmistakable.

  He raised his gaze from a brief look at the canvas only seconds before it happened. He saw the huge wave coming, and his heart thundered when he realized she did not.

  Eyes still closed, head still lifted in silent praise, the dancer swung herself closer to the water than she probably meant to.

  The wave was bigger, stronger than any Logan had seen that day.

  The ocean had lain deceptively quiet and tame only moments before. The powerful burst of rolling water struck hard and fast, and in an instant, the girl disappeared, pulled beneath the surface and out to sea.

  Logan’s fingers released their grip on the paintbrush even as he launched himself toward the water...

  …and sat stiffly upright in bed, his pillow crushed to him. Sweat poured from his face, and for a moment, he lacked oxygen, as if he too struggled beneath the surface of the sea. Slowly, he came to a full waking state, and his chest loosened, allowing precious air into his lungs.

  A dream. Just a dream.

  Again.

  He swung his legs to the floor and reached for the glass of water on a table next to his bed. Relief washed over his entire being…body, mind and soul…followed by deep, shuddering regret.

  Watching the lovely dancer sucked beneath the pounding surf had been hard, tonight and every other night he’d watched it happen. But somehow, even in the throes of deepest terror, his dream-self had known he’d reach the girl. He’d save her.

  He had to, because she somehow belonged in his life.

  But all that was a dream, wasn’t it? The sorrow that threatened to break his heart in the aftermath of awakening was the realization that she wasn’t real.

  Logan set the glass back on the table and buried his face in his palms. “God, am I missing something? Why do I keep having this dream? Please…make it stop.” He lowered his hands and raised his face heavenward. “I’m falling in love with a woman who doesn’t exist.”

  1

  “Well, I’m going with or without you, Summer Callihan!”

  “That’s fine. Go without me. I’ve already said I don’t want to come along.” Summer sighed.

  Her younger cousin, Deah, seemed unable to exist without a great deal of drama. She’d made the threat as if it would convince Summer to dash off on yet another shopping spree, despite their agreement before setting out on this vacation to Cambria, California.

  Knowing the trip would be for the entire season—no one stayed at Paradise Pines Lodge under any other terms—Summer had laid out clearly defined stipulations before agreeing to come with Deah to the coast. She wanted to work. Her cousin wanted to play. They would each be free to do “their own thing,” without pressure from the other.

  Uncle Barry and Aunt Grace had agreed without hesitation. They simply wanted their daughter to have someone a bit more levelheaded with her, especially on such a lengthy vacation. In return, they’d pay Summer a handsome wage in lieu of the temporary jobs she normally worked on a nearly full-time basis.

  Summer wanted to remind them that Deah was no longer a child. At twenty-one, her cousin was only a few years younger than she. Chronologically, at least. Mentally and emotionally, Deah might never be an adult.

  Her parents couldn’t quite bring themselves to deny the girl anything. Hence their appeal to Summer to come along on a trip she would have preferred to avoid—or at least, to have made on her own. Rather than refusing to pay for the season-long playtime their daughter demanded, they coaxed Summer into a tentative alliance. She’d go along with Deah, but not as a full-time companion or overseer—simply to keep them apprised of their daughter’s well-being, since the spoiled woman-child seemed to hold little regard for safe practices, legal boundaries, moral limits…or keeping her parents in the loop so they wouldn’t worry about her in her absence.

  Of course, Uncle and Auntie would never define their daughter in that way. They preferred to think Deah simply threw herself so whole-heartedly into every situation that she forgot to follow the rules most people adhered to as a simple matter of principle.

  Summer always tried to manifest a sweet spirit, displayed the expected behaviors in almost every situation, and followed all rules to a fault, so her aunt and uncle adored her. Yet she wasn’t bossy or nosy or interfering, enabling Deah to tolerate her cousin’s company if it meant her parents would give in to her demands, as they always did.

  Truth be told, Summer longed for a chance to get in some serious writing time. She’d been working a series of temporary jobs that kept her bills paid, thinking she could work between assignments on the romantic novel she’d started writing months ago. But making a living meant accepting more jobs than she turned down. Writing might be her passion, but between work, keeping her tiny apartment clean and homey, teaching a Sunday School class for tween-aged girls, and doing her part on the church’s praise team, she had to adhere to rigid writing practices in order to meet deadlines on the contracts she was now getting on a regular basis. She hadn’t seen a huge return in royalties, but those welcome checks were a little larger each time.

  Not that anyone knew she was a published writer. She wrote under a pseudonym, and no one besides her publisher knew she and Shelby Callan were one and the same. That was the way she liked it. No one needed to know she spent her spare time with a variety of imaginary characters.

  Maybe while Deah hung out on the sand and surf, Summer could lose herself in fictional romance. At the rate she was going, it might be the only kind of relationship she ever experienced. She was simply too shy—and too busy—to work on a social life.

  “Sheesh, you’re such a stick-in-the-mud.” As if echoing Summer’s own thoughts, Deah spat out the insult. “I’ll be back before midnight.” She slammed the door as she took her leave.

  Summer sighed. Her gaze fell on her laptop, which she hadn’t had a chance to open since arriving at Paradise Pines three days ago. Her cousin had dragged her from one touristy shop to another, East Village to West Village and on to Moonstone Beach. Finally, today, Summer stood her ground and refused to go.

  As she’d known would happen, Deah threw a tantrum, and then settled into sulky acquiescence when her histrionics proved unsuccessful. By this afternoon, she’d have forgotten she ever wanted Summer along for the ride. The younger woman had already made friends since they arrived, and Summer had no doubt she’d be absorbed in a series of beach parties, bonfires, and shopping tangents before many more days slid by.

  Which worked perfectly for Summer’s own plan.

  She jumped up with a grin and grabbed her laptop. After peeking out the window to make sure her cousin’s little red rocket-on-wheels was really gone, she gave a delighted chortle and headed for the private beach behind the lodge.

  Finally, a chance to write. On the beach. All alone.

  Paradise, indeed!

  She found a perfect spot, hewn into the rocks above the beach by eons of incoming and outgoing tides. After spreading the quilt she’d brought along to sit on, she allowed herself a few minutes to enjoy the ocean’s beauty, and then lost herself in the world of her hero and heroine.

/>   She didn’t allow her gaze to even drift toward the water for the next hour and a half. The roar of the ocean, the sting of the salty breeze, and the extraordinary peace of nature all worked together to whet her senses to a sharp, creative point. She hadn’t experienced a writing session quite so satisfying in…well, ever.

  And that kind of blessing deserved a bit of gratitude.

  She put her laptop to sleep, closed the lid, and grinned when yet another bit of divine fortune presented itself. A narrow gap between two large boulders provided a perfect place to stash the computer for a short time while she stretched her legs on the beach.

  At the water’s edge, she gazed out toward the horizon. Tears stung her eyes, and then burst free to run in rivulets down her face. The wind dried them in an instant, but a fresh torrent quickly followed. Such splendor, right here on Earth! Why would she be considered worthy to behold the breathtaking perfection of the scene now before her?

  “Many, O Lord my God, are Thy wonderful works which Thou hast done.”

  The soft words somehow carried above the roar of the waves, and yet failed to startle Summer. Instead, the Paradise Pines landlady’s voice soothed and quieted her spirit.

  “Miss Angie!” Summer turned a welcoming smile on the lovely woman who had appeared at her side as if out of nowhere—ridiculous thought, of course. But then, from the first time she’d laid eyes on the older woman with her crown of pure white hair, sky blue eyes, and a smile that seemed to make the whole world right, she had sensed something special about Miss Angelina Love. Being around her filled Summer’s mind with the sweetest of music, and soothed her heart with gentle spirit flutters. “That’s from the book of Psalms, isn’t it?”

  “That it is, child.” Miss Angie spread her arms, indicating the entire vista of water and waves, white clouds and blue sky. “And so is this one, which I think of each and every time my eyes feast on the wonders He created. ‘Let the heaven and earth praise Him, the seas, and everything that moveth therein.’” Miss Angie shot Summer a twinkling smile. “I hope you don’t mind the King James. It’s still my favorite, despite all the newer, ‘more easily understood’ versions. I love the poetic beauty of the old language.”