For All Eternity
June Foster
For All Eternity
Contemporary Christian Romance
For All Eternity is fiction. None of the characters, or the names used for them, represent any person, living or dead. The events mentioned in this book are fiction. Scripture portions are taken from the New International version of the Bible.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from its author except for brief quotations in printed reviews. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Cover design by Darko Bovan
Copyright © 2014 June Foster
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1502361531
ISBN-13: 978-1502361530
DEDICATION
I'd like to dedicate this book to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. When God put this story in my heart in 2009, I had no idea I'd begin writing Christian fiction only months later. This story is special as it was the first of many others about characters who find victory in their lives through God and His Word.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Helen Lynch and Joe Foster for their diligent help in reading through the proof copy. Thanks once again to my amazing critique partners, Mildred Colvin, Vanessa Riley, Gail Pallotta, and Connie Almony. Thanks to God Almighty, the author and creator of all things, who assures us of life with Him for all eternity.
"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast." Ephesians 2:8-9
Chapter One
Joella Crawford pumped her Schwinn harder. Two minutes to get to class. At the curve, the paved trail veered left toward a lofty elm. The pink chiffon scarf around her neck caught the cool spring breeze and whisked into her eyes. With one hand, she batted the filmy fabric. She drew in a solid breath and released it. Whew. Almost there.
A man stepped out on the trail dead in her path.
"Oh. Oh. Oh—watch out!"
His eyes wide, he pivoted.
She squeezed the brakes and swerved to her left.
He dove to his right.
Whack!
"Agggh."
Her bike skidded one-eighty, in a wide arc.
The victim tumbled off the narrow lane. His backpack flew against a tree with a thump.
She slid to a stop. Dropped her bike like the handlebars burned.
He groaned, cradling his leg.
Joella bolted to him and dropped to her knees. "You okay?" Her pulse pounded a wild beat. Under the tear in his jeans, a gash oozed blood.
"Say something. Should I call 9-1-1?" Her gaze swept across the deserted campus lawn. A ribbon of air escaped her mouth.
He gaped at her, pale blue eyes squinting in pain. Blades of grass twined through his light-brown hair.
In dread, she leaned forward, examined the wound, and touched the edge of his raggedy jeans. Was he going to die?
"I'm okay… I think." He drew back with a groan and sucked in jagged gulps.
Joella yanked off her backpack with the earthquake kit tucked inside—standard California equipment. "Can I have a look at that cut?" She wasn't a nurse, but she couldn't sit back and allow the poor guy to lie on the grass and bleed to death.
Propped up on one elbow, he reached for his knee and peeled the torn fabric farther from the wound.
She slipped on latex gloves before she grabbed her unopened water bottle and flushed the bloody skin.
His face bleached white and eyelids drooped as he glimpsed at the gory cut.
Oh, no. He's passing out. Going into shock. Her heart constricted. She shoved the bottle into his hand. "Here, sip this."
The guy grimaced and lifted the water to his lips.
"I've got to put hydrogen peroxide on the wound to clean it." A length of her hair brushed his arm. She flung the strand behind her ear.
"I'll be brave." He bent his injured leg closer to his body and a grin curved his lips.
She tried to determine the shade of his eyes. Azure? Sea foam-blue?
He nodded toward the medication. "I'm ready to proceed with the torture."
She dabbed at the abrasion, using a compress from her case. Steadying her hand, she sprayed the liquid on.
"Owww." He screwed his face like a prisoner suffering persecution.
"Sorry, but hydrogen peroxide shouldn't hurt that bad." She pressed gauze against the gash, used surgical tape, and tied the bandage with her scarf. There. That would protect the dressing.
"Pink?" He stared with raised eyebrows at the makeshift bandage. "Is—is that necessary?"
Maybe he preferred a blue scarf? A giggle slipped her lips before she could retrieve it. "It'll keep the tape in place."
Get serious. My recklessness wounded the guy. Heat traveled to her cheeks as she stuck out her hand. "I'm Joella Crawford, and I'm afraid the police will revoke my bike license after today."
"JD Neilson." He extended his limp hand.
Why hadn't she seen this cute, witty guy around campus before?
Joella glanced over her shoulder where her bike lay. "I think when I came around the bend, the elm tree blocked my view." She swallowed hard and turned back to her injured victim. "Who knew my bike could be a weapon? I hope you can forgive me."
"I might." A mischievous glint flashed across his eyes.
Definitely sea foam-blue.
He sat up a little straighter. "I think my knee wrestled with that rock after your treacherous bike knocked me down." A sharp, angular stone was embedded in the grass near where he'd fallen. "If you'll help me back to my truck, I can drive home."
Her mouth went dry. So that's what caused the nasty cut. "Do you trust me to get you to your vehicle?"
"I know it's a great risk, but I'll chance it."
Despite the fact she'd nearly ended this gorgeous man's life, he was flirting with her. "Let me stow my bike." With a quick swirl of her combination lock, she chained her bicycle to the poplar tree next to the path. She slipped her backpack over her shoulders and glanced at her watch. No way she'd make class now. Even if Advanced Furniture Design was only a refresher, she hated to miss it. Still, escorting JD to his vehicle held more importance.
She leaned over him and stuck out her hand. "Let's see if you can stand."
Reaching out for her fingers, he hopped up on his right foot, his left dangling three inches above the ground. "Ouch."
If she had a cut that deep, she'd be crying. "I'm so sorry. I feel awful." She moved closer and wound his arm around her shoulder. "Lean on me." His heart beat a comfortable rhythm next to her skin.
Near the elm tree, JD's backpack lay on the grass, books and papers strewn over the ground. Not only had she run the guy down, she knocked his school supplies halfway across campus. "Hold on. I'm going to grab your bag."
He hopped on one foot then balanced with a hand on the tree.
Books, pens, papers—even a half-eaten sandwich were strewn everywhere. "I feel even worse now." She stuffed them into his backpack.
"No problem." He let go of the tree and grasped her shoulder. "I needed to clean out my backpack anyway. I've got an extra hand over here."
She passed him his backpack, then resumed her position as crutch to the funny, but probably attached guy. Who knew? He could be married or someone's boyfriend. Oh, well. She wasn't going to worry about it now. Her feet stumbled along as he held tighter and hobbled down the trail toward the parking lot.
"Hold up a second." He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder. "Okay, I'm good."
They staggered along again. Was the heat on her neck from embarrassment or from the warmth of his muscular arm around her?
"Wait a seco
nd." A furrow creased his brow. "I've got to be too heavy for you."
At five feet nine inches, Joella considered herself strong and athletic. "No worse than hauling my bike down the steep sides of the Grand Canyon. Where's your truck?"
"Right here." He grinned and pointed to the white Dodge Ram in front of them. With a lurch, he grabbed the side of his vehicle as she released him.
What a tease. She waved her hand in the air. "Do I need to open the door for you, too?"
"I'm feeling faint again. I think you'd better help me in." He leaned back against his truck and threw his arm over his eyes.
Joella opened the driver's door and gave him a gentle push. She could keep up this silly banter all day. "There you go."
Instead of getting into his truck, he caught his hand on the roof and raised an eyebrow. "I've decided I'm not going to forgive you yet."
His penetrating eyes captured hers. "In fact, I'd better get your phone number in case I decide to sue." He pulled a pen out of his pocket. "Oh yeah, and so I can return this pink scarf." His mischievous smile remained on his lips.
"I work downtown if you want to drop it off at New Trend Interiors. I'm a decorator there." He was kidding about a lawsuit. Right?
"Hey, I'm not far from you. My office is a couple of blocks north in the Ormond Complex — Grant, Tucker and Associates Accounting Firm. I'm one of the associates." A chuckle escaped his lips. "Will you be in Monday morning?"
Did she want to leave the door open? Maybe. But she didn't want to sound too enthusiastic. Or even too optimistic about getting to know this guy. "Sure, or you can leave it with the receptionist."
His smile faded as he tossed his backpack on the passenger's side and edged into the driver's seat.
Joella's conscience jabbed her. It was her fault she'd knocked him down. "I'm sorry I ran over you, JD. If you come in Monday, on second thought, ask for me. I'd like to know how you're doing."
"I will. Besides, I'm still considering a law suit." His gaze swept across her after he shut the door and rolled down the window.
She threw her head back and laughed. "Maybe I can talk you out of it. Or bribe you with a cup of coffee and a Danish." She flicked her hair back from her face and let it fall to her shoulders. "Do you think you can drive?"
"Yeah. You left me one good leg. I have an advantage here … I use my right leg on the gas pedal." An infectious grin lit his face as he put the key in the ignition. "Oh, and next Saturday when I come to campus for my business seminar, I'm going to stay clear of you if you're on a bike."
"Good idea." She stepped backward, sending him off with a wave. Why did she feel this man she'd sent tumbling was about to make her world spin?
*****
Joella smothered a yawn and trekked down the extended hallway to her office near the front reception area. From the employee's lounge the earthy aroma of fresh coffee met her nose. Umm. Some of that would taste good. She jiggled her key in the lock, strode inside, and plopped down in the chair behind her mahogany desk. In six years, she'd never regretted her career choice of creating beautiful living spaces for clients.
Her computer powered on, and she glanced at her appointment book. What did her schedule look like today? Oh, yeah. The Burchett's this afternoon.
The informational page on Mr. and Mrs. Dale Burchett held notes from the initial phone call. Though Mr. Burchett described their condo as a bit dated, Mrs. B expressed her total dissatisfaction with the decor. The lady of the house couldn't wait to see changes.
Joella squared her shoulders. The clients should like the preliminary design and contemporary paint samples.
Gliding one finger down the list of colors in her products notebook index, she covered another yawn. Better get a cup of coffee. She grasped her old college mug and stepped into the hall.
Near the main entrance, Shelly sat at the elegant teak and leather receptionist's desk. If JD brought her scarf back, he'd come in the front. Maybe she'd tell Shelly to expect him. Or not.
Poor guy. His leg must be killing him today. What if he went for stitches?
The brewing java drew her to the lounge like a bleary-eyed mother with a newborn. Joella balanced her cup under the spigot and filled it with steaming black liquid.
Back in her office, she sank down in the chair and opened the products book, thumbing through fabric samples. Her first step after today's conference —a visit to the Burchett home to assess the details of their project.
Another sip of hot coffee. Time to wake up, for Pete's sake.
Since Saturday afternoon, her injured victim filled every thought. Even at New Life Fellowship yesterday, Pastor McNeely's message had eluded her for most of the service.
If she squeezed her eyes shut, she could still see the good-looking guy grinning at her. He'd captured her attention with his tall, muscular frame and light blue eyes, and impressed her with his crazy sense of humor.
After she'd caused him an unpleasant injury, he seemed to forgive her. He appeared more mature than some of the guys she knew.
With a shake of her head, she attempted to get her meandering thoughts on her work and off JD.
A packet of forms neatly filed in the bottom drawer along with an empty manila folder, and she'd be ready for clients.
Joella's busy appointment book stole her attention again. She'd begun to establish her reputation, and she didn't mind bragging about a long list of references.
The warm drink boosted her outlook. If she continued to produce a quality product and watched her budget by living in the apartment on her parents' property, there'd be enough money to meet her goal in another six months to a year.
Once again, the dream unfolded in her mind—to visit the grand homes and castles of Europe and see the fabulous interiors of those magnificent buildings. Every time she allowed the thoughts, she got more excited. Not only would the continent come alive with a firsthand experience, she'd strengthen her designing skills. As if to stand witness, travel brochures scattered around on her living room coffee table were now frayed from constant use.
Back to reality, she rubbed her temple and poked her head out the office door.
Shelly held a phone to one ear and moved the mouse next to her computer.
The starburst wall clock said nine—way too early for JD to stop by. He'd likely return her scarf at lunchtime.
The Baxter's Wholesale Furniture catalogue sat on top of the oak filing cabinet. Joella grasped it and settled into the office chair again.
If JD delivered the scarf, maybe she'd suggest they grab something at The Bread Works down the street. Another glance at the clock told her it was only nine thirty. She had to stop thinking about the hunky guy—but how?
What was her problem? She didn't know much about him, except he had a good career, a witty personality, and a forgiving nature. But these qualities attracted her like texting to a teenager.
*****
The next time she glanced up, her stomach growled. Twenty minutes after noon. JD must have decided not to stop by. Her shoulders sagged, and she blew out a slow ripple of air. It didn't matter about her scarf. But what condition was he in—limping, crutches, broken leg? Her ringing phone caused her to flinch. "Yes, Shelly."
"Hey, Joella, just wanted to know if you're going to lunch. We can grab a bite at Bread Works if you'd like. I'm craving something sweet for later. Maybe one of those chocolate bunnies, since Easter's coming up."
"Oh, sure." The cafe sounded great, but she'd hoped to go with JD this time. "Did anyone drop something off for me this morning?" Maybe he left the scarf but didn't ask to see her.
"No. I don't believe so."
Joella gave herself a mental shake. A cute guy who hadn't kept his promise. What else was new? "Okay, then. Give me two minutes, and I'll meet you out front."
What made her think a man she'd literally run over would want to see her again? He'd probably tossed her a line, no different than most of the other men she'd dated. She shook her head to dispel the disappointment erodi
ng her confidence that JD would be the decent guy she'd dreamed of meeting.
Shelly waited in front. Hopefully Joella could mask her emotions in front of her co-worker. None of the guys she dated made her feel worthy of respect—especially when they found out about her past. A sigh escaped her lips. She had to stop dwelling on this intriguing guy who looked at her like she was the most attractive woman in the world.
Chapter Two
JD stroked the stubble on his chin and snagged a peek at his watch. Six o'clock. Well past time to leave. His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the desk. The last trial balance on the account had equaled out—a good starting place to inspect the records again tomorrow morning.
The top cushion on the leather chair supported his head as he rubbed his stiff neck. A little irritating that the CEO, the operations manager, and the purchaser over fourteen Sherman's Auto Parts stores showed up two hours late. Not only that, they insisted on a working lunch.
Since the clients fired one question after another during his presentation, it had taken all afternoon to relay the information. But he had to convince them his suspicions about the Fresno store were valid. After all, the manager's weekend deposits for store number ten had dropped consistently week after week, and the sixty percent cost of goods wasn't in line with the other branches.
Some of the day's frustration faded as he whisked a hand over his brow. Thankfully, the three execs finally saw the need to scrutinize the manager more closely—a relief they'd come to a mutual decision.
A large adhesive bandage covered the still raw wound. Limping toward the office window proved painful.
Saturday he'd contemplated going to the emergency room but decided against it. After all, the attractive interior designer treated his injury at the crash site.
Sunlight bounced off the roof of his Dodge Ram. He snapped his fingers. Joella's pink scarf still remained undelivered in the passenger seat.