The Wedding Quilt

Cover Page

Excerpt

LENORA WORTH

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

“Don’t do this, Rosemary,” he said.

“Don’t punish yourself or me this way. Think about us. Think about this.” He reached out a hand. “Put your hand in mine.”

“No,” she said, a plea in the one word. “I can’t.”

“Rosemary, God doesn’t want you to be alone. He’s not cruel that way. Together, with His guidance, we can figure this out.”

“No,” she said again, her heart breaking. “Let’s just leave it the way it is. Go,” she whispered. “Before we wake my father.”

“I’ll wake him,” Kirk replied, angry now. “I’ll wake this whole town and tell all of them that I care about you and I want to be with you and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Hearing him say the words aloud made her realize she felt the same way. But she was still afraid to make good on her feelings. Yet she knew Kirk was right. She had asked God to forgive her, to give her a second chance. Maybe this was that chance.

Slowly she reached out her hand to him. Kirk pressed his hand to hers, his eyes searching her face in the moonlight.

“Tell me you’ll pray about this, Rosemary. Promise me you’ll ask God to guide us.”

“I will,” she said, meaning it. “I’m asking Him right this very minute…”

grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to write. But first, she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.

A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue full time her dream of writing. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.

“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I get to combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best possible combination.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”

—Ecclesiastes 3:1

To my sister, Glenda, who died from a wreck involving a drunk driver in 1991. We all miss you still.

To Suzannah, a friend who believed in the good in me and taught me so much about courage and dignity.

And especially…to my niece Crystal Howell Smith. Hope this helps to ease your pain.

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.”

Rosemary Brinson read the familiar words of Ecclesiastes and took comfort in the sure knowledge that God was watching over her, and that a new season was on its way.

Today would be different. Today was a new beginning, Rosemary decided as she gazed out her kitchen window, toward the tall spire of the First United Methodist Church of Alba Mountain, Georgia.

Today the steeplejack was coming.

Everyone was talking about Kirk Lawrence, the man Rosemary had personally hired, sight unseen, to come to the little mountain town of Alba to restore the fifty-foot-tall steeple of the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old church, as well as renovate the church building itself. The small-town gossip mill had cast Kirk Lawrence to heroic proportions. From what Rosemary had found while doing phone interviews and research on-line, the man could leap tall buildings with a single bound, provided he had a good pulley and a strong rope and cable, of course.

In spite of her pragmatic, levelheaded approach to hiring the steeplejack, Rosemary couldn’t help feeling the same excitement as the townspeople. She’d last spoken to Kirk Lawrence two days ago, and she still remembered the way his lyrical accent had sent goose bumps up and down her spine.

“I’ll be arriving sometime, probably late afternoon, on Monday, Ms. Brinson. I’ve studied the plans and the photographs you sent me, and I do believe I can have your church looking brand-new in a few weeks. I look forward to taking on the task.”

“Please, call me Rosemary,” she’d stammered, in spite of trying to sound professional and all-business. “And you’re sure you don’t need a place to stay?”

“No, I have my trailer. I’ll be comfortable there.” A slight pause, then, “It’s home, after all.”

Home. A travel trailer with another trailer full of equipment attached to it. What kind of home was that?