A Twist of Faith: Will a wager against her future steal her chance at true love? Read online

  A TWIST OF FAITH BY PEPPER BASHAM

  Published by Firefly Southern Fiction

  An imprint of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas

  2333 Barton Oaks Dr., Raleigh, NC, 27614

  ISBN: 978-1-941103-88-3

  Copyright © 2016 by Pepper Basham

  Cover design by Elaina Lee, www.forthemusedesign.com

  Interior design by AtriTex, www.atritex.com

  Available in print from your local bookstore, online, or from the publisher at: www.lighthousepublishingofthecarolinas.com

  For more information on this book and the author visit: www.pepperdbasham.com

  All rights reserved. Non-commercial interests may reproduce portions of this book without the express written permission of Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas, provided the text does not exceed 500 words.

  When reproducing text from this book, include the following credit line: “A Twist of Faith by Pepper Basham, published by Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas. Used by permission.”

  Commercial interests: No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by the United States of America copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are all products of the author’s imagination or are used for fictional purposes. Any mentioned brand names, places, and trade marks remain the property of their respective owners, bear no association with the author or the publisher, and are used for fictional purposes only.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION r. NIVr Copyright c 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

  Brought to you by the creative team at Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas: Eva Marie Everson, Edwina Perkins, Jessica R. Everson, and Deb Haggerty.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Basham, Pepper

  A Twist of Faith / Pepper Basham 1st ed.

  PRAISE FOR A TWIST OF FAITH

  Filled with humor and warmth, A Twist of Faith is a charming story set in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Faith and family add depth to this heartwarming tale of brokenness and second chances. Basham weaves a unique tale sure to please the romantic at heart.

  ~Denise Hunter

  Bestselling author of Married ’til Monday

  Eliza Doolittle digs her heels into the Appalachians in this witty and delightful charmer by Pepper Basham. A beautifully written tale that will sweep you away to a cozy spot in a mountain cabin. Highly recommended!

  ~Janice Hanna Thompson

  Author of the Weddings by Bella series

  Pepper Basham updates the beloved classic tale of “My Fair Lady” with a fun twist: this time the professor is a woman with something to prove as she tries to prep and polish an Appalachian farmer for a big-city job interview.

  ~Beth K. Vogt

  Author of Wish You Were Here and

  Take Another Look

  Pepper Basham throws us into the culture of Appalachia with a cheeky grin, promising we’ll love it… and we do. This romance hits all the right notes with a prickly heroine on the verge of having it all but has no one to share it, and a wounded hero on the verge of losing it all but surrounded by a steadfast and loving family. Sweet, light-hearted, and enough romance to make Eliza Doolittle give up her flower stand- this one is a keeper.

  ~Mary Jane Hathaway

  Author of Pride, Prejudice, and Cheese Grits

  With seamless writing and effortless charm, this unlikely romance will remind you that love often finds us where we least expect it. And somehow that makes the journey even sweeter. Pepper Basham’s mastery of ‘happily ever afters’ may incline you to race ravenously to “The End” yet each word might as well be the finest chocolate, filled with warmth and sweetness meant to be savored.

  ~Amy Leigh Simpson

  Author of When Fall Fades

  Romance filled with sparks, country twang and Blue Ridge spice, Pepper Basham has spun a story sure to engage hearts and leave the most hopeless of romantics with a heady sign at the close of the last page, yearning for more from the Virginia hills and Reese and Adelina.

  ~Casey Herringshaw

  Author and ACFW Carol Awards Coordinator

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Every book takes research of some amount or other, even contemporary books, and I couldn’t have finished this story without certain supports.

  To my crit partner, Amy Leigh Simpson, you were the first to read through this entire story and fall in love with it! Thanks for the amazing feedback and encouragement.

  To champion blogger and encourager extraordinairre, Carrie Booth Schmidt, who pumps endless amounts of support my way on a daily basis. So thankful for her faith in my writing… and me.

  To my dear friends and former colleagues, Teresa Boggs, Lynn Adams, Lindsay Greer, and Marie Johnson…thank you for being readers, brainstormers, and tireless encouragers on this journey.

  To Buford Harmon, his invaluable personality, knowledge, and love for ‘home’ provided great information about cattle farming.

  To my parents who have tirelessly believed in my ‘call’ of story-creating…and who are probably the BEST marketing team on the planet.

  To my Granny Spencer, who provided a beautiful example of God’s grace in the joy she found in her faith, family, home, and community. She was an amazing Christian matriarch and her influence touched so many lives. I am beyond grateful to have known her.

  To my daughter, Lydia, who is so proud of my writing and is the coolest teenage girl I know because she ‘gets’ the fact that I still talk to imaginary friends.

  To the Giver of great and life-changing stories. May our hearts always find a place called ‘home’ in the assurance of His love.

  DEDICATIONS

  To my family, Dwight, Ben, Aaron, Lydia, Samuel, and Phoebe, who have prayed with me before I’ve submitted manuscripts, encouraged me through rejection, and provide daily inspirations to my life. I am blessed beyond measure with your love.

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  DEDICATIONS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  Thanks to the Following Authors for Their Support of A Twist of Faith

  A Gift for You

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  ONE

  …………………………………

  Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Sha
kespear and Milton and The Bible; and don’t sit there crooning like a bilious pigeon.”

  (Pygmalion, Act 1)

  PHD WAS NOT SUPPOSED to smell like this.

  Adelina Roseland dropped a box of research articles onto the floor and stifled a deep breath as the strong aroma of naturally fertilized farmland wafted in from the open window. The small room with, apparently, no air conditioning, defied any prestige the brass placard on her mahogany desk could have given:

  Adelina.N. Roseland, PhD

  Assistant Chair

  Department of Communicative Disorders, Blue Ridge University

  She tossed her bag on the desk and contemplated closing the window, but a cool morning breeze blew in for a moment’s respite from the stuffy warmth in the room. Stale heat or the scent of country charm? She sighed in resignation to the irony of life and kept the window open. Country charm it was.

  She paused a moment at the window to take in the view—the pull from a horizon of blue mountains almost irresistible. They shouldn’t draw her or provide any comfort. The memories of her childhood should snuff out any longing the fog-covered sea of mountains encouraged, but instead of pain, she heard the gentle hum of her granny’s voice. The soft song from the past threatened to awaken feelings and memories she avoided like black-eyed peas and family reunions. But it called her to remember—to soften the sadness, loss, and grief.

  Her throat tightened as unbidden memories peeked into the present. She pushed them away, determined to leave her unsavory past in the place where all bad memories go: one-on-one intensive psychotherapy.

  With a deep breath, she turned her back to the window, to the memories, and faced her future. The office. Her office. Two massive bookshelves lined the nearest wall across from her mahogany desk, and an armchair sat near the window as if in invitation to sit and gaze out at the rolling green vista. Another bookshelf stood behind the desk next to a floor lamp and a leather desk chair.

  She sighed and placed her plant and calendar on the nearest shelf. The office might lack Charlottesville’s class and appeal, but it was hers—and it was temporary. She’d been handpicked for this experimental satellite program from her coveted University of Virginia, and if she succeeded, her dream job dangled like a prize at the end.

  Running wasn’t an option.

  She’d worked much too hard. Focused. Driven. A bit obsessive, if her previous ex-boyfriends had anything to say, but not a runner. She ran a hand over the front of her plum suit jacket and infused her thoughts with courage she didn’t feel, drawing in a defiant deep breath of stale air. Maybe an element of prestige hung somewhere between the farmland and fertilizer after all.

  A smile quivered as her dad’s old adage echoed in her head, strengthening her will. Everybody starts somewhere, Dee. Ransom, Virginia, was a start but certainly not an end.

  She reached into her bag and claimed the desk with one single item—her father’s picture. His intense eyes gazed back at her from the woodgrain frame, reminding her not only of their shared hazel hue but their shared dream for her life—full professor at UVA Charlottesville.

  Remembering him, the usual ache around her heart flared to full sting. She could almost hear his baritone voice, almost smell his scent of English Leather and pipe tobacco. Determination fisted her hands. She’d prove herself, even now. Make him proud. At least she could do that one thing for him.

  “I see you’ve found your office.”

  Dr. Alexander Murdock’s voice sliced into her solitude like missed high notes on a fiddle. And straight to her last nerve. She steadied her expression and turned to face him.

  He stood framed by the doorway. Every piece of his six-foot-two frame blared flawless. From his dusty-blond hair sculpted to Michelangelo-like perfection and his Grecian nose down to the pristine lines of his navy suit. Pretty is as pretty does, her granny used to say—and Dr. Murdock embodied the perfect descriptors of the last three men in her life: gorgeous, arrogant, and self-absorbed. Oh, why did he have to be her immediate supervisor? Hadn’t four years as his research assistant been enough punishment for one lifetime?

  “Dr. Murdock?” Dee tightened her arms across her chest, his annoying presence the possible root of her often-recurring migraines. Oh, well, it was either clench her jaw and instigate a headache, or say something she’d live to regret a long time, like the length of her freshly-signed contract. She bit back a sigh, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “What might I do for you?”

  He advanced into the room as if waiting for a drum roll to begin. Or had it already started pounding a rhythm inside her head? She almost prayed for strength. Almost.

  “Dr. Murdock?” He raised a questioning brow above one of those pale green eyes of his and walked past her, taking his eternal smirk and overpowering Polo cologne to the window.

  The ache deepened at the edge of her forehead. Yep, migraine cause confirmed.

  “Adelina,” he said slowly. “We’re colleagues now. Call me Alex.” He frowned. Then closed the only source of fresh air. “Besides, as much research as we’ve done together, we already have the start of a good friendship. Right?”

  Sure, if slave and master fit the start of a good friendship. Adelina forced a smile and hoped her expression wasn’t as sardonic as it felt. “In that case, you should call me Dee.” Not really. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “Ah, well, I had to personally deliver some paperwork to Dr. Russell to finalize this little university’s new connection with Charlottesville. It’s already starting several weeks behind schedule, so we don’t want to have any more delays.” He picked up her father’s picture, stared a moment, then carelessly placed it back on the desk. “I thought I would go ahead and drop in while I was here.”

  She caught the frame before it toppled over the edge and pulled it close to her chest. “How often, by the way, should I expect your visits?” Please say never.

  “Monthly, as agreed upon by the program committee.” Dr. Murdock pulled his iPhone from his jacket pocket and thumbed over the screen, dropping his comment in silence.

  Dee swallowed the little taste of envy in her throat. PhD—check; iPhone—no. She had her priorities in order. Keurig machine and a new car before an iPhone. Surviving on coffee and microwavable mac-n-cheese through college deserved some rewards.

  “Emails will do for the rest of the time.” He slid his phone into his pocket and stepped to one of the bookshelves, examining the two lone items she’d randomly placed there: her faithful plant, Desperaux, and her Calvin and Hobbes year of quotes calendar.

  His fingers drifted over the peace lily, which had survived all four of her moves in the past five years. If nothing else, the poor plant deserved a consistent owner, even if it couldn’t get a permanent home. Then he tilted the Calvin and Hobbes calendar up toward him. She’d read the one for today as she’d unpacked it.

  “So is this a lucky underwear day?” Alex waved the calendar at her, condescending humor undeniable.

  “A lucky underpants kind of day.” The correction popped out before she could catch it.

  His delayed reaction confirmed his disbelief. “You have these memorized?”

  A swell of warmth burst into her face. She spanned the distance between them and retrieved the book. “Of course not.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  She cleared her throat and thumbed toward a plastic tote of books on the floor nearby in an attempt to divert his attention from her drowning embarrassment. “I haven’t even been to my rental house and … as you can see, I still need to unpack.”

  “So I noticed.” He turned abruptly, then sidled over to sit in the office chair. Her office chair. “Always work before comfort, right, Dee?”

  She pushed a loose piece of her dark hair back into her bun and placed her father’s picture back on her desk as she tempered her retort. “Well, one of us has to work.”

  He laughed and threaded his hands behind his head as he stretched back in her chair. “Being on your home tur
f is bringing out your country charm.” His green gaze took an impish turn. “Didn’t you grow up somewhere near here?”

  Placing distance between Alex’s cologne and her assaulted sense of smell, Adelina shelved a few books and rearranged her Calvin and Hobbes calendar. “Yes.”

  “Quaint.”

  Quaint? She turned. He had no idea about the Appalachian culture. Quaint described little of her experience within the folds of the rural Blue Ridge. Another one of the many reasons she never wanted to return.

  “There’s something about it.” His softened voice drew her attention back to him. He was staring out the window. “I never imagined a real place like Mayberry.”

  Alex loosened his tie. The edges of his hair matted against his damp forehead.

  Adelina stifled a laugh. Maybe the heat would send him all the way out of her office.

  “What’s it like?” His expression took on genuine interest that put her on guard. He only sobered from the confident-rich-kid routine when he was serious about something—usually women. “You know? Coming back home.”

  Maybe the heat was going to his head. “This isn’t home for me.” Growing up in the culture singed any desire to return. The lure of the mountains beyond her window had her heart palpitating a retreat rhythm.

  Alex cleared his throat and stood, casting another glance out the window. “The town seems idyllic—something from a movie set. I’ve never seen a place quite like it. I thought maybe it was a good place to call home, that’s all.” The contemplative look on his face evaporated with his shrug. “Who needs to worry about home when we have our work, right?”

  His declaration shook her. Was he right? All she had was her job?

  Alex flipped through a random phonology text on her desk. “And while I’m here, I need to get a copy of those last ten cases you completed.”

  “My cases?” Her contemplation ground to a lurching halt. “Why?”

  “I’ll need the information for my presentation at ASHA in November.”

  The temperature in the room vaulted to volcanic proportions … He wouldn’t.