Hurricanes in Paradise by Denise Hildreth (best ereader under 100 .TXT) 📗

had driven her crazy. Especially after Dubai. But now, right now, in a strange room on an island in the Atlantic Ocean, in the ruins of what had once resembled a life, she wished it were true. She wished so many things. The words ran through her mind again. “You’re never so far . . .”

She felt worlds away from everything. Yet she spoke anyway. “I want to be found,” she cried. “Can the lost be found?”

As soon as the words fell from her lips, a breeze blew past her. Her head rose quickly, the air against her wet face making her aware of every track a tear had left. She looked at the glass door to see if it had flown open, but it was closed. Tightly. She laid her head back down on the carpet. “Please, please find me.”

The breeze blew again. This time harder, swifter. And she knew. She knew she had been found. The breath of heaven swept over her. She lay there, letting it make its way to every empty cavity of her soul. It was as if she could feel it coursing through her very veins, bringing life to places in her being that had never lived. The warmth of it was real and raw and transforming. She wept at its gentleness and prayed it wouldn’t hasten its departure. It felt strange yet familiar. It felt kind yet authoritative. It felt consuming yet forgiving. And it felt as if it knew her inside out. As if it created her. As if it had been waiting for this moment, and when she had relinquished herself, it was there to finally take up residence in the soul of her. The soul it had created.

When the healing of every broken place inside of her had rested from its work, she turned over, lay on her back, and stared at the ceiling. In that moment she knew that Mitchell was right: you could never travel so far that heaven couldn’t find you. And Roy had been right too: you had to admit you were diseased before you could ever be healed.

Two hours passed before she raised herself up off the floor. But when she got up, something inside Laine Fulton was no longer lost. No, something—if she was willing to be honest—had been found. She just never dreamed she’d have to come to a place called Paradise to find it. But she knew that there really was healing here, if you were truly willing to admit you were sick. She could only hope that it wouldn’t stop there, because there was so much left to redeem.

* * *

Winnie sat on a thick-cushioned chaise in the lower lobby breezeway that connected The Cove and The Reef. She leaned back into the deep cushion and pulled her tennis shoe–clad feet up on top. She took a sip of her grande mocha Frappuccino and pulled her blueberry muffin from the vellum brown bag. She had walked a couple miles and once again avoided the Beach Towers. She took a bite of her muffin and chewed as she looked out at the immaculate tropical paradise in front of her. Nature was singing to her and she loved every minute of it. At some point she might even tell her kids how absolutely wonderful this entire trip had been. Once she was home and had successfully avoided Albert.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it, baby?” She spoke to the air.

Birds chirped as they flew from palm tree to palm tree.

“I knew you’d think so. Can’t believe I let you get me addicted to these Starbucks thingamajigs. I wouldn’t look so voluptuous if you hadn’t turned me on to them.”

She giggled.

“I know you like me this way.”

She took another sip of her coffee and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. She quieted her conversation when she heard someone round the corner.

“Winnie Harris? Is that you?”

Winnie turned her head and all but choked on her muffin.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He reached out to pat her on the back as she leaned up and coughed.

“Albert Wilson, what on God’s green earth are you doing here?”

He laughed and ran a tanned hand over his pink polo shirt. “Probably the same as you. Getting a little R & R for a few days. My kids kept telling me I needed to get away.”

Winnie set her coffee and muffin on the little copper drum she had pulled up next to her to serve as a side table. She threw her feet over the side of the chaise and sat up straight. What she had been avoiding she now sat directly across from.

“Mind if I sit down?” He motioned to the other end of the chaise.

She eyed him, trying not to seem as suspicious as she felt. His stature was still tall and lean for his seventy-five years. His white hair was trim and neat and his blue eyes as piercing as Winnie’s own. Maybe that’s why she didn’t trust him. That and the fact that he was almost as handsome as Leslie Nielsen, who had made her husband laugh so ridiculously in that Airplane! movie. She scooted to the edge of the chaise, tempted to grab one of the cushions and put it between them. “No. Sure. It’s fine.”

“You look beautiful, Winnie. Seems like the sun is agreeing with you.” He tugged at the ends of his khaki shorts as he sat.

She dabbed at her cheeks. “I guess so, yes.”

“So what brings you here, to this exotic piece of paradise?”

She had no idea why he used the word exotic. It came out downright sultry with his rich Southern drawl. “My kids bought the trip—to torture me, I’m beginning to think.” She raised her right eyebrow.

He laughed. “Our kids must be very similar.”

“Similar how?” she inquired. She knew he was in on the whole thing.

“Worried about us. Mine won’t let me breathe anymore without knowing where I am. I was glad to get away just to get out from under