Finding Faith

  “Deeply moving, utterly inspiring and beautifully written. Denise Hunter’s Finding Faith dares to examine the worst in marriage—and the best.”

  Lois Richer—Author, Secrets of the Rose

  “No one can write a story that grips the heart like Denise Hunter. Her newest book, Finding Faith, is a roller coaster of emotion with finely drawn characters set in an impossible situation. The final twist had me gasping. If you like Karen Kingsbury or Nicholas Sparks, this is an author you’ll love as much as I do.”

  Colleen Coble—Author, Alaska Twilight, a Women of Faith selection

  “Finding Faith is a story bathed in compassion. Can a woman’s actions be unforgivable? The novel kept me in tears as the characters struggle to find truth. A captivating story that will touch every woman’s heart.”

  DiAnn Mills—Author of sixteen books, Writing Coach

  “Finding Faith is a fine story of forgiveness and love, seasoned with a dash of suspense. Denise Hunter handles tough subjects with a deft hand and biblical wisdom, while giving readers a novel they won’t want to put down.”

  Kathryn Mackel—Author, Outriders

  “In Finding Faith, Denise Hunter skillfully paints a story of desperate choices with dire consequences. A realistic blend of love and pain. Finding Faith gives us a glimpse of life’s challenges and reminds us once again of a faith that will see us through it all.”

  Diann Hunt—Author, Hot Flashes & Cold Cream

  “In Finding Faith, Denise Hunter once again brings me to tears with her thought-provoking story. This is one that will linger long after you read the last page. For depth and emotion, Denise Hunter always hits her mark.”

  Kristin Billerbeck—Author, What a Girl Wants and She’s All That

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  All novels are the collaboration of many people, and this author is thankful to everyone who had a hand in this book’s production. First of all, I’d like to thank God who, during my formation, added an extra dose of imagination. What a fun gift it has turned out to be!

  Thanks to all the people at Howard Publishing, who work so hard getting my books and many others into readers’ hands. Thanks especially to my editors, Philis Boultinghouse and Ramona Tucker, who made editing an enjoyable process.

  I also wish to thank my dear friend and critique partner, Colleen Coble, who reads every word I write and isn’t afraid to tell me when it’s all wrong!

  For particular details in this story, I relied on Thomas Smith and the entire Sinclair family: Mark, Gina, Mindy, and Tyler. Thanks, guys, for all your help! Last, but not least, thanks to Kevin for putting up with my wandering mind and my boring writer-talk. Love you, hon!

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  “I’m ready to go,” Paula Landin-Cohen called to her husband, David, as she snapped the latches on her suitcase.

  The house rang with a familiar silence.

  She checked the bag for her boarding pass and driver’s license, then hefted the suitcase down the curved staircase, eying the bank of windows on the front of the house.

  December had blown into Jackson Hole, Wyoming, with cold, biting winds and at least a foot of snow. Chicago’s weather would be no better, but just the thought of the big city left her feeling as though she could soar there without benefit of Delta. As she had the past few months, she pushed aside the bitter memory of her first visit there and focused on her future.

  Setting her suitcase by the door, she checked her Movado. “David, we have to go.” Her voice echoed up the vaulted ceiling and through the cavernous kitchen, but this time drew a reply.

  “Fine,” he called—from the office, she thought.

  OK, not the tone she hoped for, but at least he was talking to her today.

  She grabbed her Burberry coat from the closet and wondered if she should take her warmest one too. Fashion overruling practicality, she closed the door just in time to catch David’s hand.

  “Do you mind?” he said.

  She backed away, ignoring his snippy tone. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this for her. She checked her bag again for the boarding pass and license. She was being compulsive, but she couldn’t let anything go wrong with this flight. She went through the list of things she’d need over the coming week. Had she packed her tape recorders? Before she could panic, she remembered sliding them into her briefcase.

  David stepped around her in his charcoal, woolen coat, picked up her suitcase, and walked out the door. Paula turned on the threshold and gazed at her home. Sweeper marks striped the beige carpet, running parallel across the expanse of the great room like yard lines on a football field. Her socks from yesterday lay in two distinct balls by the sofa.

  She turned the lock on the doorknob and shut the door behind her. David placed the suitcase in the rear compartment of the Cadillac Escalade and pushed his trendy glasses up on the bridge of his nose in a movement as familiar to her as the smell of her own home. So familiar that she rarely noticed it unless she was away for several days. She wouldn’t see David push his glasses up, smell his spicy cologne, or watch him squint over the Wall Street Journal for six days.

  He opened the car door for her, and she slipped inside before he clicked it shut. In spite of their problems, in spite of his relentless blaming and silent treatment, she didn’t want to part this way. Not now, when she was about to do the most exciting thing of her life. She wanted someone to share it with. Someone to be happy for her. Someone to cheer her on back home. Heaven knew her family wasn’t doing that.

  David slid in behind the wheel and started the vehicle. His movements were sure and precise. Another man’s motions would reveal his anger, but not David’s.

  “Well,” she said, “at least you’ll be able to keep the house clean this week.” She delivered the line with a hint of humor, planted there in hopes of coaxing him from his disagreeable mood. She cocked her head the tiniest bit so she could watch him from her peripheral vision. When his face gave nothing away, she almost wondered if she’d spoken the words aloud at all.

  Paula turned forward and stared out her window. It was fine with her if David wanted to leave things this way. She could do this alone. She was a grown woman.

  They headed up Snow King Avenue toward the Snow King Resort. Already a few dedicated skiers swooped down the slopes on this lazy Sunday morning.

  She consulted her watch again. Her parents would be getting up for church about now—her mom boiling water for that wretched cup of instant coffee. Hanna and Gram would be making breakfast for the guests of Higher Grounds Mountain Lodge while Micah shoveled the two inches of snow that had fallen overnight. Natalie would be scurrying to get breakfast ready for Taylor and Alex after an undoubtedly sleepless night with her adopted newborn, Grace. Her stomach tightened at that one.

  She squinted out the front windshield, up Cache Street, the road that would take her out of there. They were making good time. All the tourists had evidently stayed out too late drinking to do anything more than loll in bed.

  As they crossed the line that demarked the edge of Jackson Hole, Paula almost expected the raucous blowing of party horns. She’d waited all her life to exit this miserable little hole in the middle of nowhere, and today was the beginning of that dream. But there were no party horns. She wished the radio were
on so she didn’t feel as if she was about to choke on the silence. She struggled to think of something to say. She, whose words usually came easily and flawlessly.

  “Your clothes should be ready at the cleaners by five tomorrow,” she said. It was lame, unnecessary even, since David knew very well when his clothes would be ready. At least she was trying.

  But he sat beside her as cold as a mountain glacier. Couldn’t he at least grunt? Even when she’d come home two days earlier with her auburn hair straightened, he hadn’t so much as glanced her direction. Of course, having her natural curls pulled straight would have bothered him at one time. Now the stiff set of his shoulders made her wonder if he was ever going to thaw.

  This is Paula Landin-Cohen, reporting from inside an SUV, where a man is attempting to freeze his wife with the cold vapors emanating from his body. Join us at eleven, and we’ll give you all the details on this story.

  They passed the Elk Refuge, but all Paula saw was acres of snow behind the fence. She looked at her watch again.

  “You’ve got plenty of time,” David said.

  She didn’t know whether to be thankful for his first voluntary words or peeved at his tone. She decided on the latter. He’d done nothing but snub her for months, and for what? She was innocent, and he was too stubborn to believe it.

  “You know, we’re married, David. A little kindness wouldn’t hurt.”

  His jaw twitched. “Married people don’t live across the country from one another.”

  Like he cared.

  “It’s only temporary.”

  Her last word rang out in the car like an echo across Granite Canyon. At least they were talking. OK, arguing, but it was better than the silence.

  “Not if you get your dream job.”

  If words could wear a sneer, those two did. And it rankled. Heat prickled her skin under the coat, and she felt like her temperature had shot up ten degrees. “Why do you care, anyway? You’ve walked around for months, giving me your self-righteous silent treatment. Now I won’t be in the way. Not me or my soggy bath towel or my dirty dishes. You can live in your sterile house and keep it just the way you like it.”

  He had no right to deny her this opportunity or to make her feel guilty about leaving. He made decisions without her approval. Why should she have to get his?

  He turned the car into the airport, and she realized this was it. They were parting as enemies on the biggest week of her life. Why had she imagined calling him on Monday night from Chicago and sharing everything that had happened? There was no reason to call home. She would go back to her apartment after work tomorrow with nothing to greet her except silence.

  David pulled the vehicle up to the building and got out. Paula waited on the curb as he lifted the suitcase out and set it at her feet. He straightened and looked her in the eye for the first time in weeks. Face-to-face, they stood closer than they had since that day when everything had changed. Was he regretting his harsh tone?

  Their breaths expelled in cold puffs, mingling in a dance more intimate than anything they’d done together in a very long time. She had a sudden memory of their first kiss . . .

  * * *

  It was their third date. She was teaching him to ski at Snow King, teaching him how to snowplow to control his speed, when the tips of his skis crossed and he went down. She snowplowed to a stop, laughing. They spent the whole day laughing. But when she saw he wasn’t moving, her laughter stopped.

  “David?” She sidestepped up to him, kicked off her skis, and sank onto her knees.

  Reaching for her, he suddenly pulled her down on top of him. Bundled in so much clothing, he felt like a big, cuddly, teddy bear under her. His eyes sparkled with laughter.

  “That was not nice,” she said.

  “It worked, though.” His glasses were slightly cockeyed.

  The stirring in Paula’s stomach felt right and wonderful.

  As his grin melted away, the look in his eyes could have melted the snow around them.

  She went warm all over in spite of the cold temperature. Their winter breath met and blended together. He cupped her face and pulled her toward him until their lips met.

  * * *

  “I’m sure you can get a porter to help you from here.”

  The cold tone yanked her from the memory.

  “Or maybe you can charm some guy into carrying them for you.”

  The words cut deeply. He was so wrong about her. So wrong about all of it. When would he believe her? What did she have to do to prove it wasn’t true? He made her feel somehow guilty, like a little girl sitting in a principal’s office.

  Yes, the words hurt, but she didn’t allow a trace of it to show on her face. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had, since David was walking away.

  Walking toward his side of the SUV.

  Getting in.

  Driving away.

  Paula picked up her suitcase and walked toward the airport door.

  And that’s a wrap.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  “What can you tell us about the new trauma wing, Mr. Boccardi? How will its addition help the people of Chicago?”

  Paula watched Darrick Wilmington as he placed the microphone in front of Chicago General Hospital’s president. She wished she were anywhere else. Why, of all places, did she have to come here on her first day on the job? She tried to focus on the man’s answer, but her heart picked up speed, and her breathing accelerated to keep up. Her heart was racing, wasn’t it? She laid two fingers against her neck. Yes, racing. And pounding. What was wrong with her?

  She had to get out of here.

  She looked around the room. Steve, the cameraman, and Darrick were focused solely on Mr. Boccardi. Maybe she could just slip out.

  A second later she realized, No maybe about it. She had to get out of there.

  Backing out of the room, she strode down the long, sterile hall. Her heels clicked with each step. She drew in gulps of air, blowing them out through her mouth. A nurse passed, and Paula wondered if the woman could tell something was terribly wrong. At least it felt terribly wrong. Did she need help?

  She stopped beside a coffee machine, tucking herself away on the other side of it.

  Get a grip, Paula. Just breathe. Everything is going to be OK.

  Was she having some kind of reaction to the bad memories this place was stirring up? A panic attack because of the stress associated with the new job?

  Her hands trembled as she gripped them together. She willed herself to be calm. Finally her heart and breathing began to slow. Her mind stopped spinning. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Whatever that was, she hoped it didn’t happen again. She had to pull herself together before they went back to the station.

  Reaching into her purse, she pulled out some coins and dropped them into the machine. After they clinked to a stop, she pushed the decaf button. A cup fell into place and began filling with what she hoped was drinkable coffee. She didn’t need the caffeine. If anything, she needed a tranquilizer. Looking around, she supposed she was in the right place to get one.

  She sipped from the cup while inhaling the strong brew. Tugging her bag back up on her shoulder, she walked back down the hall. When she reached the office where Darrick was conducting the interview, the door was closed. Rather than causing a disruption, she passed the door and rounded the corner to a small waiting area.

  She took a seat across from a woman clad in khakis and a pale orange sweater that washed out her fair skin. Today had been an exciting, educational experience. Field reporting was a different bird than what she did at WKEV in Jackson Hole. There was actually real news to report every day. They covered an accident on the tollway that took two lives and a robbery at a convenience store. She was eager to learn and hoped she’d be ready next Monday, when she would be on her own.

  “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Boccardi too?” The voice came from the woman across from her.

  Paula cleared her throat. “I’m with the new
s crew that’s interviewing him right now.”

  “Oh.” The woman twisted the straps on her black purse. “My husband and I have an appointment with him, and I was just wondering if there was a line.” Her lips tipped up on the sides. At least Paula thought it was a tip, but it may have been a quiver.

  “Are you OK?” Paula didn’t know what prompted her to ask. Maybe it was the blend of sadness and anxiety that darkened the woman’s eyes. After her episode a few minutes ago, she was feeling prone to sympathy regarding anxiety.

  The woman drew a shaky breath. “Just nervous. This is an important meeting. I hope it goes well.”

  “Mr. Boccardi is a nice man. I’m sure it’ll go just fine.”

  The woman nodded. “You have such beautiful auburn hair.”

  “Thank you. It’s a gift from my Irish ancestors.” Paula was glad for the distraction of small talk. Besides, the woman seemed like she needed someone to distract her from her upcoming meeting.

  “Did they pass on the legendary temper too?” The woman smiled.

  “My husband would say yes.” Paula returned the smile.

  The office door opened, and Darrick exited with Steve.

  Paula stood. “It was nice talking with you. Good luck on your meeting.”

  The woman thanked her before Paula joined the two men. They removed their coats from the chair where they’d been left and slipped into them.

  “Ready to head back to the station?” Darrick asked.

  Paula agreed and followed the men through the building. The antiseptic smell filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn. She never wanted to come back here. Some memories were better buried forever.

  When the cold air hit her face, she breathed in deeply, as if it would wash the acrid smell from her lungs. Eager to forget her experience at the hospital, Paula plied Darrick with questions all the way back to the station. When they arrived, Miles Harding, the producer, called a meeting in the boardroom. Finally having a chance to talk privately with Miles, she thanked him for the potted African violet and the nice note of welcome that had been on her doorstep when she arrived the day before.