13

He made it to the porch swing without ever touching the ground.

Winter returned within moments. She handed him one of the two steaming mugs she’d brought out and nodded toward the empty space on the swing. “Is this seat taken?”

“It’s reserved for someone really special.”

She grinned and sat next to him—closer than was probably safe, but Brady made no objection. “Then I think I’ll stake a claim.”

“Good move.” He lifted his cup. “And good coffee. Thank you.”

“You haven’t even tasted it.” She made a wry face. “How do you know it doesn’t taste like mud?”

“I can smell it. And you made it, so I’m sure it tastes at least a little like Heaven’s own brew.” Winter’s soft laughter tugged at his heart.

“Schmooze.”

Brady chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I can be a little corny.”

“I love it, angel man.”

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

They both looked up. Winter gasped.

Brady didn’t make a sound. Was that…?

A cardinal perched on the rail. He’d rapped on the wood, and Brady had the strange certainty the bird wanted their attention.

“We’re listening, little one.” Winter must have come to the same conclusion.

The bird hopped a few steps closer and then opened his beak and started singing. One tune after another. At least three songs, back to back, with barely a pause between. At last, he ended the solo performance with a low churr, churr, churr.

Brady sidled a glance at Winter and found her gazing back at him, wide-eyed.

Chip, chip, chip.

Yet another sound emerged from the cardinal’s throat. He spread his wings and rose a foot or so off the rail, where he hovered, watching the two of them as if expecting something.

“That was beautiful, Red,” Winter breathed. “I’d give you a standing ovation, but I’m afraid it would scare you away.”

Brady put his hands together and offered a round of silent applause.

The bird flew toward the opposite end of the deck and back again. Once, twice, and a third time. Then he was gone, soaring off into the trees.

“What…was…that?” Winter seemed barely able to speak.

“The time of the singing of the birds is come,” Brady murmured. “And the turtledove is heard in our land.”

“I don’t understand.”

Brady pulled in a breath and smiled. “That’s a verse of scripture from Song of Solomon.”

“I see. I have to admit I don’t know much about the Bible—hardly anything, although I’m embarrassed to say so, given present company.”

“Well, the Song of Solomon is quite poetic and very romantic. It’s set up as a somewhat lengthy dialogue between a young man and woman in love.”

“I had no idea the Bible included anything about romance.”

Brady smiled. He slipped an arm around Winter and drew her close to his side in a comfortable, sweet embrace. “The Bible is full of love stories, although the word ‘romance’ is never mentioned. God Himself is the ultimate Lover of souls. He woos us with patience and passion and loves us with an eternal, unending love.”

“Maybe you could read to me from the Bible sometime?” Winter’s request came in a quiet, almost reverent tone. “I’d like that, angel man. A lot.”

He set aside his coffee and drew her in for what he told himself would be the last kiss of the evening. “I’d like that a lot myself, my beautiful gift from the sky.” He touched his lips to hers then.

Winter snuggled into his arms with a contented sigh that Brady felt all the way to the bottom of his heart.





Winter had kept to herself for a few days, researching the Rory Cope scandal. Now she knew exactly who Jeremy wanted her to find and why, and the knowledge had her nerves in a sorry state. “Grrrr!” She dropped her head into one hand and groaned aloud. What had she gotten herself into?

After the magical evening she’d spent with Brady only a few nights ago, how was it possible to be so stressed and strained now? How could a human body even sustain such wide swings of emotion?

According to her research, a few years prior to the popular televangelist’s downfall, he had discovered and recruited a dynamic, handsome and “anointed” protégé—whatever that meant. Ethan Miracle joined Rory Cope Ministries at barely seventeen years old and brought new life and power to Cope’s platform. The younger man’s dedication and sincerity, raw talent for speaking, and pure charisma drew in a more youthful, more vibrant audience and shot Cope Ministries’ ratings right through the roof.

Miracle left family and home the moment he graduated high school and traveled the world with his famous mentor for almost four years. Every tidbit of information Winter read painted a clearer picture of a young man who didn’t want to be a celebrity, hated that portion of his place in Cope’s world, and endured the cameras and screaming fans only because he sincerely felt he was “where God wanted him to be.”

The young preacher always presented a humble face to the public. Never a hint of self-aggrandizement, never a spot in the tabloids or television news due to behavior unseemly for his “calling,” and never any obvious signs of annoyance or arrogance with the screaming crowds of young fans who followed the gospel troupe from place to place and singled him out for their attention.

When Cope Ministries fell apart after Rory’s involvement with human trafficking came to light, the boy preacher vanished without a trace. His family refused to speak with the press. The few members of the fallen ministry who cooperated with newshounds drew the line when Miracle’s name came up. Either they’d all made a pact to protect the boy, or they honestly hadn’t a clue where he was. Perhaps both.

Winter nibbled at her bottom lip. Poor kid. If he hadn’t known what Cope was doing behind the scenes, on the illegal end of his activities, then it must’ve come as a nasty shock to discover his mentor had clay feet.

But that was an enormous if. How could anyone work so closely with another individual for that long and not know something wasn’t quite kosher? Of course, Miracle had been young, and by all accounts he’d all but idolized his mentor. Lacking experience and thrust into a world in which celebrity status came with the job, who could blame him for having blinded himself to any clues—and there had to have been a few of those here and there. Winter refused to believe anyone could so thoroughly hide all evidence of the sleazy, immoral activities for which Cope had been convicted.

She’d looked into the possibility of speaking with the man himself, but Cope had died in prison only months ago. Winter snorted indelicately. His death was probably the catalyst that brought someone forward with veiled hints about Ethan Miracle’s whereabouts.

Frustrated, she eyed her dwindling list of nine Cambria ministers. She’d crossed off three lady ministers, three who were in the wrong age group, and one Catholic priest.

That left only two possibilities…and Brady was one of them.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Every time she thought about their unexpected, last-minute date, she relived every moment right down to the swirls of emotion in her tummy and the barely bridled passion of their kisses. Brady’d proved a perfect gentleman, refusing to let things get even remotely out of hand, even though she knew he felt the pull of attraction as much as she did. Where did he find that kind of strength?

Winter stiffened her shoulders and forced her mind back on track.

Wherever Cope’s young mentee had gone when he’d vanished from the public eye, he’d never resurfaced. If Jeremy’s lead proved valid and Winter’s investigation unearthed Miracle’s whereabouts, the subsequent story could catapult her into the journalistic fame she’d always longed to achieve…and destroy the life Miracle had made for himself in this beautiful, seaside village.

Her stomach gave a lurch. What if Brady…?

She closed her eyes and every moment they’d shared since her abrupt arrival in Cambria played like a film reel behind her eyelids. The kindness he’d shown her and her brother. The magical day in San Luis Obispo. The sweet, perfect moments with him whenever they spent time together. After all that, could she rip off his mask and expose him to the world, if Brady really was Ethan Miracle?

Oh, God, how do I handle this?

Her eyes snapped open. Had she actually just breathed a prayer for the first time in her life? She huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair, no doubt completing the totally tousled look she’d worn all day. So what if she’d prayed? If any situation ever warranted help from some Higher Power, this one certainly did.

Who could blame Ethan Miracle for wanting to hide who he was? Either he’d known about Cope’s seedy secret life and ignored it, or he hadn’t known and had been crushed and disillusioned, as had thousands of the evangelist’s followers. If he did live in Cambria, he’d gone to great lengths to remake himself. He didn’t want to be found, and chances were, not a trace of his old identity existed by now. Which meant…

Winter sat up, her heart racing. A surge of hope curved her lips upward for the first time all day.

If the man truly wanted to hide who he was, perhaps he was no longer involved in the ministry at all. Maybe neither of the two churches on her list was pastored by a man who’d once been Ethan Miracle, because that man had stopped preaching and found another vocation.

A familiar tingle of excitement caught her by surprise. She’d always felt it when delving into a new story, but this one hadn’t produced that rush of adrenaline until now, and Winter didn’t question why. She might be kidding herself, but the possibility that Rory Cope’s disillusioned protégé might have abandoned the ministry offered a slim hope that Brady wasn’t a decade-older Ethan Miracle. The few photos she’d dug up of the young man were grainy at best, and most often showed only a profile or had been snapped at a distance. None provided enough definition for her to venture a guess as to whether the boy and Brady Merckle were one and the same.

Winter’s father had always told her in crisp, no-nonsense, military style, that an unpleasant job was best tackled head first and with no hesitation. So no more sitting around making herself sick with “what ifs.” She’d call the one minister who remained on her list ahead of Brady. If he could convince her beyond possibility of error that he wasn’t Ethan Miracle, then she’d set up a meeting with Pastor Brady Merckle and give him the same unyielding line of questioning the Baptist minister was about to receive.

Becoming a celebrity newscaster wouldn’t happen without a few hard decisions along the way. She’d always known that. But who would have thought the price might be her heart and soul? She leaned across the sofa and reached for the phone, determined to make that call before she could change her mind. It rang just as her fingers touched the receiver.





“Where are we going?” Winter eyed Brady as he turned the car onto the highway, off the Paradise Pines entrance.

Despite the need to stay focused on her investigation, she’d been unable to resist Brady’s invitation to “do something” with him. Three days had passed since their dinner with Dec and Raine on Friday evening. Three nights since those magic moments on her porch swing.

Plenty long enough to have experienced serious doubts about her sanity in allowing those knee-weakening, heart-pounding kisses. Ample time to find that she missed Brady’s beautiful blue eyes…the touch of his fingers twined with hers...the rumble of his deep voice, especially when he used it to murmur sweet words against her ear.

She’d never made the conscious decision to let the angel man into her heart, but Winter had always faced every issue head-on—in true military fashion, as her father had taught her. She didn’t waste time or emotion telling herself that she and Brady shared a simple—but incredibly strong—physical attraction. The ache in her heart at the thought of leaving him and returning to Cornelius Cove suggested otherwise. That her assignment might cause Brady pain, or adversely affect his status in the Cambria community, elicited an unbearable, stabbing flame of agony somewhere even deeper in her being.

So she’d accepted his invitation without a moment’s hesitation, even though he gave her no clue as to what he had in mind. Even now, in response to her question, Brady only slanted a bright sapphire gaze her way, raised both dark eyebrows, and curved his lips into a small, secretive smile. “Does it matter, Kalani Wonder?”

She opened her mouth to protest his use of her name, but somewhere between his question and the sharp response she intended to voice, she discovered that it didn’t matter. On Brady’s tongue, Kalani sounded exotic and wonderful and altogether celebrity-worthy…and she loved hearing him say her name.

“Not at all, except that you told me to wear comfortable shoes, which suggests there might be some exercise involved.”

Brady chuckled. “Just a bit of a stroll, actually. You OK with that?”

He took her hand and gave it a gentle finger hug, and any argument she might have made became null and void.

“More than OK.” Winter gathered her courage and scooted across the seat, close enough to feel his hip against hers. “As long as you’re strolling with me.”

Because she’d snuggled so close against him, she felt him tense…just a quick flash of stiffness, and then it was gone. Perhaps she’d only imagined it, but if not, she didn’t want to know what that tiny withdrawal was about—not today. Not yet. So she laid her head on his shoulder, determined not to read anything dire into the moment.

“Your hair smells like sunshine.” Brady’s voice held an unfamiliar, raspy gruffness. “And strawberries. And sweetness.”

“Hmm. Do you like sunshine and strawberries—and sweetness, of course—or should I change my shampoo?”

“Don’t you dare.” His thumb made little circles across the top of her hand. “But it isn’t just your shampoo, Kalani. It’s you. Just…you.”

Before she could think of a response, he swung off the highway and steered the car into a mostly empty parking lot. Winter’s gaze darted this way and that. A parking lot for what? Where were they?

Brady opened her door and pulled her up and into his arms. “I know I shouldn’t, but…” He hooked a finger under her chin and nudged it upward, and then bent his head to claim her lips. The kiss was quick, sweet, and utterly earth-shaking.

Winter’s knees trembled, and she leaned against his chest for support.

Brady made a guttural sound and set her gently but firmly at a safe distance. “Let’s go.”

“OK.” Winter didn’t feel rejected. Nope. And she wasn’t even a little hurt by his firm refusal to take that promising kiss up a notch. She shoved all the possibilities into a mental compactor, put a tight lid on it, and flipped an imaginary switch designed to get rid of any hurt and rejection for all time. “But where are we?”

“At Moonstone Beach. I thought a walk beside the ocean sounded nice.” Brady opened his trunk, pulled out a backpack, and strapped it on. Then he wrapped his fingers around hers. “Gives me an excuse to hold your hand while we walk.”

So maybe she hadn’t been totally rejected.

She leaned in to kiss his chin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Brady set off on a walk that trailed beneath a short stretch of pines and onto a boarded path. “This is the Moonstone Beach Boardwalk. We’ll take it for a half mile or so, where there’s an access way down onto the beach.”

Winter swept her gaze across the crashing waves.

The ever-present seagulls enacted a graceful air dance, diving toward the water one moment, soaring across the waves the next.

“Look!” She pointed toward a couple of white egrets up the shoreline. Black oystercatchers hopped around their long legs, apparently unafraid of the larger creatures. Neither of these birds was new to Winter, as both were plentiful in Cornelius Cove.

Brady nodded. “I love watching the birds. We’re blessed with quite a few different species in this area.”

“We see a decent variety in Cornelius Cove too. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen any like those.” She indicated a group of small, black birds clustered on a branch that protruded from a low bluff below the boardwalk.

“Those are black phoebes. Pretty little things, aren’t they?” Brady grinned. “They’re common along the coast, so I’m sure there are a few in your neck of the woods. You’ve just been stuck behind that fancy anchor desk too long. You’re missing out, Kalani Wonder.”

She laughed. “Are you ever going to call me Winter again?”

“Probably not. I like Kalani—it’s beautiful, like you.” He winked, and then a little frown creased his forehead. “Unless it bothers you, of course.”

“No.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I kind of like Kalani too…when you say it.”