Finding a Way Home

By Cynthia Hickey

A wounded heart
A guilty heart
Redemption

Shelby Jenkins, former bad girl of Springdale, left town at 18 when her boyfriend's best friend attacked her. Now, seven years later, she's returned with her daughter to run the diner left to her by her late grandmother. Can Shelby and the town let bygones be bygones? Can Shelby trust that God knows what is best for her as she is drawn back into caring for her first love?

Blake Harvey is riddled with guilt over his part in Shelby leaving town years ago. Can she forgive him? Can he accept her forgiveness if it's given and make amends to his past treatment of her?

Find out now in this sweet story of forgiveness and healing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Hickey
• Release date: Jul 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201765484

Cynthia Hickey

Multi-published and best-selling author, Cynthia Hickey, has taught writing at many conferences and small writing retreats. She and her husband run the publishing press, Winged Publications, which includes some of the CBA's best well-known authors. They live in Arizona and Arkansas, becoming snowbirds with two dogs and one cat. They have ten grandchildren who them busy and tell everyone they know that "Nana is a writer."   

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FINDING A WAY HOME

By Cynthia Hickey

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Copyright 2013

Written by: Cynthia Hickey

Published by: Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

Cover Design: Cynthia Hickey

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

No part of this book may be copied or distributed without the author’s consent.

Content Disclaimer: This book deals with domestic violence and other mature themes. While the author has endeavoured to address these sensitive matters in a compassionate and respectful manner, the issues covered may trouble some readers. Discretion is advised.

Chapters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

1 Peter 1:6-7

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory, and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.

1

Shelby Jenkins clutched the steering wheel and cranked it hard to the right, fighting to keep the ‘62 Chevy pickup from fishtailing. A massive pine tree loomed. Her daughter, Skye, screamed as they bounced halfway into a ditch. A hubcap rolled across the road like a tumbleweed.

A blown tire. Wonderful. Just great. Shelby had recently canceled service on her cell phone, and they were still three miles from her mother’s house.

Mommy!

It’s okay, baby. She patted Skye’s shoulder. I’m going to find us some help. She climbed out and stood, hands on hips, and searched the highway.

The sun glinted off metal in the distance. Shelby marched to the center of the road and waved her arms. Uh-oh. She shoved her hands in her pocket as a police cruiser pulled alongside he. The world tilted when she recognized the officer.

Jeff Davis strolled toward her, wearing dark sunglasses, and a smirk. Well, well, well, if it ain’t Shelby Jenkins. Long time no see. Does Blake know you’ve returned? He motioned his head toward the truck. Nice wheels.

No. Her heart hitched when he said Blake’s name. I have a flat. Can we cut the small talk? I could use some help.

Jeff moved his sunglasses to the top of his head. Well, I don’t know. I’m kind of busy. I don’t get paid to be a mechanic.

Please. She dug her nails into her palms, willing the whine to leave her voice. My little girl is in the truck waiting. We’re on our way to my mother’s.

Yeah, I heard you came to help with Down Home Cook’n. He moseyed to the Chevy and hefted her spare out of the bed. I almost had a heart attack. Never thought we’d see your face around here again. Although, it is still a mighty pretty face and the body ain’t bad either. Maybe we can have dinner sometime.

Her insides crawled. Returning to Springdale ranked at the bottom of her list. Especially with empty pockets and a mother who laid a guilt-trip ten miles long. If not for the stipulations of Grandma’s will, she’d still be in Oklahoma slapping plates in front of hungry customers.

Shelby gritted her teeth and thanked Jeff as he strolled to his patrol car, tossing a wink her way. She shuddered and crawled into the truck’s cab, then spun gravel to maneuver onto the blacktop.

Obviously, nothing ever changed. The men would still wink to her face, and make snide remarks behind her back. The women would cast daggers. Fine. While she was here, she’d endure. She didn’t plan on settling down in Springdale anyway. Not unless God cemented her feet to the pavement. She snorted. Like that would happen.

Pulling into the driveway, she glared at her childhood home. When she’d left Springdale, a bad reputation nipped at her heels. Her return didn’t carry any plans to restore her good name. People could think what they wanted. She’d fulfill the obligation to help her mother, and then move on again. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

She cut the ignition to the rusty, rattletrap truck, releasing an obnoxious pop of smoke from the tailpipe, and then glanced at her daughter. Skye slept, neck bent awkwardly over her seatbelt. Shelby smoothed a lock of Skye’s raven hair away from her face and smiled. How could she have been blessed with such a gift? Despite the horror of Skye’s conception, Shelby treasured each breath her daughter drew.

A hug from her chubby arms, a glance from chocolate-brown eyes, and a dimpled smile, all served to keep Shelby grounded.

With a sigh, she turned and gazed at the ranch-style house nestled beneath magnolia trees heavy with blooms and leaves. A picture of tranquility. Too bad looks were often deceiving. No time like the present to step back in time.

Shelby stretched across the ice chest in the center of the seat and unhooked Skye’s seatbelt. Wake up, baby girl.

She slid from behind the wheel, then stepped across the uneven ground to the opposite door. Skye was already slipping out of her seatbelt and to the ground, face rosy from her nap.

This is where I grew up. Shelby put her arm around Skye’s shoulder.

Can I play on that tire swing? Skye pointed to where a swing hung from a massive Magnolia tree.

Later.

So, you’re here.

Who’s that? Skye whispered, the words ringing louder than they should.

Shelby stiffened and turned to face her mother. The last seven years had been kind to her. Few gray strands marred the dark auburn waves. Laugh lines radiated from her blue-grey eyes. Jeans and a turquoise tank top formed an attractive outfit, making her mother look years younger than fifty.

Yes. She tightened her arms around Skye. How’d you find me anyway?

I paid an Internet service thirty-five-dollars to hunt you down. You should’ve kept in touch. It would’ve made my search easier. Then maybe you could’ve attended your grandmother’s funeral.

Shelby swallowed past the lump in her throat. Being notably absent from her grandmother’s deathbed added one more sticker to her bad-girl chart. Come and meet your granddaughter. Skye slipped her hand in Shelby’s and stared unblinkingly at her grandmother.

It’s all right. She doesn’t bite ... much. Shelby bumped Skye with her hip.

Josephine Jenkins’s gaze softened. I’m pleased to finally meet you. It’s been way too long.

Hi. Skye crowded against Shelby.

Mom sighed, her face falling. Come on in, and we’ll get you settled.

Shelby released Skye’s hand, then grabbed the suitcases from the bed of the truck and shuffled behind her mother and daughter. Home again. Scary.

She glanced over her shoulder. Were the neighbors watching? How long would it take for someone to come knocking, offering good wishes and a false welcome, just to see what Shelby’d been up to since fleeing Springdale?

Waitressing probably wouldn’t count as a successful profession in the eyes of most people. She squared her shoulders. Let them judge.

The top porch step creaked, propelling Shelby to a year before she’d left home. After her father’s death, her mother had hardened like the trunk of an oak, and yard maintenance took a backburner. Now, with flowers in pots and lining the walks, it seemed as if she’d gotten a new lease on life.

Shelby hefted the cases to a more secure hold and followed her mother inside. The familiar scent of vanilla oil greeted her. Polished wooden floors shone in the foyer. Her mother continued to lead until they halted outside Shelby’s former bedroom.

It’s exactly how you left it. Mom pushed the door open.

The suitcases dropped with a thud. Shelby stared at the full-size bed complete with purple-flowered spread and white dust ruffle. Posters of past rock icons decorated the walls. A favorite stuffed bunny reclined against slightly flat pillows. Oh man, it was like she’d never left.

Why didn’t you turn it into a guest room or something?

Skye released her hand and jumped on the bed.

Mom shrugged. Figured you’d find your way home at some point.

Pathetic. Twenty-five years old, and her mother’s sharp words could make her revert to a fifteen-year-old.

And it’s about time I got acquainted with my granddaughter. Mom sniffed.

Shelby’s face heated. She lowered her voice and checked to make sure Skye still occupied herself by playing. Oh, really? The grandchild you wouldn’t acknowledge before her birth? The one who cast shame upon the family name?

That’s water under the bridge.

Not to me. I needed my family. She turned from her mother and waved Skye inside. This used to be my room. I’m sure my Barbie dolls are still in the closet.

All your things are. Mom stepped back. Darla should be home from work soon. I’ll finish supper while you unpack.

Darla. Her older sister and nemesis.

Shelby plopped on the edge of the bed. Deep within the confines of her closet, Skye rummaged through the few toys of Shelby’s childhood.

Ugh. Shelby fell prostrate on the mattress. What in the world was she thinking returning to this one-horse town?

Tires crunched outside. Her sister must be home. Her ears strained. No, a man’s voice. Her mother laughed. Was she dating? Shelby shook her head. Why should she care?

Mommy?

Shelby forced herself to sit. Yes, baby.

Skye frowned. Aren’t you going to put our clothes away?

Yes, right now. Shelby dragged the bags to the dresser. Good grief. Popular fashions from the past lay folded in neat piles. No way they’d fit her now. Not after having a baby. Even her underwear were in neat rolls. Why had her mother held on to all these things? She emptied the drawers, leaving the past in a heap on the floor. A trip to Goodwill would be on tomorrow’s to-do list.

She removed the few articles of clothing from the suitcases and folded them into the empty cavity of the dresser. Her things didn’t come close to filling the space. She eyed the messy pile beside her. Maybe she should go through her old things. Something might fit.

Thirty minutes later, she pushed damp tendrils of hair off her forehead. Why wasn’t the air-conditioner working? She glanced at the ceiling. The vent was closed. Wonderful. She transferred her attention to the clothes. Her possessions now consisted of two more pairs of faded jeans, and several outdated, but still cute, tops. Wasn’t retro in now? She’d tackle the closet tomorrow. Come on, Skye. Let’s head to the kitchen.

Skye dropped a Barbie on the floor. Yippee! I’m hungry.

Put the toys away first.

Can’t I do that later? I’m going to play with them again.

No. Do it now.

Is Grandma as fussy about things being in their place as you are? Sky shoved the pink box into the closet.

Way more.

Skye sighed with all the drama of a diva. This will be torture.

Shelby laughed. Come on, kid. She grabbed her hand. It’s you and me against the world.

They paused in the kitchen archway. A man stood with arms linked around Mom’s waist, nuzzling her neck. Shelby cleared her throat.

Her mother’s cheeks reddened. Oh, Shelby. She slipped from his arms. This is Harry Benton, my—-friend.

The beanpole-of-a-man beamed and rushed toward Shelby, hand extended. Welcome home. Your mother’s been very excited. Running around like a chicken in preparation.

Stop it, Harry. Mom giggled and sidled up to the stove.

I’m sure she has. Shelby returned his handshake and peered around him at her mother. Impossible. She barely recognized the woman cooking dinner.

Mom’s smile reached from ear-to-ear as she fussed with a saucepan of spaghetti sauce. Darla called. She’ll be home in ten minutes. Said she’s bringing someone to supper. Good thing I always make plenty of spaghetti.

Josie makes the best pasta in town, don’t you think? Harry pulled out a chair and lowered his lean body into it. She’ll have to serve it at the diner.

Shelby crossed her arms. How often do you share my mother’s table, Harry?

Often enough. He chuckled.

Do you stay for breakfast?

Don’t be rude. Mom shoved a stack of ivory plates into Shelby’s hands. Set the table.

So, her mother had a new man in her life. Shelby shrugged. Maybe that accounted for her more relaxed attitude. Would there be a positive change in Darla as well?

She’d placed the last dish on the table when another car crunched up the drive. Voices drifted toward the kitchen. Shelby straightened, stiffened her shoulders, and turned to face the door. Blood rushed from her face when her sister’s guest entered the room.

*

Blake Harvey’s steps faltered when he ambled into the dining room. Despite all his mental preparation, he still wasn’t ready to face Shelby Jenkins. She didn’t look like she’d aged a day in the last seven years. He stumbled over his feet and bounced off the doorframe, banging his shoulder. Cringing, he grabbed his upper arm.

Darla skipped ahead of him. Look who’s here, Shelby. Your old flame, and my dear friend.

Blake gritted his teeth. What kind of game was Darla playing? He shouldn’t have come. If Shelby got any paler, they’d be picking her up off the floor. Hello, Shelby.

Blake. She turned