Relinquish (Balm in Gilead Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Excerpt from Falling for her Brother’s Best Friend

  About Noelle Adams

  Relinquish

  Balm in Gilead, Book One

  Noelle Adams

  She was supposed to be taking a break from work to rethink her future. She wasn't supposed to be falling in love with her boss.

  He was supposed to be resting at a beachside retreat and unwinding from the stress of his job. He wasn't supposed to be wanting her in ways that had nothing to do with the job.

  Betsy has worked with John Davenport for four years, and she's always been an efficient, practical member of his crisis response team. He might be brilliant, attractive, and good-hearted, but he's also driven, rather grumpy, and emotionally unavailable. Plus, he's never looked at her with any interest other than a friend and co-worker. No one has ever really been interested in her. She's never been the kind of woman that men fall for.

  No matter how much she loves her job with an international relief organization, she knows she can't do it forever. But as soon as she begins thinking toward a different future, John starts to respond to her in a completely new way.

  Maybe it's just a temporary feeling, prompted by some much needed downtime. Or maybe they've had more in their hearts than they've ever admitted.

  Relinquish is the first book in the Balm in Gilead series, a spin-off from the Willow Park series about couples who fall in love in a physical and spiritual rest center on the North Carolina coast called Balm in Gilead.

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

  Copyright © 2017 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Falling for her Brother’s Best Friend

  About Noelle Adams

  Author’s Note

  When I started writing the Willow Park series four years ago, it felt like I was doing something risky. I wanted to write about characters whose religious faith was important to them, but I also wanted to write for a mainstream romance audience (which has been the readership of all of my books). I was surprised and gratified by the positive reception Willow Park received, although certainly there was too much religion in them for some readers and too little for others. I continue to be interested and emotionally invested in seeing religious faith (of all varieties) be explored more frequently in contemporary romance. This book, like the Willow Park books, tells the story of characters for whom faith commitments are very important, and so the plot and themes reflect that. I tried very hard to make it engaging and accessible for any reader of romance and for the spiritual themes not to alienate readers. Whether I succeeded at this challenge has yet to be decided and is likely open for debate, but as I said when I published Married for Christmas, I do believe it’s worth the attempt.

  One

  “Why is that person riding a horse on the side of the road?”

  John’s question was sharp, skeptical, causing Betsy to jump in surprise. She’d thought he’d dozed off in the passenger seat as she drove, but he clearly wasn’t asleep now.

  She’d just pulled over into the oncoming traffic lane to steer clear of a woman on a black mare, walking peacefully down the road. She glanced into the rearview mirror to get another glimpse of the horse. “I guess she has somewhere to go.”

  “So she rides a horse on a busy road.”

  “Horses are big here. There are wild horses up in Corolla. You can’t get there to see them without a four-wheel drive.”

  “That wasn’t a wild horse.”

  “I know. I’m just saying. People like horses here.”

  John shook his head and muttered, “Silly.”

  Betsy had heard that curt word muttered countless times in the years she’d known John. It was his all-encompassing judgement on anything he found trivial, anything he saw as unproductive.

  Usually, she found it kind of funny. He often said it in half-jest. He didn’t seem to be joking this time, though, and she didn’t find it amusing. “I’m sure she enjoys it,” she said lightly.

  “So where exactly are we going?” John demanded.

  “I told you,” she said quietly, trying to keep her eyes wide and her expression innocent. “It’s a place on the Outer Banks. We should be there in twenty or twenty-five minutes now.”

  “What place?”

  John Davenport was the leader of a crisis response team with a Christian international relief organization. Betsy had worked for the organization for eight years, and she’d been part of John’s team for four. He was her boss—which was one of the reasons her present mission was so awkward.

  There were a lot of reasons. She’d been dreading it for weeks.

  John was used to being in charge, being active, having people do as he said. He wasn’t used to downtime or to being driven to places he didn’t know.

  “It’s a place on the beach. Chuck and Curtis arranged it for you.”

  Chuck was John’s boss, and Curtis was Chuck’s boss. Betsy was prepared to use their authority to ensure that John followed the plans they’d made.

  She’d rehearsed this conversation many times for the past several weeks, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d practiced. Her heart was beating so loud she thought John might be able to hear it.

  Both John and Betsy were on a month-long sabbatical—John having been forced into the required break with much argument. Betsy was going to spend time with her mother in Buxton, her hometown. John was going somewhere else.

  “What place is it, Betsy? Something isn’t feeling right about it.”

  “It is right.”

  “You said it was a resort.”

  “It is—of a kind.”

  “Of what kind?”

  She sighed. She’d volunteered to break this news to him because she thought he’d take it better from her, but now she was starting to regret it. “It’s a rest and retreat center.” Might as well just say it outright. There wasn’t much time left to delay, since they weren’t very far away. They’d reached the coast and were headed south along the Outer Banks. They’d be to their destination soon.

  He was silent for a moment. “And everyone is going to be there?”

  She cleared her throat. “N-no. Just you.”

  “What?” John tended to be a blunt man with a loud voice. His soft, hoarse tone was very uncharacteristic.

  It caused Betsy’s stomach to twist. “It’s a really great place—right on the beach. You’ll like it.”

  “I will not like it.”

  “You have no idea whether you’ll like it or not. You have to give it a chance.” Leave it to John to put the pieces together in a few seconds and know exactly what was happening and why it was happening. He’d always been the quickest thinker she’d ever known.

  “I don’t have to do anything. When you said th
ey’d arranged a retreat, I assumed it would be for everyone. I’m not sick or damaged or psychologically troubled. I don’t need a damn—”

  “No one is saying you are. But Chuck and Curtis think—”

  “This place is right near your hometown?”

  “Yes. Fairly close. Several miles north.”

  “And you’re saying this was Chuck and Curtis’s idea?”

  Betsy swallowed. Of course, he would realize this particular retreat center had been her suggestion. “It was their decision,” she said firmly. “It’s a really nice place.”

  “Why does everyone suddenly think I’ve lost it?” He was scowling and staring ahead of them at the busy two-lane road lined with beach shops, fishing stores, and quirky restaurants. The road ran the length of the Outer Banks, a string of peninsulas and barrier islands on the coast of North Carolina. He looked bad-tempered, but Betsy knew it was more than that.

  He was upset. He didn’t want anyone to think he was weak or damaged. He’d always been that way. She was that way too—to a lesser extent—so she could understand how he felt.

  “No one thinks you’ve lost it,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could, although she was feeling upset now too. “This isn’t a mental health facility, although there would be nothing wrong with that. It’s a rest and retreat center, and that means exactly what it sounds like. You’re tired. You won’t admit, but everyone knows it’s true. You’re on the edge of being burned out, and if you keep it up, you won’t be able to do your work.”

  “I am not that—”

  “Yes, you are. You’ve been snapping at people and picking arguments and working sixteen hours a day. We’ve worked crisis after crisis—every one of them horrifying and heartbreaking—and you didn’t take the break two years ago that you were supposed to. Not to mention all the trauma with your brother you’ve had to deal with.”

  John’s brother, Mark, had been a journalist working in the Middle East when he was taken hostage by a Syrian rebel group. He’d been held by the group for two years and had only been released eighteen months ago. Although his story had had a happy ending, and John had never revealed his feelings to her, Betsy knew the fear and grief over the years had eaten him up.

  “Mark’s thing is over now,” John muttered.

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t wear on you. You’re exhausted, John. All of us can see it.”

  “That’s why I took the sabbatical. I don’t need to go to some place for counseling and coddling.”

  “No one is going to coddle you—or counsel you, if you don’t want it. You need rest. You only took the sabbatical because you were forced into it, and there’s no way to ensure you’ll actually get the rest you need.”

  “Damn it, Bets.”

  Betsy had been raised by an old-fashioned mother and had come to faith in a very conservative church. It wasn’t until she was an adult that she’d met sincere Christians who talked like John and had wine with dinner and could talk about sex without blushing. But even John didn’t use damn several times in one conversation very often, so she knew his mood was declining quickly.

  He continued, “I don’t want—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you want,” she interrupted sharply, about to lose it herself. She’d known this discussion would be hard, but she hadn’t expected it to be this bad. “It doesn’t matter. This is straight from Chuck and Curtis. You’re to spend two weeks at this place. Then you’re to spend the next two weeks visiting your brother. If you don’t do it, you’re not coming back after the sabbatical.”

  John stared at her, his vivid blue eyes almost dazed—like he’d just suffered a crushing blow.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I know it sounds terrible, but we know you and we love you, and you’ve refused to take days off and vacations for too long. You have to really rest or you’re going to break. Just do this. Just do it. Please.”

  He didn’t answer for a long time, and Betsy had to turn back to look at the road. She was close to tears now—her eyes and throat burning.

  Then he finally asked gruffly, “So what is this place?”

  She sighed in relief, realizing he’d accepted the inevitable.

  John loved his work as much as she did—and he was driven in a way she’d never been. He wasn’t prepared to give it all up just to be stubborn.

  “It’s called Balm in Gilead.”

  He groaned.

  “Stop it. It’s a great place. It’s like a resort, and it’s right on the beach.”

  “Am I going to be stuck in there with a bunch of spoiled rich people?”

  “No. I don’t think so. It serves a lot of people in the ministry. There will probably be a lot of folks there like you.”

  “Am I going to have to sit through endless counseling sessions and group-share times?”

  She chuckled at his dry words. “No. They do offer one-on-one counseling, but you don’t have to do it if you don’t want. And I don’t think there are any group sessions you’ll be required to attend.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “You rest. You take it easy. You walk on the beach. You participate in some of the activities they offer—you can pick and choose which ones, although I think there’s a minimum number required each week. You try to relax.”

  He sighed loudly. “Fine. I don’t know why I can’t just relax in Willow Park with my brother, though.”

  “Because there will be no accountability there. There is here.”

  “So I’m going to have to rest, even if it kills me.”

  She smiled, relieved that he was sounding more like himself. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “And you won’t be far away?”

  She felt a slight flush warm her cheeks at the implication of the words. “My mom’s place is about ten miles away. I can come visit you if you want.”

  “You’ll come every day?”

  She blinked, trying to control the flush on her cheeks. She’d always been fair-skinned, though, and there was no way to stop herself from blushing. “Sure. I’ll come if you want.”

  “You better. If I’m going to be stuck there for two weeks, I’ll need someone I know to complain to.”

  She let out a breath.

  Of course that was why he wanted her to visit.

  They worked together, so they knew each other well. He was her boss, and he relied on her a lot for the administrative tasks and communication. She was pretty sure that most of the time John considered her a friend.

  He’d never looked at her as anything else, and she knew he never would.

  She’d never been the kind of woman men looked at romantically anyway.

  ***

  The Balm in Gideon Center for Rest was located about halfway down the Outer Banks. It consisted of thirty acres of property and included a private beach. The main building was three stories and sided in weathered cedar, and the front lawns and side garden were obviously well tended because the grass was richly green and as smooth as velvet.

  Betsy had often gone by the property when she was a kid and it had been an exclusive hotel resort—one of the nicest on the Outer Banks—and she’d daydreamed about being rich enough to stay there. Now nearly everyone rented the vacation houses that lined the coast, so the hotel had closed ten years ago.

  Eight years ago, Cecily Evans had opened this retreat center. Betsy felt strange, pulling on to the long driveway. For a minute, she felt like a little girl again.

  A little girl who didn’t belong here at all.

  Then John demanded, “How much does this place cost?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Chuck and Curtis are taking care of it.”

  “I don’t want them to be wasting a lot of money on me that could be used—”

  “We got a discount.”

  John’s blue eyes were questioning, always intelligent. “How did we finagle a discount?”

  “I... I know Cecily, who runs the place. I kind of know her. We went to the s
ame school, although she was several years older than me. She gave us a discount.”

  “You didn’t make me into some kind of pity-case, did you?”

  “No, no. Of course not. I just touched base with her and explained what we needed. She offered the discount. I think she does that a lot with people in ministry. She must make enough money charging rich folks high prices so she can afford to help. Like I said, I know her. She was trying to be nice.”

  John nodded and reached into the backseat to grab the beat-up leather saddle bag he used as a briefcase.

  She felt a little flutter of nerves when she saw the bag and knew his laptop was inside, but she decided not to broach the topic quite yet.

  They needed to get in the door first.

  She was opening the trunk for John to grab his suitcase when they became aware of a presence behind them.

  Turning to look, her eyes widened when she saw a big, dark-haired, glowering man with an untrimmed beard. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt of a surprisingly bright melon color. He didn’t say a word. Just took the suitcase out of John’s hand and made a wordless gesture toward the front door.

  He must work here, although this hadn’t been much of a greeting or a welcome.

  John rolled his eyes slightly and started toward the front door.

  Betsy’s stomach twisted again. This wasn’t an auspicious beginning.

  John was already in a bad mood.

  They walked up the steps to a wide deck on the main floor of the building, and John opened one of the double doors of what was clearly the main entrance.

  The lobby was big and airy with a beautifully tiled floor and a wall of windows in the back, looking out onto the patio and pool.

  The bearded man had followed them and gave a kind of grunt as he nodded toward the elevators.

  “We appreciate your hospitality,” John said, a dry edge of irony in his tone that was impossible to mistake.

  “Please don’t mind Zeke,” a polished female voice came from the other side of them.