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      My heart, O God, is steadfast, my heart is steadfast; I will sing and make music.

      —Psalms 57:7

      Dear Jesus, thank You for being a fisher of men. Love You, Lord. To Mom and Dad, who raised me to know I’m worth something in your eyes and God’s. I’m blessed to have you. I appreciate you teaching me and Lisa to bait our hooks and cast our own lines, even when one goes astray. Sorry, Dad! You wanted your ear pierced, right? Grin. To Rachel Z at Books & Such for your friendship, industry insight and career guidance. To Melissa Endlich and Sarah McDaniel for loving these characters and believing in my books.

      Acknowledgments

      Thanks to this book’s research helpers:

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      “Talk about unconventional.” U.S. Air Force pararescue jumper Chance Garrison shoved the gauzy curtain away from the glass pane cooled by the overworked air conditioner. He blinked to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him as he stared at what was coming up the yard he’d just mown.

      He pivoted to face his teammate and best bud, Brock, who approached where he stood near the window.

      “What?” Brock joined him and tracked his gaze.

      “Maybe that’s not her.” Chance pulled his sweat-dampened shirt away from his chest and leaned in. Yep. The woman—and the hairy thing dragging her—were definitely headed up the long driveway of the house Chance had rented for himself and his dad, who was recovering from a stroke he suffered following the death of Chance’s mom. “What kinda person brings her pet to work?”

      Brock pressed his face against the window. “A cute one.” He shouldered himself closer and elbowed Chance out of the way, presumably to get a better look. “Very cute.”

      Chance had noticed that too. But the fact that the pretty, young occupational therapist was lugging toward them the biggest, blackest Labrador retriever he’d ever seen was taking his attention away from how cute she was.

      For the moment.

      “Surely she’s not thinking of bringing that animal in here.” Brock tracked the odd pair’s approach.

      “She c-can’t. If Dad sees that th-thing in the house, his blood pressure w-w-will hit the roof.” Chance scowled at the stutter and eyed the bedroom door where Dad had retreated to watch midday game shows.

      The TV blared through the thick walls, which meant Dad probably didn’t have his hearing aid in.

      When the woman stepped onto the landing with dogzilla rather than secure him to the lamppost, Chance’s faith that Dad would comply with his new therapist and his regimen of home therapy drained, as if someone pulled the plug on the only hope left somewhere inside him, like a bathtub quickly draining.

      But his teammates’ wives trusted this woman, and he trusted his teammates’ wives. If they crooned that this unconventional therapist could make a difference with Dad, he’d give it a shot. But what was the deal with the dog?

      Regardless, he’d see to it that the animal stayed outside.

      Chance opened the door and was greeted with the satisfying smell of fresh-cut grass and a smile on the therapist’s face that was so radiant his concentration fled. So did his resolve to order the dog to stay outside. The sudden pounding in his chest when this woman held his gaze and flashed her brilliant smile wasn’t something he’d been remotely prepared for.

      Nor was he prepared for the luxurious sheen of her brown-gold hair or the vibrance of her eyes. The