“Abby, about that proposal.”
“I’m not going to talk about it, Donovan. It’s over. I’m over it. I’ve moved on. So should you.”
“You sound so hard. I don’t remember that about you.”
She stared straight at him.
“Time and circumstances do that to you, Donovan.”
He returned her look without flinching.
“Maybe you should tell me what you think happened that night, Abby,” he said, a quiet tension threading his voice. “What did your mother say?”
“What’s the point in rehashing that period of our lives? It’s over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” Abby turned her back, pretending to concentrate on the ring in front of her.
A few minutes later, she heard the door close.
So Donovan was back.
So you avoid him, she thought. Keep yourself busy and away from him. Donovan never sticks to anything anyway. At least not the Donovan she remembered.
LOIS RICHER
likes variety. From her time in human resources management to entrepreneurship, life has held plenty of surprises. She says, “Having given up on fairy tales, I was happily involved in building a restaurant when a handsome prince walked into my life and upset all my career plans with a wedding ring. Motherhood quickly followed. I guess the seeds of my storytelling took root because of two small boys who kept demanding, ‘Then what, Mom?’” The miracle of God’s love for His children, the blessing of true love, the joy of sharing Him with others—that is a story that can be told a thousand ways and yet still be brand-new. Lois Richer intends to go right on telling it.
A Ring and a Promise
Lois Richer
Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world,
but be a new and different person with a freshness
in all you do and think.
—Romans 12:2
This book is for Lesley.
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
Epilogue
Questions For Discussion
Chapter One
Doing your best usually meant redoing. Abigail Franklin had learned that at her mother’s knee.
With a sigh, Abby squeezed her forceps, lifted the paste stone and dropped it in the center of her newest platinum setting for the third time.
“Looks good,” a voice offered.
“Good is never good enough,” she muttered. Then the familiar voice hit a nerve.
Abby’s fingers numbed. Her forceps slid out of her hand. She lifted her head and stared.
“Hello, Abby.”
He was back—after five long years.
Forcing taut muscles to obey, Abby slid from her stool and faced Donovan Woodward, the man who’d promised her the world. And never delivered.
Memories of that smile, all sparkle, charm and appeal, swamped her.
“I’m not an April Fool’s joke, so stop staring,” he ordered, his grin slashing his handsome face. “How are you?”
“Okay.” She studied his jutting cheekbones. “And you?”
“I’m all right.”
He didn’t look all right. He looked tired.
But the longer Abby stared at Donovan Woodward, the more she knew tiredness wasn’t the right word. True, there were deeply carved lines around his ocean-blue eyes, stripped now of the sparkle of pure fun that once dared her to join in. But tiredness wasn’t the reason. Donovan never got tired, not the life-of the-party Donovan that Abby had known.
Still, a girl didn’t forget the face of the first man to ask her to marry him, even after five years. Yet his face had changed, matured.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he demanded when the silence stretched too long and the air bristled with tenseness.
His testy tone irked her.
“Such as what? Welcome home?” Abby suggested, glaring at him. “Or maybe we could discuss that note you told my mother to give me five years ago. How did it go? ‘I made a mistake. I’m leaving. Sorry.’”
She gritted her teeth, irked she’d let that slip out.
“That wasn’t my best moment,” he admitted. “But if you’ll listen a minute, I’ll explain—”
“After five years you’re finally offering an explanation?” She tossed him a scathing glance before turning back to her worktable. “Forget it.”
“Abby.” Donovan touched her arm, wordlessly asking her to face him. “I know I should have explained my reasons to you personally. Asking you to marry me on prom night and leaving two days later for Europe wasn’t exactly what I’d planned, but I figured you’d understand I was doing it for you.”
“For me?” Incredulity filled her. “Is that how you justify it?”
“I didn’t have to justify myself after—” Donovan shook his head, cleared his throat. “The gossip must have been awful. I’m sorry I left you alone to face that, Abby.”
An apology from Donovan? That was nice. But all he was apologizing for was the gossip. He’d even intimated his leaving had somehow benefited her, which was ludicrous. But then, maybe five years in Europe had changed his memories.
Still, how could he say his decision had anything to do with her?
“The past is over, Donovan. Let’s agree to disagree on your part in it.” She refocused away from the painful memories. “Will you be working at Weddings by Woodwards?”
“Uh-huh.” His shaggy walnut-toned hair moved in a ripple of assent.
“Your grandmother will be ecstatic. That’s great.” She winced as her voice echoed around her work room like some kind of cheerleader.
“Oh, Abigail. The way you say that,” Donovan mocked.
“When did you get back?” Funny how she struggled to talk to him when once they’d never had enough time to say everything.
“Flew in tonight. Grandmother didn’t tell me you’d be here,” he mumbled with a frown at the array of tools she’d spread out.
“Sorry.” If she’d known he was coming she’d have stayed away.
“Don’t be. I needed to apologize, Abby. I owed you that.”
“I don’t want your apology.”
“Tough. I needed to give it.” A smile flirted