Hannah had the strangest notion that the answer to her heart’s secret hope was near.
She took a step forward. Then the doors swung open and out walked the man she’d come to find. Why hadn’t she prepared better for this first glimpse of the rebel preacher? Hannah stared as the tall, powerful figure stalked across the street. His dark blond mane hung a little too long and she was enthralled by his bold, chiseled features.
He suddenly turned his head and their stares connected. Locked.
Hannah couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
She quickly tore her gaze away. She had to remember why she’d come all this way to find this particular man.
“Reverend O’Toole?” Hannah called out. “May I have a word with you?”
“Do I know you, miss? What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come from Chicago to enlist your help. I must find your brother Tyler, before it is too late.”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “laying-out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetic conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career. She lives with her husband, two children and one ornery cat in Georgia.
Renee Ryan
Hannah’s Beau
Wherefore receive ye one another, as Christ
also received us to the glory of God.
—Romans 15:7
To my fabulous editor, Melissa Endlich.
Your suggestions, support and overall guidance
were invaluable in the process of writing this book.
Thank you for taking a chance on me.
You are, quite simply, the best!
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
The Grand Opera House, Chicago, Illinois, 1883
Shakespeare’s delightful comedy Twelfth Night progressed toward its dramatic conclusion as planned. Lies were exposed with the perfect blend of surprise, satisfaction and charm. Truths unfolded at a precise, believable pace.
Usually, Hannah Southerland loved the challenge of translating every nuance and plot twist found on paper into a memorable performance onstage. But as tonight’s final act drew to a close she found herself wondering if art didn’t imitate life a bit too closely, at least in her case.
Mistaken identity? Twins separated by misfortune? A woman in disguise from her true nature?
Uncanny, really. Peculiar.
Eerie.
With nothing left to do but take her bows, Hannah stood poised in the shadows, watching the last moments of the play. The only sign of her growing unease came in the rhythmic tick-tick of her pulse and the slight shake of her hands. Otherwise, she held herself rock still, letting the sound of actors reciting their lines, and the rustle of patrons shifting in their seats, echo in her ears and pulse through her blood.
These moments, when fantasy blurred into reality, were why she’d first pursued the stage five years ago. She’d craved the escape. Needed it as much as breath itself. In the end, she had found a new home with a large family to love her as her own had never been able to do.
Unwanted memories slid into her mind, playing out as strangely real as the last moments of the play. She’d been so afraid that dark, wintry night when her father had banished her from his home. All because she had played a well-rehearsed role, one she would never take on again.
In the ensuing years since her exile, Hannah had discovered a more powerful force than fear. Faith.
Now, if only her twin sister could find the same peace in Christ that she had.
With that thought, Hannah leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching for the woman positioned off the opposite end of the stage. There she stood, a mirror image of Hannah, yet profoundly different. It was the look in her eyes that set Rachel apart from Hannah, the startling combination of purity and audacity that had turned the heads of many unsuspecting men.
Rachel’s presence at the theater tonight evoked a myriad of emotions—happiness that Rachel had left her fiancé barely a month before the wedding for the sole purpose of reconnecting with her estranged sister. Disappointment that Hannah’s father had chosen not to come with Rachel. Hannah had hoped that after five years the venerable Reverend Thomas Southerland could find it in his heart to forgive her.
As Hannah had forgiven Rachel.
If, during her sister’s brief stay, Hannah could teach Rachel about true accountability, maybe, maybe, Hannah could move on with her life. Without the guilt. Without the burden.
Without the shame.
Her hands started to shake harder, threatening her outward calm. A deep, driving urge to run away washed through her. Instead of giving in to the cowardice, Hannah threaded her fingers together and clutched her palms tightly against one another. In this mood she could feel the edgy nerves of her fellow actors, the underlying desperation to deliver the perfect performance.
Unable to bear their emotions along with her own unsettled ones, she shifted her gaze toward the audience. Flickering light illuminated the theater, casting a golden glow over tonight’s patrons.
Hannah squinted deep into the shadows until her gaze focused. Countless faces stared at the stage with the kind of rapt attention that widened the eyes and slackened the jaw.
As expensive and wealthy went, the affluent men and women viewing tonight’s closing performance had no rivals. Except, perhaps, in London. And like those patrons of the British theater, they fully