Out of the Blue

Out of the Blue offers a tender glimpse at how yesterday’s wounds affect today’s purpose. Charming banter, endearing characters, and a heartwarming love story grace the pages of this enchanting contemporary romance. Add the beautiful backdrop of lakeside Michigan, and you have an unforgettable novel that is certain to captivate readers. Highly recommended! ~ Rachel Scott McDaniel award-winning author of The Mobster’s Daughter Out of the Blue is summertime perfection, harkening back to long-lost memories of warm summer camp nights and dreams of a romance under starry July skies. In addition to her unique setting, Tuttle’s knack for creating beautifully complex characters shines with guarded Gwen and fun-loving and sweet (not to mention loyal, protective, and charming) Nate. Their quicklaced with the depth of healing and new mercies one can only hope to experience after tragedy, will bring tears to your eyes.

Fans of Becky Wade, Melissa Tagg, and T. I. Lowe are sure to add Susan L. Tuttle to their list of favorite authors after this gem of a story. ~ Janine Rosche author of the Madison River Romance series From Michigan campgrounds to a romance that will have you swooning, there is so much to love about Out of the Blue.

Susan L. Tuttle has crafted a powerful story of forgiveness and redemption that will stay with you long after you turn the last page. ~ Tari Faris author of the Restoring Heritage series

Other Books by Susan L. Tuttle Love You, Truly Along Came Love Series At First Glance Then Again, Maybe Never Too Late Resort to Romance Series Met her Match

Out of

Blue the SUSAN L. TUTTLE

Birmingham, Alabama

Out of the Blue Iron Stream Fiction An imprint of Iron Stream Media 100 Missionary Ridge Birmingham, AL 35242 IronStreamMedia.com Copyright © 2022 by Susan L. Tuttle No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise— without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Iron Stream Media serves its authors as they express their views, which may not express the views of the publisher.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022930777 All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®.

Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent ISBN: 978-1-64526-376-0 (paperback) ISBN: 978-1-64526-377-7 (ebook)

1 2 3 4 5—26 25 24 23 22

Chapter One S

omeone really should develop a warning signal for mornings when life was about to take a two-hundred mile per hour hairpin turn. At least then maybe a person could be prepared.

Strap in. Hold on tight.

Or avoid it all together.

Gwen Doornbos stared across the table at the weatheredfaced man who’d practically raised her—only right now, she wasn’t so sure aliens hadn’t overtaken his body. “What do you mean we’re not selling this place, Granddad?” Camp Hideaway had been in their family for two generations, but she wasn’t making it three. “I thought we agreed.”

Granddad pushed his thick black glasses up on his nose, his smile faltering. “Well, see, that’s the thing. You talked. I listened. But I never actually agreed.”

So what was all that nodding he’d done then? In her world a nod meant yes.

She dialed back the snark. Granddad deserved her respect. Dad and grandparent rolled into one, he loved her her childhood. There was no one she trusted more.

Which made his sudden change of direction even harder to swallow. that had been in motion for nearly a year. “What’s going on?

Crossroads Church is on their way here.”

•1•

Out of the Blue Over one hundred and twenty acres, Camp Hideaway nestled within a nature preserve at the tip of Michigan’s thumb, its western border creating the eastern edge of Hidden Lake.

Concealed among the trees, the balloon-shaped lake narrowed to join Lake Huron. Their acreage contained the only stretch that allowed lodging. People could hike, kayak, even picnic along Hidden Lake’s borders, but this was the only place they could build, making Camp Hideaway prime land.

And the only prime buyer for her was Crossroads Church.

Granddad folded his hands over a middle that had become camp open.” He said it matter-of-fact, as if it were that easy.

It wasn’t.

She slumped into a seat. “There’s a list of reasons that won’t work, Granddad.” Ones they’d already hashed out. “The biggest is you can’t run this place another season. The last season nearly did you in.” The years were catching up to him.

His pace slowed on their evening walks, his muscles protested lifting what they used to, and on more than one occasion, she’d found him wheezing. They’d only stayed so he could reach his nearly split her in half, but she understood the drive to meet a goal.

Granddad nodded. “I know.”

“Then why are you reneging?”

He hesitated.

“Granddad?” pushed away from the table to grab something off the cabinet behind him. He slid a worn notebook with poppies on the cover across the table.

“Grandma’s journal?” summer, months before Grandma passed. Gwen looked up

•2•

Susan L. Tuttle from the perfect cursive handwriting. Like ripping off a BandAid, she wanted the information quickly. “Just tell me what it says, please.” mama and you, this place meant the world to her.”

“I remember.”

“And I promised her it would continue.” His watery eyes nearly undid her.

Covering his hand with hers, she stilled his trace of the ink. “And you did for as long as possible. Grandma would understand.” She watched his struggle, her guilt niggling. She was capable of running this place. Had the know-how and the ability. She simply didn’t have the want any longer. Oh, she possessed a whole host of other emotions . . . fear, anger, even bitterness, but absolutely no desire to work with teens. She’d barely survived living in the background here these past four years. “If things were different, Granddad, you know I’d do it.”

After Grandma died, she and Danny had planned on coming back. But then, he was gone. “I can’t . . .” Her throat tightened.

“I understand, sweetheart. I do.” This time he squeezed her hand. “But Camp Hideaway has life left in her. I’m not closing our camp or selling off her land. I hope you’ll eventually understand.”

See. Hairpin turn. No warning. She attempted a roadblock.

“But if you don’t sell, we won’t have money to build our new house or the yoga studio.” Which would provide for them when he retired. She’d already started working on her logo, website, money was tight—had been since she’d returned. Granddad refused to increase prices, and the camp had needed several improvements. To help complete a few, she’d invested Danny’s life insurance. The income from the sale would reimburse that money and take care of them until Gwen’s studio found its footing. “We’re on schedule to break ground next week.”

•3•

Out of the Blue He’d already detoured the block. “Lew can still break ground.” His saggy cheeks pulled into his old familiar smile.

“Not on the house, but I made sure you can have your studio.”

Did he hold a hidden bank account? “How, if we’re not selling?”

“I found a renter for this summer. And with what he’s paying, there’ll be enough to cover payments on the construction loan for your studio and support us until it’s running.”

Nerves humming, she barely dared to ask, “You’re renting?

To whom?”

Their plan included building on the few small acres they weren’t selling, land along Hidden Lake and adjacent to this camp. Whoever moved in would be their neighbor, and she already had the perfect one picked out—quiet and predictable Crossroads Church. They’d use the space for retreats and a few family camps. No teens with sharp edges and rougher attitudes. Kids she’d once thought she could help but now painfully knew different.

A knock at his door snagged both their attention. White and green checkered curtains, the same green that matched the large pines outside, obscured the view through the half window. Granddad lumbered over, running a hand over his downy gray hair in what remained a losing battle to settle his cowlick in place.

Something told her she was about to embark on her own battle with whomever stood behind that door.

Granddad spared her a quick glance. “Be nice,” he said as he opened it.

She pasted on a smile. Sunlight streamed in behind the stranger standing there, and all Gwen could make out was his tall form—well over six feet.

Granddad offered his hand. “Good to see you again, Nate.”

“You too, Arthur.” He ducked inside.

His sheer size should distract her. Muscles strained against the short sleeves on his gray T-shirt, and his broad shoulders •4•

Susan L. Tuttle tapered to a thin waist. Warm blue eyes settled on her like he was already an old friend, and his full smile could be contagious. place for her heart to stage its comeback. She shut it down and focused on Granddad’s use of the word “again.” This must be who he’d rented to.

She stood and looked to Granddad who nodded toward the man. “Gwen, this is Nate Reynolds.” A pause. “And Nate, meet my granddaughter, Gwen Doornbos.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Gwen.” Nate held out his hand.

He cut a glance to Granddad. “You haven’t told her about me?”

“I was getting there.”

Nate’s teeth tapping together punctuated the awkward silence. “Should I come back later?”

He studied them. “You sure?”

“Not entirely.” She’d rather replace him with someone from Crossroads Church. “But I believe I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice.” Nate held her stare, unblinking.

“Especially when it comes to attitude.”

“I know. Which is why I’m controlling mine.”

“Lucky me.” He tugged his hand through his thick brown hair, pulling its soft waves straight before releasing them into a mess on his head.

Granddad motioned toward the table. “How about we sit down?”

Uh, no. She’d already given up enough ground today. This With a tiny one-side-edged-up smirk that blew his friendly grin out of the water, Nate took two long steps to the table and Granddad’s throat clearing halted her hesitation. She begrudgingly slid into her seat.

•5•

Out of the Blue Nate bent close as he pushed her in, his breath tickling the

Straightening, Nate didn’t miss the soft scent of roses coming from Gwen’s tanned skin. He’d worked his rear end off at a greenhouse one summer to put food on the table for him thorny beasts. So why did the fragrance suddenly evoke pleasure, especially when coming from this prickly woman?

“Already had my cup, Granddad.”

“Is there a one-cup limit around here?” Judging by how tightly wound Gwen appeared, maybe there needed to be.

Everything about her was rigid, and it had nothing to do with the toned muscles clearly visible in her shorts and tank.

Arthur plunked a mug in front of him. “Nope. Drink up.”

Nate added cream and sugar to his, well aware how Gwen’s eyes remained on him. Blue as sapphires, hard as diamonds.

Yep. Buckets of fun coming his way.

Arthur settled into his seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Nate sooner, Gwen.”

While her grandfather spoke, she didn’t release Nate from her harsh stare. Did she blame him for Arthur keeping her in the dark? Yeah, well, color him surprised too. He’d push for an explanation later, but right now it appeared Gwen needed one more.

She turned to Arthur. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me, but I’ll get over it.” Next, she faced him. “And I’m sorry I was rude. This caught me completely off guard, and I don’t do well in situations like that.”

The tension continued ebbing. Only one deep line remained between her brows now.

“It’s all right.” He maintained a soft, smooth voice.

•6•

Susan L. Tuttle “Thank you.” She rubbed a long scratch in the table. “So ago, I thought we were closing our camp, Granddad was retiring, and we were selling a majority of our land.”

She thought they were closing this place? Yeah, she had been caught off guard.

Nate pulled a banana Laffy Taffy from his pocket and unwrapped it. “Want one?” He held another out.

Her lips wrinkled. “No thanks.”

Arthur waved his hand in decline too. “Nate visited camp last month when you were at Bay and Colin’s wedding. I’d already been on the fence about selling, but wasn’t sure what to do. After he shared his heart and vision, I knew. So I offered to rent the place to him.”

“And his vision is . . .?” Gwen prodded.

Arthur rubbed his hand against the salt-and-pepper whiskers on his chin. His mouth opened, then shut. He’d been onboard, enthusiastic even, every other time they spoke. What worried him now?

After a second, the old man spoke. “Nate, why don’t you tell her about it?”

Why was Arthur tossing the ball into his court?

Something was off, and Nate had no clue how to dig for an answer when the question wasn’t clear. But his gut screamed about his arrival, and it wasn’t something small. him with expectation. “Nate?”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. The moment reminded him of an old jack-in-a-box toy. His words were the twirling lever, and a thrumming apprehension in him said things were about to pop. Though he didn’t know when. “For several years capital to sustain it. I recently had a potential investor express interest in backing me, but he’d like to see a working model •7•

Out of the Blue

for the summer as a trial run to prove to him my idea has merit.”

“And if you succeed?” she asked.

“When I succeed, I’ll purchase your land with his help and She clasped both hands in her lap. “What’s your camp model?”

Nate scooted closer to the table. “Like I already mentioned, can’t afford camp but would love to come.” He was gaining her interest, but not the good kind. She straightened in her chair as he continued speaking. “So many need a safe place to go. A place to be reminded they’re still kids, help them laugh, show them they’re loved.” He paused, searching for a way to connect. “Show them how much God loves them. Isn’t that what Camp Hideaway is here for?”

But instead of a connection, the pink in her cheeks drained.

“Yes. Sort of. We were a church camp helping teens deepen their faith. Where . . . where would your kids come from?”

Right here he’d stop turning the lever on the jack-in-thebox, but unlike that old toy, there was no way he could stop playing this tune.

“A little southwest of here. It’ll be small. Only forty kids—twenty boys, twenty girls—with a possible ten more coming who’ll need to work off community service hours.

We’re partnering with the Juvenile Correction Services. That’s what I’m most excited for, and the program I hope to expand eventually. So far, all the key players are on board as long as this place is ready to go on time. Which is why I’m so thankful for your help. I couldn’t do this alone.”

“JCS?” The three letters squeaked out like she’d sucked in helium.

Nate nodded at her pasty complexion.

•8•

Susan L. Tuttle “What city, exactly?” She directed the question at him, but her stare landed on her grandfather.

“Macon.”

And that was the last twist.

Like the clown erupting from the toy, Gwen launched to her feet.

“Did you know?” Her hands splayed across the tabletop, and she leaned on them. “Before you rented this place, Granddad, did you know these children were coming from Macon?”

Wisdom and deep love, not remorse, swam in Arthur’s eyes. He nodded.

Tension strummed off her. “You’re keeping the camp open, bringing in kids from the Macon JCS system, and you told him we’d help?”

Another nod. “I did.”

She ran her hands along her smoothed-back hair and glanced from Arthur to Nate. “I need out.”

Nate met her at the door. “Don’t you think we should talk?

Clear the air?” Especially because he was clueless as to what polluted it.

Gwen trembled. A head shorter than he and all muscle, she had a wildness in her eyes that promised she could do some serious damage if she lost her current battle with restraint.

“Move.” Her tone caught somewhere between a command and a plea.

“I’d rather talk this out.” Deal with the issue head-on before it grew into a monster. “It’s obvious you don’t want me can work together.”

Breath puffed from her nose in sad laughter. “We can’t.”

She sidestepped him, her shoulder brushing his as she stormed away.

He remained in the doorway. What world had he walked into? He rejoined Arthur at the table. “It’s starting to make •9•

Out of the Blue

around his mug. “She’s not even close to being on board.”

Outside a woodpecker drilled into a tree. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because she seems furious.” But something more bubbled under that anger. “And . . . haunted.” edges of a journal and stared out the door. “Gwen’s had a tough few years”—he blinked—“but yes, I’m sure. So let’s talk about your camp.”

The swell of excitement typically arriving with that thought shrank to a ripple. “It’s not heaping onto her problems?”

Whatever they were.

Arthur tapped the table. “No, it’s part of the solution.”

Didn’t feel like it. Which might spell trouble. Nate had accumulated all the research he could unearth on running camps, but book learning wasn’t his strength. He learned best by diving in, and he’d discovered it was smart to have a swim instructor nearby. That’s why he wanted someone who lived and breathed camp life—something his investor also strongly suggested. A sounding board for all the ideas in his head, and guard rails to keep him on track. With opening day around the corner, he couldn’t run off course. Arthur and his granddaughter’s experience proved priceless.

Good thing too, since he’d dropped all his pennies into the rent and renovation of these grounds.

“Will she help?” Felt callous to ask, but he had to know.

“Give her time.”

Time wasn’t something he had to give. He needed this camp to be up and successfully running by summer, or he’d fail before he even crossed the starting line. Not that God couldn’t work miracles. Nate was a walking one. But he’d counted on Arthur and his granddaughter’s help to achieve this one.

• 10 •