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  “I literally read Like There’s No Tomorrow in one sitting. A strong but troubled Scottish hero, an American heroine with a secret, and a cast of dynamic supporting characters all come together in this page-turning romantic debut. Camille Eide writes with abandon, depth, and emotional fortitude. Don’t miss this sublime novel!”

  —LESLIE GOULD,

  #1 Best-Selling and Christy Award-Winning Author

  “Camille Eide writes with such warmth and honesty, it’s nearly impossible to remember that the characters populating this engaging novel aren’t real. Like There’s No Tomorrow offers wisdom, laughter, and lovely, poignant moments from Glasgow, Scotland to Central Oregon, and will steal your heart from the moment you read the first page.”

  —CINDY KELLEY,

  Screenwriter, Author of Traces of Mercy

  “Camille Eide’s writing infuses the reader with honeysuckle from the roads of Oregon to the crofts of Scotland, and with the sweet infusion comes a gentle love, built from heartache and fear, but paved with hope. Ms. Eide’s debut novel is rich with characters who have learned that obstacles don’t mean an end, but a new beginning. Dare yourself to be steeped in tea and wonder when two hurting people learn where true love leads.”

  —LINDA S. GLAZ,

  Literary Agent, Author of With Eyes of Love

  “Tender and heart-wrenching, Camille Eide’s debut novel brings home the eternal truth that no one knows what tomorrow may bring. With characters and dialogue that sparkle, Like There’s No Tomorrow will weave its way into your heart and not let go. Beautiful, and the first of many novels, I hope, from this gifted writer.”

  —CARLA STEWART,

  Award-Winning Author of Stardust and

  The Hatmaker’s Heart

  “Camille Eide’s Like There’s No Tomorrow will tug your heartstrings as well as tickle your funny bone. The characterization is delicious, and I thought of my own BFF as I fell in love with two elderly Scottish sisters who renewed my faith in a better day ahead.”

  —SANDRA D. BRICKER,

  Author of Live-Out-Loud Fiction for

  the Inspirational Market

  “This tender love story captured my heart. It’s a perfect blend of drama, humor, and romance topped off with delightful characters that will stay with you long after you’ve closed the book. This may be Camille Eide’s debut novel, but she is no novice at storytelling. Like There’s No Tomorrow is one of my favorite reads of the year. And Camille is on my short list of favorite authors.”

  —BONNIE LEON,

  Author of The Journey of Eleven Moons

  “There’s nothing more satisfying than a book that makes you rejoice when love is found, obstacles are overcome, and God’s grace is accepted. Like There’s No Tomorrow meets these criteria and more. Highly recommended!”

  —GAYLE ROPER,

  Award-Winning Author of An Unexpected Match

  and Lost and Found

  A Novel

  by

  Ashberry Lane

  © 2014 by Camille Eide

  Smashwords Edition

  Published by Ashberry Lane

  P.O. Box 665, Gaston, OR 97119

  www.ashberrylane.com

  This book is available in print.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  All characters and some locations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or places is purely coincidental.

  Published in association with Rachelle Gardner of Books & Such Literary Agency.

  ISBN 978-1-941720-05-9

  Cover design by Miller Media Solutions

  Photos from www.bigstock.com

  Scriptures taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. © 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 and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

  FICTION / Christian Romance

  Table of Contents

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 Epilogue

  Recipe for Aunt Grace’s Lemon Shortbread Cookies

  Discussion Questions

  Bio

  Acknowledgments

  More Books from Ashberry Lane

  Dedicated to the One who stands beside me in the fire

  “But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit.”

  Jeremiah 17:7-8

  CHAPTER ONE

  Glasgow, Scotland

  Ian MacLean had spent the last two years feeding chickens, hiding the kitchen knives from his mule-headed grannie, and questioning his sanity.

  But if his luck held out, all that was about to change.

  Feeling lighter than he had in months, Ian crossed the street, climbed into the old farm truck, and looked back at the row of flats he’d just left. Beyond the building and to the west, the lights of Glasgow cast a golden glow against the night sky.

  Ian slipped the key into the ignition, let his hand drop, and studied the windows of his sister’s flat. When had he last felt so free?

  His talk with his absentee brother-in-law had succeeded. Davy had not only come home, but he was home to stay—he’d given Ian his word. Ian could still see the look on his sister’s face when her husband walked in the door. Claire’s stunned silence proved that she could actually hold her tongue when she fancied.

  Ian started the truck and smiled. All in a day’s work.

  Aye, he’d only meant to help Claire’s family, but in doing so, he’d also lifted a huge weight from his own shoulders. Not that Claire or her kids were a burden. Ian loved his nieces and nephews as if they were his own, and as long as he drew breath, they’d never go hungry. But more than food, those kids needed security and stability. They needed their da.

  And now, Davy was home.

  Ian tapped the pedal to bring the truck’s idle down to a low grumble. Only one obstacle to his freedom remained: Maggie MacLean. But if his luck held out and all went as planned, he would soon be free of his daft grannie and her mind-numbing nonsense. Free to explore a world of possibilities. Free to write that series of feature articles that would take him to remarkable, far-away places.

  But then, any dull place would do—as long as it took him away from Kirkhaven.

  Ian glanced at the envelope tucked in the cracked visor above him. Mailing the latest letter to Aunt Grace was all he had left to do. The sooner it arrived in Oregon, the sooner his great-aunt could move back home to Scotland and take charge of her errant sister, Maggie.

  And the sooner Ian could get on with his life, shackle-free.

  Juniper Ranch, Central Oregon

  In spite of the never-ending drama and the occasional runaway, Emily Chapman couldn’t have designed a more perfect job for herself. The kids living at the Juniper Ranch group home were so starved for love that they weren’t picky about who supplied it, and she had plenty to give. Plus, they were so desperate for normalcy and stability that they didn’t have time to think about anyone else.

  Which worked out great for Emily. The last thing she needed was anyone worrying about her.

  The first of May appeared warm with its clear skies and dazzling sun, but in reality, even with
the sun shining, the chill of Oregon’s high desert often kept the young teens inside when they weren’t doing chores or critter duty. Today’s sun had heated the sand and desert flora enough that pungent aromas of sage and juniper filled the air.

  She tapped on the parlor window and got Chaz and Brandi’s attention. “Hey,” she hollered through the glass. “Who’s up for a game of volleyball?”

  Chaz grimaced and poked his glasses higher on his nose. It would take something more complex than a ball to pull him away from the computer.

  Brandi shot up from the couch. “I’m in,” she shouted. “As long as I’m captain.”

  Emily smiled. Yeah, an outdoor game was definitely in order.

  She rounded up all seven girls and five boys and led them down to the makeshift volleyball court—little more than a sand pit surrounded by sagebrush—and divided the kids into two teams. Eleven-year-old Hector opened with a serve while Emily worked the sidelines.

  A few minutes into the game, her phone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out and stole a peek at the screen.

  Jaye. Naturally. Who else would it be?

  Since Emily still had a half hour left of her shift, she tucked her phone away and kept her eye on the volleyball. Her hiking boots kicked up dust and sand as she moved along the sideline, reminding her to toss her old cross-trainers in the Jeep before her next shift.

  Brandi lunged toward the net and nearly ate dust, but got beneath the ball just in time.

  “Awesome dig, Brandi! Way to go!” Emily silently prayed that God would give Brandi a sense that she mattered and was loved, no matter how troubled her life was. Maybe a little pride in a game well played would add something positive to the older girl’s attitude.

  Emily watched the game, counting the hits. As she clapped for a clean spike, her pocket hummed again. Getting two texts in a row wasn’t good, especially when Aunt Grace was home alone. Emily pulled out her cell phone.

  Nope. Just another message from Jaye.

  She shook her head.

  Commandment Number One in the Jaye Benson Book of Love, Life, & Death: when Jaye had a new boyfriend, no one would rest. Especially not the Best Friend.

  “Come on, guys. Don’t forget to set it up first, then hit.” Once the ball was back in play, she viewed the first text.

  Just found out Wrangle has a friend! He’s totally hot! Probably!

  “Probably ...?”

  The volleyball sailed out of bounds and disappeared into the sagebrush surrounding the makeshift court. While one of the boys retrieved the ball, Emily scrolled to the second text.

  I told Wrangle 2 tell him u love line dancing & 4x4s. We’ll pick u up @8.

  “What?”

  The ball sailed toward her. Emily caught it, stuffed it in the crook of her elbow, and double-checked the screen with a groan. “Please tell me you did not just set me up on a date,” she muttered. “Especially with some guy you haven’t even met.”

  The phone buzzed yet again.

  & it’s not a date. It’s group fun night. Note the word FUN. And NOT A DATE.

  Fabulous. Jaye’s idea of a “group” consisted of Jaye and Wrangle, plus Emily and some “totally hot” stray cowboy.

  Apparently Jaye had forgotten her promise to lay off the scheming after the last blind date. She didn’t understand. But then, it wasn’t her fault. Emily hadn’t tried very hard to make her friend understand why she had no intentions of marrying and, therefore, wasn’t interested in dating. After a lot of prayer and thought, Emily had decided to keep her reasons to herself.

  At least for now. It was better for everyone that way. Easier.

  It took a few seconds to register that the teens were hollering for the ball.

  “Sorry, guys.” She lobbed the ball back into play, then powered off the phone and stuffed it into her pocket. Taking a deep breath, Emily refocused her attention on the game. She didn’t have time to battle demons that might not even exist.

  Right now, these kids needed her.

  Twenty minutes later, the afternoon heat had warmed her skin, stirring up an occasional whiff of her favorite honeysuckle scent as she paced the sidelines. The heat had also turned her long, brown curls into a dark, clingy mop. She pulled her hair back and secured it into a ponytail.

  “Emily!” The call of her name drifted across the compound from the main house.

  “Down here,” she yelled back.

  But whatever the answer, it was lost as a red pickup barreled up the driveway, spitting gravel and stirring up clouds of dust in its wake.

  Jaye.

  The red Ford Ranger skidded to a halt at the edge of the staff parking lot. As Jaye climbed out, truck engine still running, someone near the house called Emily’s name again—her boss, who was hurrying down the path. Sue Quinn looked uptight, even more than usual.

  “Emily!” Jaye huffed as she climbed the sandy trail to the volleyball court. “Your phone is off!”

  “Weird, huh.” Emily grinned. “Maybe that’s because some days I actually work—”

  “Em!” Jaye gripped Emily’s biceps. “You gotta go home. Your Aunt Grace—”

  “What?” An icy current raced through Emily, numbing every nerve. “What happened? What’s wrong with Aunt Grace?”

  “Your house is on fire!”

  “What?”

  Kids came running, some of the girls squealing, others yelling at them to be quiet.

  “Is she hurt?” Emily breathed. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  Jaye shook her head, heaving as she caught her breath. “I don’t know. Your phone was off so I came straight—”

  “Emily!” Her boss’s clipped voice cut through the commotion as she jogged up. “There’s been some kind of emergency. Fire and paramedic crews were sent to your house. I brought your keys.”

  Molten fear ignited in her gut. Emily caught her car keys with a shaking hand, turned, and ran for her Jeep, sprinting down the dirt path as fast as her numb legs and stiff boots would allow.

  Is Aunt Grace hurt? Is she in danger? Oh, God, let her be okay.

  The prayer sent another wave of numbness through her limbs, but she sucked in a deep breath and forced her legs to move faster. All she could think of was her great-aunt trapped in the little blue house, perhaps now ablaze with crackling flames. As she reached the edge of the gravel lot, she could almost feel the flames licking at her heels. The crunch of her footfalls quickened across the gravel.

  Let her be okay ... Please, God, let her be okay ...

  Flashing red lights blinked like buoys in a sea of sand and sagebrush from half a mile away. When Emily turned onto Salt Flats Road, she spotted the sheriff’s car in front of the house along with the emergency rigs. But as she neared the house, the flashing stopped. Uniformed EMTs worked at the back of their ambulance, locking compartment doors. A couple of firefighters reattached something to the fire truck.

  No crackling flames. No smoke. No sheet-covered stretcher.

  Still, Emily couldn’t breathe. As she braked, the Jeep ground to a stop in the gravel, sending up a cloud of dust. She dashed up the steps and across the covered porch.

  A thick, noxious blend of odors met her at the doorway, setting her heart pounding.

  “Aunt Grace?” Inside, Emily took a quick glance around the front room and found her great-aunt snuggled up in her favorite corner chair.

  A uniformed fireman stood nearby while the EMT on the loveseat beside Aunt Grace packed up a medic kit.

  Grace’s soft, wrinkly face drew wide with a smile as Emily came near. “Ooh, here ye are dearie. Such a kind lass. Did ye bring the mail? We’ll be getting a letter from Maggie and Ian today.”

  That was good for a partial sigh of relief. “Are you okay?” Emily touched her aunt’s thin shoulder, then bent over the little white-haired woman and kissed the top of her head. “What’s going on? Have you been baking?”

  “Aye. Lemon cookies for tea to go with Maggie’s letter.” The old woman nodded,
leaned closer, and whispered, “But I’m afraid I misplaced my spatula.”

  Oh, Lord, not again. Emily glanced at the fireman, a guy from their church.

  He greeted her with a nod and glanced down at Aunt Grace, his drawn brow deepening his look of uncertainty. “You ... might want to start by looking in the kitchen.”

  Emily let out a pent-up breath and forced a smile. “Good idea, Brad. Thanks.” She smiled into the old woman’s clouded eyes, once the color of autumn sky. “I’ll be right back.”

  In the kitchen, another fireman with a clipboard tossed her a nod and kept writing.

  She recognized him too, one of Jaye’s recent crushes.

  The pungent smell of burnt cookie and melted plastic stung Emily’s nose.

  On the counter, a few dozen lemon shortbread cookies stood stacked in tidy rows. The oven door hung open. Inside, a batch of charred cookies rested peacefully, including what was left of the missing spatula, partially melted at a weird angle in the middle like some kind of eclectic pop art. Though every window was open, a gray haze hovered near the ceiling. Aunt Grace’s favorite Nottingham lace curtains fanned the acrid odor with the help of a gentle breeze.

  Emily rubbed her tingling nose. After a last glance around the kitchen, she returned to the front room.

  “Did ye find it?” Grace asked, still whispering.

  “Yes, I did.” Emily couldn’t help a faint smile at her great-aunt’s concern that someone might discover she’d lost a kitchen utensil. Never mind nearly burning down a house. “It’s right where you left it.”