Makin' Miracles

Book 2: Smoky Mountain Novel

by Lin Stepp

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

"A charming portrait of the Smokies, their people, and a wonderful way of life." --Deborah Smith, New York Times bestselling author Set in Tennessee's postcard-perfect Smoky Mountains, Lin Stepp's Makin' Miracles is an inspiring tale that reveals why love and forgiveness are most important just when they seem most impossible. . . Zola Devon has always been a little different. Half Tahitian, with long black hair and dark eyes, she's especially distinctive in the mountain town of Gatlinburg. She even stocks her gift shop, Nature's Corner, with items that reflect her island heritage and tantalize tourists. But it's her spot-on intuition that truly sets Zola apart. When she gets a hunch about a person, she's almost always right. And when the surly photographer who owns the gallery next door starts meddling in her business, she can only hope that, for once, her instincts are wrong. The one thing Spencer Jackson loves more than his camera is the majestic scenery of the Smoky Mountains. Reeling from his painful past, he's settled in a cabin in the woods to train his lens on the breathtaking landscape. A woman as uniquely beguiling as Zola could only throw his simple, uncomplicated days into chaos--and force him to lay bare his darkest secrets. But as their lives become unavoidably intertwined, they both may discover the beauty of the truth, and the joy of the unexpected. Praise for Lin Stepp and her Smoky Mountain Novels "I've finally come across someone that believes in all the things that I do. . .love, family, faith, intrigue, mystery, loyalty, romance, and a great love for our beloved Smoky Mountains." –Dolly Parton "A wonderful, new Southern voice." --Joan Medlicott, author of the bestselling The Ladies of Covington series

Release date: December 30, 2014

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 276

Sample

Zola heard the bell on the door chime and looked up to see a young couple head into the store. They talked as they began wandering around the aisles, so she didn’t make eye contact and offer the greeting she usually gave to her customers. She would later.

For the moment, she turned her attention back to her current customer at the counter. It was a busy day at Nature’s Corner. The warm weekend in late February had drawn an unexpected rush of tourists to Gatlinburg—all eager to get out after a rash of cold, snowy weeks in Tennessee.

The plump, older woman at the counter smiled at Zola. “I am so tickled to find this new book by Vera Leeds.” She tapped the colorfully illustrated children’s book stacked with her other purchases. “I read that Vera Leeds started writing children’s fairy books. I’m sure my little Karen will be thrilled to get this fairy story by her for a birthday gift. My granddaughters all love Vera Leeds’s Foster Girls books and the television series, too.”

Zola thought about telling her that Vera Leeds, aka Vivian Jamison, lived nearby in Wears Valley. Instead, she said, “I’m sure your granddaughter will be pleased with the book, Mrs. Springer—and with the fairy wings, garland, and wand you bought her, too.” Zola tucked the items into a gift box, tore off a sheet of fanciful paper, and began to wrap the present. Nature’s Corner provided gift-wrapping, for a fee, in three paper choices.

Mrs. Springer tucked her credit card back in her paisley purse. “I do thank you for helping me pick out these things for Karen. Birthdays are so special for little ones.” She looked at Zola speculatively. “Do you have children, dear?”

“No. I’m not married yet, Mrs. Springer. I’ve been busy finishing school, learning the retail business, and establishing my own store.” Zola deftly wrapped green ribbon around the box covered in butterfly paper, added a ribbon loop to the top, and taped on the Nature’s Corner gold sticker in the center.

Mrs. Springer wagged a finger at Zola. “Well, I’m sure the right man will come along for a pretty girl like you.”

A voice slipped into Zola’s consciousness before she could reply. She’s left her lights on.

Zola paused. “Are you planning on doing other shopping today, Mrs. Springer?”

The woman nodded, smoothing down a pink pullover sweater over her ample figure. “Oh, yes. Raymond and I just got here. He’s over in the woodcraft shop. We’re going to spend the whole day in Gatlinburg enjoying the sunshine.”

Zola laid a hand over hers. “Promise me you’ll put this gift in your car before you shop anymore, Mrs. Springer. There’s been a rash of people leaving their lights on lately after they park, and I’d like you to check your car. On a busy day like this, it’s hard to get help in Gatlinburg if you experience car trouble.”

Mrs. Springer pursed her lips and leaned forward. “That’s a nice suggestion, dear. I’ve noticed Raymond is getting more and more forgetful these days about that sort of thing.”

She took the shopping bag with the gift in it from Zola. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to carry this bag around all day, anyway. Books are heavy.”

Zola watched her leave with relief. Sometimes it proved easier, passing the words along, especially when people were receptive like Mrs. Springer.

Seeing two new customers come into the store, Zola blew out a breath. She could use a short break—but she’d need to wait until a lull between sales. Who’d have thought a Friday would be such a busy day?

Zola greeted the two women, who wanted to browse, and then made her way over to the couple who’d walked in earlier. The man was tall and tan, with sun-dipped brown hair, and the woman, a Marilyn Monroe blonde, with a bust to match, her arm tucked possessively through his.

“Welcome to Nature’s Corner,” Zola said, smiling at them in greeting. “Can I help you with something?”

“Perhaps.” The blonde shifted blue, sulky eyes over Zola, scanning her in evaluation.

Zola met her gaze calmly, unruffled by the assessment, watching the woman shift uncomfortably before turning bright eyes to the man.

“Ask her about the scarves.” She leaned against him. “See if she knows how to do them.”

He turned deep, thoughtful eyes toward Zola—thinker’s eyes, artist’s eyes. An interesting man. Zola noticed the contradiction of a neat white oxford shirt and trendy loafers, coupled with old jeans and long hair tied back with a leather strip. He didn’t know with a certainty who he was, she thought.

The man lifted his eyes to hers, and a swift moment of recognition flashed as they connected on another plane before he dropped his gaze. Zola felt a shiver.

Picking up a square of turquoise patterned fabric, he held it out, his eyes moving to the framed display picture illustrating how to tie the fabric into a garment. “We saw the picture showing how to wrap this into a dress and wondered how it worked—or if it worked—and if it was easy to do.”

The blonde fingered the silky, floral fabric. “It’s such beautiful material.”

“Yes. It’s a pareu.” Zola smiled at her. “In many island cultures, like in the South Pacific, the women, and the men, wear pareus freely. They’re cool and comfortable.”

On familiar ground now, Zola slipped off her Nature’s Corner apron as she talked. “All pareus are traditionally a fabric piece approximately two yards long and one yard wide, like this one. The material is hand-blocked or hand painted in traditional floral, or tapa, patterns.” She took the fabric from the woman’s hands to spread it out. “You can wrap a pareu into a dress, skirt, turban, or shawl. There are hundreds of designs, but I can show you one that is especially easy.”

Zola wrapped the fabric around her back and brought the fabric ends forward to the front. Then she began to cross and tuck the fabric nimbly around her body and above her breasts until the garment took the shape of a tropical dress, dropping to mid calf.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous!” The blonde looked charmed. “I think I could do the wrapping, too.”

“Of course you could.” Zola encouraged her, taking the pareu off herself in a few quick movements and moving toward the blonde to slip the fabric around her back. “Here, I’ll show you.”

In a few moments, she helped the woman to create her own dress, this one with a silky strap tucked over one shoulder.

The blonde surveyed herself in the wall mirror with admiration. Glancing over her shoulder at the man, she dropped her eyes seductively. “It would look even better without the clothes under it.”

As the woman’s gaze slid over him with familiarity, Zola turned away to slip her store apron back on again. She answered a final question and then excused herself to go speak to her other customers.

A short time later the man came to the counter carrying the turquoise pareu and another in vivid yellows and red.

“I’ll take both of these,” he said, his voice rich and deep.

Zola rang them up, wrapped them in tissue, and tucked them into a dark green Nature’s Corner bag. She looked up to find the man quietly watching her. Their eyes met, and Zola frowned—listening to the words that rose up in her spirit.

She put out a hand to touch his without thinking. “She isn’t for you. Be careful of her.”

His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

Zola shook her head and leaned toward him. “Be careful of her. The woman you’re with. She’s a thief. She’s not for you. In fact, she will rob you tonight after . . .” Her voice dropped away, and Zola felt a flush rise up her neck.

The man jerked his hand away from hers. “Who the heck do you think you are to judge me—or her?” His eyes flashed. “You don’t know either of us.”

Zola met his gaze without flinching. “It’s what I heard. Sometimes I simply know things. Keep it in mind, that’s all I ask.”

She watched him scrutinize her from head to toe with angry eyes. Then he smiled cruelly. “So, what’s your next prediction, shopgirl? Do you think maybe you’re the one for me—since you think she’s not? Is that your next line?”

Surprised, Zola caught her breath, crossing her arms over her breasts defensively. She didn’t like the way his eyes raked her up and down.

She took a shaky breath. “I didn’t get any knowledge about that, sir,” she said softly, meeting his stormy eyes with calm ones. “I only got what I told you. If you’re wise, you will remember it later.”

His eyes narrowed, moving to the name sewn on her apron front. “What do you think you are, Zola—some kind of gypsy fortune-teller? You certainly have the appearance of one and the name to match. Black hair, dark eyes, with an exotic look. Is it cultivated? And is draping yourself seductively in those scarves, like you did, part of your drama act?”

Zola felt her face flush. She pressed down a surge of anger and met his eyes with honesty. “I am half Tahitian by birth, sir. My looks, and my name, are my birthright, not contrived. I grew up in the South Pacific. Wearing pareus is as comfortable and natural to me as wearing jeans is to you. I show all my customers how to drape and tie garments because it is a part of my business as a store owner.”

The blonde slithered up to put a hand through the man’s arm. “Is anything wrong?” She looked from one to the other.

The man’s eyes challenged Zola to reply.

“Nothing is wrong.” Zola smiled at the woman. “We just had a momentary disagreement on a small subject.”

As the woman drifted away, attracted by a basket filled with shell necklaces on a nearby display table, Zola spoke quietly again. “Keep in mind what I said.” She handed the man the Nature’s Corner bag over the counter.

He snatched the bag and gave her a final angry stare before turning to leave. She watched the blonde tuck her arm into his again as they left the store.

Oh, well, she thought with resignation, turning with a friendly smile to her next customer.

A little later, Zola finally got a chance to slip into the back of the store for a quick break. She carried a bottle of flavored water and an apple out to the front with her and sat down on a stool behind the counter for a rest. It had been a long day, and there were several hours yet to go before close.

The bell on the door of Nature’s Corner jingled once more, and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Zola’s face broke into a grin. “Maya Thomas, you’re not supposed to be here. It’s your day off.”

“Yeh, and how else would I get to see your face if I didn’t come to find you here?” The brown-eyed Jamaican woman started across the room toward Zola. Tall and lithe, she wore her gray hair short around her regal, warm-toned face.

She came close to Zola, framed her cheeks with her hands, and studied her with pleasure. “It is good to see you, Zolakieran. You’ve been away to those far islands too long a time. It is a fine thing to see your face again. Jah know.”

Zola loved Maya’s occasional lapses into Jamaican terms. “The Lord knows it is good to see your face again, too, Maya.”

The older woman kissed both of Zola’s cheeks before releasing her to step back. “So when did you plan to come and see your good friend, yeh?”

Zola put her hands on her hips. “I only got in last night, Maya. Should I have driven to your place at midnight? I was tired and I needed sleep. It’s a long flight from the South Pacific to the mountains of Tennessee.”

Maya shook a finger at her. “That it is. And you should have let me work your hours today. I have come now so you will go home to get some rest.” She studied Zola’s eyes. “You look tired. You know Viola would have worked again today to fill in for you with gladness. She worked your hours all these weeks. Another day longer wouldn’t have mattered to her.”

“I know. Viola is good to fill in for us when we need her.”

Viola Bartlett, a full-figured, warm-natured woman with a grown son and time on her hands, loved to pick up hours at the store part-time whenever Zola needed her. She gladly worked Zola’s hours when Zola took her yearly trips home to the South Pacific to be with her family and to do buying for the store.

Maya crossed her arms and lifted a corner of her mouth in a smile. “The truth of it is you couldn’t wait to get yourself back in here, and that’s a fact.”

Zola smiled at her. “You’re probably right about that. I’ve missed it.”

“Is that all you’re having for your dinner?” Maya eyed the apple on the counter.

“I’ve been busy.” Zola shrugged.

“Well, I’ll run behind the store to the Garden Café and get us both a little bite to eat. We’ll visit around the customers.” She started toward the back door. “You save that apple for later. I’ll get us homemade chicken potpies for dinner. You know George’s cook has a gift for making those.”

“What about your girls?” Zola asked. “Shouldn’t you get home for Carole and Clarissa?”

“Ahhh, those girls.” She waved a hand dismissively. “They’ve gone to Pigeon Forge to shop.”

Zola leaned her elbows on the counter. “You must love having Carole back home again.” Maya’s oldest daughter had graduated from college and come back home after Christmas.

“Hmmmph. It’s little enough I see of her since she started working in Tanner Cross’s accounting office.” Maya made a face. “And, of course, it will only get worse as the tax season starts coming in.”

Despite her fussing, Zola knew Maya felt pleased that Carole found a job here in Gatlinburg and moved back home after graduation. Since Maya’s husband Nigel died several years ago, the girls were Maya’s only family in the States.

After Maya left, Zola looked over the posted work schedule for the coming week, where she’d penciled herself back in for her regular hours at the store again. Maya and she had alternated days at the store ever since Zola bought and opened Nature’s Corner three years ago. Zola’s other part-time employee was Faith Rayburn, a family friend. Faith was a caring, slightly wispy mother of four who worked around her children’s school schedule for extra money. She wasn’t good with bookkeeping or with running the register totals, but the customers loved her warmth and local charm.

The bell jingled again, and Zola was soon busy with a new sweep of customers. She rang up six more sales before Maya returned.

During the next lull, the friends sat at the front counter on two stools and ate chicken potpie. They talked about the new products Zola found for the store on her buying trip, and Maya caught her up on store news.

Then Zola told Maya about the man who came in the store earlier. “I wish he had been more open to hear.”

Maya frowned. “He’s a bootoo to take no heed of a useful warning like that.”

Zola grinned. She knew a bootoo, in Jamaican, was an insignificant or dumb person. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I always feel bad when someone gets mad and doesn’t understand. I always think I might have expressed things better.”

Maya shook her head. “It is not your responsibility in the Lord to see to it that people like His Words. It is simply your job to offer the words as you are given them.”

“I guess.” Zola sighed as she spooned out the last remnants of her supper. The Garden did have the best homemade chicken potpie.

Maya cocked her head to one side. “Is it better back in Mooréa—how your gift is received?”

Zola laughed. “No. Sometimes it’s worse. Some of the natives make an obvious effort to walk around me or make a sign when I go by.”

“Wutless!” Maya lapsed into another Jamaican phrase, meaning worthless.

“Sometimes I get gifts left at my doorstep, like offerings. Hibiscus blossoms, shells, breadfruit, or mangos. Once I actually got a black pearl a diver found. It was a thank-you gift for a word of knowledge that helped to save the man’s child.” She gathered up their dishes thoughtfully. “I was only seven years old when that happened. Mama made the pearl into a necklace for me. I still have it and wear it.”

“Your mama respected your gift and she encouraged it.” Maya dumped their dishes and plastic spoons into the paper sack from the café. “She was a good mother. I’m sorry you lost her so young.”

“Me too.” Zola fingered the pearl around her neck as she remembered her mother. “She told me it was like receiving a pearl of great price to be given the gift of being a seer. She said never to misuse it or to take profit from it or I could cloud its beauty and dishonor God.”

Maya made a spiritual sign Zola didn’t recognize. “May she be blessed for encouraging you.”

Zola nodded. “I’ve been fortunate, too, that my grandparents are accepting of my gift. It would have been hard if that hadn’t been so, since they raised me most of the years after Mama died. I know I told you she lost her life in a small plane accident, coming back from a trip to her sister’s in New Zealand when I was twelve. Nana Etta became sort of my substitute mother after that.”

“Ahhh. And well you know I am fond of Mother Etta.” This was what Maya always called Zola’s grandmother, Etta Garnett Devon.

Maya carried their trash out to the back Dumpster, along with the store trash that had accumulated behind the counter. When she returned, the two caught up on the little things of their lives—as friends love to do.

Zola glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost seven now, only two more hours until she could close the store. “You go home now, Maya,” Zola said, patting her on the arm fondly. “You have to work eight hours tomorrow. And your girls will be back soon. I’ll finish up here and close the store.”

Two hours later when Zola had counted out the register and was locking the store to leave, she thought of the man again. She had seen clearly he would be robbed tonight by the lovely blonde on his arm.

Zola frowned. She wondered if the man would remember the warning she gave him or if he would be taken advantage of. The woman was very beautiful, but beauty on the outside was not always an indication of beauty on the inside.

Zola shook her head. “As You will, Lord,” she said as she flipped out the lights to go home. “As You will.”

It was impossible for Spencer not to think of the odd Tahitian woman off and on through the evening. Leena wore the turquoise pareu wrapped seductively around her lush curves during their dinner together. Just looking at it brought the episode at the gift shop constantly to mind.

Now Leena sat draped across Spencer’s couch in the big living room of his mountain home, tapping her red-tipped fingernails to the music lilting out of Spencer’s stereo. He watched her from the kitchen, where he was cleaning up the dishes from their dinner of grilled shrimp, Cajun rice, and salad.

“It’s such a sweet thing having a man to cook for me.” Leena’s voice was sultry and seductive. “I’ll have to think of some sweet way to reward you back. You’ve been particularly good to me today.”

The undertone of her suggestion was certainly not subtle. Spencer frowned, remembering the words of the shopgirl again and recalling the slow flush that had crept up her face and neck when she alluded to a more intimate encounter between him and Leena.

“Darling, do bring me another glass of that lovely Riesling, would you? It would be nice after our dinner.” Leena patted the sofa beside her as she caught his eye. “And come and sit with me. We can talk and watch this lovely fire together.”

Spencer poured out two glasses of the white wine. He had planned this dinner with Leena Evanston for some time, and he hated that events occurred to put a damper on it. Leena was a decorator out of Atlanta who bought his prints for her business customers when they wanted naturalistic photography in their décor. She appreciated Spencer’s work and often recommended him to important clients. Spencer felt flattered when Leena suggested she might come for a visit, and he’d offered to host her for dinner at his newly completed home on the mountain. A subtle flirtation had flickered between them for some time, and Spencer hoped their relationship might move to another level during her visit.

He brought the glass of wine over to Leena and sat down beside her on the couch. She was a handsome woman. Any man would be happy to be in his shoes with her tonight. The fact that she insisted on wrapping herself in the new pareu, with evidently no other clothing underneath, boded well for the evening to follow.

She smiled lazily at him and traced a finger down his arm. “Most men who are as successful as you, Spencer Jackson, are either old or have inherited their wealth. You do impress me with what you’ve already accomplished with your photography at only thirty years old. You’ve established a national reputation as a naturalist photographer, have published five coffee-table books that my clients simply drool over, and own your own gallery here in the mountains.”

Leena looked around the room. “This is a lovely mountain home you built up here on the ridgetops.” She gave him a wide smile, showing perfect white teeth. “But it must get awfully lonely here. Personally, I think I’d need the pace, noise, and happenings of the city to stay happy, but this would certainly be a nice little retreat when I wanted to get away from it all.”

He scowled. It vexed him how Leena so readily dismissed his new home. He’d planned and saved for it for a long time, and it had taken him many hikes and exploration trips before he found the perfect spot to construct it on.

She stretched languidly. “If your reputation continues to build, Spencer, you could open another gallery in Atlanta. I think it would go very well. I would certainly help you to promote it. And we could find you a stunning apartment or town house downtown, perhaps in Buckhead.” She traced a red-tipped nail up his arm again. “We might see each other a lot more often if you lived closer to me.”

Her message was obvious—that she could hardly see herself living happily here. Spencer stood up, slightly irritated that she kept flippantly devaluing the life he loved. “I’ve got to run back to the bathroom, Leena. You enjoy your wine until I get back.”

She giggled and ran a hand down his thigh as he stood up. “I think you’ll find what you’re looking for in the drawer right beside your bedside table, darling.”

As Spencer walked back through the house into his spacious master bedroom, he thought about her comment. How did she know where he kept anything? Was that a guess or had she rummaged around in the drawers in his bedroom?

Spencer felt a shiver crawl up his spine. The shopgirl’s words from earlier in the day floated through his mind again. In the bedroom now, Spencer began to methodically search his drawers, closets, and possessions.

When he returned, he walked casually toward Leena with a smile, leaned over to kiss her, and then picked up her designer briefcase and purse to carry across the room with him to a side table.

“I doubt those would have been in the way, darling. . .