Anna Dynowski
to encourage and entertain
Love Never Fails
Be devoted to one another. Honor one
another above yourselves.
Romans 12:10 (NIV)
The Write Honor

An excerpt from

Chapter Two
A mirror reproduced a person’s face.
But if one wanted to know, really know a person, really know what she was like, really know what her character, her integrity,
her honor were like, all one had to do was scrutinize her family, study the friends she’d chosen, and one would have a pretty
accurate sketch of the person in question.
That was Connor’s motivating factor for coming to Harmony Village.
To scrutinize Krysia Barciniak’s family. To study Krysia Barciniak’s friends.
His theory contained one flaw.
Krysia Barciniak herself, he admitted with some reluctance.
When his gaze had first connected with hers, something indefinable had passed between them. The power of that instant in time
had left him breathless. Speechless. Unnerved.
Although her parents and friends all appeared small-town friendly, possessing small-town friendly countenances and small-town
friendly manners, it was the woman herself, standing before him with her mother’s arm draped over her shoulders and encircled
by her friends and neighbors, that bore the most accurate sketch of Krysia Barciniak.
Her cheekbones were high, her jaw strong, but her eyes… Her eyes, blue like sapphires, blue like his daughter’s, told the story
her lips never would. Her eyes, so dark, so full of thoughts and secrets and pain, especially when she glanced down at Brenna,
revealed her vulnerability.
With the promptness of the panicked, Connor eased his features into an impassive expression when he saw her raise those eyes
to him. And once again, felt shivers of awareness ripple down his arms.
Don’t go making a forest out of a twig, he admonished himself, stomping down on the intrusive yet inexplicable sensations
swirling through him.
Don’t go jumping to any conclusions here. He pushed his free hand into his pants pocket and balled it into a fist.
You’re here to observe her, to determine, with no margin for error, if she is trustworthy to let into Brenna’s life. There can be no
margin for error
, he reminded himself, planting his linen-clad legs wide and locking his spine.
He would protect Brenna at all costs. She was his daughter and he would protect her and no amount of vulnerability and pain
scratched into the blue eyes staring at him now would soften his resolve. Would not soften him at all if he detected the merest
possibility of a corrupt character.
Time would tell.
And he had plenty of it.
“I’m sure you and your daughter will settle down nicely here. Harmony Village prides itself on being a great place to raise
children. It’s safe enough to walk alone at night and leave your doors unlocked,” Krysia said, her voice precise and professional
and pried into his thoughts. “It is a Harmony Village tradition to always make newcomers and visitors feel like family. If I can be
of any assistance—”
Family. The word reminded him of his dead wife. The word made his chest feel tight. The word made his voice sound curt.
“I’m certain we’ll be just fine.” He shrugged with the words. Seeing the puzzled hurt on her face, he cursed himself and felt
obliged to add a belated, “Thank you.”
She gave him a bright smile, but it was strained around the edges, and he felt his heart give a quick, catchy sigh. He would do
well to remember he was a man on a mission. And that mission did not include antagonizing the one person, the one woman, the
one…mother…Brenna had left in this world.
Mother.
Connor closed his eyes. A year after Missy’s death, he still grieved as though it had happened only yesterday. Brenna still grieved
as though it had happened only yesterday. His eyes lifted to Krysia’s and he made a sound somewhere between throat clearing and
sighing.
“Brenna and I are pleased to be here, aren’t we honey?” His fingers tightening in encouragement, he winked at his daughter. “And
we’re looking forward to making new…friends.”
Once again, his eyes lifted to Krysia’s. When their gazes met and melded, she gave him a careful smile. His skin prickled with
awareness and he found himself catching his breath.
Though she wasn’t as pretty as Missy, she wasn’t…unattractive.
The thought struck him hard and fast. The pain it produced shocked him.
How could he—his gut twisted—see another woman, any woman, but especially this woman, even for a few seconds, and
notice her looks, be drawn to her…looks? It’d only been a year since Missy died. Dropping his gaze, he frowned at the toe of his
shoe.
The guilt kicked in.
Excerpted from The Write Honor by Anna Dynowski                                                Copyright 2012 by Anna Dynowski
Excerpted by permission by Write Words, Inc.                                                                                 All Rights Reserved
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