By Her Side

As soon as Chris Hamilton was out of sight, Felicity crossed her arms on her desk and buried her face in them, willing her heart to stop racing.

Had she managed to convince him that the letters were the unsettling but harmless result of someone with too much time on their hands? Because she’d certainly tried to convince herself. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to let him see that she was just as concerned as he was. She’d noticed his assessing gaze, looking for chinks in her emotional armor. As a reporter, she knew all about reading people’s body language, too.

It had taken a lot of concentration to make sure her real feelings didn’t show, and for some reason, with Officer Chris Hamilton sitting close enough for her to breathe in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne, it had taken more effort than usual.

DAVIS LANDING:

Nothing is stronger than a family’s love

KATHRYN SPRINGER

is a lifelong Wisconsin resident. Growing up in a “newspaper family,” she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter. She wrote her first “book” at the age of ten (which her mother still has!) and she hasn’t stopped writing since then. Initially, her writing was a well-kept secret that only her family and a few close friends knew about. Now, with her books in print, the secret is out. Kathryn began writing inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.

KATHRYN SPRINGER

BY HER SIDE

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

 Kathryn Springer for her contribution

 to the DAVIS LANDING miniseries.

This book is warmly dedicated to Diane Dietz, my editor at Steeple Hill, who understands the great mysteries of commas, semicolons and ellipses, indulges my fascination (obsession?) with …’s (most of the time) and who gently polishes my words until they shine.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.

—Joshua 1:9

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Ten Years Earlier

“Hamilton, maybe you should just throw a cot in the corner over there.”

Chris Hamilton opened his eyes and saw his coach grinning at him.

“Are you leaving already?” he muttered, feeling his muscles tremble under the punishing weights he was balancing over his head.

He must have lost track of the hour. The last time he’d looked, three guys on the other side of the gym had been having a good-natured bench-press competition while the custodian mopped the floor. Now the lights were dimmed and someone had turned off the country and western music that had been blaring from the radio.

“Already?” One of Coach Swanson’s ragged eyebrows kicked up a notch. “It’s almost ten o’clock. And I know for a fact that you have a big English test tomorrow first period.”

Chris grimaced, but not from pain. The only reason Coach knew about the exam was because he happened to be married to Chris’s English teacher. That was a bummer. He couldn’t get away with anything. For all he knew, they traded notes about their students over their bran flakes every morning.

“I studied.” Not that it would do much good. For some reason, when God had gifted the Hamilton family, He’d somehow overlooked Chris completely. Or maybe He’d just given Chris’s twin, Heather, a double dose. Whatever had happened, he sweated over diagramming sentences more than he did bench-pressing three hundred pounds.

“Go home, Hamilton,” Coach Swanson ordered, “and instead of dreaming about the next game, you better be conjugating verbs in your sleep.”

Chris never ignored a direct order from his coach. He lowered the weighted bar into place and reached for the towel hanging over the end of the bench, swiping it across his face with one quick movement.

“Wish I had half your energy,” Coach grumbled, then looked at Chris speculatively. “Had a talk with your old man the other day. He’s pretty pumped up that you and Heather are graduating next month. Said he can’t wait to get some more family members into the business.”

Chris shrugged. “I guess so.”

A familiar restlessness coursed through him. A mixture of confusion and frustration that churned in his stomach the minute someone inquired about his future plans. Maybe it was because it usually wasn’t an inquiry at all. People assumed that just because he was a Hamilton he’d naturally follow in his siblings’ footsteps and stay in Davis Landing, becoming another efficient cog in the powerhouse that was Hamilton Media.

His dad, the incredible Wallace Hamilton, expected it, too. Instead of the usual bedtime stories most kids heard growing up, the stories Chris had been told were about the early Hamiltons and how they’d brought a small weekly newspaper through the Depression and World War II. When Wallace eventually took control, he’d turned the Davis Landing Dispatch into the successful media corporation it was now, which included not only the newspaper, now a daily, but also Nashville Living magazine.

So far his older brothers, Jeremy and Tim, and his sister, Amy, had already begun carving out their niches in the company. Even Heather was counting the days until she would be there full-time, planning to attend a local college and work at the magazine when she wasn’t in class. Not him. The closer he got to graduation, the more pressure he felt. Pressure to take his rightful and expected place at Hamilton Media. The only trouble was, he had a sinking feeling there wasn’t a place for him there. He had no desire to sit in an office and tally numbers all day and no one with an ounce of concern about the future of the company would want him writing for the Dispatch or Nashville Living.

Maybe that was why he was still in the school gym lifting weights instead of going home. The tension between him and Wallace had been escalating lately. Not a day went by that his dad didn’t casually mention him “coming on board.”

And not a day went by that everything inside Chris didn’t tell him that Hamilton Media wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

Maybe if he had a Plan B, something he could present to his parents, they’d be willing to listen. He knew his mom would. A lot of his friends complained about their moms. That they were overprotective. Worried too much. Not Nora Hamilton. She was a quiet but steady force in their family who’d taught her children that God had a unique plan for their lives.

So what was the unique plan for Chris Hamilton?

A heavy hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder and Chris met Coach Swanson’s knowing gaze. Had his coach seen a glimpse of the conflict raging inside him?

“Your dad will be proud of you no matter what you decide to do with your life,” he said.

But Chris wasn’t so sure. He turned down the coach’s offer for a ride home and once outside, hit the sidewalk at an easy lope to work the kinks out of his muscles.

God, if You have something in mind for me, I hate to rush You, but You better move fast. Dad has his mind made up and I don’t know how to tell him that I’d rather ask people if they want to upgrade their order of fries than balance accounts or write articles.

He took a shortcut through the back of the parking lot and that’s when he heard it. A faint yelp. He eased his pace and then stopped when he heard it again. Only now he heard words. Shrill with fear.

“Just leave me alone! I have to get home.”

“Did you hear that? He has to get home. Maybe his mommy will ground him if he’s late.”

Chris didn’t hesitate. He followed the voices and when he stepped around the corner, two guys who looked to be in their late teens had backed a boy he recognized from study hall up against the building.

“Everybody knows kids from your side of town got money,” Chris heard one of the guys growl. “Give it up or we’ll have to beat it out of you.”

“Two against one.” Chris took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. “Doesn’t look like a fair fight to me.”

Not to mention that the kid pressed against the brick wall was a freshman and probably wouldn’t tip the scale at a hundred pounds.

“Think you’re going to even things up?” one of the guys sneered, lifting his fist. Which just happened to be wrapped around a baseball bat.

For a split second, fear skittered up Chris’s spine. The boy they’d lined up as a target took advantage of the distraction Chris had offered and sidled up behind him.

What have you gotten yourself into, Hamilton? The thought raced through Chris’s mind but he held his ground.

The guy with the bat took a menacing step closer. “This isn’t your business, man.”

“It is now,” Chris said, forcing his voice to sound calm. Guys like this could probably smell fear. He had his doubts he was going to be able to talk his way out of this. Bat Boy didn’t look like he’d be big on negotiations.

“Thanks, Chris.” The boy hovering in his shadow barely breathed the words, but Chris heard him. For some reason, the quiet words gave him an unexpected dose of strength.

He was going to get them out of this. With both their limbs intact. He just wasn’t sure how….

“Man, get out of here. There’s a squad car,” Bat Boy’s friend suddenly hissed.

The glare of the headlights from a police car chased away the shadows and momentarily disoriented them. Chris’s eyes adjusted quickly, just in time to see the guy with the bat pull it back in a broad arc. Chris guessed his intent immediately. To buy himself some more time to get away, he was going to let it fly at the two officers who’d jumped out of the squad car and were heading toward them.

Chris instinctively dove for the guy’s legs, taking him out in a tackle that Coach Swanson would have been proud of.

“First down,” he rasped at Bat Boy, who struggled to get away from him.

In less than five minutes, both the guys were handcuffed and sitting in the back of the squad car.

“Pretty quick reflexes.” The cop, who looked to be in his forties, looked at Chris and grinned. “Don’t you think so, Jason?”

“Not bad at all,” the other officer, Jason, agreed. Given the height and build of the younger officer, Chris knew Coach would’ve loved to recruit him as a line-backer for the football team.

“We’ve been having some trouble with kids being harassed lately and I have a feeling these might be our guys,” the officer who’d complimented Chris said. “Could you boys come down to the station and give us a statement? We’ll give you a lift home afterward.”

A half hour later, Chris was in the break room listening to the officers’ easy banter as shift change approached. Rich, the boy who’d almost been attacked, had finished writing his statement and his parents had already picked him up. Jason had taken the two guys to the jail for processing while Chris waited for Sergeant Evans, who’d made the arrest, to finish up some loose ends.

“The sergeant said you made a pretty gutsy move tonight,” one of the officers said, sliding a can of soda over to Chris. “Handled yourself pretty well.”

Chris shrugged at the unexpected praise and felt his face grow warm as the other officers shifted their attention to him. “I didn’t have time to think about it.”

“Ever think about our ride-along program?” Jason asked as he wandered in, tugging at the collar of his uniform.

“What’s that?”

“High-school students interested in a career in law enforcement ride along for a few shifts. See what it’s like, whether it’s a good fit. That’s what sold me,” Jason explained.

The officers laughed good-naturedly.

“You haven’t made your probation yet, Welsh,” one of them teased.

“Maybe he’s recruiting his replacement.”

Chris glanced at Jason but could tell that he was enjoying the attention. And didn’t seem to take any of their comments seriously.

“Maybe I’m recruiting my future partner,” Jason shot back.

Sergeant Evans appeared in the doorway. “Ready to go, Chris?”

Chris glanced at the clock on the wall and cringed. It was quarter after eleven. He should have called home the minute he’d gotten to the police department. Maybe by some stroke of luck everyone would be sleeping.

As Sergeant Evans pulled the squad car into the driveway a few minutes later and Chris saw a light glowing behind the curtains in the family room, he knew the chances of sneaking upstairs without disturbing anyone were slim. Hopefully it was his mom waiting up for him. Nora tended to listen first and ask questions later. His dad was just the opposite.

He opened the car door and Sergeant Evans pulled a business card out of his pocket and gave it to Chris.

“I’m sure you’ve got your future all figured out, but give me a call if you’re interested in the ride-along program,” he said.

Chris tucked it into his back pocket and paused to watch the squad car cruise away. Then he remembered the three chapters he should have had memorized by now. Sighing, he slipped in through the front door and stepped carefully around the floorboards near the coatrack that had a tendency to squeak. He’d been busted by that squeak on more than one occasion over the years.

“It’s about time. If you didn’t show up by midnight I was going to call the cops.” Heather didn’t even glance up from the textbook cradled in her lap as he tried to slink past the family room.

“That’s who I was with.”

Chris waited for her reaction and it didn’t disappoint him. Heather lifted her nose out of the hallowed pages of the College Prep Advanced English text and her mouth dropped open.

“What are you talking about?”

He flopped into the chair across from her and gave her a play-by-play of the last few hours, ending with Sergeant Evans’s invitation to take part in the ride-along program.

“You’re going to, aren’t you?” Heather ventured cautiously. “You want to. I can see it on your face.”

Chris closed his eyes. How could he put it into words? He didn’t quite understand what had happened, either. All he knew was for the first time in months, thinking about his future didn’t give him that restless feeling. He felt excited instead.

“Come on, Chris,” Heather urged quietly. “Talk to me. I know you’ve been having a hard time.”

That shouldn’t have surprised him. It was the weird bond between twins everyone liked to talk about. It was true, though. He’d always felt closer to Heather than he did to his older brothers. Womb-mates, she laughingly called them. Even though he and Heather were close, there were still some things she didn’t understand. How could she? Everyone but him was a round Hamilton peg that fit into a round Hamilton hole.

“I did something that mattered tonight,” Chris said. “And it felt good. Something bad might have happened to Rich if I hadn’t stepped in. He was scared to death. So was I.” He could admit it now but it hadn’t stopped him from getting involved.

“But Dad…” Heather began, and then hesitated, not wanting to put a damper on his excitement.

She didn’t have to. Chris had weathered his father’s disapproval at various times over the years but even now he wasn’t sure he could stand strong under the weight of his disappointment.

“Pray about it first, Chris,” Heather said.

Her words hit him with the force of a pile driver. He had prayed about it.

If You have something in mind, God…You better move fast….

A sense of wonder washed over him. Maybe he’d already received the answer. Because even though he’d just spent the past hour with a group of police officers—people he’d never met until tonight—he’d felt like he fit in.

Chapter One

Present Day

“Time for the second shift to take over, Mrs. Hamilton. You’re officially off duty.” Chris slipped into the hospital room and wrapped one arm around his mom’s slim shoulders, shoulders that felt too fragile to carry the weight that had been put on them recently.

Nora lifted her head and smiled at him. A genuine smile that momentarily eased the tired lines in her face. “Chris. I didn’t think you’d be able to come by this evening.”

“I talked to Jason and rescheduled my training. Thanks to all the times you’ve fed him supper, he owes me.” Chris kept his voice low because he could tell his dad was asleep. “How has he been today?”

“The same.” The words came out with a ragged sigh and Nora’s smile faded. “He did wake up a few hours ago, muttering orders.”

Chris thought that might be a good sign. As weak as his dad was, he’d be more concerned if Wallace wasn’t trying to run Hamilton Media from his private room at Community General Medical Center, where he’d been transferred recently following a bone marrow transplant in a Nashville hospital. Just when he was feeling well enough to be released, a low-grade fever had weakened him enough to keep him at Community General longer than they’d anticipated.

“I’ll be here if he wakes up again,” Chris promised softly. “Go home for a while, Mom.”

Maybe a few hours of rest wouldn’t completely erase the tiny creases that fanned out from the corners of his mother’s eyes, but Chris figured it couldn’t hurt, either. Nora had been incredibly strong during the past few months after Wallace was diagnosed with leukemia. Several rounds of chemotherapy hadn’t been successful and finally Dr. Strickland, the oncologist in charge of Wallace’s care, told them that only a bone marrow transplant could save him. Everyone in the family had been tested and none of them had been a match. Still, Nora had held up under the strain as the search began for another donor.

In a time span that convinced them of the power of prayer, a donor had been found and the transplant had taken place. Now it was just a matter of time—waiting to see if the transplant would be successful.

Nora’s faith and encouragement had kept them all going. The compact leather Bible she was holding in her lap was a permanent fixture in the room, giving them all strength and comfort when they needed it. But now…

It wasn’t the bluish shadows under his mother’s eyes that worried him. It was the shadows in her eyes. They’d appeared when Chris’s older brother, Jeremy, had walked out on them and abruptly resigned from his position at Hamilton Media. Wallace had decided it was time to divulge a family secret and the bomb that he’d dropped—that Jeremy wasn’t his biological son—had rocked the entire family. To make matters worse, in the midst of all the turmoil, his youngest sister, Melissa, had taken off for parts unknown with her boyfriend.

At a time when the tough fabric of family should have held them together, it probably felt to Nora, with her caring mother’s heart, that they were being torn apart.

And he didn’t know how to help her.

In fact, it seemed to Chris that he didn’t know how to help anyone. Even using his contacts at the police department, he hadn’t been able to find Melissa. And he certainly couldn’t do anything to keep Hamilton Media going. Tim had stepped in and taken over as CEO while his sisters did their part to keep things running smoothly. All he could do was sit in the chair next to his dad’s bed and make sure his mother remembered to eat and sleep.

As if she read his mind, Nora gave his hand a squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris forced a smile and bent down to brush a kiss across her temple. “I’ll call you in a few hours.”

“I used to scold Melissa for calling you Officer Bossy, you know,” Nora said, a faint glimmer of humor in her eyes. “Now I understand why she gave you the nickname.”

Hearing his baby sister’s name, frustration surged through him. Melissa must have known that her disappearance would only be another burden for Nora to carry. He’d done enough “search and rescue” missions with Melissa when she was floundering through her turbulent teens to last a lifetime. Not that he’d stop trying to find her now, even though she was an adult.

Maybe he didn’t always feel like he had a lot in common with his family, but he’d give his life to protect them.

“If Vera Mae lets me in the kitchen, I’ll make you and Jason a carrot cake,” Nora said, returning the Bible to the nightstand. She knew he’d read it later.

“I’m not sure you can do that in your sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” Nora said simply. “But I do need to make some phone calls and take care of a few things at home.”

When she stood up, Chris hugged her, wincing when he realized his suspicions were correct—she’d been wearing loose-fitting clothes so no one would notice she was losing weight.

“You can make us a carrot cake if you promise me you’ll eat half of it,” Chris whispered in her ear.

Nora chuckled. She knew she wasn’t fooling him. “Maybe just a slice.”

After she’d left, Chris took her place beside the bed.

He still hadn’t gotten used to seeing his dad look so vulnerable. The chemo and the effects of the transplant had ravaged Wallace’s lean, aristocratic features, leaving his skin pale and waxy. For Chris’s entire life, his dad had been a force to be reckoned with. When he’d gathered his courage as a high-school senior and told him he was going into law enforcement, the silence that greeted his announcement was more deafening than if Wallace had yelled at him. He hadn’t tried to change his mind, but Chris had felt an invisible wall between them ever since.

He’d take their awkward conversations any day over none at all.

“Get better, Dad,” Chris murmured. “You can beat this.”

Tammy Franklin, the floor nurse, peeked in and waved her clipboard at him. “I’m glad you convinced your mother to go home for a while. I’ve tried three different times today.”

“Mom can be stubborn.”

“Mmm.” Tammy pretended to consider the statement. “I’ll bet that trait doesn’t run in the Hamilton family, does it?”

Chris grinned. Tammy could get away with teasing him because she’d been involved in Wallace’s care from the beginning. His older sister, Amy, had told her once that they were going to make her an “honorary Hamilton.”

“I’ll be back soon to check his vitals. And I’ll have a supper tray sent up to you.”

Chris hadn’t eaten since breakfast and his stomach rumbled in agreement. “Sounds great.”

He leaned back in the chair and picked up the Bible his mom had put on the bedside table. A newspaper clipping fluttered out and he caught it before it reached the floor. He assumed it would be something from the latest issue of the Dispatch but instead he found himself staring at an article cut out of the Observer.

The Dispatch’s rival had somehow found out about Jeremy and printed the story, turning what should have been private family business into watercooler gossip. He glanced at the date and realized that the story he was holding was the gossip column that had printed the damaging news last month. A gossip section was a feature that Wallace had decided long ago the Dispatch didn’t need to sell papers.

Why couldn’t his father make those same faith-filled decisions when it came to his family?

The jumbled words he’d been blindly staring at came into focus. Just as he wondered why his mom had kept a copy of the column that the rest of them had delegated to the wastebasket, he saw the words she had written across the headline.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.

Chris shook his head, a little in awe at the unwavering trust she had in God. She’d always told him and his siblings if they kept their focus on God, they’d never lose perspective. No matter what slander the Observer had printed, Nora had chosen to focus on what God’s word said.

A soft moan from the bed drew Chris’s attention and as he leaned closer, Wallace’s eyes fluttered open. For a few seconds, his father stared at him with a blank expression that yanked at Chris’s heart.

“Dad. It’s Chris,” he whispered.

To Chris’s relief, his eyes cleared and recognition dawned in them.

“Where’s…your brother?” Wallace rasped.

Chris swallowed hard against the sudden emotion that clogged his throat. Were things always going to be this way between them because he wasn’t working at Hamilton Media?

“I’m right here, Dad.” As if on cue, Tim had come into the room and was standing at Chris’s shoulder. Silently Chris shifted out of the way so Tim could move closer to their father.

“How…are things going…at work?”

Chris couldn’t help but notice the touch of arrogance in the smile that Tim directed down at Wallace.

“Everything’s under control, Dad. Don’t worry, just concentrate on getting better.”

“Knew you could handle it,” Wallace said faintly, his eyes closing again.

Just when Chris decided to leave them alone for a few minutes, Tim’s hand gripped his arm.

“Meet me in the hall, okay? I need your advice.”

Chris was too shocked to reply. When Tim strode out of the room a few minutes later, Chris was surprised to see that his brother actually looked worried.

“What’s going on?”

“The past few weeks someone’s been sending letters to the editor addressed to our new reporter. Unsigned, of course. The first one was a rambling complaint about the way she covered the last city council meeting. You know the type—they like to raise a fuss. Get some attention because they’re anti-everything. The next one came and it didn’t make much sense, either, but we printed them because it’s our policy to give everyone a voice.

“When the secretary opened the mail yesterday, another one had come over the weekend. We’re sure it’s from the same person but this one didn’t just attack her as a reporter, it was more personal. More threatening. I was hoping you could stop by the office tomorrow and talk to her.”

Chris remembered Jeremy hiring a new reporter in May but he hadn’t realized it was a woman. “Sure. I can come by around nine o’clock.”

“Her name is Felicity Simmons. Don’t be put off if she doesn’t roll out the welcome mat for you. She doesn’t want me to make a big deal out of all this but I’d still feel better if you read the letters and gave me your input.”

Chris read between the lines. This wasn’t Felicity Simmons’s idea. It was Tim’s. And Tim’s will prevailed, as usual.

“I’ll be there.”

For the first time in the history of her career, Felicity Simmons was late for work.

She blamed her secret un-admirer. That’s what she’d silently dubbed the person who’d been busy writing her letters recently.

When added to a restless night, a stoplight that had gone bonkers on her way to the Dispatch, confusing everyone who hadn’t had their daily dose of java, and getting stuck behind a recycling truck that lumbered along in front of her like a mechanical brontosaurus, she would officially be three minutes late by the time she sat down at her desk.

“Hi, Felicity.” Dawn Leroux gave her a friendly wave when she entered the building. She was standing near the reception counter, talking to Herman and Louise Gordon, Hamilton Media’s elderly “gatekeepers.” Even though they’d officially retired years ago, the couple were a permanent fixture at Hamilton Media. No one got past the lobby without an appointment—or their permission.

If she hadn’t been running late, Felicity would have paused for a minute to say hello. Dawn wasn’t only Tim Hamilton’s personal assistant; the two women had met when Felicity began attending Northside Community Church shortly after moving to Davis Landing.

“Morning,” Felicity called back, slightly out of breath from her dash across the parking lot. She made her way through the labyrinth of half walls to her “office” in the far corner of the room, the equivalent of journalistic Siberia. Farthest from the AP wire service and fax machine. And the break room. She’d accepted the cramped space with a smile, perfectly willing to pay her dues at the Dispatch. Not only was she the youngest full-time reporter that the daily had ever hired, she was also the first female.

If she didn’t have a window or a desk barely bigger than her computer, so be it. She didn’t expect any special treatment nor did she want it.

The telephone was already winking one red eye at h