Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Cara Lynn James is the author of several novels including Love on a Dime. She's received contest awards from Romance Writers of America and the American Christian Fiction Writers. She resides in Florida with her husband Jim.

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A Path Toward Love

THOMAS NELSON

Chapter One

July 1905

Katherine Osborne couldn't escape the numbers. She dragged her gaze from the lush orange groves right outside her office window to the ledger open on her desk. Why had she ever believed she could run a business with little experience and less capital? The numbers screamed bankruptcy and the end of her dream—unless she quickly obtained a loan to tide her over. She hoped an answer would come in the afternoon post. All she needed was a little more time ... surely business would improve.

For a few moments she gave in to her mounting fears and buried her head in her hands, allowing the warmth and stillness of the afternoon to wash through her. But at the sound of footsteps, Katherine glanced up and smiled at her maid. Etta Mae, young and pretty, strode through the doorway holding out a stack of mail. "For you, Miz Osborne." She grinned and her teeth glistened white against her dark skin.

"Is there a letter from the bank?" Etta Mae always riffled through the mail before she turned it over to Katherine.

The maid shook her head. "Sorry, ma'am."

Katherine nodded. No word from the loan officer killed her hopes, but only for the day. Perhaps tomorrow she'd finally receive her response.

"There is a letter from New York," Etta Mae said, holding out the envelope.

Katherine ripped it open and scanned the creamy page filled with her mother's spidery script.

My dearest Katherine,

Papa is on his way to Florida to visit you at Buena Vista. I expect he'll stay for a week or so, possibly longer. He's scheduled to arrive late afternoon on Monday. I do hope this letter precedes his arrival so that you can give him a proper welcome.

Today! Katherine's heart sputtered at the thought of Papa coming to Buena Vista. She missed him terribly, though a pinch of anxiety tempered her joy. Why was he traveling all the way from New York in the heat of the summer? Her family always spent the season at their camp on Raquette Lake tucked into the rugged Adirondack Mountains. The air was cool and fresh—nothing like Florida. Only something important would drive Papa from Camp Birchwood in July. She'd wager it involved her mounting problems with keeping the citrus groves operating.

Katherine glanced at her pocket watch pinned on her plain cotton shirtwaist. Papa's train would probably arrive within an hour or two. She needed to tidy up her appearance, and above all, calm her nerves. She continued to read Mama's letter.

I do so wish I could join Papa, but I'm afraid my social obligations prevent me from traveling so far.

Aunt Letty is with me at Camp Birchwood for the summer. Our weather is delightful. That's such a blessing since we have a houseful of guests to entertain. I do wish you could be here to vacation with us. Try to join us whenever you can, my dear.

Katherine placed the letter on her lap. How she wished she could visit her family. She hadn't seen any of them in eight years, ever since she'd eloped with Charles against her parents' wishes. They'd never extended invitations to spend summers in the Adirondacks when he was still alive. They detested him—with good reason, as she discovered too late. With a deep sigh rising from the depth of her lungs, Katherine lowered her gaze and read the next few pages of the chatty letter. At the bottom of the last page she found a postscript.

P.S. I neglected to mention that your old friend, Andrew Townsend, will accompany Papa to Florida. I'm sure you'll be anxious to see them both.

The letter fluttered to the floor in a humid breeze that blew through the window. Why was Andrew coming too? She couldn't begin to imagine. A picture of her tall, blond neighbor flashed across her mind. They'd been the best of friends for most of their youth. But when she married Charles, he ceased communication. There'd only been one brief note from him when her husband died.

She rose and went to the window, staring outside at the acres of lawn edged with flowering bushes. Her heart squeezed painfully at the memory of arguing with Andrew in the parlor of her parents' Fifth Avenue home right before her marriage. Red faced, her usually mild-mannered friend succumbed to his frustration as he paced the length of the parlor.

"Please don't marry him, Katherine. You'll live to regret it."

"You're maligning a wonderful man," she countered. Anger swirled through her, and she exploded with the hurt of Andrew's criticism. But at eighteen, how could she know Charles was not the gentleman he seemed to be? His suave manners and dashing clothing had swept her off her feet. Why hadn't she seen the real man beneath the facade of wealth and good looks? She thought he loved her deeply. In her naive mind, she imagined she'd become the center of his universe. How could she have been so wrong?

Her romantic notions had all been in her young and foolish mind. She'd rejected Andrew's sage advice and run off with Charles the very next day. Now here she was: a widow with little money, a business in shambles, and bitter memories of a marriage gone bad.

Would Andrew remind her of his warning? Katherine shuddered to think what he'd say about her life now. She had little to show for her endless work except a business teetering on the edge of extinction.

Katherine tucked the letter back in its envelope and locked it in her rolltop desk. She slapped the ledger shut and retreated to the kitchen for a glass of ginger ale to calm her jittery stomach, then upstairs to find something appropriate to wear.

Etta Mae, who doubled as her personal maid, helped her into a plain, plum-colored frock with a lace collar and cuffs, the most festive of all her drab garments. It was odd that she'd never before noticed how worn and faded her dresses looked. But day in, day out she donned the same frocks, skirts, and shirtwaists without a thought to their condition or style. Two years after Charles's death, she'd finished mourning. But even if she'd found the time or money to order a new wardrobe, she wouldn't have bothered. There were too many other things to think about. Pressing things.

Perched at her dressing table, Katherine glanced into the oval mirror. Her eyes stared back at her like hollow holes encircled by dark shadows. Her mouth turned downward in a frown. Was this weary expression her permanent look? She seldom scrutinized her appearance for more than a moment, and then only to ensure she looked neat and presentable. The carefully groomed debutante of another time and place had faded into a gaunt businesswoman with more on her mind than fashion.

Etta Mae brushed her hair and carefully arranged it in a full pompadour, using silver clips to secure it in place. Katherine brushed powder across her nose and pinched her cheeks for a bit of color. Satisfied, she thanked the girl. Etta Mae disappeared downstairs.

Five minutes later the maid reappeared. "Excuse me, ma'am. Mr. Herne is waiting for you in the parlor."

Nodding, Katherine smoothed her skirt and hurried downstairs. She entered the parlor, the largest and airiest room of the Queen Anne house, to meet Mr. Herne, the manager of her citrus groves. The parlor boasted delicate furniture old Mr. Osborne had bought for his wife in Paris years before and a carved wooden mantelpiece with silver candelabra on each side. The tall windows were raised to the height of a door, letting in a mild breeze and a flood of light.

"Good morning, Mr....