Lights and Shadows (Oregon In Love)

  Chiaroscuro, the treatment of light and shade to give an illusion of depth, is stock in trade for Marc Dorin's work as a photographer. When he meets the silk and steel Julia Wilcox, it's as if one of his sepia-toned prints comes to gently-hued life. But will the shadows from her past drain all the color from their future together?

  LIGHTS AND SHADOWS

  (Book Two of the Oregon In Love series)

  a Christian Romance

  by

  Bonnie Blythe

  © 2012 Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Gilded Heart Design

  Cover photos © Dmytro Konstantynov

  © Constantin Opris

  © Luba V Nel

  Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming

  down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does

  not change like shifting shadows.

  James 1:17

  Chapter One

  “This place blows. Who could experience anything soulful inside these institutional walls?”

  “You're my inspiration, baby.”

  Marcos Dorin turned the corner, overhearing a conversation between two students echoing down the mostly empty campus hallway. He paused mid-step when he saw the owners of the voices. Oh, great. Belinda—a former student—and her boyfriend, who seemed more of an accessory to her post-industrial look of pink hair, black fingernails, and purple lipstick.

  And yet, he could reluctantly admit he understood her lament. Even now he couldn't wait to escape the campus with all its modern concrete glory.

  Belinda caught sight of him and her eyes sparkled with a hectic light. He stiffened and gripped his briefcase and camera bag, dreading her attention. The girl had once offered to model for him during the photography class he taught. He grimaced at the memory. She'd apparently failed to understand the class had been on nature photography. The flora and fauna type. Just please let me get outside.

  “What do you think, Mr. Dorin?”

  Marc suppressed a groan. He was just steps away from the exit. The light beyond the door windows beckoned with a heavenly glow. In seconds he’d be on his way to the cool forests of the Cascade Mountain Range. He continued walking, hoping she'd turn her attention back to her boyfriend.

  “Are you dissing me?” she asked, an edge to her voice.

  Marc felt his face heat as her gaze fastened on him.

  “Yeah, are you dissing my girl?”

  Now the boyfriend was staring at him. Marcos stopped in front of the couple. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a bored voice, hoping his attitude would discourage her from whatever mischief she was up to.

  Belinda stepped up to him and stared into his eyes. “You looked like you could use some inspiration, too. I mean, who wouldn't be depressed in a place like this?”

  Before Marc could think of reply, she suddenly leaned up and smashed a kiss on his cheek. Then another.

  He reeled back, nearly dropping his briefcase.

  “What are you doing?” hollered her boyfriend, yanking her away.

  She retreated to the man's side, sending Marc a wink. “Just trying to cheer someone up, ya know? Help out my fellow man, and all that.” She lowered her voice to a whisper as if she wasn't in the arms of her boyfriend. “You look like you could use it.”

  The boyfriend pulled his girl tighter against him. “The only man you need to be helping out is me, baby.”

  Disgusted beyond belief, Marc spun away and stalked out to the parking lot to his pickup, noting the gathering storm clouds with grim satisfaction. At least Belinda was over eighteen and there was a witness. All he needed was to lose his job on top of the outrage of being accosted by a former student.

  Yanking open the door, he tossed his briefcase and camera bag onto the opposite seat. Unbelievable.

  He’d started the day by locking himself out of his apartment, which made him late to class. Then the computer he was using to record grades had crashed, putting him behind schedule. With only a week before the term ended for the summer, he had a deadline he absolutely had to meet.

  And to make it all so ironically bizarre, he had been thinking he was stifled...that he needed inspiration.

  Good grief!

  Marc started the truck and zoomed out of the parking lot onto the busy streets of the greater Portland metropolitan area. He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel when he thought about Belinda's behavior. To be attacked in such a way was a first, and it rankled him that she wouldn't feel a lick of remorse for her actions. She was attending classes due to some outside compunction, not bothering to muster interest in her own future. He’d thought so when she’d been in his class, and her little performance today confirmed it.

  He sighed. Am I any different? Am I just going through the motions? He hated the restlessness that had been plaguing him, but he couldn't seem to shake it.

  On the other side of the intersection, Marc heard the ominous sound of a siren. In his rearview mirror he saw a black and white police car flashing his headlights at him, signaling him to pull over. No way.

  He jerked his truck to a stop on the shoulder of the road. He shut off the engine, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to wrest his emotions into some semblance of control. Insulting a police officer would not improve this dreadful day.

  From his side mirror, he watched the officer approach. Before the man could tap on his window, Marc rolled it down and prepared himself for his fate.

  The policeman bent down a little. “May I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

  When Marc handed over the documents, he caught distorted reflections of himself in the policeman’s mirrored sunglasses.

  The images disappeared when he pushed the sunglasses up and stared at him with raised brows. After a moment of intense scrutiny, Marc pressed his lips together. “Is there a problem?”

  The sunglasses dropped down over the policeman’s eyes. “You were going a little fast there, don't you think?”

  I hadn't noticed. Marc decided he'd keep the information to himself.

  The policeman turned and ambled back to the squad car and spent an inordinate amount of time checking the information.

  At this rate, I'll never make it to Buell Creek. Marc let out an exasperated sigh and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, frowning at all the cars driving slowly by to gawk.

  “Mr. Dorin!”

  Marc peered out his window at the sound of his name. A red Porsche inched past. Belinda hung out of the passenger window. With a wicked grin, she blew him a kiss as they drove by.

  He turned away, burning with fury. Several agonizing minutes later, the police officer returned, scribbling on a pad.

  “This will help you think twice about running a red light while going forty-five in a twenty-five mile an hour zone.” He handed the slip of paper to Marc. “Please note that fines on moving violations are double in construction zones.” After returning the driver’s license and registration, he grinned. “And you might want to consider a new girlfriend. The one you have now is a bad influence on your driving. Have a nice day.”

  Before Marc could figure out the cryptic statement, he glanced down at the amount written on the ticket. He put a hand to his head, feeling sucker punched. Four hundred and twenty five dollars. Gritting his teeth, he counted to ten before starting the truck. When he finally pulled away from the curb, it took every ounce of self-control to drive within the speed limit.

  As the buildings and housing d
evelopments gave way to green hills and towering pines, Marc wished for the hundredth time he could support himself strictly through freelance, leaving the noise and frenetic pace of city life behind—with its construction zones—and troublesome females. Maybe that's what had been bothering him. He was stifled by his inability to succeed on his own terms.

  He was only one of thousands of photographers in the area, and competition was fierce. Even his first book, a coffee table edition filled with glossy photographs, was just one of many in the bookstores. What I need is something like a spot on a talk show. Marc's mouth twitched when he thought of the mess he’d no doubt make of such an appearance. He loved the quiet, simple life too much to ever become famous—even if that had been his goal. And paying his bills meant living in the city where a market for his work was the strongest. At least he could escape on the weekends to the mountains under the pretense of photo opportunities.

  Marc forced his shoulders to relax. His future seemed etched in stone—a quiet life spent willingly in obscurity. But that was okay. Right? Glancing up at the blue sky frilled with lacy white clouds, he reminded himself that God was in control of his future.

  An hour later, Marc pulled into the driveway of the Pine Ridge Bed and Breakfast, in the small town of Buell Creek. It was a chance to relax with friends and get an early start up to the mountains the following morning. The owners' fellowship was always a blessing, and their inn, restful and homey. They kept a room on reserve for him, which he appreciated. He could unload his stuff straightaway in the room and go for a run before unwinding with them in the evening, leaving behind the hassles of the week—of today.

  He parked his truck and looked out toward the snow-capped mountains wavering in the golden evening light. The added bonus was that there would be no trouble-making females to knock him off kilter.

  Marc climbed from the cab and hoisted his camera bag out from behind the seat. He noticed too late that the camera bag was unzipped. His brand new digital camera tumbled out from the case and landed on the gravel driveway with a sickening crack.

  He snatched up the camera and inspected it for damage. His worst fears were realized when he saw the shattered lens. Marc clenched his jaw, feeling like the Incredible Hulk right before he turned green. This is too much! With deliberate movements, he replaced the camera in its case, grabbed his luggage, and locked up the truck. He stomped up onto the porch and went in the front door, left open for guests.

  After the brightness outside, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative dimness of the interior. In the low lamplight, the outline of a woman became visible. Marc immediately knew it was not one of the owners. The woman turned at the sound of his entrance.

  She held a copy of his book in her hands.

  Setting the book on the coffee table, she approached him with an outstretched hand. Marc backed up and lowered his bags, all at once sure he was about to be besieged by another conniving female. When he bumped into the wall behind him, he panicked, only wanting to retreat back to the relative safety of his truck. He put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Don't touch me!”

  Her mouth opened as if she were about to speak.

  He decided not to wait around to find out what she intended to do. Marc slid past her, avoiding all contact, and bolted for the stairs.

  Chapter Two

  Well, that wasn't weird. Julia Wilcox raised her brows and stared up the stairs after the man disappeared to the upper level of the house. She furrowed her brows. How could greeting a person cause such an insane reaction? So much for the vaunted Marc Dorin. All that remained of their encounter was luggage and a camera bag on the floor.

  “Is someone here?”

  Julia glanced over when her sister-in-law, Sara Farris, walked into the living room from the kitchen. Seven-and-a-half months pregnant, Sara looked young and fresh in a floral print maternity dress with her long dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her gray eyes sought Julia's for an explanation.

  Julia spread her hands in a gesture of resignation. “I didn’t say a word to him.”

  “Who?”

  She walked back over to the sofa, retrieved the book Facets off the coffee table, and held it up. “Him.”

  Sara peeked out the window. “I see Marc's truck. He usually says hello before going to his room.”

  “Apparently not today,” Julia murmured. Studying the black and white photograph of the author on the back cover, she found herself unable to reconcile the quiet intensity of the man in the picture with the rude, Technicolor version she’d just encountered. Oh, well. Not that it matters. But she couldn't resist a small dig at her sister-in-law. “So this is the guy you were dying for me to meet? The sweet, sensitive one?”

  Before Sara could respond, the man in question rushed down the stairs and grabbed the handle of the camera bag he’d left behind.

  “Marc!” said Sara. “Wait! I want to introduce you to my sister-in-law.”

  Marc stopped and slowly turned. He had a pained expression on his face.

  Sara went to his side. “This is Julia Wilcox, my husband’s sister. Julia, Marcos Dorin.”

  Marc gave Julia’s hand a brisk shake, then noticed the way Sara stared at his face. He glanced back at Julia. Mirth lit up her eyes as she regarded him with the same interest. Combined, their intense scrutiny made him feel like a bug under a microscope.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Dorin,” Julia said formally. “Sara has been telling me all about your accomplishments as a photographer and author.”

  Marc mumbled his thanks, and realizing he still held her hand, dropped it. He lunged for his camera bag and hastened up the stairs.

  Once safely ensconced in the room he’d reserved the day before, Marc went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he closed his eyes in despair, hoping against hope when he reopened them, his reflection would be back to normal.

  No such luck.

  Bright purple lipstick marks decorated his cheek and chin. Belinda!

  Grasping the bar of soap from the sink, Marc turned on the water and began to scrub.

  At the sound of the upstairs bedroom door slamming shut, Sara and Julia looked at one another in amazement.

  “Oh, my,” Sara breathed.

  “So this is your notable guest, huh?” Julia lifted a long pink strand of hair off her wrist and held it up.

  Sara put a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. “I wonder what happened. He was rather...disheveled.”

  “I think that’s an understatement.”

  “I’ve never seen him like this before,” Sara said. “Maybe with his new book he has his first groupie.”

  Julia caught her bottom lip with her teeth and struggled not to join Sara’s infectious snickering.

  At the sound of a door closing above, they swiveled their heads in unison toward the staircase. Marc appeared in a gray T-shirt and black running shorts. He trotted down the stairs and breezed past them without a glance. His face was clean—the lipstick gone.

  Once he was out the door, off the porch, and out of earshot, Sara leaned close. “It wasn’t his color anyway.”

  Julia could hold back no longer. Together they burst out laughing.

  ***

  For the next half hour, Marc ran hard and fast. The scenic road stretched before him like a shimmering golden ribbon in the fading sunlight. Intermittent showers and ragged wisps of clouds trailed away, revealing the first few glinting stars of the evening.

  Cresting a hill, he slowed to a walk until he caught his breath. As his breathing slowed, his thoughts followed suit. He turned his face up to the moist evening air, feeling the tensions of the day drain out of his body. The rhythmic song of crickets and the breeze rustling through the trees soothed him. A peace seeped into his soul. The events of the day no longer seemed so overwhelming. So he'd been kissed by a girl with pink hair. Stranger things had happened. The speeding ticket and broken camera would be expensive to d
eal with, but doable. But possibly worse, he'd offended a relative of his friends. He only hoped Julia Wilcox was the understanding type.

  Feeling some equilibrium restored, he turned and jogged back to the B & B.

  When Marc arrived at the house, he noted no one occupied the living room and released a silent breath. Up in his bedroom, he showered and dressed in a gray shirt, open at the throat, and a black pair of jeans. He grimaced at his reflection, running a hand through his damp hair.

  Duty lay before him.

  Downstairs, following the sound of feminine voices, he tapped on the kitchen door frame. Sara looked up and waved him in. Upon entering, he found her with Julia at a small kitchen table, talking over cups of tea. Marshaling his thoughts, Marc smiled at Sara.

  “Is everything all right with your room?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

  “Yes, it’s fine. Is Brian here?”

  “Sorry, he’s out of town for a couple of days. He’ll probably be back on Monday.”

  Marc nodded and handed her a check for his stay. His gaze slid toward her sister-in-law. “Ms. Wilcox, is it? May I please have a word with you?”

  He saw Julia exchange glances with Sara. She nodded and rose to follow him out of the kitchen.

  In the relative privacy of the living room, Marc stared down at the tops of his shoes, considering his words before speaking.

  When he raised his eyes to meet hers, Marc realized that up close, Julia probably wasn't the accosting type. Her honey-colored hair, piled up on her head in a tumble of loose curls, glowed in the light from the antique floor lamp. She had a sweet, heart-shaped face. Her eyes, the color of green sea-washed glass, regarded him with polite interest. Her lips were curved in an expectant smile.