“Mrs. Hornsby?” Kate touched the woman on the shoulder, and she turned. The woman might have been attractive if not for her puffy eyes and tight, bronzed lips.

“Dr. Kate.” Mrs. Hornsby straightened and turned her lips into a semblance of a smile.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked.

Lucas stepped away to give them privacy, inspecting some literature on the desk. He couldn’t help but hear their conversation.

“I’m fine.” The woman said, but her words crumbled like a soggy cookie.

Kate took her arm and pulled her away from the desk. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

Lucas heard the woman restrain a sob. “Earl is having an affair. I have proof this time. I just—just couldn’t stay there.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kate’s tone softened. She rubbed the woman’s arm. “Do you want to talk?”

Mrs. Hornsby laughed feebly, wiping her eyes. “Oh, honey, no. It’s your honeymoon. Besides, you’re not even counseling anymore.” She withdrew a tissue from her beige pocketbook and dabbed her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be silly,” Kate was saying. “Are you finished checking in?”

The other woman held up a key card. “Yes.”

Lucas watched Kate console the woman. His first impression of Kate had been wrong. When others needed help, Christ’s love shone through her. He’d seen it many times before today.

Kate squeezed the woman’s rounded shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” She approached Lucas, and he put the brochure for a whaling tour back into the holder.

“Would you mind having dinner alone?” Kate asked, then lowered her tone. “She’s a former client, and she could use someone to talk to.”

“Of course not,” Lucas said. “Want me to order you something from room service?”

“Thanks, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

A moment later, Lucas was alone.

Eight

Eight

Look very closely at his family.

—Excerpt from Finding Mr. Right-for-You by Dr. Kate

“Start slowing down,” Lucas said. “That’s it. The one with the truck out front.”

Kate navigated her car down the street. It ran parallel to the shore and was lined on both sides by cottages, generously separated by wide grassy lots.

Kate braked and eased into the drive, the tires slurping through the thick layer of gravel. Lucas’s house sat off the road about a hundred yards, and behind it, the ocean provided a deep blue backdrop. The nearest house on his side of the street was a couple hundred yards away, the second story barely visible above a rise in the ground.

Kate stopped behind a beater Ford in the drive. I married a pickup man.

That thought was barely out before she surveyed the cottage. Instinctively she liked its character. Gray, weathered shingles covered the small cottage. The trim and porch railing sported bright white paint, and orange flowers of some kind lined the front beds.