Maybe it was the fact that her life wasn’t as picture perfect as he’d first assumed. She’d had more than her share of pain, and yet Julia was still content with her life, even grateful for God’s blessings in it. If only he’d learned years ago to be content and appreciative.

If he had any sense at all, he would keep a careful distance. Not only had he filleted himself and spilled his guts to her like a guy who enjoyed sharing, he’d almost taken a greater risk and told her the whole story about his arrest and conviction. What had he expected? That she would have believed his side of the story? No one else had.

Yes, he should be wary of Julia Sims.

started telling “people stories” at about the same time she started forming words. So it came as no surprise when the Indiana native chose a career in journalism. As an award-winning newspaper reporter and features editor, she had the opportunity to share wonderful true-life stories with her readers. She left the workforce to be a homemaker, but the stories came home with her as she discovered the joy of writing fiction. The winner of the 2007 Holt Medallion competition for novel writing, Dana feels blessed to share the stories of her heart with readers.

Dana lives in southeast Michigan, where she balances the make-believe realm of her characters with her equally exciting real-life world as a wife, carpool coordinator for three athletic daughters and food supplier for two disinterested felines.

It was fitting to make merry and be glad,

for this your brother was dead, and is alive;

he was lost, and is found.

—Luke 15:32

To my sweet aunt, Sharon Hale. Though the miles

separate us, I hold you close in my heart. You will

always be my ’nother mother.

A special thanks to criminal defense attorney

David Kramer, of the Kramer Law Firm in Novi,

Michigan, for helping me navigate this story’s legal

maze. I so appreciate your help and support.

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

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Bad habits died hard, that is, if they died at all. Kyle Lancaster understood that intimately after sharing living space with some repeat offenders who made the peccadilloes of his youth seem like child’s play. As he stepped through the door of Hickory Ridge Community Church for the second time that day, Kyle needed no further proof that his bad habit of letting others talk him into crazy plans was alive and well.

He was working as a consultant for a new Michigan prison ministry—now that was an idea he never would have pictured. But then he never would have imagined himself inside a cell, either. And now he would never get the stench or the squashing feel of it out of his memory.

Kyle could understand why the Milford Area Ecumenical Council might want input from a real-life ex-con as it built its program, but he knew full well his brother, Brett, had only suggested him for the job to keep him busy and out of trouble.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he needed this job, at least for a while.

Halfway through a double-glass door, he stalled as the early May wind swirled past him into the building. Though he’d endured the meeting with the two ministers this morning, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face the whole church community yet. He’d almost opted to delay the inevitable when a man and three women came up behind him.

Stepping to the side, Kyle held the door open for the other adults. The last one through the entry, the guy, surprised him by patting his shoulder. On instinct, Kyle whirled to face him.

Youth Minister Andrew Westin grinned as he held up his hands in the sign of the unarmed. “You came, after all.”

Kyle gripped Andrew’s extended hand. He was uncomfortable receiving help from anyone, but he was trying, with God’s help, to be gracious in accepting it.

“There was a break in my social calendar.” He didn’t need to clarify that his whole calendar was blank.

“Well, I’m glad you changed your mind. I hope you’re as hungry as I am. It’s pasta night.”

Kyle stomach growled but not loudly enough for the youth minister to hear. “I’ve never heard of a church having Wednesday-night dinners.”

“The choir director suggested it about a year ago. With all the church activities on Wednesday nights—children’s choir, adult choir, the Deacon board and prayer meeting—some families were having a hard time fitting in dinner together. Now they can have dinner with the whole church family.”

“Anyone can come? To the dinner, I mean.” Kyle hated the insecurity he heard in his voice. He would have to get over worrying about what other people thought if he ever hoped to adapt to life on the outside.

Andrew studied him for several seconds before he spoke again. “Kyle, really, I wouldn’t worry about the folks here at Hickory Ridge. This church is filled with sinners, not saints. Just the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Thanks for that, but—”

“Everyone deserves a second chance. I know I had one.”

That last comment begged for elaboration, but before Kyle could ask any questions, Andrew started down the hallway leading to the Family Life Center. Andrew glanced over his shoulder at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

Kyle followed gamely behind him. Maybe now wasn’t the time to ask Andrew about second chances, but he would tuck his question away for later.

Loud voices and laughter escaped the gymnasium as Andrew pulled open the heavy metal door that separated the Family Life Center from the rest of the church. The aroma of garlic and oregano wafted along with the sounds.

Inside, a dozen long tables were lined with folding chairs to await the dinner crowd. Along the gymnasium’s far wall, about thirty adults and children were in line, heading for the main serving counter with its roll-up metal window. At another table to the side, guests who already had plates of spaghetti or lasagna were serving themselves bread sticks and bowls of fresh salad.

“Hey, there’s some food left,” Andrew said.

As soon as he stepped in line behind a preteen girl with a mass of dark, curly hair, he gave the girl’s ponytail a playful yank.

She turned around, a frown scrunching her cute face until she recognized the culprit. “Daddy Andrew!”

She flung herself into his arms. When he set her on the ground again, Andrew turned her to face his guest. “Kyle, this is my stepdaughter, Tessa.” He gestured with his hand. “Tessa, meet Mr. Lancaster.”

“Hi.” She smiled shyly and turned back to her friends.

As they reached the front of the line, Kyle asked for a slice of lasagna and then made his way to the salad table. Only instead of a vat of iceberg lettuce and a pump container of French dressing like he was used to, he approached a spread with carrot shavings, cucumber slices, boiled eggs, croutons and sunflower seeds. Quantity and choices. There were even several dressings. He grabbed a second plate and started to build a salad, resisting the temptation to make a pig of himself.