New Christian Romance alert!
A sneak peek at Lake Shore Renewal, book six in the Redemption Shores Saga!
Oh, Jen! What are you getting us into? 🙂
Here we go my friends! I’m ready to bring you my latest new Christian Romance, part of the Lake Shore Redemption Saga. A few quick notes before we jump into our sneak peek–this series is SAGA style, meaning each story builds from the next one. There are shared characters, and stories within each book that continue from one volume to the next. If you haven’t started the Redemption Shores, I’m gonna gently suggest you begin at the beginning. Book one is Lake Shore Wandering.
Okay, that said, let’s jump in! Maybe that first line teaser has you worried . . . but I’m going to let the first scene play out right here!
Lake Shore Renewal
Chapter 1
It had been a delusion to believe whiskey would drown the bitter heartache.
Noah blinked, attempting to refocus the world as that revelation slipped through his inebriated mind. He shoved the curls off his forehead—a force of habit—only to encounter a fistful of product-laced hair. Right. He’d gone with the old-money look for this event rather than his usual shag, a move of irony that failed to amuse him.
Apparently he wasn’t a funny drunk.
Warm haze slugged through his veins while he straightened his suit jacket, bringing with it a surreal sense of freedom. It was as if he’d entered a different reality—one in which he was free to do and say whatever he wished, funny or otherwise.
“Livin’ on Love” hummed from the speakers positioned at the corners of the temporary dance floor, positioned midway between the impressive lodge called Splendor and an idyllic high-mountain pond. Café lights, strung from corner post to corner post above the raised wooden platform, created a crisscross of warm yellow lights glowing in the gray dusk of the cool summer evening.
Soooo romantic. He rolled his eyes.
Noah didn’t feel the romance. He felt . . . revulsion. Which grew steadily with the two-step rhythm of the love song and the liberty made possible by his unusually high intake of alcohol.
There were events that pivoted life, with all its expectations and hopes, and set a person upon a new road—whether they wanted to take it or not. Up until this obnoxiously beautiful evening, Noah had encountered two. Three, if he included the day Emily had returned his ring.
An oddly deep thought for a man in his state.
He had no idea why he’d been invited to this wedding. Obviously, he’d have rather not been included, having loved the woman in the white dress currently dancing with the tuxedoed man who was not Noah.
Why had he come?
Swiping another tumbler of the drink, Noah gulped back the fiery liquid as another sappy country love song replaced the last.
Emily was a pill. High maintenance.
Noah had known it from their first date. Her pristinely manicured nails and weekly facial appointments had been a dead giveaway. Emily Barton was not an easy keeper.
But . . .
A line from the show Friends had always married itself to that reality—he liked maintaining her.
“No I didn’t,” Noah muttered against that stupid sentiment.
His life had become far less complicated—and expensive—when Emily had broken it off with him. So why was anger thumping through his veins at the sight of her with him? And, again, why was Noah even at their stupid hoity-toity wedding?
George Straight sang “I Cross My Heart” from the digital ether, and Emily snuggled against her new husband. The view was a piercing dagger to Noah’s chest.
What did Mason Young have that Noah didn’t?
That answer was as obvious as the mountains surrounding this picturesque venue: money. The ridiculously large rock Emily wore on her left hand. The European excursion Mason had taken her on for his extravagant proposal. This three-day-long wedding event.
Everything proclaimed that Mason Young was wealthy, and he wasn’t going to run out of money anytime soon.
Emily could maintain her weekly facial ritual until the day she died. She could shop to her heart’s content—an event that wasn’t likely possible. She could dine on the finest foods. Take the most exotic vacations. Drive the poshest cars. Lack of funds would never be an issue.
Good for them. They would be perfect together. Blissfully happy in their wealth.
And good riddance to high maintenance.
“Dodged a bullet,” he muttered to himself while yet again shoving his fingers into his hair.
Ugh. Stupid hair stuff.
When the song ended, the MC didn’t spin up another insipid love song but instead called for the best man’s toast. The appointed man stepped forward, gripping the mic.
Noah tuned out the sappy tribute from one wealthy man to another as he let his bleary gaze zone in on the bride.
Emily gazed at Mason as if he owned the world. Not too far from reality.
Come to think of it, Noah hadn’t liked maintaining Emily’s insatiable materialism after all. It had been . . . a gerbil wheel. Always striving, never making it. Never again would he have to feel like a small man when he had say no to the new whatever that she’d wished for.
He didn’t miss her. The irritation that continued to stamp through his intoxicated body was only a product of the fact that he’d been obliged to attend this showy wedding. The blade in his back was a result of Emily’s clear need for him to feel her leaving him for good. The final humiliation to his unworthy suit.
Noah gripped his freshly filled glass, raised it alongside the other wedding guests as the best man called for a toast to the happy couple.
Noah stepped onto the raised dance floor, half-filled glass lifted high, and began his own tribute. Something in the back of his mind warned him to stand down. It sounded like his dad’s voice. Gentle. Wise. Be careful not to mask pain with anger—
Noah shushed it.
“To the bride!” Heads turned his direction. Bright smiles settled on him, lifted hands ready to toast to whatever Noah had to say. “May you always be high maintenance. Keep your taste for the finer things. Indulge your need for the most expensive of everything. And always, always, show off your highbrow tastes.”
The crowd around him sucked in a collective breath, smiles fading. Those raised glasses lowered slowly as a low murmur wove through the crowd.
Numb to the reaction, Noah continued anyway. “And to the groom. May you always be able to maintain your wife.”
“That’s enough, Noah.”
He wasn’t sure who addressed him—though it certainly wasn’t his dad’s voice.
He snorted. “Yes. I’ve had enough. In the words of Mr. Garth Brooks, you …” He pointed his glass toward Emily, sloshing liquid over the top. “Can kiss my—”
From behind him, a hand jerked his arm, and he stumbled back. His drink splattered against his tie and button-down as he backpedaled to keep from being dragged on his butt off the stage.
“I think you need to stop before you make things worse.”
“Who the heck are you?” Noah wrestled against the firm hold on his arm until he squared himself to the man hauling him away. In the waning light, and without the benefit of the warm glow of café lights, he had to squint to make out the form of a man he didn’t know.
“Hunter. I’m the owner of the Splendor.”
“Ah. Another bought-and-paid-for pal of the groom, eh?”
“I’ve met Mason twice. Doesn’t matter. You’re disrupting my guests, and I can’t let that continue.”
“Your guests are snobs.”
“And you’re drunk.” They reached the deck to the large lodge, and Hunter pushed Noah up the stairs. “Let’s go, hotshot.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen. You need some water, and a time-out, I think.”
“I’m not five.”
“Wait until you see the video of your little temper tantrum out there.” The man opened the glass-paned front door and, with a firm push on Noah’s shoulder, escorted him inside. “You’re gonna have some regrets.”
“Too late.” Regret had been his unshakable tagalong for months now.
Noah stumbled his way across the large front room, gaining his footing near the wide staircase. He lifted his glass to finish his drink, only to find that he’d sloshed the last of it on the way from the reception to the lodge.
Shaking the empty vessel toward Hunter, he met the man with a challenging scowl. “You gonna refill this?”
“Sure.” Hunter opened the door to the kitchen, revealing an impressive expanse of cabinets, granite countertops, and an industrial stove. Not to mention a knockout brunette wearing a light floral dress protected by an apron.
“Sorry, babe,” Hunter said to the beauty. “I’ve got a wounded bear with too much alcohol running through his veins.”
“You with this guy?” Noah motioned from the woman to Hunter.
She ignored him, keeping her attention on the man still gripping Noah’s arm. “Everything else out there okay?”
“Perfect, except for this bleeding heart.”
“I ain’t bleeding, mister. Already bled out.” Noah shoved the empty glass into Hunter’s chest. “How about that refill?”
“Right.” Hunter shook his head, took the glass, and walked over to the sink. Once the glass was filled from the tap, he passed it back to Noah.
“That is not what I meant.”
“It’s what I meant.”
Noah looked back at the princess of the kitchen. “How’d you end up with this buzzkill? Wait”—he motioned to the kitchen, the house, and with a grand sweeping gesture that sent his water sloshing from the glass in his hand, finished with—“this.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
With a glower, Noah worked to focus on the woman. “Money always wins, doesn’t it, princess?”
“All right, big shot.” Hunter gripped the collar of Noah’s shirt and dragged him backward toward the back door. “I can empathize with a broken heart. But I’m not going to tolerate you insulting my wife.”
Before Noah could respond—or find the footing to turn and challenge the man hauling him outside—he was on the back deck, shielded from the opulent wedding scene. With one last firm shove, Noah landed in a wooden chair. Hunter took the glass of water that Noah had once again emptied all over everything except his mouth and replaced it with a cool metal bottle.
“What’s this?”
“Water.”
“I said I wanted a drink.”
“And so you have one.”
“Don’t want this.”
“Fine. We’ll try some coffee.”
“How about some whiskey?”
“That’s a hard no.”
Noah gripped the arms of the chair and pushed to stand. Hunter’s large hand pressed against his shoulder. “Look, pal, I’m doing everything I can here to help you out. Help yourself a little, hmm?”
“What would you suggest?”
“Just sit here. Work on that water, then I’ll get you some coffee. Once the guests thin out enough, I’ll take you down to town. You have a place to stay there?”
“At the luxurious Creek View Inn.” Snorting at the wildly inaccurate description of the hotel at the end of Luna’s Main Street, Noah lifted a brow. “You ever leave your kingdom here long enough to see how the little people live?”
“Not sure what that is supposed to mean, but I know the Creek View. I’ll get you there.”
“Wouldn’t want you to go too far beneath yourself.”
“Man. I sure hope this is just the alcohol—and the heartache—talking and you’re not truly this big of a jerk.” Hunter shook his head and moved toward the door leading back to the kitchen. “If you’ve got any sense at all, I hope you’ll swim your way through this drunkenness and find a way to use it. You can sit here and stay out of trouble, or I can fetch Jeremy, and he can haul you down to jail. At that point, there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“Who the heck is Jeremy?”
“The county sheriff. Happens to be friends with the bride’s family. Frankly, you’re lucky I beat him to you.”
“Or what?”
Hunter stared at him, then blinked. With a soft snort, he shook his head. “Maybe some time in the Elk County jail is exactly what you need.”
With that, the man stepped from the deck and into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.
Fetching the sheriff?
Slumping back against the chair, Noah examined the bottle in his hand.
A night in jail. His mother would have been horrified. And his father . . .
Noah winced. Pain strong enough to cut through the fog of inebriation sliced in his chest. Dad was a saint. He would come bail Noah out and likely wouldn’t say a word. But the disappointment sure to fill the man’s expression…
Noah squeezed his eyes shut. He’d experienced that once before and had yet to escape the hollowness. Even in his stupor, he knew for sure he didn’t want to carve that canyon deeper.
After a long drag from the metal water bottle, he let his head tip back and rest on the deck rail behind his chair. Shutting his eyes, the grip of bitterness and anger loosened, and a great exhaustion took hold instead.
Along with it, that familiar companion named Regret.
The metal bottle clanked against the wood deck planks, and blackness finally did what the whiskey had failed to do.
How is that for a rough start to a new Christian Romance?
Don’t worry, you’ll like Noah. It might take a minute, but you’ll like him, I promise.
Don’t miss the next story in the Redemption Shores Saga–and while you’re waiting for it to release (March 5, 2026), go ahead and binge-read the first 5 books!
