Dawn’s New Day Read online

  Dawn’s New Day

  Cam Cooper is still recovering from the loss of her lover but has not given up on the possibility of finding love again. Dawn Oliver has been stung by love in the past and avoids the potential complications of romance completely. When Cam moves in next door, Dawn is unwittingly intrigued by her new neighbor.

  Can Dawn put her past to rest and allow Cam to break down the walls around her heart?

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Dawn’s New Day

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  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Dawn’s New Day

  © 2017 By TJ Thomas. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-906-8

  This Electronic Original is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: October 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Melody Pond

  By the Author

  A Reunion to Remember

  Dawn’s New Day

  Acknowledgments

  To Len Barot, Sandy Lowe, and all the wonderful folks at Bold Strokes Books—thank you for giving us all a place to read and write LGBT fiction. My fellow BSB authors, I continue to learn so much from you and am proud to count you as friends. Thank you to Melody Pond for the beautiful cover.

  Domestic violence is a reality in our society that we must speak about to raise awareness and overcome the stigma of victims speaking out about their experiences. If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, in the US, please call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 or TTY 1-800-787-3224 to get the support you deserve. There are no fees, no names, and no judgment. Only help.

  Breast cancer is impacting the lives of and killing too many of our sisters, mothers, aunts, wives, daughters, and friends. One in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetimes. We need to do more to find a cure. Check out some of the stories on the Breast Cancer Research Foundation website: www.bcrfcure.org.

  For my part, a portion of the proceeds from Dawn’s New Day will be donated directly to the National Domestic Violence Hotline and to the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. I encourage each of you to give to an organization of your choice. Together we can make a difference.

  Thank you to my oldest brother, Steve, for always being there even when you lived so far away. Your perseverance through adversity has been an inspiration. Now that I’ve recognized you in a book you can get over the fact I didn’t acknowledge you specifically in the first one. Love you.

  The idea for this book began when I still lived in San Diego. However, I made a number of trips back during the writing. Thank you, Diana and Tam, for all the assistance with “research.” I especially enjoyed our adventures at Uptown, Snooze, and the Hillcrest Brewing Company.

  I am fortunate to have amazing first readers. Your insights, critiques, and questions immensely improved the book. Thank you Aurora, Inger, and Teeps, and to Elle, who once again read every version—I appreciate your constructive critiques and your encouragement every day.

  Special thanks to my editor, Cindy Cresap, who uses supportive and humorous feedback to improve my craft of storytelling.

  To you, the reader, thank you for making what I love to do mean something.

  Most importantly, thanks to my wyf, Elle, for her inspiration, patience, and love. You gave perceptive feedback every time you touched the story, and above all, you believe in me. Our love propels me to be and do better.

  Dedication

  Elle, I love you more than that.

  Chapter One

  Dawn Oliver was in her element. She loved creating and tending lush, colorful, fragrant gardens. She enjoyed few things more. Some people thought keeping a garden was work. For her it was pure joy. Spending time in the dirt was one of her deepest pleasures. The smells, the sights, even the feel of her hands in the dirt centered and calmed her.

  This was true whether she was in her own yard or at the shelter for abused women where she volunteered twice a week. She taught them basic gardening skills. Sharing the peace that came from working in the garden was deeply gratifying. They had many things to do to rebuild their lives and exist on their own, but time in the garden could be an escape into something almost spiritual. They didn’t have to think about bills, job hunting, if they’d be found, or any of the hurdles that lay ahead. Gardening was a respite for Dawn. She was humbled to share that with others.

  Dawn heard someone approaching. When she saw the timid, dark-haired woman glance her way, she said, “Good morning, you must be Meg.”

  “How did you know?”

  “When I came in this morning Trish mentioned you were new and that you enjoyed gardening. I haven’t seen you around before, so I took a chance. I’m Dawn.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Dawn. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not. Please do. Do you know where everything is?”

  “Yes.”

  Dawn waited while Meg gathered a few tools and a pair of gloves. Once she was settled a few feet away, Dawn spoke again. “Did you have a garden before you came here?”

  Meg slumped her shoulders and frowned. “Yes.”

  “It’s hard to leave something you’ve nurtured even if you are leaving it to make your life better.”

  Meg studied Dawn for several moments and then nodded in acknowledgement.

  “The great thing about gardening is you can start over, start fresh in a new place. Even with a small patch of dirt, give it care and you can bring things to life. Your garden can blossom anywhere, and it’s so much sweeter when you’re at peace where your garden is planted.”

  Meg smiled for the first time. “You have a point.”

  *****

  When she returned home later that morning, Dawn decided to continue working in her own front gardens. Now, with the sun shining on her back and a light breeze against her cheeks, she couldn’t be happier. Feeling the soil crumble in her hands and an occasional bee buzzing around—these meant one thing to Dawn: spring, her favorite time of the year. One of the reasons Dawn loved living in San Di
ego was being out in the yard all year long. Even when the weather wasn’t right for growing, she could prune, weed, or work the soil, amending it and preparing it for the coming season.

  It was the middle of March, and she was excited spring rains had finally come. She had started her annual adventure a couple of weeks ago. The rains were infrequent anymore. Dawn hummed a catchy tune she heard on the radio earlier while getting ready for her day, not even sure what song it was. She transferred the new flowers from the containers she’d bought when she decided the garden needed more color. Lost in her own world, alone with her plants and flowers, she amused herself with the patterns and lines she wanted to create. In her garden, like on canvas, she often saw the final picture before she brushed the first stroke or planted the first flower.

  Occasionally though, she had no idea what would emerge when she started. She knew she would have to return to the studio at some point, but spending time in her gardens each day rejuvenated her and kept her ideas fresh, allowing her painting to flow more freely after she took time outside. It was a careful balance but a necessary one if she was going to make a living as an artist. She knew she was lucky—most artists were never able to support themselves. She did.

  A moving truck with a broken muffler pulled into the driveway next door, shattering her solitude. She sat on her heels and watched the new arrivals for a few moments. A sleek motorcycle pulled in beside the truck, and a small SUV pulled up to the curb. From the glimpse she caught of the motorcycle, she knew it was a nice bike. Two large men jumped from the moving truck and moved to the back. She heard the door roll. Then two women climbed out of the SUV, one with collar-length blond hair, the other with wavy brunette hair that flowed past her shoulders. They joined hands and walked toward the house.

  Dawn couldn’t see the motorcycle or who rode it since the moving truck blocked her view. The quiet mostly returned, with occasional bits of conversation floating across the yard. She returned her attention to her flower bed, enjoying the beautiful day. The rhythm of preparing the soil and transferring plants from pots to ground quickly absorbed her focus. She barely noticed the low hum of activity next door.

  *****

  After a while, the sun’s rays grew too hot and Dawn went inside to cool off. She poured a glass of lemonade and wandered into her studio to ponder her current work in progress. It was coming along nicely. Not quite ready to start painting, she went to the living room and peeked out her front window to see the move progressing next door. As she stood there, she wondered about her new neighbors.

  She decided to take over sandwiches and lemonade as a “welcome to the neighborhood” gesture. Surely her new neighbors had their hands full and would be too busy to make lunch. Dawn made a pile of both cold cut and hummus sandwiches. She mixed a fresh batch of lemonade and packed everything in plastic containers and carefully arranged it in a basket. At the last minute, she remembered cups and napkins since the kitchen would not be unpacked yet.

  Dawn rang the doorbell and waited. The woman who answered the door was stunning. Dawn had expected one of the women she had seen earlier, and the surprise had her tongue-tied. Standing in the doorway in dark jeans hugging well-toned thighs and a black T-shirt that accentuated firm muscles, was the most gorgeous woman Dawn had ever seen. Oh my. Midnight black hair cropped short, gray eyes that darkened as she focused, a strong jaw, and lips that softened the almost too angular face made the whole package one of exquisite beauty. Dawn stood motionless.

  She realized she was staring a moment too late. For a moment, Dawn froze. Then the woman glanced at the basket in Dawn’s arms, breaking the intense gaze. Whoa!

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, um, I live next door. I thought you all might like some sandwiches and lemonade about now.”

  “Wow, thanks. Come on in.”

  “No.” Dawn cringed inwardly at the harshness of her tone and softened it. “I mean I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to bring this over.” Dawn pushed the basket into the woman’s hands and beat a hasty retreat. Smooth, Dawn, real smooth.

  *****

  Dawn stood by the window for a few minutes thinking about the exchange. No woman had ever had such an immediate effect on her. The chiseled features on the olive-skinned, black-haired Adonis were etched in her mind. She shrugged and let it go. It didn’t matter. Nothing would happen there. Dawn turned away from the window, walked to her computer, and checked her email.

  After she read her sister Ali’s latest response about how school and work were going, it was time to stop procrastinating. Dawn changed out of the long-sleeved shirt she wore to protect her fair skin from the sun and into a loose T-shirt already splattered with paint. She strolled into the studio where she spent most of her waking hours.

  This was her work, but it was also a pleasure. Nothing came close to the ongoing affair she had with an easel and canvas. Art was always a part of her life. Virtually a constant companion she could count on. Nobody in her life, except her family, had ever been as steady. She thought there was someone that she could count on once, but Lori had turned out not to be that person, and she had been hurt badly. She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  Dawn stepped into the room awash with natural light from the bank of windows on two sides plus the skylights she’d had installed the previous year. Depending on the time of day and the angle of the sun, the shadows cast in the room offered interesting contrasts. The space inspired her creativity. In addition to the easels scattered around the room with paintings, there were blank canvases of various sizes, a drafting table cluttered with sketches, and one entire counter was packed with jars and tubes of paint. It was very full but not cluttered, as Dawn had everything meticulously organized. In the far corner, on a small desk, her work computer contained all the specialized software she needed to create some of her other works of art.

  After two years, it still amazed her the way her boutique T-shirt design business had taken off as quickly as it had. The company that bought her original designs back then took over the manufacturing and contracted her to design more. She had added other clients over the last couple of years and made a surprisingly good living, but she would never give up her painting. Like her gardening, it was a part of who she was.

  Not so long ago, she had been too hurt and afraid to find the inspiration to paint. She had lost confidence in her skill as an artist because of Lori’s insults. It was agonizing. As a result, she now treasured her art more than ever before. Now she nurtured it—art was what pulled her through that dark time. Once she started to turn feelings into colors on a canvas, she let them go. Letting go was creating, but she would never forget.

  Dawn picked up her palette and began squeezing the blue, gray, black, and white paints slowly, carefully. The paint emerged from the tubes steadily like caterpillars inching onto the palette. She studied the painting in front of her from several different angles before picking up a brush. From the first stroke of paint across the canvas, she was engrossed. Painting consumed her, freeing her mind of all conscious thought. Her brush moved across the canvas with ease, strokes quickly giving shape to the vision that existed only in her mind. Sometimes she had soft music on in the background. Today, she forgot to turn it on. It didn’t matter; it rarely registered anyway.

  When she painted, she fell into the colors, the depth, and the textures of her art. Often she lost track of time. She loved the process and those who loved her knew her habits and were never surprised when she didn’t answer her phone or even the door. When a sound broke through her concentration, it surprised her.

  Dawn set her palette down and laid the brush aside. She stepped away from the painting. Something had distracted her. She heard it again. Someone was knocking on the door. Who could possibly be at her door in the middle of the day? She peeked at her watch. It was later than she thought, much later in fact. She hadn’t noticed the hours passing as she was absorbed in her painting. She grabbed a rag to wipe her hands as she made her way to the front door. Sh
e glanced out the front window and realized the moving truck was gone. Out of habit, she peered through the peephole and saw the soft butch blonde from the SUV next door. She opened the door. “Hello?”

  “Hi, I’m June.” She had a contagious and friendly smile that seemed genuine. Dawn couldn’t help but return it. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ve been next door helping my friend move in and we want to celebrate with a bottle of wine, but we can’t find her wine opener. Would you happen to have one we can borrow?”

  “Uh, sure, hang on.” As she started to walk away, Dawn remembered her manners. “Actually, why don’t you come in out of the heat? It’ll only take a minute.”

  June stepped through the door and closed it behind her. “Thanks, I appreciate it. By the way, thank you for the sandwiches earlier. I had one of each and both were delicious.”

  “No problem. I’ll be right back.” Dawn stepped into her studio and swirled her brush through the jar of water next to the easel. Then she went to the kitchen and grabbed her wine opener. She returned to the living room where June was looking at the canvases along one wall.

  “Here you go.”

  June didn’t turn from studying the art on the walls. “Is this your work?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re amazing.”

  “Thank you.”

  Finally, June turned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask your name.”

  “It’s not a prerequisite for borrowing a wine opener.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me?” June asked with amusement.

  “I’m Dawn.” She held the corkscrew toward June and smiled.

  June accepted it but was still examining Dawn’s work. “Thanks. Do you ever paint on commission, Dawn?”