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  Praise for Denise Hunter

  “Denise Hunter’s newest novel, Sweetbriar Cottage, is a story to fall in love with. True-to-life characters, high stakes, and powerful chemistry blend to tell an emotional story of reconciliation. Readers will sympathize with Josephine’s tragic past and root for her happy ending as old wounds give way to new beginnings.”

  —BRENDA NOVAK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  “Sweetbriar Cottage is a wonderful story, full of emotional tension and evocative prose. You’ll feel involved in these characters’ lives and carried along by their story as tension ratchets up to a climactic and satisfying conclusion. Terrific read. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  —FRANCINE RIVERS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF REDEEMING LOVE

  “From start to finish, Sweetbriar Cottage is a winner! Heartache, intrigue, and complex character issues all wrapped in Denise Hunter’s signature style of romance make this a must-read for lovers of this genre.”

  —TAMERA ALEXANDER, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF TO WHISPER HER NAME AND THE INHERITANCE

  “Warning: sleep deprivation, palpitations, and acute soul-searching may occur . . . and you will devour every single moment! A powerful novel of second chances, Sweetbriar Cottage is a haunting love story that will take you from the depths of divorce to the breathless heights of a marriage transformed.”

  —JULIE LESSMAN, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE DAUGHTERS OF BOSTON, WINDS OF CHANGE, AND ISLE OF HOPE SERIES

  “Hunter has a wonderful way of sweeping readers into a delightful romance without leaving behind the complications of true love and true life. Sweetbriar Cottage is Hunter at the top of her game—a rich, emotional romance that will leave readers yearning for more.”

  —KATHERINE REAY, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF DEAR MR. KNIGHTLEY AND A PORTRAIT OF EMILY PRICE

  “I’ve been a longtime fan of Denise Hunter’s, and The Goodbye Bride has everything I’ve come to love about her romances: a plucky heroine with lots of backstory, a yummy hero, and a terrific setting. Her fine attention to detail and the emotional punch of the story made me want to reread it immediately. Highly recommended!”

  —COLLEEN COBLE, USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF MERMAID MOON AND THE HOPE BEACH SERIES

  “With her usual deft touch, snappy dialogue, and knack for romantic tension, inspirational romance veteran Hunter will continue to delight romance fans with this first Summer Harbor release.”

  —PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON FALLING LIKE SNOWFLAKES

  “Hunter is a master romance storyteller. Falling Like Snowflakes is charming and fun with a twist of mystery and intrigue. A story that’s sure to endure as a classic reader favorite.”

  —RACHEL HAUCK, AUTHOR OF THE WEDDING DRESS AND THE ROYAL WEDDING SERIES

  “This is an emotional tale of overcoming the fear of loss to love again and God’s love, made manifest through people, healing all wounds.”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS ON DANCING WITH FIREFLIES

  “Jane Austen fans will appreciate the subtle yet delightful Austen vibe that flavors this contemporary cowboy romance. The Trouble with Cowboys is a fast, fun, and touching read with the added draw of a first kiss that is sure to make my Top 5 Fictional Kisses of 2012. So saddle up, ladies: We have a winner!”

  —USATODAY.COM

  Other Novels by Denise Hunter

  Sweetbriar Cottage

  BLUE RIDGE SUNRISE NOVELS

  Blue Ridge Sunrise

  Honeysuckle Dreams (available May 2018)

  SUMMER HARBOR NOVELS

  Falling Like Snowflakes

  The Goodbye Bride

  Just a Kiss

  THE CHAPEL SPRINGS ROMANCE SERIES

  Barefoot Summer

  Dancing with Fireflies

  The Wishing Season

  Married ’til Monday

  A December Bride (novella)

  THE BIG SKY ROMANCE SERIES

  A Cowboy’s Touch

  The Accidental Bride

  The Trouble with Cowboys

  NANTUCKET LOVE STORIES

  Driftwood Lane

  Seaside Letters

  The Convenient Groom

  Surrender Bay

  Sweetwater Gap

  Novellas included in Smitten, Secretly Smitten, and Smitten Book Club

  Blue Ridge Sunrise

  © 2017 by Denise Hunter

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hunter, Denise, 1968-author.

  Title: Blue Ridge sunrise / Denise Hunter.

  Description: Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson, [2017] | Series: A Blue Ridge romance; 1

  Epub Edition September 2017 ISBN 9780718090517

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017022247 | ISBN 9780718090500 (paperback)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Christian fiction. | Love stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.U5925 B58 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017022247

  Printed in the United States of America

  17 18 19 20 21 LSC 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Praise for Denise Hunter

  Other Novels by Denise Hunter

  Part One Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Part Two Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Part Three Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  part one

  chapter one

  Zoe Collins never expected to step foot in Copper Creek again. But the one thing that could bring her back had happened.


  She stepped out of the dark sedan, a little wobbly on her heels. Brady, her brother, quietly took her elbow as they followed their father across the manicured cemetery that would become Granny’s new earthly home.

  She drew deeply of the early spring air, fixing her eyes on the surrounding mountains and pine forests. Copper Creek was nestled down in the foothills of the north Georgia mountains. Some might say the town was a throwback to simpler days, but for Zoe the memories of home were a conflicting cocktail of bliss and misery. Heavy on the misery.

  Her boyfriend, Kyle, had stayed at the hotel with her daughter, Gracie. Zoe’s long-buried grief and guilt warred with an intense feeling of relief at finally being alone. She would focus on the latter, she decided, filling her lungs with the familiar sweet smells of home: hyacinths, sunshine, and freedom.

  As they neared the tent, Zoe’s best friend came toward her. Hope Daniels hadn’t changed a bit—still a natural beauty with that dark, wavy hair and those sparkling green eyes. When she smiled she was the spitting image of Rachel McAdams. But today that wide grin was nowhere to be seen.

  Zoe slipped off to intercept her and found herself swallowed in a hug like only Hope could give. One part love, two parts boa constrictor.

  “Zoe.”

  “Hey girl,” Zoe squeezed out.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make the funeral.”

  “No worries. It’s so good to see you.”

  Though Hope only managed the Rusty Nail on the weekend, a round of spring flu had taken out some of the waitstaff so she’d had to fill in. Radio was her true love. She hosted a daily call-in program called “Living with Hope” on a local station, using that psychology degree she’d worked on so hard.

  “How are you holding up?”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  Hope released her, allowing Zoe to draw a full breath.

  “Oh, I’ve missed you,” her friend said. “Five years is too long—and hardly a phone call,” she scolded. “Never mind. I’ll chastise you later at a more appropriate time.”

  “Good job. Your filter’s come a long way.”

  “Not really. Stick around a minute.” Hope’s gaze flitted toward the tent. “Now where’s that sweet little angel I’ve been dying to get my hands on? It’s a sad state of affairs when I have to make do with Facebook and Instagram.”

  “I thought the funeral might be a bit confusing for a four-year-old, and I didn’t really want her to meet Dad here, so I left her with Kyle.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still with him.”

  Zoe tilted a look at Hope. “And you wonder why I never call. Kyle’s been there for us, Hope.”

  “We’ll talk about it later. Appropriate time and all that.”

  “I can hardly wait.” Zoe’s eyes swung to the tent. “I hate that I wasn’t here to lend a hand with arrangements. We just couldn’t get away from Nashville any sooner.”

  Hope pressed her lips together, obviously suppressing another thought. “Well . . . you know your grandmother. She had everything in place, God rest her soul. There wasn’t much to do. How’s Brady holding up today? He was kind of a mess the day she died.”

  Zoe glanced at her brother, now under the tent. The black suit made the best of his tall, sturdy frame and short dark hair. He was chatting with their dad, and she tried not to be jealous of the easy relationship they shared. Zoe’d had only sporadic contact with Brady—or anyone else for that matter—since she’d left.

  Granny. It was too late now. Guilt pinched hard. But she shook off the feeling.

  “How’s Brady been doing since the divorce?” Zoe asked.

  Hope shrugged. “As expected, I guess. I don’t know how he ever put up with that woman, but he sure loves baby Sam. He gets him every other weekend, you know.”

  Audrey had left Brady, no doubt breaking his heart, while Zoe had been AWOL. Yet another person she’d let down.

  “He wanted custody, but Audrey fought him and won. I swear she just did it out of spite.”

  From what Zoe knew of Audrey, that was probably about right. But she didn’t want to think about her brother anymore. It was too close to the topic she was avoiding.

  “How’s the orchard faring in Granny’s absence?” she asked.

  “Last few years she barely even oversaw it. She dealt with the retailers, but otherwise it’s practically run itself, what with all the help.” Hope opened her mouth as if she had something else to say, then bit her lip instead.

  Zoe closed her eyes and could almost smell the peaches, ripe to harvest. Feel the fuzzy skin and taste the sweet juicy flesh. She’d spent every spare hour at the orchard, growing up. It had been better than home, especially after her mama died. She’d have liked to spend a couple quiet hours there. Too bad Kyle was in such a rush to get back to Nashville.

  “I never thought it would be her heart, of all things,” Zoe said.

  “I know, right? She seemed fit as a fiddle. Just last week I walked in on her perched at the top of a sixteen-foot ladder. I said, ‘Granny Nel, what are you doing?’ and she said, ‘Changing a lightbulb.’ I said, ‘Get on down from there! You’re twelve feet off the ground!’ And she said, ‘Which is the perfect height to change this bulb.’”

  Zoe gave a wistful smile. “Sounds like her.”

  Regret raged inside like spring floodwaters. Zoe had left because she thought she’d let down Granny and everyone else. She hadn’t realized that leaving would be the ultimate disappointment to them. The regret threatened to pull her under, but she fought to the surface. She was doing that a lot lately. One day soon she was going to lose the battle.

  Hope squeezed Zoe’s forearm. “Hey. Enough with the sad eyes. Granny Nel wouldn’t want you crying in your soup.”

  Zoe blinked back tears, looking past Hope at the cars still pulling up to the curb. She scanned the crowd, hope and dread duking it out for the lead. She quickly turned back to her friend.

  “You’re right. Tell me about what’s going on around here. With you? What’d I miss?”

  “Oh, you know Copper Creek. Nothing much changes around here. I’m still doing my radio program and working at the Rusty Nail on weekends.”

  “You’re being too modest. I saw that snippet online about the rising popularity of ‘Living with Hope.’ You won an award, right?”

  Hope shrugged. “I love what I do. But it’s just a local program.”

  “Not for long. You’re on your way, girl.”

  “We’ll see about that. But how about you?” Hope nudged her. “Opening for cool bands and all that.”

  Kyle’s band, Brevity, had opened for some well-known artists. It was a rush, performing for a large audience.

  “Well, I’m only a backup singer.”

  “Please. Your vocals are amazing. You know, Last Chance is playing at the Rusty Nail tomorrow night. You should sing a couple songs with them.”

  “Oh, we won’t be around that long. We’re leaving after the interment.”

  Hope’s face fell. “Are you kidding me? You just got here last night. I waited almost five years for you to come back.”

  “Sorry. There’s a gig we need to get back for.” And as nice as it was to catch up with Hope, there were other people she was less keen on seeing.

  The stragglers were making their way toward the tent, a small wave of darkly clothed humanity. It was almost time to begin.

  She squeezed Hope’s hand. “I’d better go. We’ll catch up later.”

  She turned toward the tent, making her way over the bumpy ground, and nearly stumbled as her eyes caught on the person she’d been watching for.

  Cruz Huntley had never looked better. His crisp white shirt contrasted with his Puerto Rican skin, and the suit coat accentuated his broad shoulders. He looked up just then, and his dark eyes pierced hers.

  Her heart was like a kick drum in her chest as she got caught in his gaze for a long, painful moment. Was he remembering the last funeral they’d attended? And everything that had happ
ened that day?

  His lips curved in a thin smile.

  She tore her eyes away. Fixed them on the white casket propped under the tent. On the spray of colorful flowers arranged over the top. She shook Cruz from her thoughts. She wasn’t going there today. Never mind that she hadn’t set eyes on him in forever. Never mind that he’d once stolen her heart—then broken it so thoroughly.

  You’re a stupid girl, Zoe.

  Under the tent she took a seat between her brother and dad, trying to ignore the coldness that radiated from Daddy in waves. She’d tried to hug him when she’d seen him at the funeral home, but he’d only stiffened in her arms. She’d drawn away, the sting of rejection burrowing deep.

  He’d never been Granny’s biggest fan. His mother-in-law had been too spirited for his liking, and she’d only encouraged Zoe’s independence. It had been a sticking point among the three of them that only grew worse when Zoe’s mom died.

  But she wasn’t going to dwell on her relationship with her dad. Today was about Granny. About laying her to rest.

  Zoe emptied her lungs, letting that thought sink in. Letting the ache swell in her chest until it spread outward. As if sensing the sudden rush of pain, Brady squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.

  Granny’s gone.

  The thought hit her like a sledgehammer as Pastor Jack stepped forward to say a few final words. Her grandma was gone. And with her, all the love that had sustained Zoe even from afar.

  Somehow it didn’t feel real. Somehow she’d thought Granny would outlast them all. But nothing lasted forever. Not even love.

  chapter two

  It had been less than five years since Zoe had walked away from him, but Cruz wasn’t sure he would’ve recognized her on the street. She sat graveside, under the tent between her brother and dad, her shoulders rolled in on themselves. Her hair, auburn then, was now blond, and her natural curls had been tamed into sleek locks that fluttered in the late March breeze.

  Cruz skirted the headstones, joining the gathering crowd. He’d slipped in late to the funeral and sat in the very back of the church, work having kept him longer than he planned. He hadn’t offered his condolences yet.

 
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