Chris Paynter [Paynter - Just a Touch Away

When a family tragedy strikes, successful childrens book author Lindsey Marist withdraws from her world. Barely coping with day-to-day living, she isolates herself in her cabin. Her troubled mind seems unable to write another uplifting childrens story.

Artist Cloe Parsons struggles to sell her work. She supplements her income by helping out at her parents grocery store. Trips to deliver Lindseys groceries spark a friendship between the two women that evolves over the course of a summer. When the longtime illustrator of Lindseys books retires, the door opens for Cloe to step in and be hired to illustrate Lindseys next release.

As they work together on each page of the new book Cloe has urged Lindsey to try, Lindsey and Cloe grow closer. Will Lindsey be able to break free from her sadness and follow her heart? Will Cloe finally take a chance on love that is just a touch away? A relationship between the two seems ideal, but will it happen? Can it happen?

To My Little Phyllis Valentine

Every morning, I wake thinking I cant love you more...

And then a new day dawns.

Playing for First

Come Back to Me

Two for the Show (Book 2 in the Playing for First series)

Survived by Her Longtime Companion

And a Time to Dance

To Love Free

From Third to Home (Book 3 in the Playing for First series)

More Than a Song

Daphne

This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are either products of the authors imaginationor are used fictitiously.

Just a Touch Away

Copyright 2019 by Chris Paynter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in anymanner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, save for briefquotations used in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by StephanieSolomon

Editor: Nann Dunne

Published by C ompanion P ublications

www.ckpaynter.com

ISBN: 978-1-942204-17-6

First edition: May 2019

Thank you to my editor, Nann Dunne, for her expertdirection and guidance with each book I write. Again, thank you for attemptingto cure me of the dreaded -ing disease (authors will know what Im talkingabout). It seems like my first drafts are always afflicted with them! Iespecially thank you for saving my butt on any nautical references in this book.

Thank you to my formatting gurus, Toni Whitaker andPatty Schramm, for your awesome prowess in formatting my ebooks and printcopies, respectively. Thank you, too, to my cover artist, Stephanie Solomon. Younever disappoint!

To my beautiful wife, Phyllisyou are the reason I canwrite romances. You are the Frankie to my Lisa, the Meryl to my Angie, theStacy to my Amy, the Daphne to my Eleanor, the Erin to my Corey, the Gabrielleto my Madison, the Stephanie to my Kat, the Liz to my Dani, and the Cloe to myLindsey. In other words, you are the heartbeat of each book I write. I love youso much and treasure every day we share.

A special thank-you to my readers who have been sosupportive of my work, starting in 2009 with Playing for First. Sooften, your emails and messages reach me right when I need them the most. Thankyou, too, for your patience with me when there is a pause between releases, asthere was with this one. Sometimes life gets in the way of my writing, and Ithank you for your understanding.

I hope you enjoy Just a Touch Away and that itis worth the wait!

The water surrounding her grewdarker with each foot deeper that she plunged. She flailed her arms, kicked herlegs, and fought with every ounce of her strength. But that strength waswaningfast. She looked above. Light from the surface pierced the blacknesswith shafts of hope. She grasped at that hope.

Pushing her arms and legs againstthe waters density, she refused to give in to despair, refused to let thiskill her. With another stroke of her arms and kick of her legs, fearing theydbe her last, she struggled for those last inches to thesurface. Just as her fingertips reached the air above that would save her life,her desperate need to breathe forced her to open her mouth and gulp in water.She gagged and choked as it filled her lungs...

Lindsey Marist gasped and sat upagainst her headboard. Her heart pounded hard. She tried to catch her breathand clutched at her chest. As her heartbeat returned to a more normal pace, shenoticed her dog, Fred, had stirred from his bed on the floor. He placed hisnose on the mattress and whimpered.

Its okay, boy. Its okay. Shepatted the mattress. Come on. I know youre worried.

With Lindseys help, he pulledhimself up with his stubby legs. He had the perfect beagle face andlemon-spotted coloring, but Lindsey thought the other half might be bassetbecause of his long body and short legs. Regardless, he was a noisy hound andmade it known right away if he wasnt getting enough attention. Howling was anart form to Fred. He tried to stay upright on the mattress as he hobbled overto Lindsey, put his head on her lap, and stared at her with his light-brown,soulful eyes.

Ive been having that dream a lotlately, huh, Fred?

He licked her hand.

Pain shot through her heart. God,she knew why she had the dream. She didnt need a therapist to interpret thesymbolism. The dream mirrored her daily struggle to overcome the livingnightmare that visited her family starting three years ago. The inevitabletragedy weighed her down like a heavy, black cloak that she couldnt discard. Despitethe best efforts of her family, she gradually withdrew from life, whichincluded Elise, her ex.

For the past year, Lindseyinsulated and isolated herself in her cabin getaway. Located on Lake Monroe,the cabin wasnt that far from Bloomington, Indiana. Not that it mattered. Sherarely ventured into town anymore. Luckily, as a childrens book author, shecould work from home.

So, here she sat. Alone in hercabin. Alone in her bed. She stroked Freds soft ears. Well, except for her dogwho never judged her, never asked why she couldnt move on from the sadness. Healso never bugged her to see a therapist, as her family encouraged her to do.

Youre my therapist, arent you, boy?

He gazed up at her, and she couldswear he understood.

Lindsey glanced over at the bedsideclock. Three a.m. She should at least try to get to sleep. Maybe some milkwould help. Heck, maybe even cookies and some milk. She jumped out of bed andheaded to the kitchen, Fred right on her heels. She smiled down at him. Youknow the routine, dont you? Fred accompanied her on many early-morning cookieruns after she awakened from a nightmare.

She grabbed the package of Oreosfrom the cabinet, pulled out two, and poured herself a glass of milk. Fredstared up at her as she dunked the cookie into her milk.

Okay, okay. Lindsey finished onecookie and got Fred a couple of treats. You might as well join me. She poureda small scoop of dog food into Freds dish. While she dunked the other cookie,she thought about her manuscript that was due back to her editor in threeweeks. Jesus, three weeks and Im not even halfway done. And she feared itwas too depressing for a childrens book. She already sent in the preliminarypages for her editors feedback. Shed yet to hear from Sylvia Goldman whocould be a hard-ass. She dreaded that call.

Lindsey finished her early morningsnack and went back to bed. She tucked herself under her covers and sighed.Fred settled on his own bed. He let out a long sigh to echo hers. She stared upat the ceiling and thought about her writing. Yes, she was a best-sellingchildrens book author with a longstanding series of books. But how could she continue to write cheery, upbeatstories when her inspiration was gone?