Alexandras appeal, p.1
Alexandra's Appeal, page 1
Dixon Brothers Book 3
a Novel by
Published by
Olivia Kimbrell Press™
Fort Knox, Kentucky 40121
Copyright Notice
Alexandra’s Appeal: Dixon Brothers Series Book 3 by Hallee Bridgeman, Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording—without express written permission by the author and publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed or broadcasted articles and reviews.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or intended to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, organizations, places, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental and beyond the intention of either the author or the publisher. The characters are products of the authors’ imaginations and used fictitiously.
PUBLISHED BY: Olivia Kimbrell Press™*, P.O. Box 470, Fort Knox, KY 40121-0470. The Olivia Kimbrell Press™ colophon and open book logo are trademarks of Olivia Kimbrell Press™.
*Olivia Kimbrell Press™ is a publisher offering true to life, meaningful fiction from a Christian worldview intended to uplift the heart and engage the mind.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the King James Version of the Holy Bible.
Some scripture quotations courtesy of the New King James Version of the Holy Bible, Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982 by Thomas-Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Original Cover Art by Amanda Gail Smith (amandagailstudio.com).
Library Cataloging Data
Names: Bridgeman, Hallee (Bridgeman Hallee) 1972-
Title: Alexandra’s Appeal; The Dixon Brothers Series book 3 / Hallee Bridgeman
450 p. 5 in. × 8 in. (12.70 cm × 20.32 cm)
Description: Olivia Kimbrell Press™ digital eBook edition | Olivia Kimbrell Press™ Trade paperback edition | Kentucky: Olivia Kimbrell Press™, 2020.
Summary: Scorned, penniless, and pregnant, Alex must fight for faith, family, and love.
Identifiers: Library of Congress Control Number: 2020946781 | ISBN-13: 978-1-68190-174-9 (ebk.) | 978-1-68190-173-2 (trade) | 978-1-68190-175-6 (hardcover)
1. clean romance love story 2. women’s inspirational 3. pregnancy 4. messianic Christianity 5. emotional abuse 6. forgiveness redemption 7. secrets and lies
Alexandra's Appeal Copyright Notice
Table of Contents
Personal Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Excerpt: Daisy’s Decision
Acknowledgements
Readers Guide Discussion Questions
Luncheon Menu
More Great Books
The Dixon Brothers Series
About the Author
Find Hallee Online
Hallee’s Happenings
My husband, Gregg, and I have been on a journey toward Messianic Judaism for about fifteen years now. It started when we made a simple change in our diet after listening to a podcast about a Biblical diet’s health benefits. As we researched and studied and prayed and dropped foods like pork, shellfish, and alligator (we lived in Florida at the time) from our menu, it convicted us to dig deeper into the Tenach, the Old Testament, for even more meaning.
The deeper we dug, the more clearly we saw things like the beauty of God’s word, the hearts and minds of the New Testament authors and believers, and how God wove Yeshua—Jesus—as Messiah throughout the entire Bible. We fell in love with the Messianic beliefs and traditions. We have spent the last several years adopting them into our family’s way of life.
As two people raised in traditional Protestant families, we’ve had to learn and re-learn a great many things about the Biblical feasts, Sabbath traditions, and Hebrew way of prayer and practice. Over the years, this has become who we are and who we are raising our children to be.
Like every book I write, this is a work of love. Every book is special in its own way. This book I felt especially called to write because of our faith journey as a family and because of the deep friendships we have formed over the years with people whose real-life experiences mirror those of some characters in my fictional world. I pray that you enjoy Alexandra and Jon’s story.
With much love,
Alexandra “Alex” Fisher had already peeled the gold shoes off her feet and started tugging at the zipper on the pigeon blue gown before she even made it all the way across the threshold of her Manhattan penthouse. As the door shut behind her, she wiggled out of the bridesmaid’s dress and left it in a silky puddle halfway between the front door and the entrance to her bedroom.
In her bedroom, she tossed her perfectly matched clutch purse onto the bed in the center of the room. In her dash through the room to her dressing room, she barely noticed her view of the lights of downtown Manhattan as they struggled to dominate the blackness of night. Within minutes, she wore comfortable gray yoga pants and a long-sleeved burgundy jersey shirt. She went into her bathroom and began pulling pins out of her blonde hair, releasing her tresses from the intricate style maid-of-honor duties demanded. After running a brush through it to break up some of the hairspray, she pulled it back into a simple messy bun.
In the mirror, she examined the thick layer of base makeup, the charcoal liner designed to bring out her green eyes, and the fake lashes that always pinched her eyelids. It would take far more than her normal routine to rid herself of this elaborate look. She pulled open a drawer, grabbed the needed creams and tools, then applied here, wiped there, scrubbed at this and that, and moisturized.
Finally feeling refreshed and much more natural, Alex let out a long sigh as she turned off her bathroom light and made her way back into the bedroom. The dark night lit by the bright city lights provided a majestic golden mural along the entire windowed back wall.
This time she also noticed the fresh roses placed by her housekeeper on the table near her reading nook. The color of the roses changed with the seasons, and June brought yellow flowers and a white vase with a black scrolling design. It fit her gray and black décor.
She retrieved her cellphone out of the clutch and wandered back into her living room. This very moment should find Alex dancing and celebrating her cousin Whitney’s marriage to Geoff, a dancer who held down the lead in a Broadway show that had seen moderately good reviews. Instead, Geoff had accepted a large lump-sum payoff from Whitney’s father, Douglas, in lieu of going through with the wedding. Douglas chose to extend the offer only about five minutes before Whitney would have walked down the aisle.
For the last several hours, Alex had sat with Whitney, handled details, paid off caterers and bartenders, dealt with hotel staff, and made sure they never left her emotional cousin alone. Eventually, Whitney’s brother, Justin, released Alex from her duties, which allowed her to escape back home.
Alex’s own father, Winston, hadn’t even bothered to show up for the nuptials. Apparently, the man’s only niece’s fifth attempt at matrimony didn’t hold enough social stature for her father to condescend to make an appearance. Alex shook her head as she considered the situation. Her uncle Douglas had no business making the transaction on the day of, much less within minutes of the ceremony. At least all the other times, he’d handled it well ahead of time. Five minutes before, though? Had his plan included humiliating his daughter?
As well as she knew the two Fisher brothers, it wouldn’t surprise her if they had intentionally planned it that way, crafting the public display of Geoff’s failed character to embarrass and hurt Whitney.
Her phone chimed with an incoming video call. As she answered, she glanced at the clock and calculated the time as about eight-thirty in San Francisco, making this an early night for Ephraim, her fiancé. She swiped up and his face appeared.
“Hi there.” Her voice sounded puzzled to her own ears. She should be completely immersed in the wedding reception right about now, and Ephraim knew that. Yet he had called her on a video chat.
He raised a black eyebrow. “You don’t look like a bridesmaid right now.”
“Yeah.” Alex folded her legs up against her chest and propped the phone up on her knees. “He left.”
Even on the small screen of her phone, she could see the amusement in his eyes. “Another one bites the dust, huh?”
“Douglas was vulgar. He intentionally humiliated Whitney. And, honestly, I actually felt sorry for her this time. It was crass and wrong.”
“Justin told me Geoff never returned any phone calls. This was the first time they had any kind of access to him.”
So Ephraim knew? “Would have been nice to have a head’s up. Could have saved myself a lot of time and trouble. Whitney had very specific hair and makeup requirements. I sat in that chair for hours.”
“Not my place. She obviously instructed Geoff not to return the phone calls. Seems she already knew how it would turn out once Douglas had a brief word with him.”
He nodded. “Should be back in the city by four. I intend to make the five-thirty train.”
“Great.” She searched his face, wondering if he’d have mentioned his coming home plans if she hadn’t specifically asked. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Yes. And, as a bonus, it’s a good chance to get some more face time with your father away from the office. It’s been a long two weeks.”
Ignoring the little voice that highlighted this reference to her father instead of missing her, she smiled a little flirtatious smile and said, “I could have come with you.”
“Nah. Too much work. And you had commitments to Whitney.” He carried the phone through his hotel suite and she struggled to push back the feeling of rejection. She could see the edges of the background. Soon, she heard ice clink into a glass. “My mother has requested that we pick a day next week to get with her and discuss venues and guest lists. I told her we could meet them up at the Hamptons for an overnight on Thursday, if that suits your schedule.”
She mentally went through her week as she rubbed her thumbnail over her bottom lip. “Thursday should work. Just one night or the whole weekend?”
“If we stay the weekend, we have to go to synagogue on Friday. May not be a bad idea, but I’ll leave it up to you. You’re not the weekly Shabbat kind of girl.”
As disconnected as she had felt from Ephraim for the last couple of months, perhaps they needed to add a spiritual layer to their relationship. “I can handle a Shabbat service. I know you like your Hamptons’ rabbi.”
“That I do. I’ve liked him ever since he apologized for my bris.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m going to take this single-malt Scotch to bed with me. Get some sleep tonight. You need to be well-rested for your father’s event.”
“Good night. Safe travels.” She blew him a kiss and disconnected the call.
He did not tell her good night. He did not say he loved her or missed her. She sighed and wondered how she felt no excitement at the thought of discussing wedding venues with her perfectly wonderful future mother-in-law.
Alex stood from where she perched on the edge of her couch and stretched out some tension she hadn’t realized she felt. Her neck and shoulders had tightened almost painfully. She looked at the pile of silky dress in front of her door and decided to just leave it there.
Moving into her kitchen, she dug around in her freezer and found the caramel gelato she’d bought yesterday. She took the pint container and a spoon out onto her balcony.
The cool air surprised her compared to the hot street-level temperature. She thanked whatever intuition had prompted her to put on a long-sleeved shirt and kicked back into one of her chairs so she could put her feet up and savor the creamy dessert.
She looked down at Central Park. A meandering trail of lights cut through the blackness, but ruler-straight lights on the streets and buildings glowed golden or pure white all around the park. She always found that dichotomy so interesting.
While she stared, her mind wandered to Ephraim. He’d asked her to marry him months ago, but she’d only recently set a date. In fifty-three weeks, on Thursday, June tenth, she’d walk down the aisle, smash a glass, and become Mrs. Ephraim Haskins.
She wrinkled her nose. One ought to feel some sense of excitement, right? The image of Whitney’s face tonight, and the way she hadn’t screamed or yelled like the other times. Instead, she’d systematically torn her lace veil into ragged strips.
No. Whitney had nothing to do with this. It was her; she just didn’t know why. She couldn’t have picked a more suitable man. Still, as much attraction as she felt for him, as much as she admired his business acuity and his social skills, she didn’t feel overly excited about the upcoming change in their relationship. Part of her just wanted everything to coast on the way they enjoyed it now.
Perhaps going to his favorite synagogue and taking part in a Shabbat service with his family would open up whatever part of her heart she held back. She longed to love him completely.
Taking another bite of ice cream, she thought back to tonight’s debacle. Every time Whitney found a new man, convinced him to marry her, and started planning nuptials, her father swooped in with the choice of signing some extreme prenup or taking some excessive lump sum payoff to sever all ties. So far, not one groom had passed this little test. Alex honestly felt like her cousin had turned it into a game at this point. It wouldn’t surprise her if she discovered Whitney took a cut of each of the lump sums.
Except Alex had seen genuine embarrassment and hurt on Whitney’s face tonight. Maybe her cousin actually had feelings for her betrothed this time.
Winston might try some game like that with Ephraim, though she didn’t think he would for two reasons. First, Ephraim came from a well-established family in the New York financial world, and their resources likely rivaled the Fishers. Second, she didn’t think Winston cared enough about his only daughter to pay attention to the mundane details of what her future spouse could do with her trust after they married.
Even if her father cared, Ephraim wouldn’t object to a prenuptial agreement. He’d already hinted at having his attorney work with her cousin Justin to fashion one that would protect both of them. Given their individual assets, it only made sense.
Her phone dinged with an incoming message. Curious as to who would contact her at nearly midnight, she swiped up and saw a text from her editor at one of the magazines she freelanced for with a photo she had taken yesterday of a mother breastfeeding her baby in an immigration detention facility. Before leaving for the wedding, Alex had spent the morning working on some of the hundreds of photos she’d taken in the facility. Just before heading out the door, she had posted that photo to her social media. The subject, a woman named Isabella Rodriguez, held her infant in one arm and covered her eyes with her other hand while she sobbed.
As a photojournalist, Alex often recorded examples of some terrible conditions suffered by humanity. Nothing about doing it ever got easier. She’d cried with that mother and reacted emotionally yet again while editing the photos. She knew when she posted it that it would generate a response. But she never anticipated this large of a response. She skimmed the linked news article about the photo going viral and the uproar over the conditions in the facility spurred by the photo. It fascinated her how quickly it spread—millions of people reposting and sharing it in a matter of hours.
Out of curiosity, despite the late hour, she accessed her work e-mail and saw dozens of communications from publications about the photo. Energized, she rushed into the kitchen and traded the ice cream for a cup of coffee, then booted up her laptop so she could read and respond to each e-mail properly.
A loud clang followed by the sound of metal grinding on metal penetrated the thin walls of the job site trailer. Immediately following the noise, the urgency of raised men’s voices made Jon Dixon look up from his laptop. He bolted around his desk and ripped open the trailer door to see a backhoe backed directly into the passenger door of his truck.
For a moment, he stood speechless, staring at the yellow machine pressed into his glossy black door. The impact had tilted his truck over onto the two driver side tires where it remained. Jon’s eyes darted around the immediate area, ensuring no one had been injured. Then he looked at the driver who stared up at him with his mouth open and eyes wide, fear combining with horror on his face.
Jon had seconds to decide how to handle it. Anger welled up inside of him, the kind that had him fist his hands. His mind flooded with insults and accusations. But, for the last six months, he’d made a concentrated effort not to react in anger, to give people understanding and grace, to embrace the fruit of the Spirit as defined in Ephesians as a singular collective gift instead of just a piecemeal offering. He dug deep and found patience, peace, and kindness.
