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Paul felt a nudge of awareness.
He noted the changes time had wrought in Amy. From the freckle-faced pixie who had trailed him as a child, to the blushing, self-conscious teenager, she had become the woman before him now.
Amy had been cute as a child. Pretty as a teenager. But now she had become strikingly beautiful.
Paul regretted now that he hadn’t bothered to stop and really notice Amy. All their lives he had taken her affection and adoration for granted. Had treated it lightly.
Yet always she had stayed faithful. Always she had had a purity, a sincerity, a solid, simple faith in God that had made Paul keep his distance.
But now…now, when it was too late…now, when she was pledged to another…
Now a powerful yearning seemed to draw him to Amy….
CAROLYNE AARSEN
has honed her writing between being a wife, stay-at-home mom, foster mom, columnist and business partner with her husband in their cattle-and-logging business in northern Alberta. Writing for Love Inspired is a blessed opportunity to combine her love for romance with her love for her Lord.
Ever Faithful
Carolyne Aarsen
For the Word of the Lord is right and true, He is faithful in all He does.
—Psalms 33:4
I’d like to dedicate this book to Loree Lough, fellow writer and encourager, and, as always, to my husband, Richard.
Contents
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
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
“How much longer will the grass hold out, little brother?” Amy’s saddle creaked as she leaned forward, staring ruefully over the pasture.
Rick shrugged. “Couple of weeks, more if we get rain.”
Amy Danyluk lifted a tangle of reddish hair from her neck and tucked it under her old cowboy hat. The sun’s heat, warming her head, seemed to mock Rick’s hope for rain. So did the rivulets of sweat running down her back. She pulled up the red bandanna hanging around the neck of a once-yellow T-shirt and wiped her neck with it, squinting at the cows in the distance.
From here they looked content as they moved slowly along, their calves kicking up their heels and running in circles. However the chewed-down areas close to the horses were a mute testimony to how little feed the cows had left. “I think we’ll have to get the lower fields ready just in case we need to move them.”
“The fence needs to get fixed before we do that.” Rick pulled his hat off his head and wiped a trickle of sweat with his arm. “Whew, it’s hot.”
Amy nodded. “I was hoping we could work on it in the morning, while it’s still cool.”
“No can do, sis. I’m busy on Monday. I promised Jack I’d help him in the garage until four.” Rick rubbed the side of his nose and threw Amy an apologetic look. “Sorry. I made the plans over a week ago.” He pulled on Sandover’s reins, turned his horse around and walked away.
“This is not the time of year to make other plans,” Amy muttered. They had hay to haul and cut and bale again. The corrals needed work, and the old fence needed repairs. They had to cross fence their hayfield. She had to work all of this around her own job, as well as gardening and taking care of their father, Judd.
Amy swung her own horse, Misty, around and with a nudge, easily caught up to Rick. “If you can get that tractor working on Tuesday we can haul the bales in a couple of days. I can get a day off next week and we can start on it then.”
“Speaking of hay, we’ll need to buy more if we have to bring the cows down sooner,” Rick commented. “I had hoped to turn those pregnant heifers I bought into the lower pasture.”
“Hopefully we won’t need to buy hay if we cross fence the hayfield. I still don’t know why you bought fall calvers. They just don’t work in our program.”
“It’s a good way of making our cash flow more even. Besides, they were a terrific deal, for purebreds.”
“But cow prices are down. And a deal is only a deal—”
“If you can afford it,” Rick intoned, his voice taking on that bored tone that told Amy he heard her but had stopped listening. He pushed his hat back on his head, his auburn hair darkened with sweat. “I know it was a chance, Amy. But sometimes you have to take them.”
Amy sensed it was time to stop hammering. She wished she could let things roll off her back as easily, but she couldn’t. She was the one who did the books, who knew exactly how far they were into their operating loan. She had been in charge since an accident with an auger had taken off half of her father’s leg, ten years ago. She knew she had a tendency to fret, whereas Rick was more inclined to count on things working out in the end. “Okay, Rick, I’ll lay off. But I want you to help me out here, big-time.”
“How’s that?”
“Start praying for rain,” Amy said quietly.
Rick was spared the need to reply as Sandover pranced to one side. Amy drew her own horse back to fall behind him. Sandover was green broke and unpredictable. Amy didn’t want Misty hit by a flying hoof.
“I’d watch his ears, Rick,” Amy warned, watching as the horse tossed his head.
“He’s just high-strung, glad to be out.” Rick pulled Sandover’s head around, and with another defiant shake of his head, the horse settled. Rick flashed his sister a triumphant grin over his shoulder. “See. All under control.”
“I’m going to the Hendersons’. You coming?” Amy asked, ignoring him.
“What do you need to do there?”
Amy shrugged in reply. Rick didn’t need to know, he would just tease her.
“Well?” Rick insisted.
“If you need to know, I want to borrow Elizabeth’s hot rollers and pick up a pair of panty hose she bought for me.”
Rick’s head spun around faster than Sandover’s. “Panty hose?” Rick’s incredulous tone said much more than his words. “Rollers? You won’t even know how to put those things in your hair.”
Amy still said nothing.
“And since when do you care about how you look?”
“Since Tim and I started going out. You know that,” Amy replied, wishing the flush would leave her cheeks. She didn’t need to feel guilty. Her desire to look attractive was nothing to be embarrassed about, especially not in front of her little brother.
“C’mon, Amy. Your motto’s always been ‘death before makeup.’ Your idea of dressing up for a date was to iron your T-shirt. Now