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He hadn’t realized that everyone in town would figure Cara Jane for his girlfriend.
Holt hated that she had been embarrassed by it. He could have prepared her for what she would encounter, but he’d been too intent on getting information out of her to think beyond that.
While walking Cara and her son Ace to his truck, Holt said, “I should’ve warned you about all that teasing and talk. Everyone knows everyone in Eden, so any newcomer is of interest.”
“I understand,” Cara replied. Then, looking up at him, she said, “I had a good time tonight. I know I’m a newcomer, but somehow I felt a part of the community.”
Eden was a friendly town, and the Watermelon Patch was like one big community dining room. That Cara had felt welcomed warmed Holt’s heart.
ARLENE JAMES
Arelene James says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”
The author of more than sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Fort Worth, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade! She loves to hear from readers and can be reached via her Web site at www.arlenejames.com.
Her Small-Town Hero
Arlene James
Nay, in all these things we are more than
conquerors through him that loved us.
—Romans 8:37
For Dad.
Rancher, builder, oil man, businessman,
salesman, auctioneer…but first and perhaps
foremost, roughneck.
I love you.
DAR
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
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
Chapter One
“Right here.”
A slender forefinger pecked a tiny spot on the map spread out across the table in the little diner. Outside, rain drizzled down in a gloomy, chilly curtain, holding dawn at bay. Weather reports predicted a continuation of the current pattern of rain for northern Oregon, but Cara’s concern centered more on what she would find south and west of here as they worked their way steadily toward Oklahoma and…She leaned forward, checking to be certain that her bleary eyes hadn’t played her false. Yes, there, right next to Highway 81. Eden.
Her tired gaze backtracked wistfully the equivalent distance of some thirty miles to Duncan, following the tiny line that represented the silver, two-lane ribbon of road. None of the interminable bus trips of her youth had ever taken her farther than Duncan. She’d originally planned to head straight for the town, thinking that she could find no better place to raise her son than that where she had known her happiest times, but then she’d realized that her brother Eddie would almost certainly think to look for her there.
So Eden it would be. Surely she could find sanctuary in a place with that name.
Next to her in a booster seat on the vinyl bench of the booth, her son, Ace, shoved away the remaining bits of buttered toast that remained from their shared breakfast and rubbed his eyes with two tiny, chubby fists before reaching toward her with a whine. Since his fussing the night before had prevented both of them from getting any real sleep, she knew exactly how he felt, but they dared not tarry another night in the Portland area. She hoped to make Boise, Idaho, before dinnertime and find a quiet motel off the beaten path where she and her little son could rest for the night before driving on.
After quickly folding up the map, Cara reached into the diaper bag that also served as her purse and removed several bills from her wallet. She placed the money on the table before sliding out of the booth, tugging on her short denim jacket and reaching for her son. Their clothing had proven no match for the chilly Oregon weather, but her limited funds prevented any but the most basic purchases. They’d just have to make do with layering. Ace, at least, seemed warm.
He laid his pale head on her shoulder as she reached for the diaper bag. She pulled up the hood of his tiny, gray fleece sweater before carrying him out into the fine rain. After belting him securely into his safety seat in the back of the small, greenish coupe for which she’d traded the minivan deemed suitable by her late husband and in-laws, Cara slid behind the wheel.
She would not regret the loss of the GPS guidance system offered by the minivan or bemoan the state of the eight-year-old foreign car with which she’d replaced it. Instead, she told herself sternly to be thankful for the money she’d made from the trade, cash that, if carefully spent, would help her start a new life for herself and her precious son. Ace would grow up in the safety of a small town, cared for by his mother.
Cara started the car and gripped the steering wheel, suddenly beset by fear and doubt. Gulping, she told herself that she could do this. She’d come this far. She could do whatever she must for the sake of her child and a chance to live a normal, healthy life. With a new year but days away, she vowed that a new life would be her true Christmas gift to her child. He deserved a mother who provided him with a warm, supportive, affectionate and loving home. That required a strong woman able to make her own way in the world.
If only she knew how to be that woman.
Panic began to swell. Cara knew that she must find a way to protect and provide for her little son or watch him become another possession of his cold, controlling grandparents. But how? The task suddenly seemed too daunting for a woman on her own. Homeless, all but broke and on the run, how could she possibly give her child the life that he deserved and needed? Somehow, for his sake, she must find a way.
Help me! she cried out silently, wondering if her plea could reach through the great void that she felt. God had never seemed quite real to her, but Cara desperately wanted to believe that He existed, that He cared. She wanted to think that her late, beloved great-aunt had been right, that God noticed her distress and would respond to her prayers.
That was not insane. Was it?
She would not think of insanity or the clinic. She would pray instead, though she didn’t really know how. Her aunt had always prayed silently with bowed head and folded hands, but the TV preachers sometimes stood with arms upraised, crying out. Surely something in between would work, as well.
Taking a deep breath, Cara whispered, “Dear God, please help me. For Ace. Please help me be what he needs, give him what he needs. Let Eden be just that for us. Amen.”
Feeling no calmer but somehow stronger, she sat up a little