“Hold it right there. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Kody raised his arms in the air, then turned to locate the source of danger. He almost chuckled at the sight before him. A thin, brown-haired woman, eyes steady, mouth set in a hard line. She held a rifle almost as long as she was tall.
“You ain’t gonna shoot me.”
“Back off or you’ll see what I mean to do,” she said.
Kody took one swift step forward and plucked the rifle from her. He cracked it open to eject the bullet. The chamber was empty. “Lady, you sure got guts.”
“This is my house. Get out.”
She lived here? In a deserted house? Alone?
“Your house, huh?”
“My brother’s. I’m watching it for him.”
“Don’t look like it needs much watching.” The room was about as bare as the miles of windswept fields he’d ridden by. It didn’t take a lot of looking to see the place was vacant. Except for this woman. “What’s anyone going to take?”
MILLS & BOON
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LINDA FORD
shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.
Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at [email protected] or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.
Linda Ford
The Journey Home
Preserve me, O God, for in thee do I put my trust.
—Psalms 16:1
This book would not be what it is without the help of several key people:
First, my editor, Melissa, who saw what it needed.
Thank you for your guidance and encouragement.
And then two very dear critique partners who listen to me whine and still find ways to point out what I’m doing right and where I should reconsider my direction. To Debbie and Carolyne, thank you both for your continued support, your friendship and your helpful suggestions. If I dedicate every book to you it’s because I couldn’t do it without you.
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
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
South Dakota, 1934
He didn’t know why God answered his prayers any more than he could explain why he still said them. But there it stood, the protection he’d moments ago begged God to provide, an old farmhouse, once proud, now with bare windows and a door hanging by one hinge. Deserted by the owners, as were so many places in the drought-stricken plains. The crash of ’29 had left hundreds floundering financially. And years of too little rain resulted in numerous farms abandoned to the elements. He didn’t hold out much hope of 1934 being any different.
Kody Douglas glanced upward. The black cloud towering high into the sky thundered toward him. An eerie yellow light filled the air. A noisy herald of birds flew ahead of the storm. Kody ducked his head against the stinging wind and nudged Sam into a trot. They’d better get inside before the dust storm engulfed them.
In front of the house, he leaped from the saddle, led Sam across the worn threshold and dropped the reins to the floor. Sam would remain where he was parked until Kody said otherwise, but still he felt compelled to make it clear. “You stay here, horse. And don’t go leaving me any road apples. You can wait to do that business outside.”
He grabbed the rattling door and pushed it shut. A hook hung from the frame. The eye remained in the door, and he latched it.
“Probably won’t hold once the wind hits,” he told his ever patient mount and companion. Man got so he talked to the only living, breathing thing he shared his day with.
Kody snorted. You’d think a man would get used to being alone. Seems he never could. Not that he cared a whole lot for the kind of company he encountered on the trail. Scoundrels and drifters willing to lift anything not tied down. Kody might be considered a drifter, but he’d never stoop to being a scoundrel. He had his standards.
He yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, creating his own private cloud of dust. He jammed the hat back on his head and glanced around. Place couldn’t have stood empty for long. No banks of dirt in the corners or bird droppings on the floor. The windows were even still intact.
The wind roared around the house. Sam tossed his head as the door banged in its crooked, uncertain state. Already the invading brown dust sifted across the linoleum. The air grew thick with it. The loose door wouldn’t offer more than halfhearted protection, and Kody scanned the rest of the house, searching for something better.
“Don’t go anywhere without me,” he told Sam as he strode through the passageway into a second room. The drifting soil crunched under his boots.
Again, God provided more than he asked and certainly more than he deserved. A solid door stood closed on the interior wall to his right. He could shelter there until the duster passed. He yanked open the door.
“Hold it right there, mister. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” a voice cracked.
Kody’s heart leaped to his throat