Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Dear Reader

Copyright

“I’ll be a good husband, Evie…”

He came to a stop in front of her and took her cold hands in his. His eyes glowed with sincerity and determination. “And a good father to your baby. I promise you that I’ll love it like it’s my own.”

“But why, Howard?” she asked. “Why would you want to saddle yourself with a…a…pregnant woman and a baby that isn’t yours? What’s in this noble gesture for you?”

“I’d have a chance to do something worthwhile by helping you put your life back in order.”

“You want to marry me because you want to do something worthwhile?” Eva shook her head. “Don’t you think that’s taking the Good Samaritan bit a little too far?”

“It has nothing to do with my being noble or a Good Samaritan,” Howard asserted in a voice that straddled the fence between anger and hurt. “I’m offering to marry you because I love you.”

“You what!”

“I love you…I have for a long time.”

PENNY RICHARDS

has been an active member of her church for more than thirty years. She’s sung for weddings and funerals, led ladies’ class discussions and home Bible studies. Though she’s taught Bible classes for various ages, she confesses to liking five-year-olds best because of their openness and honesty.

Through the efforts of a good friend, Penny was involved with the parish jail ministry for approximately two years. She recalls clearly the first time she went into a cell and heard the sound of several doors slamming shut and locking behind her. She’s often thought that that frightening feeling of being cut off from safety is infinitesimal compared to what it would feel like to be cut off from God’s love and mercy. It was during her time of participating in the jail ministry that she began to understand why Jesus fraternized with sinners: it’s impossible to reach others with a “holier-thanthou” attitude.

Penny likes writing about all kinds of relationships, and hopes her writing shows readers that no matter what the situation, God is in control and that His grace truly should be sufficient.

The author and her husband have been married for almost thirty-five years. They have two sons and a daughter, and eight grandchildren-six boys and two girls.

Unanswered Prayers
Penny Richards

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.”

—Romans 8:28

Chapter One

“There’s Miss High and Mighty, herself.”

The feminine, sibilant whisper carried down the aisle, transmitted on the deodorized air. Maggie Langley, who had stopped her supermarket buggy in front of the ice cream section, was too engrossed in planning the impromptu celebration of her two-month-old marriage to Rio Langley to pay the comment any mind.

She and Rio had been so busy since they got married, they hadn’t had much time for fun-or romance. But tonight would be different, Maggie silently vowed.

A willful smile curved her mouth. If anything could take her mind off the upcoming appointment with her gynecologist in Austin the following day, it was a romantic evening with the man she loved…

“Just look at her! Don’t she think she’s somethin’ in that fancy outfit!”

Outfit. Hmm. She would wear that satin cocktail dress she’d picked up on sale for New Year’s Eve and never had the courage to put on. Forget the ice cream. She’d play soft music and have candles-lots of candles.

“Shush. She’ll hear.”

“Don’t shush me. She ain’t no better’n the rest of us, married to that half-breed! Why, even his own father wouldn’t claim him. And now she’s tryin’ to tell the rest of us how to raise our kids? That’s a hoot, now idn’t it?”

Hearing the word half-breed alerted Maggie to the fact that the woman was talking about her. She froze, as stiff and unyielding as the container of ice cream in her hands.

“I said shush up,” cautioned the other voice. “She’ll hear, and besides, he did marry her.”

“Well, whoop-de-dang-do!” the harpy said, in a voice that dripped sarcasm. “That broke-down rodeo rider ain’t no prize.”

Maggie was too shocked to realize that her hands were stinging with cold. Hot color scalded her face, but it wasn’t the heat of shame or embarrassment. It was anger. Fury, in fact.

Having grown up with a preacher father, in a family whose very cornerstone was love, it was hard for her to imagine how anyone could be so self-righteous, not to mention bigoted. Every time she confronted either attitude, she grew angry-and more than a little sad. Gossip was as much a part of Crystal Creek as its small-town friendliness, but Maggie wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it. Didn’t these women have any idea how much potential pain their comments carried?

She wondered if she should confront the spiteful woman or pretend she hadn’t heard the unkind comments. She didn’t care what was said about her, but Rio had suffered enough during his life for being a “halfbreed” born out of wedlock with no father in sight. She wanted to march over to the woman and inform her that whatever Rio Langley’s heritage might be, he was a good man, one who didn’t have to boost his self-esteem by hurting other people. He was kind and generous, with a heart as big as the state they lived in.

Drawing in another quivering breath, Maggie cast a sideways look at the two women. A gasp of shock escaped her. Fran Dunbarr and Ada Farmer! Why, they were both women she saw often in her capacity as a social worker.

Fran’s daughter, Chrissie, who was marginally retarded from an oxygen depletion at birth, had two illegitimate children, and Ada’s husband, Bull, was an alcoholic who battered his family on a regular basis.

Like many abused women, Ada refused to press charges, and her unwillingness to get help was affecting her children. Her seventeen-year-old son, Rick, had experienced several minor brushes with the law the past year. Most recently, he and his buddies had gained notoriety for taking turns shooting at a neighbor’s dog with a .22 rifle.

Though he denied pulling the trigger, Rick was now on six months’ probation. Feeling he needed something to occupy his time and keep him away from the negative influence of the boys he hung out with, Maggie and the county psychologist had suggested an after-school job.

Unfortunately, even if Bull Farmer’s reputation hadn’t extended to his son, news of the dog shooting made prospective employers wary. When no one would hire the boy, Rio had seen Maggie’s dilemma and offered Rick a job at the ranch, assuring her that he and his brother, Jeremy, could always use another hand with the stock. Since Rick didn’t have transportation, Rio even hauled the boy back and forth to work.

And this was the thanks he got. Slurs and name calling. The urge to reciprocate rose in Maggie on a dark wave of indignation. Angry words trembled on her tongue. Her hands shook; the cooler of ice cream wavered through the sheen of her tears.

Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good. The familiar passage from Romans came to her so clearly, her father might have been standing next to her. Heap coals of fire. Turn the other cheek. Pray for your enemies. All avenues of behavior she’d grown up hearing and done her best to incorporate into her life.

A staunch belief in God and His word was Howard Blake’s answer to everything, which, Maggie supposed, was the good and right way to deal with life’s problems. But her husband Greg’s senseless death had weakened her faith in God’s wisdom, and finding Rio’s love was the only thing that had given it back.

Maybe she was just more like her mama than she was her daddy—not that Eva Blake was anything but the perfect minister’s wife. But, as her mother often said, Howard had been born good; she had to work at it. The same way Maggie did.

Maggie set the ice cream down as carefully as if it were a vial of nitroglycerin. She uttered a little prayer, lifted her chin and, plastering a bright, false smile on her face, turned and gipped the handle of her grocery cart.

“Fran! Ada!” she exclaimed, heading toward the women as if she’d just noticed them. “How are you?”

She had the satisfaction of seeing Fran’s narrow face pale and the brief flickering of shame in Ada’s dark, birdlike eyes.

“I’m fine, Miz Langley, and you?” Ada said, careful to keep her gaze averted.

“Very well, thanks. How’s Rick?”

Ada looked as if the question surprised her. “Why, uh, he’s fine.”

Overcome evil with good, Maggie, remember?

“That’s great,” she said with a gentle smile. “My husband says he’s a conscientious worker. He doesn’t know much about animals, but he’s willing to learn.”

The few words of praise brought a flush of pleasure and pride to Ada’s sallow face. Maggie was suddenly glad she’d reacted to the situation the way she had. She wondered how long it had been since Ada had heard anything good about her son, and realized what a shame it was that Rick was branded a loser simply because of his father. The stereotyping was no more fair than the stigma Rio had carried on his shoulders while growing up in Crystal Creek, Texas.

“Ain’t you gonna ask about Chrissie?” Fran said with a sniff and a look of disapproval down her narrow nose.

Maggie smiled politely. “I was just about to. How is she?”

“Pukin’ up her guts.”

“Oh,” Maggie said in concern. “Don’t-tell me she’s picked up that virus that’s going around.”

Fran shook her head. “Nope. She’s pregnant agin.”

Maggie couldn’t disguise her horror-or her dismay. Chrissie’s baby was only five months old.

“Oh, Fran! Why didn’t she use the birth control pulls the health clinic provided?”

“‘Cause Delbert was sick and Billy Don was workin’ over’t the quarry. She didn’t have no way to get there.”

Billy Don was generally presumed to be the father of Chrissie’s daughter, though by her own admission she couldn’t be sure.

“She could have called me,” Maggie said. “I’d have been glad to take her.”

“I’ll ‘member that next time,” Fran said.

Next time. When would that be? Maggie wondered. Seven or so months from now? “Is there anything I can do?” she offered, feeling somehow responsible. Even though she knew that she and the system could only do so much, and that there came a time a person had to help himself, Maggie felt as if she’d failed the Dunbarrs.

“You might bring her some of them candies she likes so well,” Fran said. “Can’t get them with food stamps, you know, and she’s been cravin’ them something terrible. Them candies and Co’-Colas.”

Candy and Cokes. Maggie started to tell Fran that Chrissie needed well-balanced meals, but realized that the advice would be not only resented but ignored.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. Fighting a feeling of futility, she glanced at her watch. “Oh my!” She feigned surprise. “It’s later than I thought! I’ve got to run. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, ladies, OK?”

Without waiting for their answer, Maggie wheeled her grocery buggy around and started back down the aisle. She’d get her flowers and, as her Uncle Bud often said, get the heck out of Dodge.

Rio, his brother Jeremy and Rick were moving a pen full of broncs from one pasture to another. Rio sat the saddle easily as the horses meandered down the wide aisle between pens; his younger brother and Rick less so. Babydoll, Rio’s blue heeler, a recent gift from Maggie, trotted along by his gelding’s side, veering off to nip at a straggler’s heels at Rio’s command.

While Rio watched, a particularly ornery mare whirled and kicked at the dog. Just what happened after that was anyone’s guess. There was the staccato sound of barking, a shrill whinny and a sudden dusty burst of speed from the pack of horses. Rio saw Rick’s horse rear up and heard the boy’s startled cry as he tumbled off and landed in a heap on the ground.

Before Rio could do more than wonder if the kid had been hurt—and how badly—Rick leaped to his feet. Rio gave a relieved sigh, but then, to his stunned disbelief, Rick screamed a blistering curse and aimed a vicious kick at the dog’s ribs. Babydoll yelped and ran, cowering from the attack.

Muttering an epithet of his own, Rio slung a denimclad leg over the buckskin’s neck and slid from his broad back, stalking toward his young charge. Before he got to Rick, the boy had whipped off his belt and was about to flail Babydoll.

Rio grabbed the belt just in time. Falling off a horse was no excuse for abusing the dog. Radiating fury, he snatched the leather strap from Rick’s hands.

The sudden action caught Rick off guard. Confronted with the rage on Rio’s face, he stumbled back a step. Rio folded the belt and took a step toward Rick, who raised his arms and ducked his head in a protective gesture that said more than words ever could.

Rio stopped dead still, his anger at the boy draining away like the waters of the Claro River when they’d built the dam several years back. There was little doubt that Bull Farmer was at the root of Rick’s fear. A new spark of anger flared inside Rio.

Jeremy trotted up on his mare. Without taking his gaze off Rick, Rio said, “Go ahead and move the horses, Jeremy.”

Though Jeremy hadn’t known of his brother’s existence until a few short months ago, he already knew better than to interfere when Rio used that hard, clipped tone of voice. Without a word, he wheeled the mare and followed the string of broncs now meandering calmly between the woven wire fences.

“It’s all right, Rick,” Rio said, his voice low and soothing.

Cautiously Rick lowered his arms. The expression in his eyes was that wild, panicky look an animal had when it was caught in a trap and knew there was no way out. Which was exactly what Rick Farmer and the rest of his family were. Trapped. Trapped in a hell of Bull Farmer’s making.

Rio’s stomach churned in an old, familiar way. He’d suffered a lot of abuse growing up-slurs about his illegitimacy and his mixed blood-but nobody had ever laid a hand on him but his mama. Delora Langley had only spanked him when it was absolutely necessary, and then only because she’d known she had to get the upper hand on a headstrong boy who was in dire need of a man’s firm direction. Afterward she had held him, their tears mingling, while she’d crooned over and over that she was sorry. Those well-remembered spankings had been just that, not the beatings Rick Farmer had no doubt endured.

Rio blew out a deep breath and shook his head to rid himself of the memories. He squatted on his haunches and smooched the dog. “Come here, Babydoll,” he coaxed, holding out a hand in entreaty. The dog sidled up to him slowly, uncertain what to expect. Then, sensing Rio’s mood, she lay down and rolled to her back in the age-old, accepted sign of submission.

Rio gave her a quick but thorough examination, feeling her legs and probing her rib cage to check for broken bones. Satisfied that the dog was all right, he picked her up and held her against his broad chest. She gave him a grateful lick on the chin.

With the dog safe in his arms, Rio turned to face a wary Rick. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy,” he said. “But I don’t believe in mistreating animals, and if I ever see you abusing one of mine again, I’ll run you off this place so fast it’ll make your head swim.”

Rick gave a nervous nod and licked his lips.

“Animals are unpredictable. Horses kick. Dogs bite. Things like this happen all the time-and for a lot less reason sometimes. Taking out your anger on a poor beast doesn’t do anything but make you look like a danged fool…a stupid fool at that.”

“Yes, sir,” Rick said, his face flaming.

Rio nodded and gave the dog’s head a loving caress. “Now tell her you’re sorry.”

The dumbfounded look on the boy’s face was comical. “What?”

“You heard me. Come over here and pet Babydoll and tell her you’re sorry.”

“B-but she’s just a dumb dog. She won’t know what I’m doing.”

“She’s a lot smarter than a lot of people I know, and she’ll know, all right. Now get yourself over here.”

Rick took one slow step and then two. He stopped an arm’s length from Rio and stretched out a tentative hand toward the dog. The instant Rick’s fingers made contact with her nose, Rio said a soft “Boo!” Rick jumped back so fast he lost his footing and fell onto the ground with another curse.

Seeing Rio’s slow, unrepentant smile, Rick pushed himself to his feet and thrust out his chin. “You’re a sick man, you know that?”

“Maybe so, but you deserved that one. You ought to be glad Babydoll didn’t bite your finger off. Now tell her you’re sorry.”

Rick glared at Rio. “No more funny stuff. I’m on to you.”

Cautiously Rick approached the dog once more. Babydoll looked up at Rio as if to ask if everything was all right. He murmured comforting words to her. Her baleful brown gaze slewed back to Rick, who riffled the hair of her neck in a tentative way. Babydoll’s tail moved in a single, halfhearted wag.

“Tell her,” Rio prompted.

Rick gave Rio a look that could kill. “I’m sorry,” he growled.

Babydoll looked at Rio.

“She doesn’t believe it,” Rio said, “and frankly, neither do I. Dogs are like women, son. You’ve got to be nice to them. Sweet-talk them, and they’re yours forever.” Rio followed the sexist statement with a sheepish grin. “‘Course, don’t ever tell my wife I said that. She’ll have my hide.”

The irritation in Rick’s eyes softened the slightest bit. It might have been a trick of the dying light, but Rio thought he saw one corner of the boy’s mouth twitch.

“I’m sorry, Babydoll,” Rick crooned, scratching the dog’s hide harder. “I won’t ever hurt you again.”

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Rio said.

The dog must have sensed that he was telling the truth, because she turned her head into his palm and began to lick it. Little kids and dogs were so forgiving it was downright sad, Rio thought. Maybe mankind in general ought to take a few lessons.

“She forgives you,” Rio said. “And she believes you.”

Rick looked at him, suspicion gleaming in his yes. “How do you know?”

“Communicating with animals is an old Indian trick,” Rio said, straight-faced.

The kid bought it. “Oh.”

“See that you don’t let her—or me—down,” Rio charged, putting the dog to the ground, where she stood wagging her tail and grinning up at them.

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I won’t.”

“We won’t talk about this again,” Rio said. “It’s forgotten.” He gave Rick a hearty slap on the back.

Rick gave an anguished cry, and his knees buckled.

“What is it?” Rio asked, but even as he asked the question, he knew.

Rick squared his shoulders. “Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m just body sore from all this manual labor.”

“And I’m your friendly Avon lady,” Rio quipped, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Take off your shirt.”

Rick clenched his fists and shook his head. Moisture glimmered in his eyes. “You can’t make me.”

Rio’s voice was as gentle to Rick as it had been to the dog a few minutes earlier. “You’re dead wrong there, boy, but I’m not up to proving it, and neither are you. I know what I’ll find under that shirt…”

A single tear slithered down Rick’s pale cheek with its end-of-the-day stubble that somehow made him look younger.

“And I know your life is hell. I know that you get so mad you want to do to the whole world what he does to you, but there’s a better way.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Rick asked in an angry, sarcastic voice.

“Don’t get mad—get even.”

Rick looked surprised. “How?”

“By being a bigger man than he is and not lowering yourself to his standards. By taking all that frustration and anger inside you and channeling it into something constructive.” Rio thought he saw a glimmer of hope in Rick’s dark eyes. “You do it by standing beside your mom and giving her the strength to press charges. You do it by making good grades and going to college so that you can walk away from this life to something better.”

A single sob racked Rick’s wiry body. He crossed his arms and hugged himself tightly, regarding Rio from eyes that had seen far too much. “How do I do all that?”

“I’ll help you,” Rio said. “Maggie and I will help you. If you’ll let us.”

For long moments Rick just stood there, looking into Rio’s steady gaze as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was telling the truth. Finally he swiped at his face with his shirtsleeve and gave a sharp nod.

Rio felt his body relax. “And you won’t show me your back?”

Rick shook his head.

“Probably just as well,” Rio said. “If I saw what he’d done, I’d just have to knock some sense into him. He’d press charges, I’d wind up in jail, and Maggie’d have my hide.”

Rick gave him a quick, sideways glance. “I thought you didn’t hold with violence.”

Rio rubbed at his eyebrow with his thumb. His smile bordered on sheepish. “I don’t believe in abusing animals, but then, I like them a lot better than most men I’ve met. Usually when an animal hurts you, it doesn’t mean any harm. Can’t say the same for most of mankind, though. They seem to like to brood on other people’s misdeeds and plot their own little revenges.”

A frown creased Rick’s forehead as he thought about that. “I guess you’re right,” he said at last. “It doesn’t say much for us, does it?”

“No, son, it doesn’t,” Rio said, his heart heavy. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Bull Farmer’s battered truck sat in the front yard, angled as close to the porch as he could get. Probably so he wouldn’t have to crawl very far to the front door when he came home so drunk he couldn’t walk, Rio thought with rare uncharitableness.

When he recalled Rick’s tortured features and the tears of shame in his eyes, Rio’s jaw knotted in a fresh surge of anger. Come what might, he had to say something to the sorry outfit who’d sired Rick, just a little something to take him down a peg or two.

Rio could picture Maggie telling him it wasn’t his place to interfere, to let the law do its job, but without Ada’s cooperation, the law’s hands were tied. Besides, it was his place in a way. Rick was his employee, and Bull’s actions indirectly affected the boy’s work performance.

Rio stifled a sarcastic grin and shut off the truck’s engine. The reasoning sounded good, anyway, he thought, getting out of the truck.

“What are you doing?” Rick asked.

“I need to have a few words with your dad.”

Rick’s face turned chalky. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Langley.”

“If you’re worried about him taking it out on you, you can bunk at my place until he gets over it.”

Rick looked Rio straight in the eye. “Only thing left he can do to me is kill me, and that might be a blessing. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Rio reached out and clasped the kid’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. And don’t you ever let me hear you say anything like that again, Rick Farmer. Life is a gift. Granted, yours might be rougher than most, but you can’t ever give up hoping and working toward something better.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“You could be right. I don’t know exactly where you’re coming from. Nobody ever beat me, but my life hasn’t been a bed of roses, believe me. I had a pretty sorry life myself until I met Maggie. Now I realize that everything I experienced was preparing me for her and our life together now.”

Rick just looked at him uncomprehendingly.

Rio shook his head. “Look, I don’t know how to explain it. All I know is that if you don’t ever have any bad in your life, you can’t really appreciate the good when it comes along.” He offered Rick an embarrassed smile. “Let’s go in. Or would you rather wait out here?”

“No. I’m coming in, too,” Rick said, falling into step beside Rio. They crossed the yard to the small frame house. Rick wiped his feet on the mat outside the door and went inside. Rio followed suit, taking off his Stetson when he stepped through the entrance.

The first thing he noticed was that the Farmer house was scrupulously clean. Furnishings were minimal, and the decor was Early Flea Market with a little Chip and Scratch thrown in, but what possessions the Farmers owned were spotless.

An uninspired gray Formica-topped bar separated the living room from the kitchen, where Ada stood tending a skillet of frying pork chops.

Bull, who spent most of his time on the road driving an eighteen-wheeler, was the perfect stereotype of every redneck joke ever conceived. He wallowed in an oversize brown plaid recliner, his Western shirt stretched taut over a belly big enough to nearly hide a gigantic silver-and-turquoise belt buckle. The pointed toes of his cheap boots were tipped in some faux silver metal, and the fancystitched tops disappeared beneath the flared legs of his tan stretch jeans.

His neck was thick, and so were his lips, which were partly hidden by a waxed handlebar mustache. His bulbous, red-veined nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. The fat of his cheeks almost hid his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing at the moment…maliciously.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s here,” he said, reaching for a glass of whiskey sitting on the Spanish-style end table at his side.

Ada whirled, the turning fork in her hand. When she caught sight of Rio, the haggard look on her face became one of apprehension. “Mr. Langley!”

“Ada,” Rio acknowledged with a nod.

“What can we do for you?” she asked.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Farmer, if I might.” Rio paused and added, “Alone.”

Ada’s anxious gaze darted to Bull, who scratched lazily at his stomach.

“Whatever you got to say, you can say in front of my wife.”

Rio’s smile was as taut as the emotions in the room. “I like that even better. That way there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”

Bull’s pelletlike eyes narrowed.

Rio shifted his weight to one leg and slapped his hat against his thigh in a slow, mesmerizing movement. “I’m not going to say this but once, so I’ll try to make myself clear.”

“By all means,” Bull said, waving his beefy arm in a magnanimous display of false cordiality.

“I know what’s going on here with Ada and Rick and probably the girls. It’s gonna stop, Bull,” Rio said in a gentle, almost weary voice. “And it’s gonna stop right now.”

Bull thrust his chin out to a pugnacious angle. “I don’t know what you think it is that I do to my family,” he said. “And I don’t really care. Now get the hell out of my house, before I call the law.”

Rio swept his hat toward the phone that hung on the far wall. “Don’t let my bein’ here stop you. I’d love the sheriff to get a gander of the boy’s back.”

Bull shot a murderous look at Rick, who stumbled backward as if he’d received a physical blow. Rio’s heart throbbed like the ache of a sore tooth.

“What you been doin’, boy? Spillin’ your guts?” Bull yelled, the veins in his neck standing out.

“No, sir,” Rick answered. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“He didn’t have to tell me,” Rio said, going to stand directly in front of the man. “It’s common knowledge that you beat your family, Bull. My wife has seen the evidence plenty of times.”

Bull’s face turned livid. He gripped the arms of the chair to heave himself up.

Rio placed his hand squarely in Bull’s chest. “Sit down, shut up and listen,” he commanded, giving a mighty shove.

Ada gave a little cry of surprise as her husband toppled back into the chair, knocking over his glass of liquor in the process. “You’re way outta line, Injun,” Bull blustered, pointing a sausagelike finger at Rio. “How I discipline my family is none of your business—or your snotty wife’s.”

For a man his size, Rio could move exceptionally fast. Before anyone realized what he was doing, his hat was on the floor. The fingers of his right hand closed around Bull’s thick throat in a grip that had grown strong from years of clenching the leather rigging on bulls and broncs, a grip that had been all that had stood between a broke and desperate cowboy and the hard, unforgiving ground of a rodeo arena and the final indignity of failure.

Bull gagged and glared up at Rio with so much malice he could feel the hate emanating upward in invisible waves.

Thrusting his face close to Bull’s, he said, “Don’t ever call my wife a name again, you sorry excuse for a human being. As a matter of fact, don’t call her anything except Mrs. Langley, ma’am, and then only if you’re spoken to.”

Rio released his hold on Bull and bent to pick up his hat. When he straightened, Bull’s glare was still fixed unwaveringly on him, while he massaged his throat with a hand that trembled the slightest bit. Rio combed his fingers through his dark hair and settled his Stetson on his head.

“I’ve got an even better idea,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “If you happen to be home when she stops by, why don’t you just make it a point to disappear? You’re not fit to breathe the same air she does. Is that clear enough?”

“You’re gonna be sorry you did this, breed,” Bull croaked through aching vocal cords.

“Yeah, well, we all do things we’re sorry for, and we all make mistakes, Bull,” Rio said, heading for the door. “But if I were you, I’d be real careful about making any more. I think your luck just ran out.”

He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said to Rick. “Same time.”

Nodding, Rick followed Rio out the door, a combination of awe, admiration and fear in his eyes.

“You step a foot on this place again, and I’ll kill you,” Bull screamed after him. “I may kill you, anyway.” The sound of the whiskey bottle shattering against the door punctuated the threat.

Rio hardly heard. A final rush of adrenaline carried him to his truck. He felt better getting that off his chest. He just hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Rick and Ada.

“You better not come tomorrow,” Rick said as Rio climbed into the truck’s cab.

Rio paused, his hand on the door handle. “You don’t want to work for me anymore?”

“I do!” Rick said. He shook his head. “You don’t know him. He gets crazy out of his mind when he gets really drunk. Does all kinds of terrible things. Then when he sobers up, he doesn’t remember half of it.”

“What are you trying to say, Rick?”

“I’ll meet you in front of the mailbox on the highway. If you come here, he’ll be primed and ready for you, and there’s no use asking for trouble.”

Rio nodded. “Will you and your mom be all right, or did I just buy you another beating?”

“You rattled his cage pretty good,” Rick said. “He doesn’t know what you’ll really do.” He shrugged. “I imagine he’ll just drink and worry on it awhile. We’ll be fine.”

Rio nodded. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

Chapter Two

During the ride home, Rio’s thoughts were filled with his confrontation with Bull Farmer. He prayed he hadn’t made things worse for Rick, but if ever a kid needed some guidance and someone to stand up for him, Rick Farmer was that kid.

Rio rubbed a hand over his whisker-stubbled cheek and expelled a harsh sigh. Now he understood why Maggie was so down some evenings. He was always telling her to leave her work at the office, but after today, he could see how much easier that was said than done. The amazing thing was that she was able to stay as objective as she did.

Rio’s heart lifted when he saw her car in the driveway, but he had a few more chores to do before he could call it a night. He stopped by the trailer to visit with Jeremy’s wife and baby daughter and check with Jeremy to see how the broncs had settled in, but Tess said he’d driven in to town to pick up some hamburgers for supper.

Having his recently discovered younger brother and his family on the ranch was a pleasure Rio was glad he hadn’t missed. As he did often of late, he wondered if the man who’d fathered them both was lonely, and if he was sorry for the world of distortion he’d built, now that it had collapsed on him.

He knew Jeremy missed his dad—and probably the easy lifestyle he’d grown up with. But he was a stubborn kid, and he was still mad and hurt to the bone by John Hardin Westlake’s scheme to separate him from Tess and their unborn baby. Tess’s father and Westlake had constructed a web of lies that put the two young people’s love to the test. Only a miracle had brought them all together. A miracle and a woman named Maggie, who’d been willing to put her job on the line.

As Rio played with six-and-a-half-month-old Emily, he tried to imagine what his life had been like before he’d found her on his front doorstep. Lonely. Empty But Emily’s appearance had brought Maggie back into his life, and eventually Jeremy and Tess had come, too. And suddenly Rio had found himself with a real family. It was nice, he thought. Real nice.

After giving Emily the attention she considered her due each evening, Rio checked Babydoll again and gave his gelding a rubdown and a handful of sugar cubes. Something about the mundane tasks was calming. It didn’t occur to him that the small everyday chores were a validation—maybe even a celebration—of his own life and happiness.

When he stepped through the door of the house he shared with Maggie an hour and a half later, the aroma of baking apples and other mouthwatering scents wafted through the air to tickle his nostrils. He smiled. She had cooked up a storm—with apple pie for dessert. He wondered what he’d done to deserve it. He wondered what he’d done to deserve his sweet, sweet Maggie. The sheer rightness of his life banished the last lingering thoughts of Bull Farmer from his mind.

He hung his Stetson on the antique hall tree and took off his boots in the entryway. Maggie got a little testy if he tracked up her floors. Considering the time she spent keeping the place clean, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

“Maggie!” he called, padding toward the living room in his stocking feet.

“In here!”

Rio made his way through the house toward the sound of her voice. He stopped just inside the dining room. The room was dark, except for the flames of literally dozens of candles—tall, squat, thin, fat—a re-creation that was poignantly reminiscent of their wedding night.

Maggie stood by the window, her head tilted slightly to one side as she arranged flowers in a crystal vase. She wore a dress he’d never seen before. He knew he’d never seen it, because it wasn’t the sort of dress a man would easily forget, a shimmering, satiny, peach-colored number that gathered at the neck and revealed most of her shoulders. The hair that tumbled over her bare, fair shoulders shone as brightly as the copper kettle her Aunt Hattie had given them at their kitchen shower. She looked up at him, a single long-stemmed rose in her hand.

“Hi.” She raised the rose to her lips, her green eyes twinkling over the petals as if she had a secret too delicious to keep.

She dropped the flower on the table and reached out a hand toward him. Dazed, Rio, his movements slow and careful drew her into his arms, feeling, as he always did in her presence, big and clumsy and unworthy of a woman like her.

Their kiss was long and slow. When she drew away, his heart was galloping in his chest.

“My sweet, sweet Maggie,” he said in a husky voice as he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip in a gentle caress. “What’s all this for?”

Maggie captured his hand. “I know how hard you and Cal and Ken have been working at getting those rodeos lined up lately, and how uptight you’ve been about getting your business started. I got to thinking that it would be nice if I helped you unwind.”

He laughed softly and shook his head.

“How am I supposed to relax when you look so beautiful?” he said thickly. “You are, you know.”

“So are you,” she countered on a sigh.

“Yeah, right.” He hugged her tighter and gave a deep, satisfied sigh. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of treatment, but if you’ll tell me, I’ll make sure to do it more often.”

She lifted her head from his chest to look at him, then cradled his whisker-rough cheek with her palm.

“I guess I just got to thinking about how lucky I am to have you,” she said in a trembling voice.

He dipped his head to kiss her. Their mouths had just touched when the phone rang, shattering the feelings building between them.

“Don’t answer it,” he said as the phone rang again.

“It might be Cal calling from Calgary,” Maggie said, reminding him of the trip Cal McKinney had made to see about providing the stock for the annual Stampede. The phone shrilled the third time.

“You don’t want to miss it, do you?” she asked as the fourth ring pealed out.

Reluctantly Rio hauled himself away from her and stalked into the kitchen. He grabbed the phone on the fifth ring and barked a short “Hello” into the receiver. Nothing but buzzing sounded in his ear.

Great. Whoever it was had hung up. He was just starting back to the dining room when the doorbell rang. What was this? he wondered. Some sort of conspiracy? Muttering to himself, he went to see who was at the door.

Maggie watched as Rio left the room, a look of admiration in her eyes, a satisfied smile on her lips. For the past few hours she’d raced around the house like a mad woman, cooking, cleaning, arranging the flowers and candles just so and then finally, working on herself, creaming, spritzing and curling, until she looked as good as the rest of the place. Judging from the expression on Rio’s face, it had all been worth it—more than worth it. There was no doubt that he liked the dress. The music on the CD player had changed to an instrumental Christmas medley. She sighed in contentment as she hummed along with the soft strains of a violin. Her husband was quite a man, she reflected. How had she gotten so lucky as to find him?

Her thoughts were scattered by the sudden unexpected roar of a gunshot from the front of the house. The noise drowned out the lilting melody of the Christmas song and shattered Maggie’s mood in a single thundering beat of her heart. Instant and inexplicable fear exploded inside her. Her brain kicked into overdrive, computing the information at hand and coming up with a horrifying answer.

Rio!

With her heart pounding in sudden terror, Maggie ran headlong through the house, screaming his name.

She careened to a stop just inside the living room. In the light that spilled through the open doorway from the front porch, she saw Rio lying sprawled on his back Rick Farmer stood framed in the open doorway, a look of fearful disbelief on his face, a revolver clutched in his whiteknuckled fist as he stared at Rio helplessly. Maggie’s hand crept to her mouth to hold back the anguished cry that emanated from the depths of her soul.

“I’m sorry.”

The sound of Rick’s voice broke the spell of immobility that held Maggie rooted to the floor. With a high, keening wail, she launched herself across the room and dropped to her knees beside Rio’s still, bleeding body, trying her best to rouse him, wanting, needing to hear him say he was all right. But there was no sign of life, except a horrible sucking noise that came from his chest with every shallow breath he took.

Swaying from a growing light-headedness, Maggie was marginally aware of Jeremy arriving, his shotgun in tow, demanding that Rick put down his weapon, which he did while chanting a litany that he was sorry.

“Call an ambulance, Maggie,” Jeremy commanded.

Maggie’s dazed gaze moved from Rick’s white face to Jeremy’s. “What?”

“Call an ambulance, dammit!” Jeremy yelled.

Shocked by the unaccustomed violence in his manner, Maggie scrambled to her feet and dialed 911, telling the operator in a strangely detached tone what had happened. Assured that the ambulance and the police were on their way, she went back and knelt beside Rio, wiping at the fine spray of blood on his face with the hem of her satin dress and watching in helpless surprise when more reappeared.

“He’s bleeding to death,” Jeremy said in a tearthickened voice. “For God’s sake, Maggie, do something besides sit there and watch him die.”

Once again, the harsh criticism in his voice jolted her from the dreamlike passivity enshrouding her. Rio dying? She looked up at Jeremy with the idea of giving him a piece of her mind and encountered the anguish on his face. It was like the slap of a wet washrag. Jeremy thought Rio was dying.

She looked down at Rio, really seeing him for the first time. He was pale and still. Too still, except for the noise rattling in his chest. Too still, she thought on a fresh rush of panic, but alive.

Bits and pieces from the first aid class she’d taken in college came rushing back. Nothing was obstructing his breathing. But he was bleeding from the wound that misted his chest with a fine spray of blood with every breath he expelled.

The term for the type of wound emerged from somewhere in the back of her mind, probably all the thrillers she read. It was a sucking chest wound.

Petroleum jelly and gauze. That tidbit, too, came from nowhere…somewhere. It was worth a try, better than watching blood being pumped from him with every beat of his heart. Running to the bathroom, Maggie located some gauze bandages and a jar of petroleum jelly.

She got back to the living room in time to see the sheriff’s car screech to a sliding stop in the driveway, his siren blaring, the red and blue lights on top of the county vehicle slashing the darkness with metronomic frenzy.

Fully aware of the danger of the situation, Maggie was too busy trying to stanch the flow of blood to concern herself with what Wayne Jackson was doing. She knew that Jeremy relinquished his guard to a deputy while Wayne handcuffed Rick. As the sheriff herded his prisoner toward the squad car, Maggie heard him reciting the Miranda code over the harsh sounds of Jeremy’s crying and the scream of the approaching ambulance.

But the thing that she would always remember was Rick’s quivering young voice saying brokenly, “I didn’t do it, Sheriff. I swear, I didn’t do it.”

Maggie closed her eyes. It was the same thing he’d said about the dog.

Eva Blake looked up from the delicate square she was crocheting, one of many that would comprise the bedspread she was making for Maggie and Rio. She laid down her handwork and gazed tenderly at her husband. At sixty-five, he was still a fine-looking man, tall and trim and fit from his twice-weekly tennis games, the craggy lines in his face only adding to his good looks.

As it always did when she looked at Howard, her heart swelled with a wave of love so strong it hurt. How many times during the past forty-three years had she looked across a room and fallen in love with him all over again? His head, mostly gray now, was buried between pages of newsprint, as it was most evenings. He preferred to digest the news along with his breakfast, but it was seldom that he made it through his morning meal without someone calling about this crisis and the next, needing his advice, his help, his steadfastness.

In all the years they’d been together, Eva had never known him to put his own wishes ahead of those of his flock. His selflessness was just one of the reasons she loved him. Howard would be the first to tell her not to put him on any pedestal, that he wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but he was so close to perfection—at least in her mind—that it wasn’t worth splitting hairs over.

She knew she was getting sentimental, but what if she was? She couldn’t help being sentimental any more than she could help that her hair was more gray now than auburn or that she cried when she heard the “StarSpangled Banner” or that she liked country line dancing—which she often practiced in the living room when Howard was at the church building. She shot Howard a sideways glance and bit her bottom lip to hold back a giggle. What would Howard say if he knew?

A Christmas commercial filled the television screen and Eva sighed. The McKinneys’ big party was coming up soon.

“What should I wear to the McKinneys’ Christmas party?” she asked, lifting her gaze to Howard again.

“Whatever you want,” he said without looking up.

Eva smiled. He was on automatic pilot. “I was thinking of getting something new.”

“That’s fine.”

“I saw a cute little number in Frederick’s of Hollywood the other day,” she said with feigned nonchalance.

Did she imagine it, or was there the slightest pause before he answered? “That’s nice.”

Eva moved her crocheting from her lap to the coffee table and hugged a throw pillow to her ample breasts. “Howard,” she said in a serious tone.

“Mmm?”

“I’m having an affair.” It was a credit to her acting ability that she delivered the line straight-faced.

His eyes never left the paper. “Uh-huh.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “Is that all you have to say?”

Howard turned another page of his paper. “Lucky guy,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh, you!” Eva fumed.

His blue eyes alight with merriment, Howard looked up in time to catch the pillow that came flying through the air at him.

“I had you going there for a while, didn’t I?” he said with a chuckle.

She pretended to pout. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Come on, Evie, talk.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Tell me about the Frederick’s outfit.”

“You’re incorrigible!” she said, but she was doing her best to hide a smile.

“But you love me.”

She leveled an accusing look and pointed a finger at him. “And prideful.”

Howard winked at her. “But not boring.”

She tried to hold back a smile and failed. She shook her auburn curls, which were preserved from the ravages of time by Suzi over at the Curl Up and Dye beauty salon, who touched up Eva’s roots the third Tuesday of every month. “No one could ever accuse you of that.”

“Not even back in high school?”

Eva cocked her head to the side and pretended to consider the question. “Well…”

Howard pushed himself up from the chair and held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let’s go make some popcorn.”

“Honestly, Howard,” Eva said, as he drew her to her feet. “You’re so helpless. Just put the bag in the microwave, press the popcorn button and three minutes later it’s ready.”

Howard slid his arm around her shoulders. “I know, but I’ll miss you.”

Eva dimpled up at him. “What a sweet thing to say.”

“And besides,” he said, giving her a light squeeze, “I thought if I sweet-talked you a little you might make us up a batch of real hot chocolate instead of that packaged stuff.” Howard’s smile was angelic.

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted their lighthearted banter. Howard bent and reached for the receiver, offering the caller a hearty “Hello.”

Eva saw his eyes close and the color drain from his face. An icy, unaccountable fear swept through her like a cold Panhandle wind.

“Of course,” she heard him say. “We’re on our way.” He hung up the receiver and met Eva’s worried eyes with a bleak gaze.

“What?” she cried softly.

“That was Maggie. Rick Farmer just shot Rio.”

Less than thirty minutes later, Maggie found herself pacing the waiting room of Crystal Creek’s small hospital, wiping periodically at the tears she couldn’t stop, praying incessantly and waiting for some word about Rio’s condition. Jeremy, his wife, Tess, and Elena, Rio’s housekeeper and friend, were all out in the hallway, wild with grief and coping with their sorrow and worry in their own way.

Dr. Purdy had called in Dr. Dekker, the new Indonesian doctor, who, having just put in a fair share of time in one of Austin’s busy emergency rooms during his residency, had more skill with gunshots than the country doctor did. There was a faction in town that was prejudiced against the young doctor, but Nate said Sonny Dekker was “sharp as a tack,” and the old doctor’s stamp of approval was all Maggie needed.

How could something like this have happened? she asked herself again. How could she have been holding Rio in her arms one minute and the next find him laid out on the living room floor with a gunshot wound?

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth to hold back a sob. Why had Rick done it?

He’d said he hadn’t.

But he was holding the gun, and he’d apologized over and over.

“Oh, Rio’“ she cried aloud.

“Are you all right?”

With tears running unchecked down her face, Maggie whirled. Jeremy stood in the doorway, red-eyed and disheveled. Funny. She’d never noticed before how much alike the two brothers looked. She felt another rush of tears and did her best to blink them away. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully.

Jeremy drew her into his arms. As Maggie clung to him for comfort, it occurred to her that he’d matured a lot in the past few months, growing into a strong, dependable man, just like his brother.

“Why, Jeremy?” she asked, choking on a sob. “Why would Rick hurt Rio after all he’s done to try and help?”

“They quarreled this afternoon.” Jeremy’s voice was heavy with finality.

Maggie drew back and looked at Jeremy with teardrenched eyes. “Quarreled? About what?”

“We were moving that pen full of broncs, and Babydoll got the horses riled up. Rick got thrown. He was pretty mad and tried to take it out on the dog.”

“Oh, no!”

“Rio wasn’t too happy,” Jeremy said.

Knowing how attached Rio was to the dog and how much he loved animals in general, Maggie figured Jeremy’s comment was an understatement.

“When I rode up to see what was going on, Rio was giving Rick a pretty good tongue-lashing. He took him home a little while later.”

Maggie should have been furious with Rick. She should be hating him for what he’d done. Instead, she was confused by his behavior.

“But would Rick shoot Rio because he chewed him out? That seems so…I don’t know…drastic. Like the punishment didn’t fit the crime.”

“In the environment Rick’s grown up in, I imagine that’s a way of life.”

“Probably,” Maggie conceded, but even with the picture so vivid in her mind of him standing there with the gun in hand, she still had difficulty reconciling the action. “It’s just hard for me to imagine Rick hurting the only person in town who was willing to give him a chance.”

Jeremy took her hands in a firm grip. “It’s a crying shame the way people make judgments about a person based on hearsay and heredity instead of taking the time to see what that person is really like.”

The gleam of sorrow in his eyes told Maggie that Jeremy was thinking about Rio. Fortunately, Rio had enough strength of character to rise above those who condemned him. If only Rick could have found that same strength, instead of sinking to the depths everyone expected of him.

“I know it’s hard to believe Rick did it, but we can’t overlook the fact that he was holding the gun and saying he was sorry,” Jeremy said.

“I know,” Maggie said. “But, it’s such a waste. It isn’t like Rick is a real loser or anything. Mama remembers him from school. She says he’s very smart, but that his dad sabotages his schooling every chance he gets.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid if he doesn’t get an education, he’ll wind up another statistic.”

“I hate to break it to you, Maggie,” Jeremy said, “but he already is.”

The gentle reminder brought a picture of Rio lying on the floor, his blood covering them both. “I guess so.”

Wearing a sad smile, Jeremy gave her a quick hug. “It’s just like you to be as worried about Rick as you are about Rio.”

“Not quite as worried,” Maggie said with a wry twist of her lips. “But it does bother me. And I’m disappointed, I guess. I grew up under the old ‘do unto others’ dictum, and it’s always a disappointment to me when it doesn’t work the way it should.”

Jeremy’s smile was edged with bitterness. “Problem is that a lot of people today figure it’s ‘do unto others before they do unto you.”‘

Maggie wondered if Jeremy was thinking about his father. “It isn’t a very good testimony for the human race, is it?”

“Margaret?”

At the sound of the deep, mellifluous voice, Maggie looked up and saw her parents standing in the doorway of the waiting room. Her mother’s plump, still-beautiful face wore a frown, and her father’s beloved features held the peaceful, steadfast look they always did…as if he’d figured out the answers to all life’s problems and was satisfied with the solutions.

Maggie felt a twinge of envy that she squelched immediately. He’d be the first to tell her that if she’d just turn things over to God she would have that same attitude, that same contentment. Young people, he was fond of saying, were always trying to do it themselves instead of asking for help from the one source that would never let them down. All Maggie knew was that even when she wasn’t sure God was listening, she’d always been able to count on her dad.

“Daddy!” she cried, flying into Howard Blake’s arms. The familiarity of his embrace gave her a sense of security, a feeling that now everything would be all right.

Howard hugged her for a long moment and, pressing a kiss to her forehead, relinquished her to her mother’s gentle, floral-scented embrace.

“How is he?” Eva said, brushing Maggie’s hair away from her pale cheeks.

Maggie shrugged. “You know how doctors are. They tell you as little as possible. Dr. Purdy called in that new doctor…Dr. Dekker.”

“I’ve heard he’s very good,” Eva said. “I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait and pray, then, is there?”

“Do you think that will help?” Maggie asked a bit acerbically.

“Margaret Langley!” Eva chided in a shocked voice. “How can you ask such a thing?”

Tears pooled in Maggie’s eyes. “Because I loved Greg, and I asked God to spare his life, and he died, anyway.” She swiped at her eyes almost angrily. “I still remember how I felt after Greg died. Empty…and lost. Like I was in limbo, just waiting for something to happen.”

Eva’s agonized gaze sought Howard’s. He closed his eyes, feeling his daughter’s pain as if it were his own.

“I tried to remember you and Daddy reminding me that the Bible says everything works for good to those who love God, and when I finally met Rio, I thought that finding happiness with him was what God really wanted for me.”

“I believed that, too,” Eva said. “I still believe it.”

“Then why is Rio in surgery about to die?” Maggie railed. “What kind of loving God would put a person through this pain twice?”

“A God who knows what’s best for us, Maggie,” Howard interjected in a soothing tone. “One who won’t put more on us than we can bear.”

“Spare me, Daddy!” Maggie said, her face contorted with anger. “I’ve heard it all before, and let me tell you…I’m not so sure I believe it anymore.”

Without waiting for her father to reply, Maggie swept past her parents and Jeremy into the hallway.

Eva’s tortured gaze followed her daughter’s retreating form and then moved from Jeremy’s pale features to Howard. Mumbling something about checking on Maggie, Jeremy slipped from the room.

An hour later, Nate Purdy entered the waiting room accompanied by Dr. Sunarjo Dekker. Dr. Purdy’s craggy face was lined with fatigue. Even the younger doctor’s face held weariness, Maggie thought.

Nate made the introductions, and let the younger man do the talking.

“How is he?” Maggie asked, clutching her mother’s hand.

“He’s stable,” Sonny Dekker said. “The bullet passed through your husband’s lung and exited his back. What we had was pneumothorax of the left lung, caused by what we call a sucking chest wound.”

“What’s pneumothorax?” Jeremy asked.

“Collapsed lung. What happens when there’s a tear in the lung is that the vacuum that normally surrounds the lung fills with air and causes collapse. With a sucking chest wound, air is drawn into the lung with every indrawn breath and foamy blood and air are sprayed out with exhalation. Whoever thought to use the gauze and petroleum jelly may have saved his life.”

“It was Maggie,” Jeremy said.

“What do you do with a collapsed lung?” Maggie asked.

“We insert a chest tube into the pleural space between the chest wall and the lung. The tube is hooked to suction that removes the air and blood trapped inside. Once that’s removed, the lung can reexpand. Considering the amount of blood he lost, I have to say that he came through the surgery pretty well. We’ll be keeping him in ICU for the time being.”

“But he’s going to be all right?” Maggie demanded.

“Rio’s condition is serious, Maggie,” Nate Purdy said. “But he’s strong as a bull and he’s a fighter.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go home and try to get some rest?”

“Can I see him?”

Nate looked at Dr. Dekker, who nodded. “Just you for now, Maggie. And only for a couple of minutes. In the morning two at a time can go in for five minutes every three hours while he’s in ICU.”

“Then I’m staying the night,” Maggie said, her voice brooking no argument. “I have to be here to see him.”

“Somehow I thought you might say that,” Nate said with a smile. “I’ll have one of the nurses round up some pillows and blankets. You’ll need them before morning.”

While Maggie was being ushered into the intensive care unit, Eva went looking for her husband. It didn’t take a sleuth to figure out where she’d find him. He was seated in the hospital’s small chapel, his hands clasped together between his legs, his head bent as if he were staring at the floor. Anyone else might think he was deep in thought; Eva knew he was deep in prayer.

She stopped just inside the door, unwilling to interrupt whatever conversation her husband might be having with God. In a matter of seconds, almost as if he sensed her presence, he lifted his head, pushed himself to his feet and turned to face her. He looked older than he had earlier in the evening, when they’d joked about her Frederick’s of Hollywood outfit.

Eva fought the sudden urge to give in to the tears that had threatened ever since she’d heard the news about Rio. The only thing that had kept her dry-eyed was the knowledge that Maggie needed her strength.

“Hello, love,” Howard said with a crooked quirk of his lips as he motioned for Eva to join him. “How’s Rio?”

Eva negotiated the narrow aisle. “Out of surgery and in ICU. He has a collapsed lung, but he’s doing as well as can be expected.”

Howard nodded and patted the padded cushion beside him. They sat down, and Howard circled her shoulders with his arm, leaning his cheek against her hair. “How’s Margaret?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I’m worried about her.”

“So am I,” he confessed.

“It’s almost as if she blames God for what’s happened instead of Rick.”

“I know,” Howard said. “I heard.”

Eva drew back and looked into Howard’s beloved face. Tears glistened in her eyes as she whispered, “I have the strangest feeling of déjà vu, Howard. Like history is repeating itself.”

Howard nodded, his eyes mirroring the pain he felt at knowing that Maggie’s circumstances had resurrected old sorrows, old heartaches for Eva.

“That could be me in there,” she said, her voice breaking. “It is me…in a way. It would take a fool not to see how similar her situation is to mine back before we got married.”

“I know.”

Neither spoke for long moments. Eva was the first to break the silence. “We’ve got to tell her, Howard. She’s in so much pain.”

Though he’d suspected as much, Howard’s eyes filled with alarm. “Evie…We promised we’d never tell.”

“I have to!” Eva cried in a soft, desperate voice. “Didn’t you hear her say how she felt in limbo after Greg died…as if she was waiting for something and didn’t know what it was? I know exactly how she feels. I was going through the same thing the day you came knocking on my door.” In spite of her pain, a tremulous smile curved her lips. “It took me a long time to realize that what I was waiting for was you.”

Howard’s fingertips caressed her cheek with infinite tenderness. Eva took his hand in both of hers. Their fingers meshed tightly.

“Don’t you see, Howard? I have to tell Maggie not to give up and not to lose faith. Telling her about me—about us—will help her to understand that despite what’s happened to Rio, something wonderful might be just around the corner.”

Howard’s troubled eyes clung to his wife’s. “It might change how she feels about us.”

“It might,” she agreed. “But I’m willing to take that chance. If it helps her get through this, and strengthens her faith, it’ll be worth the risk.”

Howard shook his head and gave her a wry smile. “If you want to convince her not to give up, can’t you just tell her the story of Job?”

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, a glimmer of humor twinkled in Eva’s eyes. “I don’t think it would be the same, honey.”

He carried her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. His eyes were troubled. “I just don’t want you to be hurt. God knows you’ve had enough hurt to last a lifetime.”

“I want to do this, Howard.”

He closed his eyes. Finally, he spoke. “Sing to me, Evie.”

“Sing to you?” she asked, stunned by the request.

He nodded. “Sing ‘It Is Well with My Soul.’“

“How can you want me to sing when our daughter is in so much pain and Rio is lying in there—” Her voice broke again, and she swallowed hard.

“I’ve been praying nonstop since Jeremy called. God knows what’s in my heart. Sing. You sing like an angel.”

Eva smiled around her tears and began to sing about peace like a river and sorrows rolling like sea billows, her clear soprano voice echoing sweetly throughout the room. When she got to the part about all being well with her soul, no matter what came her way, a look of peace came over Howard’s features.

Eva clung to his hand and prayed with all her heart that it would be so with Maggie.

When Eva left Howard, she went in search of her daughter. Maggie was walking the hallway, examining the framed pictures on the wall as if they were some sort of costly art. Though she appeared to be engrossed, Eva knew her daughter’s thoughts were far away.

“Are you all right?” she asked, putting her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. Maggie nodded. “How’s Rio?”

Maggie turned her tortured gaze to her mother’s. “He’s so pale and still,” she said in a strained voice. “And he won’t answer me when I talk to him.”

“I imagine the anesthesia still has him out cold.”

“I guess.”

Eva sighed. In some ways Maggie’s lifelessness was more disturbing than her earlier anger. Anger could be channeled into something constructive. Passivity left nowhere to go.

“Maggie,” Eva began, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine!” Maggie said in a sudden spurt of irritation. “It’s Rio you should be worried about.”

“I am worried about Rio, but I can’t help worrying about you, too. It isn’t like you to be so negative about everything you’ve been brought up to believe.”

Maggie looked at Eva, her eyes sparking with renewed anger. “How do you know whether it’s like me or not?” she challenged. “I haven’t been your innocent little Maggie in a long time. Face it, Mama, you don’t know me anymore.”

The words stung, but Eva was determined not to let on how much. “Maybe I don’t,” she said, “but contrary to the impression you give to others, you aren’t the kind of person who just lies down and lets life run over her. You’re a fighter, Maggie. You always were in your own quiet way. So why are you giving up now?”

“I’m not!”

“Well, it looks that way to me. Instead of looking for the best, you’re anticipating the worst. Instead of putting your trust in God, you’re turning your back on him and the strength he can give you.”

“I haven’t seen much of his loving care lately,” Maggie said.

Eva thought of the happiness Maggie and Rio had shared the past few months, of Rio’s slow but steady success in getting his business going. Maggie’s success in her work and the community’s gradual acceptance of Rio. How could she not believe in God’s loving care when her life was a walking testimony to his love?

Eva’s patience with her daughter snapped. “Oh, stop wallowing in self-pity, Margaret! You’re behaving as if you’re the only one in the world with a tragedy in her life.”

Maggie looked as if Eva had slapped her. Memories of their many battles during Maggie’s high school days rushed through Eva’s mind. As much as she loved her only daughter, they’d butted heads often in the past.

“What’s the old Indian saying about not judging a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins?” Maggie said sarcastically. “It’s easy to be holier-than-thou when you have a nice cushy lifestyle, a wonderful husband who’s crazy about you and two healthy children who never gave you a moment’s worry. You’ve never lost a man you love, so don’t come preaching to me when you don’t have the slightest idea what I’m going through.”

At the end of her speech and her temper, Maggie turned away, intent on leaving. Eva grabbed her daughter’s arm in a tight grip. Maggie glared at her, her eyes bright with tears and fury.

“I do know what you’re going through,” Eva said.

“Oh, really?” Maggie’s face wore a look of patent disbelief.

“Really.”

“Did you and Daddy have a few little spats those early years, is that it?”

Eva’s lips tightened. “Sit down, Margaret,” she commanded in a firm voice. “There are some things we need to talk about—woman to woman. Some things you should have been told long ago.”

Even through her outrage and distress, Maggie heard the serious note underlying her mother’s voice. Her irritation fled. “What sort of things?” she asked, her voice wary…almost fearful.

“Things about me and your father and a baby I had before you and Ronald came along…”

Perhaps thirty minutes had passed since Howard’s talk with his wife. He stood staring out of the waiting room window at the light-flooded parking lot, wondering how things were going with Eva and Maggie, and whether Eva’s confession and story of regained faith would make any difference to how Maggie dealt with her situation.

He drew a deep breath. Even if it made no difference in Maggie’s feelings, he supposed she should be told the truth. She had a right to know what her parents were like in their youth. She should know that he had loved Eva for as long as he could remember.

And, he conceded, it might help ease some of the concerns about her own marriage to know that her parents hadn’t always seen eye to eye…that the young aspiring actress he’d married hadn’t always been the perfect preacher’s wife, and that their vastly different upbringings and ways of approaching life had caused some problems during their life together. Problems they’d overcome with love and God’s help.

Howard sighed. He knew he was fooling himself. There was no doubt the stories could help Maggie. His real concern was how breaking a forty-three-year-old silence would affect his wife.

Bowing his head, Howard prayed that Eva’s decision was the right one, that she would find the right words to tell Maggie the truth. That Maggie would forgive.

God answers prayers in three ways, Howard. Yes, no and wait a while.

Howard recalled his father’s words from his childhood. He realized all too well that people often questioned God’s wisdom and sometimes turned their backs on him when the answer to their prayers was a “no” and they so desperately wanted it to be “yes.”

Maggie had a right to know the truth so that she could see that God was in control, and that sometimes unanswered prayers were a blessing in disguise.

Chapter Three

April 1951

Dallas was way too big, Howard Blake thought as he surveyed the bustling traffic and the towering buildings whose windows flung the day’s last rays of sunshine into his eyes. As the old adage went, it was a nice place to visit, but he wouldn’t want to live there. A three-day national church convention was plenty long enough for a country boy like him.

Howard had graduated from Baylor at midterm, just in time to step into his retiring father’s shoes as minister of the church in Crystal Creek. It was a position he’d always aspired to, even though it had necessitated his leaving home for four years. Growing up in the small Hill Country town, he had been predisposed to attend Baylor, located in Waco, instead of a smaller college in the large city of Dallas. Howard could contend with the larger university better than he could handle the chaos of big-city life.

Still, when he was urged by his new congregation to attend the convention, there had been no way he could decline without making waves. Following in his father’s footsteps was no easy task, and Howard was well aware that while he was still in the “honeymoon” period with church members, both he and his actions were under constant scrutiny.

Just twenty-two himself, he knew the younger folk liked him. High school and college students could identify with him better than with his father, whom they considered ancient at sixty-three. The younger Blake represented exciting new ideas, a fresh approach, a more modem outlook—within the confines of church doctrine, of course.

The elderly members weren’t so sure. They liked the old, familiar ways and had grown accustomed to the tenor and content of Thaddeus Blake’s sermons. There was also a small contingent who looked down on Howard because he hadn’t joined up to fight in Korea, even though, as an only son—an only child—he’d been deferred from active duty.

The over-forty members regarded Howard warily, as if they expected him to suddenly denounce all they considered holy and run off with the church secretary…and the weekly contribution. After almost four months, Howard still felt as if he were living under some gigantic microscope, his every move monitored and judged by some unseen jury…which was why he’d smiled and assured the deacons that he’d be thrilled to attend the convention in Dallas.

He supposed the endeavor had been a success, but being cooped up for three days and contributing even a small part to the decision making that would shape his life and that of others was serious business. Howard was past ready for some quiet time…and a nice Texas-size steak in a good restaurant.

He planned to follow his meal with an early night and be ready to head back to the Hill Country at daybreak…unless he decided to look up Evalyn Carmichael, who was back in Texas—more specifically, Dallas—after spending the past two years in Hollywood, where she’d sought a career as an actress.

Though he was unaware of it, the thought of Eva made Howard’s heart beat a little faster. He told himself that looking her up while he was in town would be a good deed. He could check and see how she was doing and give her parents a firsthand report when he got back home. As the minister of her former congregation, he could consider the visit his Christian duty.

He sighed. It seemed he’d loved Eva Carmichael most of his life…at the very least since the day he’d looked up into the choir loft and seen her standing there in her pristine white robe, singing her heart out. She’d looked like an angel…her roundish face aglow, her eyes alight with pure pleasure while the Sunday morning sun filtered through the stained-glass window and shot fiery sparks off her auburn hair.

With his heart fluttering in his chest like a caged bird, Howard was sure he’d never seen anything or anyone so beautiful. He’d lost his heart to her that day, and unbeknownst to her, she’d had it ever since. He’d been twelve; Eva only ten.

Not surprisingly, Eva had grown into the most gorgeous creature Howard had ever seen, with masses of naturally wavy auburn hair and a face and figure that caused no little stir in the small town. He heard whispers—even from girls her age, who said she dressed like a floozy with her tight skirts and sweaters and her fullblown, movie-star makeup.

Even Howard’s mother had shaken her head in dismay. She knew that Eva, an aspiring actress, was in love with Hollywood and that she was just looking for glamour, but feared the young woman’s tendency to go to extremes would cause her heartbreak someday.

Howard, who fell more and more in love with Eva every day, had listened with half an ear. Her glamorous persona represented a world that was as far removed from his day-to-day existence as Mars, and even though he carried the torch for her all through high school, he knew she was as out of his reach as that faraway planet.

She never once looked his way during that time—not that he really expected her to. He’d been a tall, skinny “square” back then—complete with a fairly serious case of acne and horn—rimmed glasses. It was no wonder Eva had overlooked him in favor of Nate Purdy, who was not only her own age but tall and good-looking, with aspirations of becoming a doctor like his father.

Eva and Nate had dated their senior year, and then by mutual consent they had broken up—Nate to pursue his medical degree, Eva to reach for the stars…a serious journey for the daughter of Sally and Pete Carmichael, lifelong residents of Crystal Creek.

Pete owned and ran the local grain co-op, and rumor had it that Sally ran Pete, as well as her three girls, with an iron fist. What a scandal it had been when Eva graduated and, with blatant disregard for her parents’ warnings, set out for California with five hundred dollars of baby-sitting money in her purse and a pocketful of dreams.

Howard found himself wondering what had happened to those dreams and why, since she was back in Texas, she hadn’t returned to Crystal Creek to visit her family and friends…a question that brought his thoughts full circle. Should he contact her or not? He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope that bore her return address.

Howard tipped back his head and looked up at the sky, as if he hoped to see some sort of sign from God there. Nothing. No star to lead the way. No pillar of cloud, no pillar of smoke.

He reached into his pocket and took out a quarter. Heads, he’d call. Tails, he wouldn’t. He flipped the coin, caught it and turned it over on the back of his hand. Tails. He frowned. Maybe he’d take the best two out of three, he thought, even as he slipped the coin back into his pocket. He paced in front of a shop, whose shining plateglass window reflected his conservative slacks and jacket.

If he called, she might say she was too busy to see him. On the other hand, if he just dropped by and she did have plans, he’d at least get a brief glimpse of her that might tide him over until the next time their paths crossed. Of course, she might not be at home, and the trip would be wasted…

Howard stopped pacing abruptly. All this rationalizing and analyzing was ridiculous. It was what made him such a boring guy. Women liked men who were fun…spontaneous, impulsive. Men who were full of compliments and could make them laugh, men who thought up entertaining things to do on the spur of the moment. Howard’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. He couldn’t recall doing a single impulsive thing in twenty-two years.

Drawing a determined breath, he turned and marched down the block to where he’d parked his car. With a determined gleam in his eyes, he pulled out a city map and located Eva’s street on it. He needed to get to her apartment as fast as possible…before he talked himself out of seeing her at all.

Eva sat at her red, Formica-topped kitchen table stroking blood-red polish onto her long nails in an effort to lift her flagging spirits, even though she was certain that she’d never feel young or happy again. Early April sunshine streamed through the west windows, undimmed by the worn lace curtains, turning the small, one-room apartment into a veritable oven. The sun’s brightness maximized the shabbiness of the sofa and sought out the worn places in the kitchen linoleum with its violent pink cabbage roses.

Her wet hair was bound up in a terry towel, turbanstyle, and she wore the black satin robe Denny had sent her from Korea. She’d just gotten out of the worn clawfoot bathtub, having sat in the tepid water longer than she really wanted to in an effort to cool off. The unseasonable heat had been unbearable the past few days. She dreaded to think what it would be like in August…or in September…when her baby would be born.

Thoughts of the baby sent a ripple of fear through her. The fear was quickly followed by guilt and shame. She was going to have a baby. Denny’s baby. A baby that would be born out of wedlock. She hated to think of what her parents would say when they learned the news.

Eva pushed away the troubling thoughts. She wouldn’t consider that now. She’d just take one day at a time. A wave of homesickness washed over her. More and more lately, she found herself longing for the hometown she’d been so desperate to leave. It had taken her two years, but she’d found that even though the grass might be greener on the other side of the fence, it was still unpalatable sometimes.

She wished she could make peace with her mother, who was still harping about how she’d disgraced them by going out to Hollywood—that sinful place where girls who hoped to become movie stars were led down the primrose path by men in power. They were lured by empty promises of stardom into the webs of sin, she’d warned, only to be dumped when someone newer, fresher, prettier or more interesting came along.

A weary, reminiscent smile curved Eva’s mouth as she recapped the bottle of fingernail polish. It had taken only a couple of wrestling matches with the so-called men in power for her to realize that the casting couch route wasn’t for her.

She might have longed for glamour, but her strong moral upbringing and vivid memory of Reverend Blake’s hellfire-and-brimstone sermons had stood her in good stead, which was why, even though she managed to get a few bit parts, she’d never landed a big role.

One executive had told her straight out that even though she was no Elizabeth Taylor, he could still do great things for her…if she’d do a little something for him in return.

You can sing like a nightingale, baby, but if you want to know the truth, your acting is average at best.

Eva—who preferred to go by the name Eve Michaels—let him know quickly that she wasn’t interested. She had thanked him for his time and left his office, her head high, her heart broken. She thought about what he’d told her often in the following months, while she worked waiting tables and selling tickets at a nearby movie theater. As hard as it was to admit, she’d known he was right. Her acting ability, which had seemed so incredible to the townsfolk of Crystal Creek, was no better and no worse than that of hundreds of girls who came looking for fame and fortune.

Disillusioned and feeling much a failure, she’d considered packing her things and going home. After a year and a half, homesickness was a constant knot in her breast, but going back to Crystal Creek without any real movie credits seemed like an admission of failure, so she’d stayed in California. She’d never been good at admitting she was wrong.

Eva wasn’t sure she’d ever been so low as that night early in December, when she’d agreed to go with her friend Maria to a Knights of Columbus dance. It was there she’d met Private First Class Denny Talbot of the United States Army and fallen head over heels in love.

Denny was home on furlough for the Christmas holidays. His family—his parents and two sisters—who lived just outside Forth Worth on a small cattle operation, had driven out to California to be with him, a sort of combined vacation and family reunion.

From the instant she and Denny had met, they’d both known that this was IT. Every moment she wasn’t working at her two jobs, Eva spent with Denny and his family.

Well, not every moment…There were those evenings when his parents claimed weariness and his sisters were sent to bed to rest up for the next day’s outing that the young lovers were granted time alone. They talked well into the night, telling each other of their hopes and dreams, confessing their disappointments and faults, professing their growing love for each other, and kissing until the feelings building inside them threatened to rage out of control.

After just a week, Denny bought her an engagement ring, three small diamonds—not much more than chips in a fancy setting—that Eva wore proudly. They made plans. She would go back to Texas with his parents so that she could be close to both his family and hers. She would get a job, and he’d send her his checks so they could save up. As soon as his hitch was over—maybe before—they would be married.

Denny’s family was less than pleased over his decision to marry Eva. After all, they argued, while she seemed like a nice girl, he hardly knew her. Stubbornly, Denny maintained he knew enough.

Eva and Denny were delirious with happiness, and even though her conscience threatened to get the best of her, Eva finally gave in to Denny’s persistent urging and let him make love to her. They were engaged, she told herself, as Denny kept reminding. While the act wasn’t what she’d imagined it would be, he was so sweet and loving and apologetic for hurting her that she decided it was worth it.

Denny shipped out on December 27, and Eva cried for hours. Once his plane left, she followed their plans to the letter, scrunching into the backseat of the Talbots’ Chevy with his sisters, her belongings packed in cardboard boxes and loaded onto a Greyhound bus to be delivered to her home state later. It didn’t take her long to find her small apartment and a full-time job in a Dallas department store.

Eva wrote to Denny daily, and he answered as often as he could, trying to make light of the war and bemoaning the heavy losses the Allies had encountered.

For the most part, war was far from Eva’s mind. She was in love, soon to be married, and life was as close to a fairy tale as it was ever likely to get. She prayed for Denny at all hours of the day; she had no doubts that God would answer her prayers.

Then, one day in February when she woke up with a queasy stomach, she realized that she hadn’t had a period since the first part of December—the fourth. She remembered the exact day because it was the day the Allies had begun to retreat from Pyongyang, bested by the battering they’d been taking since the Chinese Communist attack had begun November 26.

Pregnant. She had absorbed the truth in stunned disbelief. Things like this didn’t happen to girls like her. She’d been good and chaste…until Denny, and surely he didn’t count. They were in love and engaged to be married. It wasn’t as if she was loose or anything.

Afraid for her future for the first time in her life, afraid Denny might abandon her and the baby, Eva wrote him a panicked letter, telling him about her condition and seeking assurance that he still loved her. His reply arrived early in March.

Gallantly, Denny maintained that it was wonderful about the baby and that of course he still loved her and that he was doing his best to get an emergency leave so he could come home and marry her as soon as possible. He wasn’t sure when that might be, though, because the Allied forces were pressing the advantage of the successful northward march that had taken them to the outskirts of Seoul. The U.N. troops had been inflicting staggering casualties to the Chinese army, and Denny believed that they would be successful in retaking the city.

“Don’t worry,” he had written. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, and I’ll take care of you, I promise. I love you. Forever yours, Denny.”

His reassurances eased her mind, and she counted the days until he came back home. She didn’t tell either set of parents about the baby. She wanted to wait for Denny so that they could present a united front. She needed his support.

Operation Ripper began on March 7, and Eva, like the rest of the country, sat by her radio, listening for every tidbit of news she could glean about the battle raging in Seoul. When she heard of the Communist evacuation of the city on the night of March 14, she had cried tears of thankfulness. Maybe now that the U.N. forces seemed to have things under control, Denny could come home.

Three days later she had opened the door of her apartment and found his parents standing there with red eyes and long faces. Tears streamed unashamedly down Denny’s father’s cheeks as he told her that they had been notified by the War Department that Denny had been killed during the retaking of Seoul.

Eva had fainted, and when she came around, she’d cried so long and hard that Denny’s mother wanted to take her to the hospital. Later, when Eva calmed down, Mrs. Talbot had smoothed her hair and suggested in a gentle tone that maybe Eva should go back to Crystal Creek for a while…just until the edge wore off her grief.

Eva had thanked the Talbots for coming and sent them on their way. She needed to be alone, to ponder her future, a preoccupation that had taken up a lot of her time since she’d learned of Denny’s death. Days of thinking brought her to two conclusions: she had no real future without Denny; and more important, the idea of spending the rest of her life as an unwed mother was unbearable.

She had debated—was still debating—whether or not she should tell the Talbots about the baby. If she did, she’d have to tell her parents, and they would insist that she move back to Crystal Creek. They would never let her live down her mistake, and the people of Crystal Creek…well, she was pretty sure she knew what their reaction would be. She would be an outcast. A scarlet woman, unfit to associate with the “respectable” people of the small town.

Three weeks had passed since she’d heard about Denny, and the pain of her loss still nagged like a sharp stone in her shoe. She missed him—his smile, his gentleness. His common sense. She was lost and rudderless, unable to make the simplest decision.

Even after three weeks of careful consideration, she wasn’t sure she could go back and face the people she’d known all her life. She’d been so full of pride and confidence when she left, so sure that when she returned, she would be a success—a star.

Eva felt the familiar sting of tears in her eyes. As Reverend Blake had often preached, pride went before a fall. Her success hadn’t materialized, and not only had she lost the only man she would ever love, she’d “got caught,” the price her mother had warned her that “bad girls” often paid.

Eva shuddered at the memory of her mother’s frequent, scathing lectures. She couldn’t go back to Crystal Creek. Going back home a failure was one thing. Going back a pregnant failure was something else altogether.

What to do about the situation was something she thought about daily…while she worked, while she sat whiling away the hours until bedtime. She was now almost four months pregnant; luckily she’d been so ill that she’d lost a lot of weight, and so far she didn’t show at all.

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