Big Sky Family

Ellie moved forward until she was only a few paces away from the man she hadn’t seen in years, the man she once loved.

“Hello, Arnie.” Her mouth as dry as the sandbox at school, she spoke in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

His attention remained focused on her daughter, Torie, for a moment before he lifted his head. He squinted as he looked up at Ellie. There seemed to be no spark of recognition in his eyes.

“I’m sorry my daughter was so forward. I’m afraid she’s quite an animal lover.” Reaching for Torie, she said, “Give someone else a turn now, honey.”

Awareness flickered in his eyes, and he shot the child an assessing look. “Same red hair. I should’ve known.” His voice was as flat as his eyes yet she read an angry denunciation in them.

“It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah.”

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Then Jesus said to his host, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

—Luke 14:12–14

Special thanks to my editor, Emily Rodmell, who made this book so much better.

Her heart as thick in her throat as if she’d swallowed a ball of yarn, Ellie James drove the van over the cattle guard of the O’Brien ranch. She had once loved the man who had owned the ranch—and had abandoned him eight years ago.

Guilt pressing in on her, Ellie glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her six young preschool passengers. She’d been their teacher at Ability Counts Preschool and Day Care Center in Potter Creek, Montana, for a week. She already loved each of the four-year-olds in her class. Three had physical disabilities—cerebral palsy, spina bifida and a prosthetic leg. The remaining three were simply normal kids, including her own daughter, Victoria.

All the youngsters were the best of friends, which proved the value of mainstreaming disabled children early.

“There’s horses!” Carson, her spina bifida boy, screamed.

Billy and Shane echoed Carson’s high-pitched announcement.

Ellie flinched. “Inside voices, please.”

A dozen quarter horses grazed in a beautifully fenced pasture to the right of the drive.

“Carson’s getting anxious,” her daughter, Torie, said.

“Yes, he is.” She glanced at her sparkly eyed, little minx of a daughter, the child’s hair almost the same shade of auburn as her own. She counted God’s blessings, as she had every day since Torie had been born. “I bet you’re excited, too, Torie.”

“I wanna ride a great big horse, not a pony.”

“We’ll have to see what kind of horses they have, honey. And remember, you’ll have to take turns with your friends.”

Ellie followed her employer’s van, filled with another half dozen preschoolers, down the long, dusty drive toward the core of the ranch. Up ahead, the sun glistened off the two-story white farmhouse. The nearby barn appeared sturdy and well maintained, and beyond that a new house was being built, the framing in place.

Her nerves settled a bit. The ranch was not the rundown, shabby place she remembered. Instead, this ranch was a prosperous enterprise.

Surely Arnie O’Brien was gone by now, had moved away, found another life, the ranch sold. The new owners would be the ones who welcomed the preschoolers.

She parked behind the van driven by Vanna Coulter, the owner and founder of Ability Counts. In the corral a mixed group of six saddled horses waited for their young riders.

“All right, children. Let’s remember to help our friends.” She activated the special lift that would enable Carson to exit in his wheelchair. Anne Marie, who used crutches, stepped onto the lift, as well. Ellie lowered the lift, and the other youngsters exited in a more traditional fashion.

“Hold hands with your partner.” The children were so excited, their eyes wide, that she had trouble keeping them together. “Let’s see what Miss Vanna has for us.”

Her little clutch of youngsters started forward, Torie helping to push Carson’s wheelchair. Jefferson, her quietest boy, stayed close to Anne Marie. The morning was already warm, and most of the children were wearing shorts. Ellie suspected by the end of this outing, she’d be happy to trade her lightweight slacks for a pair of shorts, too.

As they reached Vanna and her group of students, a man in a wheelchair rolled out of the barn and came toward them.

Mouth open in stunned disbelief, Ellie watched in amazement as Arnie O’Brien approached.

Each stroke of his hands on the wheels of his chair propelled him forward. The muscles of his darkly tanned forearms flexed and corded. His shoulders were broader than she remembered. Beneath his ebony Stetson, the tips of his silky black hair fluttered in the breeze he created by his sheer strength and power. His sculpted cheekbones and straight nose spoke of his Blackfoot Indian heritage on his mother’s side.