Easter In Dry Creek
Reclaiming the Cowgirl's HeartClay West is back in town with amends to make and minds to change. The cowboy has spent four years in jail for a crime he did not commit, and he’s determined to restore his good name. The former bad boy’s first priority is convincing childhood friend Allie Nelson of his innocence. But she—more than anyone—has suffered in his absence. Allie can’t admit how much she’s missed Clay—and she can’t betray her family by putting her trust in him. She vows to forget her schoolgirl crush. But Clay will settle for nothing less than her forgiveness—and her whole heart.
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Reclaiming the Cowgirlâs Heart
Clay West is back in town with amends to make and minds to change. The cowboy has spent four years in jail for a crime he did not commit, and heâs determined to restore his good name. The former bad boyâs first priority is convincing childhood friend Allie Nelson of his innocence. But sheâmore than anyoneâhas suffered in his absence. Allie canât admit how much sheâs missed Clayâand she canât betray her family by putting her trust in him. She vows to forget her schoolgirl crush. But Clay will settle for nothing less than her forgivenessâand her whole heart.
âAll I want is for someone to trust me,â Clay whispered. âTo believe me and know what I say is true.â
âOh.â
âIâm not sure if Iâve met her yet or not,â he whispered.
âI canât choose you over my brother.â Allie felt a momentâs anger that he would ask that of her and then she remembered she had been the one to bring up the question about what he wanted.
âIâm sorry,â she added.
âSo am I,â he answered.
He pulled away then and they stood there looking at each other.
She knew without asking that he would not compromise on this point. They were on opposite sides here.
Clay finally moved to open the door and they walked out of the barn.
Sometimes, Allie told herself, a woman had to stick with her family even if her heart wished she could believe something improbable. That was part of being a grown-up. Things did not always go the way one wanted.
JANET TRONSTAD grew up on her familyâs farm in central Montana and now lives in Turlock, California, where she is always at work on her next book. She has written more than thirty books, many of them set in the fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, where the men spend the winters gathered around the potbellied stove in the hardware store and the women make jelly in the fall.
And Jesus said, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.
âLuke 23:34
This book is dedicated to my new friends
at the Covenant Village of Turlock. Thanks for the welcome youâve given me.
Contents
Snowflakes hit his windshield as Clay West peered into the black night, barely managing to see more than a few yards down the icy asphalt road that lay in front of his pickupâs headlights. Heâd exited the interstate and could see the twenty or so frame buildings that made up the small, isolated town of Dry Creek, Montana. This placeâbetween here and the Nelson ranchâhad been the closest thing to a home heâd ever known.
âNot that it worked out,â Clay muttered to himself. Heâd first come here as a foster kid, and heâd foolishly believed what the social workers said about him finally having a family. Of course, they had been wrong. Being a foster kid wasnât the same as being part of a family.
As he kept the pickup inching forward, Clay studied the road farther ahead until he gradually realized the town did not look the way he remembered. Four years had passed since heâd lived in this area. Heâd been seventeen at the time. The heavily falling snow made it hard to see, especially in the dark, so that might have been part of his confusion now. And maybe it was because of the snowdrifts next to them that the clapboard houses seemed shrunken in the storm. But he didnât recognize the gas station, either.
Suddenly, he asked himself if heâd gone down the wrong road in the night. There were no traffic signs in this part of the state. There hadnât been many turns off the freeway, but he could have chosen the wrong one. Maybe he wasnât where he thought he was. Right then, a gust of wind came out of nowhere. The gray shapes shifted and the townâs church materialized out of the swirling storm. âWhoa.â He braked to a stop, his fingers gripping the wheel and his breath coming hard. He wasnât as indifferent to this place as he had thought.
The large white building had no steeple. Cement steps led up to an ordinary double door made out of wood. On the ground, a plastic tarp had been laid over flower beds that went along both sides of the church.
One thing was certain, thoughâhe was looking at the Dry Creek church and none other. Every year the congregation here forced daffodils to bloom for their sunrise Easter service as a sign of their faith.
Clay let the pickup idle for a bit and took a few deep breaths. He wasnât going to be hurried through this town, especially not by his own bad memories. Just then a light was turned on in one of the houses down the road. He tensed for a bit and then shrugged. He told himself that whoever it was would go back to bed. He didnât need to worry. Clay might not be welcome within a hundred miles of here, but he had every legal right to be where he was. The paper in his pocket made that clear when it stated the terms of the early parole he would earn if he spent the next year working as a horse wrangler on the Nelson ranch.
