Her Small-Town Hero

Holt hated that she had been embarrassed by it. He could have prepared her for what she would encounter, but he’d been too intent on getting information out of her to think beyond that.

While walking Cara and her son Ace to his truck, Holt said, “I should’ve warned you about all that teasing and talk. Everyone knows everyone in Eden, so any newcomer is of interest.”

“I understand,” Cara replied. Then, looking up at him, she said, “I had a good time tonight. I know I’m a newcomer, but somehow I felt a part of the community.”

Eden was a friendly town, and the Watermelon Patch was like one big community dining room. That Cara had felt welcomed warmed Holt’s heart.

Arelene James says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

The author of more than sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Fort Worth, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade! She loves to hear from readers and can be reached via her Web site at www.arlenejames.com.

Nay, in all these things we are more than

conquerors through him that loved us.

—Romans 8:37

For Dad.

Rancher, builder, oil man, businessman, salesman, auctioneer…but first and perhaps foremost, roughneck. I love you. DAR

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

“Right here.”

A slender forefinger pecked a tiny spot on the map spread out across the table in the little diner. Outside, rain drizzled down in a gloomy, chilly curtain, holding dawn at bay. Weather reports predicted a continuation of the current pattern of rain for northern Oregon, but Cara’s concern centered more on what she would find south and west of here as they worked their way steadily toward Oklahoma and…She leaned forward, checking to be certain that her bleary eyes hadn’t played her false. Yes, there, right next to Highway 81. Eden.

Her tired gaze backtracked wistfully the equivalent distance of some thirty miles to Duncan, following the tiny line that represented the silver, two-lane ribbon of road. None of the interminable bus trips of her youth had ever taken her farther than Duncan. She’d originally planned to head straight for the town, thinking that she could find no better place to raise her son than that where she had known her happiest times, but then she’d realized that her brother Eddie would almost certainly think to look for her there.

So Eden it would be. Surely she could find sanctuary in a place with that name.

Next to her in a booster seat on the vinyl bench of the booth, her son, Ace, shoved away the remaining bits of buttered toast that remained from their shared breakfast and rubbed his eyes with two tiny, chubby fists before reaching toward her with a whine. Since his fussing the night before had prevented both of them from getting any real sleep, she knew exactly how he felt, but they dared not tarry another night in the Portland area. She hoped to make Boise, Idaho, before dinnertime and find a quiet motel off the beaten path where she and her little son could rest for the night before driving on.

After quickly folding up the map, Cara reached into the diaper bag that also served as her purse and removed several bills from her wallet. She placed the money on the table before sliding out of the booth, tugging on her short denim jacket and reaching for her son. Their clothing had proven no match for the chilly Oregon weather, but her limited funds prevented any but the most basic purchases. They’d just have to make do with layering. Ace, at least, seemed warm.

He laid his pale head on her shoulder as she reached for the diaper bag. She pulled up the hood of his tiny, gray fleece sweater before carrying him out into the fine rain. After belting him securely into his safety seat in the back of the small, greenish coupe for which she’d traded the minivan deemed suitable by her late husband and in-laws, Cara slid behind the wheel.

She would not regret the loss of the GPS guidance system offered by the minivan or bemoan the state of the eight-year-old foreign car with which she’d replaced it. Instead, she told herself sternly to be thankful for the money she’d made from the trade, cash that, if carefully spent, would help her start a new life for herself and her precious son. Ace would grow up in the safety of a small town, cared for by his mother.