Wade Stoneâs gray Stetson hid part of his face, but she didnât need to see his eyes to know he had changed.
When Amy had known him, he was gangly and not yet a man. There was nothing boyish about him as he stood before her now. His broad shoulders were squared. He looked powerful and a little wary. His wool jacket was open, a flashy silver belt buckle with a rodeo scene all too visible.
âIâm sorry,â Wade said, his voice low and tense. She turned to look at him. Was he going to apologize? For leaving her? After all this time? Then he continued. âMy mother shouldnât have offered you the job. Itâs a lot of workâhard workâand itâs just not for you.â
A shadow of whiskers covered his face, showing he hadnât shaved this morning. His jaw was tense.
Amy lifted her chin. âIâm stronger than you think.â
He looked at her for a long moment. âYouâll regret it.â
âI donât think so,â she said, looking him square in the eyes.
Dear Reader,
When I began the story of the Stone family, I knew I wanted to touch on the problems people have when they try to go home. Those difficulties can seem even more pronounced at Christmas than at other times of the year.
I have received emails from enough readers to know that the holidays can be difficult for many of us. Thatâs why I always urge the readers of my Christmas books to find a church where they can attend services. We are all part of the family of God, and thatâs never more real than when we celebrate the birth of Our Lord together.
So have a blessed Christmas this year. Reflect on what He means to all of us.
And, if you have a minute, I would love to hear from you. Just go to my website, www.janettronstad.com, and email me from there.
Sincerely,
And ye shall know the truth,
and the truth shall make you free. âJohn 8:32
This book is dedicated to my friends
in the Fort Shaw Bible church, located in central Montana. They are making the long journey together, the bumps in the road and all. I wish them a Merry Christmas.
Wade Stone stopped his pickup at the edge of Dry Creek, Montana, and peered through the icy windshield. The December sky was dark, as much from the storm clouds as from the slowness of the dawn. He turned his headlights off and could still clearly see the small town. A few weathered buildings with chipped paint and sagging porches lined each side of what passed for a street. Most people would travel through Dry Creek and forget all about it by the time they reached the state line.
But not Wade.
Even though he had been gone for nine years, one look at this town reminded him of how much he missed it. He was weary of living out of motels and following the rodeo circuit. At twenty-six years old, he had yet to find a place that measured up to Dry Creek, and he was ready to settle down.
He glanced over at his mother, sitting so still in the passenger side of the seat. It didnât matter how he felt; he and his family were not welcome here. They couldnât expect to come back and pretend the past was wiped clean just because his mother had served her jail time. In a place like this, people took murder seriously. They wouldnât soon forget that sheâd killed her husband.
By now, his mother must realize her desire to come back wasnât going to work. He should have said something earlier, but her request that he drive her to the café had caught him off guard. Heâd only returned to the family ranch last night, and he hadnât thought through some of these things. But now that he had, heâd just turn his pickup around and leave before anyone knew they had even been here.
He was all set to do that when, out of the grayness of the dawn, a sudden flurry of hail came quick and hard. The tiny hailstones hit his windshield in a fast rhythm and, just when he became worried theyâd actually do some damage, the storm stopped. Everything seemed strangely peaceful for a moment, and then a shaft of light came streaming right through the dark clouds.
Wade heard an indrawn breath and looked over at his mother again.
âThatâs Godâs message to meâthat light in the darkness,â she said, turning to him with relief shining on her face. âI was right to come back. Itâs a sign from Him.â
Wade held his tongue. He didnât begrudge his mother the faith sheâd found in prison. After all, he knew people did what they had to do to survive in those kinds of places. Heâd done some foolish things himself after her trial ended and he left the family ranch. He was seventeen and thought himself a man, but he bought his first packet of spearmint chewing gum just because the smell reminded him of that kiss heâd stolen from Amy Mitchell down the street from here. Sweet, golden-haired Amy. Heâd never forget her.
Just having the gum had given him comfort in those early days when he had been sleeping in his pickup and trying to find his place in the rodeo world. The smell made him dream of a better life, even if he knew heâd never live it. He supposed it was like that for his mother and her newfound faith.