Your Dream And Mine

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Reader

Copyright

Her lashes came down, but not before Trace saw doubt cloud her fine brown eyes. “It’s our best chance, Thomasina. Two heads, two pairs of shoulders to bear the responsibility.”

If she said no, she could be cutting off the opportunity of a lifetime. Someone to help her shoulder a dream that had become too unwieldy. Someone capable. Someone whose abilities bolstered her confidence. But if she said yes…Dear Lord, why wouldn’t she say yes?

“Yes!” She flung her arms around Trace’s neck. “Yes! Yes!”

He caught a handful of her hair and held it to his cheek. “You’re beautiful, Thomasina.”

She desperately wanted to believe him. But the child of her past spoke with crocodile jaws, taunting warnings that twisted like a knife between her ribs. She pulled away from him.

And he let her go.

has written numerous novels for children, teens and adults. She is a recipient of the Child Study Children’s Book Committee Award, and has received honors from The Friends of American Writers. Her Main Street Series for children, a collection of books that follow one family through four generations of living along the famed highway Route 66, has enjoyed popularity with children and adults alike. With a number of historical novels to her credit, Susan enjoys intermingling writing and research travels with visits to classrooms across the country.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.

—Psalms 46:1

To Joyce A. Flaherty,

A jewel of an agent, and a dear friend, For your hard work and many kindnesses.

The Midwestern farmhouse bedroom was decorated in cheery floral wallpaper with a gallery of pictures that spanned sixty years of two lives being lived as one. A dresser, night table and a black-lacquered wardrobe dulled by time and wear gleamed in soft lamplight On a quilt-draped blanket chest at the foot of the bed, the television flashed pictures without sound.

Thomasina Rose had spent bedside vigils in countless such rooms in her young career in home nursing. Hearing her patient stir, she lay her paperback novel aside and got up from her bedside chair.

“Do you need something, Milt?” she asked.

“Kind of stuffy in here, isn’t it?” Milt said.

Thomasina crossed to the window overlooking the garden and propped it open with a complimentary Chambers Lumberyard ruler. The rain had stopped. A cool predawn draft stirred lace curtains and blew the room clean of stuffy air.

“Too breezy?” she asked.

“Not for me.” At eighty-one, Milt Chambers was frail, but not beaten. He wheezed and coughed and reached for the oxygen lifeline, then inched his legs over the side of the bed. His joints creaked as he shuffled to his feet and made for the window, hissing beneath his breath.

Thomasina pushed the portable oxygen tank closer as he collapsed into the chair she had vacated.

“High octane.” Milt inhaled deeply, grinned at her and smacked his lips. “Hits the spot. Get me some clothes, would you Tommy Rose?”

Thomasina took elastic-banded sweatpants and a T-shirt from the dresser drawer. “Would you like help dressing?” she asked.

“Thanks, but Mary doesn’t like me flashing this fine physique to the hired help.”

Thomasina’s full mouth curved into a smile. “Mary’s a lucky woman. If you weren’t already married, I’d come courting myself.”

A grin split Milt’s seamed face. “If you’re done telling an old man lies, run out to the garden and cut some flowers.”

“For me?” asked Thomasina.

“What do you think?”

Undaunted by his sandpaper growl, Thomasina laughed. “It was worth a try.”

A slow flush spread up Milt’s leathery neck, over his ears to the crown of his bald head. “Put ’em in that knobby vase she likes and tell her they’re from the milkman.”

Thomasina nodded and plucked her purse off the dresser. “I’ll see you later, Milt.”

“No, you won’t,” growled Milt. “I’m giving you time off for good behavior.”

“You keep saying that, and you’ll hurt my feelings,” said Thomasina.

“It was rough seas for a while, Tommy Rose, but I’m getting stronger every day,” claimed Milt. “I want my wife back where she belongs and you out, no offense.”

“None taken.” Thomasina waved and smiled and went on her way.

She could hear Mary running water in the bathroom. The dairy barn was empty now, but a lifetime of beating the sun out of bed to milk had programmed Mary and Milt’s internal clocks. Thomasina tapped on the door on her way by. “I’m about ready to go, Mary.”