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  * * *

  She stood in her bedroom hugging her arms and uttered a prayer of thanks.

  Her ringing phone had been the first jolt. Then Eli’s seemingly suggestive remarks. By the time she realized someone crept outside her house, she’d become a quivering mass of jelly holding a loaded shotgun. She fought images of Pennington breaking through her door, but the sound of Eli’s gunfire wrenched her stomach. Would she really pull the trigger if faced with an intruder?

  If Eli had come right out and told her what was going on, she wouldn’t have been so rattled by the time he arrived. Or would she? Did it really matter how he told her?

  God was watching out for her. The Lord used Eli’s one eye to see through the night and observe her danger.

  The impropriety of staying in the Hawthorne house paled next to her need for security. She stuffed a few things in a large satchel, grabbed her laptop and followed Eli through the French doors, stopping to make sure they were locked.

  In the pickup she fastened her seat belt and stared out the window at her house as they drove away.

  At the ranch, a yard light shone over the grounds promising safety within its circle. Eli flipped on the back porch and kitchen lights as they walked through the quiet house, seeming to know the brightness helped dispel her fears. She had never been afraid of the dark. But tonight, the thought of what was in the dark had terrified her.

  “There are three bedrooms upstairs. Mine is the farthest to the left. Pop’s is down the hall to the right, but you’d probably be most comfortable in the one off the landing. It’s a spare room with a daybed. Nothing fancy, but you’ll be safe.”

  He jerked his head toward the family room where Goldie watched them sleepily from a braided run in front of the fireplace. “I’ll be on the sofa. Won’t be the first time it’s had an occupant.”

  She hugged her bag against her chest. “I don’t want to force you from your room. I could sleep down here with Goldie.”

  Compassion softened his features and he fingered an errant strand from her face. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re up there out of everyone’s view and I’m down here.”

  It was pointless to argue or feign humility. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Again.”

  At the top of the stairs she looked over her shoulder. He put two fingers to his brow and gave a quick nod.

  She smiled, walked into the room ahead and closed the door behind her.

  Lying across the quilt-covered daybed, she closed her eyes for a moment.

  And then morning peeked in the window.

  Laura sat up and scanned the room, clearly remembering her arrival. The bed hugged the west wall and an antique dresser and mirror faced her across the room. An oak chest of drawers anchored the south wall next to the door, and a large, rose-patterned area rug covered most of the hardwood floor. Old and unused in who knew how long, the tiny room still conveyed a homey welcome.

  At the thought of home she looked through the curtained window into a stately cottonwood’s lush canopy. She could see the grounds below and red pipe fence along the backyard, but the tree blocked any view of her hill. If this had been Eli’s room, he wouldn’t have known someone lurked outside her window. She shuddered.

  She dug through her bag for her cell phone to check the time: 7:30 a.m. Eli and Garcia would be out doing chores. Gathering her things, she turned for the door.

  Last night she hadn’t thought about an upstairs bathroom. Besides Granddad Hawthorne’s old room and Eli’s, one other door stood across the hall. It might lead to what she needed, or it could be a closet. Only one way to find out.

  To her relief, the dark paneled door opened into a small bathroom with a tiny sink, commode and recently installed corner shower. Perfect. She turned on the water to make sure the plumbing worked, and in five minutes the night’s terror slid from her skin and her spirit and spiraled down the drain.

  A fresh T-shirt, shorts and sandals completed the transformation.

  On her way out she paused at Eli’s room and peeked around the opened door. Sure enough, he had a north-facing window. She really wanted to see his view. Should she ask, or dart in, take a look and hurry out? Glancing over her shoulder and listening for movement below, she set her bag down and walked in.

  His bed was unmade, as if left in a hurry, and the shirt he’d worn yesterday hung over the footboard. A small wooden box rested on his dresser, and a table against the opposite wall held a prosthetic leg and foot with a tennis shoe attached. A matching tennis shoe sat alone on the floor.

  Now she was the snoop.

  Quickly she moved to the window and looked out on the hills that rippled along the valley’s northern edge. Her house perched on the closest one, clearly visible. To the east, rose Pennington’s granite monoliths and home.

  She dashed back to the hall, grabbed her bag and hurried down the stairs. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered.

  A curtain of frying bacon hung in the kitchen, sugar-cured she guessed by the syrupy hint behind it. She held her hand against the half-full pot in the coffeemaker and smiled at the warmth. Choosing a mug from the cupboard, she added sugar and milk and headed out the back door.

  Eyes closed, she stood on the back lawn, welcoming the morning sun against her face and body as it, too, banished the shadows of a frightful night. Cows called to their calves, gate hinges creaked, sprinklers pulsed. Goldie barked. The ranch had fully wakened to the day. A day perfectly formed by the Lord’s loving hand.

  The Lord’s day.

  Her eyes flew opened as if the little chapel would appear on the yard before her. She might still have time to make it. If she hurried. She walked past the house and looked to her hill. The shortest route lay across the pasture. She glanced at her sandaled feet.

  If she took the road, she faced a nearly two-mile walk, and the last half mile all uphill.

  Would Eli give her a ride home?

  As if summoned, the golf cart shot out from between the barn and tractor shed with Eli at the wheel. Goldie barked—a true backseat driver.

  Eli rolled to a stop and laid an arm across the steering wheel.

  “Good morning.” The patch had returned. “Is that the rest of my coffee you’re drinking?”

  She held the mug as if in a toast. “Absolutely.”

  “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll get you home to change for church.” He scanned her bare legs and T-shirt. “Unless you want to go like that.”

  Chapter 17

  A long night on the couch listening to Goldie snore had given Eli a lot of time to think. And the primary thought was gratitude.

  Gratitude that he’d noticed the prowler across two pastures. That in itself was a miracle. Gratitude that Laura was unharmed. That she accepted him as he was, and saw him as more than he was. Gratitude that she’d agreed to spend the night under the safety of his watch.

  And finally, grudging gratitude that he had lived to feel the warmth of her hand against his chest.

  And to whom was he grateful? Certainly not himself.

  He kicked off the blanket at five-thirty. Only a few short hours remained to finish chores if he planned to make church by eleven.

  He almost changed his mind when he found Laura standing in the yard, gazing across the fields. He’d rather spend the day at home with her. But he knew what she wanted, and what he had earlier realized.

  The look on her face when he told her his plan validated his rush to finish the morning’s work.

  She ran upstairs for her bag and joined him in the pickup. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she said, “and I’ll be ready.”

  While Laura changed, he walked the outside perimeter looking for any telltale signs from last night’s prowler. The porch deck and lawn showed no sign, but out by the driveway, where the pasture thinned into dirt against the asphalt,
he found two running footprints and the place where he’d stopped and fired.

  The clearest print was a right foot. A boot, not a tennis shoe. He pressed his own size eleven into the fine dirt next to the print—a good two inches longer than the runner’s. Had to be a kid or a slight-built man. Or a woman, and he doubted that. A clear picture of the fat-lipped feed store clerk formed in the dark hole behind his patch.

  “Ready.”

  True to her word, Laura stood outside the French doors shortly after their arrival. A sleeveless turquoise dress deepened her tan, and her hair curled softly at her shoulders. If he ever figured out who had been sneaking around, it would take a whole lot more than his physical strength to keep him from doing damage.

  “Find anything?” She climbed into the passenger side as he held the door open.

  “Yes.”

  He circled to the driver’s side, admitting to himself that he’d found the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

  Taking his place behind the wheel, he buckled in and backed out. “Two prints next to the asphalt, coming from the pasture where I stopped last night and fired. They’re pointing toward the lane, so whoever it was took off either down the road or across it and down the gulley. Not much to go on, but it’s a boot print.”

  He turned his head. Her hands rested on a small leather Bible in her lap and she stared straight ahead.

  He focused again on the winding road, and at the bottom, he stopped and looked at her. “You all right?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” A harnessed fear edged her voice. “I just feel uncomfortable, like my privacy has been violated, that I’ll always have to look over my shoulder.”

  You could move in to my place.

  The thought nearly escaped his mouth but he clamped his jaw and laid his hand on top of hers. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  She turned her hand into his and gave him a tight smile. “I know.”

  * * *

  The last time Eli had been in church he was twenty-two and getting ready to ship out. He still had two eyes, two feet and a grandfather.

  The Spring Valley Chapel doors stood open and the parking lot overflowed. A young couple with a toddler walked in ahead of them. Eli removed his cowboy hat as he entered the sanctuary.

  He saw what Laura meant about returning. Just like the ranch, the chapel was the same, yet different. A slight pressure pinched the inside of his left elbow as she tucked her hand into his bent arm. He eased into the back row on the right and over enough for Laura to fit beside him.

  The songs were new but the feeling was the same. Eli didn’t sing, but he watched the words projected on a screen at the front. Laura stood close, singing so quietly that he could feel her voice more than hear it. All those years, and they’d never sat together in church. Yet somehow he’d known she could sing.

  During the sermon his mind drifted along with his gaze out the long windows. He thought about his moment of clarity in the predawn stillness. That sense of gratitude returned, spreading through what must be his soul, for it pushed away his demons of resentment and regret. He blinked, focusing on the pastor, reacting to something he’d said—a familiar phrase long silenced by life and circumstances.

  “If you are in Christ, you are a new creation. The old has gone, and the new has come.”

  The young preacher spoke with such energy and conviction, that the words ignited sparks in Eli’s chest. New? Could he really be new, with a new start, a new life? New hope?

  The remainder of the service blurred as Eli stared at the pew ahead and analyzed the preacher’s conditional statement. Was he in Christ? The new-creation promise had a big “if” attached to the front end.

  Laura tugged on his arm. “Eli,” she whispered. “You ready?”

  People stood around them, greeting one another and heading outside. Eli rose and followed Laura into the aisle. A couple of old-timers recognized him and pumped his hand in welcome.

  “It’s sure good to see you here, son,” said an aging rancher Eli remembered from his high school days. “And we appreciate what you did for us over there.”

  The man’s faded eyes watered as he shook Eli’s hand in a two-fisted grasp.

  “Thank you, sir.” The old cowboy’s emotion touched Eli deeper than he would have expected.

  At the door, the pastor extended a hand toward Laura. “Nice to see you again.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Laura Bell, if I remember?”

  She nodded and turned to Eli. “And this is Eli Hawthorne.”

  “Hello, Eli. I’m Alex Berger. Glad to have you this morning.”

  The pastor’s cheerful sincerity helped explain the crowded sanctuary. Eli returned his greeting with a nod. “Good to be here. And good sermon.”

  Eli caught Laura’s quick look in his direction but continued out the door, making room for others who pressed in behind them. He had let her see nearly everything about him, but he wasn’t quite ready to bare his soul.

  * * *

  Eli remained unusually silent on the drive home, and the black patch prevented Laura from reading his expression.

  Was he simply being polite when he commented on the sermon, or did he mean it? Did something in the message strike a note with him?

  It certainly had with her—as if God purposely directed Berger’s comments straight into her brain. Old and new. Different and the same. She didn’t feel any less anxious about a Peeping Tom on her hill, but she’d found encouragement in his words.

  “Want to stay for lunch? Garcia’s cooked up a pot of beans.”

  Eli kept his focus on the road but she detected hopefulness in his tone. And the mention of Garcia’s beans set her mouth to watering.

  “We can discuss what to do about the prowler.”

  A deal she couldn’t refuse. “Okay.”

  He smiled and in spite of the patch she could see the warmth.

  As they turned off the pavement and onto the ranch lane, she saw a long white trailer parked at the turn to the barn. A slight decrease in speed told her Eli had seen it at the same moment.

  “Brand inspector,” he said as he parked at the barn. “Looks like he’s got calves.”

  Laura exited the pickup and walked to the stock trailer. Wide-eyed youngsters peered out through the rails.

  “Morning.” A middle-aged man in a straw cowboy hat shook Eli’s hand. “I’ve got something here you might be interested in.”

  “Si,” Garcia added. “Señor Monfort just arrived. He may have recovered our becerros.”

  “These three have a distinctive H brand that’s been run with a rocker,” Monfort said. “Looks like a fresh burn to me.”

  “Where’d you find them?” Eli peered through the slatted trailer, nudging an animal away from the side.

  “At a scale in the next county. Authorities there took the truck driver into custody, and notified me after the arrest. The guy had a full semi load, and I’m sorting through the brands. I think these three may be yours.”

  Eli pointed to the holding pen. “Back up over there and we’ll take a look.” He headed for the barn and returned with a coiled rope.

  Monfort angled the trailer around and into a pen at one end of a long paddock. Garcia opened the trailer door and flushed out the three black calves. They bunched in a corner and started bawling as Eli swung a loop over their heads.

  He dropped the loop on the front calf and jerked the slack, holding it taut against his thigh. Garcia walked down the rope, grabbed the animal at the loop and a flank and took it to the ground, holding it down with a knee on its hind quarters.

  In the distance a cow called and the little fellow answered.

  Eli stooped to inspect the pink flesh showing on the calf’s right hip. Through the fence Laura could see
a fresh semi-circle burned in an upturned crescent beneath the Hawthorne H.

  Garcia took the rope off its neck and let the calf up. “This one is ours.”

  “They’re all carrying the same mark,” Monfort said.

  Eli coiled his rope and motioned for Garcia to join him. Together they crowded the calves and let them run out one at a time. A fresh burn showed on each right hip below the H.

  Three dry cows watched from the near end of the north pasture, bawling for their calves. “Can they be reunited?” Laura asked.

  “We can try.” Eli climbed over the fence. “But the cows may be completely dry by now. If they are, we’ll stick these babies in with the dairy bunch.”

  Garcia opened a gate on the opposite side and drove the calves through it. Then he closed the main gate and Monfort pulled the trailer away, stopped and rolled down his window.

  Eli approached the truck and tipped his hat back. “I think I know where they’re taking them once they pick ’em off.”

  “Yeah?” Monfort handed Eli a clipboard with paperwork to sign.

  “See that draw between those two hills?”

  Monfort followed Eli’s gesture and studied the low dip. “You think they’re driving them through that saddle?”

  “The rodeo grounds are directly below it on the other side. It’d be a short trip for a couple of riders to herd them down to the holding pens and then trailer them out.”

  Monfort nodded slowly and rubbed his chin. “You could be right. You willing to set up a sting?”

  Eli’s lips curled in a grin that sent chills down Laura’s spine. She’d hate to be the rustlers.

  “You got that right. We watched one night and discouraged a fella from making off with a calf from the upper pasture. His horse ran off over that draw.”

  Monfort gave Eli a serious look. “I’m not going to ask what you did because I’m sure it was illegal.”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Eli said with no humor in his cold tone.

  “Let me know when, and I’ll have someone camped out under cover. You two follow at a distance and maybe we can catch them in the act.”