Cross My Heart

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Dedication

  To Shayla Jo Paskett, my beautiful granddaughter, for sharing your experience in horse rescues and the training of wild mustangs. I’ve loved watching you grow over the years into a horsewoman extraordinaire.

  To Christi King, for generously sharing your time and expertise about the equine therapy program at Ride for Joy.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Acclaim for Robin Lee Hatcher

  Also by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Copyright

  Prologue

  February

  Kuna, Idaho

  Ben Henning showed his cousin Jessica into the kitchen of the old farmhouse. “I’m not really ready for company,” he told her as he motioned to one of the chairs.

  “I can see that.” She smiled as her gaze took in the stacks of boxes in the kitchen, the living room, and down the hallway.

  “Want some coffee? It’s fresh made.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t plan to stay long. I know you’re busy with moving and all. Besides, I need to get back to Mom’s house before it’s time to feed Hope again. She’s growing so fast, and she’s always hungry.”

  Ben settled onto a chair opposite Jessica. “How old is she now?”

  “Almost six months.”

  “Can’t hardly believe that.”

  “Me either.” Jessica leaned toward the tote she’d set on the floor next to her chair. A moment later she drew out a large book. “This is Andrew Henning’s Bible.” She slid it across the table to him. “I brought it for you.”

  “For me?” The leather cover was worn and cracked, the outside edges curled. He ran a hand gently over the book that had once belonged to his great-great-grandfather. The man who had owned this house, this farm, from early in the Great Depression until he was almost seventy.

  “For you.” Jessica smiled gently. “Great-Grandpa Andrew . . . Well, I guess he was your great-great-grandfather, wasn’t he? I always forget that since you and I are close to the same age. Anyway, he gave it to my grandmother before he died, with the instructions that she was to keep it until she felt God tell her to pass it along to another family member. Then that person was to do the same whenever the time came. My mom gave it to me after Grandma Frani’s funeral, and now I want you to have it.”

  Ben opened the front cover, saw that the first page had been torn then mended with tape. Several pages stuck together when he turned them. He pulled them apart, revealing the Henning family tree. His namesake, Benjamin Tandy Henning, was one of the children listed beneath Andrew’s and Helen’s names. He ran his finger down the list. The change in penmanship told him when someone else had taken over the task of filling in the names of great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to give it up?” he asked. “You haven’t had it very long. Your grandmother hasn’t even been gone a year.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He heard the smile in her answer before he looked up to meet her gaze.

  “Ben, when I heard you were moving to the farm to live, I knew God wanted you to have this Bible. I don’t know why, but I believe the Lord’s got something special in mind for both you and this farm.” She leaned toward him. “When my mom gave it to me, she told me to let what I found inside bless me. And it did. What I found helped give me back my faith and restore my hope in the future. And those two changes allowed me to open my heart to love again. I don’t know what’s in store for you, but I believe God wants to encourage you through His Word and the notes Grandpa Henning made inside that old Bible. I think God wants you to be blessed by it next.”

  Ben’s heart had quickened as Jessica spoke. Just last night he’d believed God had given him a vision for this property. The vision was nebulous at best, but he trusted it would take shape, that God would reveal more in time. His cousin’s words seemed to confirm it.

  “Thanks, Jessica.” He closed the leather cover. “This means a lot to me. More than I can tell you.”

  She nodded, and he had the feeling she understood even if he couldn’t put it into words.

  Chapter 1

  August

  Sitting in his pickup truck, Ben punched the address of the destination into his iPhone. Once the GPS coordinates were set, he tapped the screen to start the map app. “Proceed to the route, then turn left,” Siri told him.

  That much he’d already known. He put the truck in gear and followed the driveway to the road. Turning as commanded, he couldn’t help thinking it would be nice if directions for life were as easy to come by. Just punch in the desired destination, and presto, learn how to get there by proceeding to the route and turning left.

  For the past six months, it seemed as if he’d stumbled along, finding his way more by accident than by divine guidance. He’d never lost the belief that God had given him a vision for the farm, but making it happen hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected. Counselors had been reluctant to work with him or promise to refer clients. Horsemen had wanted more than he could afford for the right kind of horses. Insurance companies wanted a small fortune to insure. His banker was dubious about him surviving more than a few months.

  He’d been frustrated by the number of times he’d thought a door was opening only to have it slam in his face. If this was really God’s plan, shouldn’t it come together smoothly? When he’d said as much to Grandpa Grant last night, the older man had laughed and told Ben he had a lot to learn. Not exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

  Ben hadn’t admitted to Grandpa Grant—his mentor, his adviser, his favorite person in the world—that he also believed the Harmony Barn, as he was calling this new endeavor, could be more than just a service to help others. It might be a way for him to finally make amends for what he’d done to his best friend. Maybe the next time Ben tried to reach out to Craig, he wouldn’t be shut down. Ben owed the guy, and he wanted to help. If only he’d get the chance—

  Siri broke into those darker thoughts, telling him to turn left once again. When he reached the intersection, he did so.

  The main roads in this rural county of southwestern Idaho were laid out in perfect square miles. Although the roads might undulate with the rise and fall of the landscape, they ran straight as an arrow, with few exceptions. On Ben’s right he passed cornfields that he guessed would be harvested before much longer. Whatever once grew in the field on his left had already been harvested and plowed under. He wondered if Ashley Showalter lived on a farm like one of these.

  He hadn’t called her in advance of this visit. Maybe he should have made an appointment, but he’d been too excited when the second person in two days had told him Ashley was someone he should talk to about the horses. Perhaps the reason he hadn’t called her first was beca
use he didn’t want to risk another closed door. He wanted the chance to look her in the eyes and convince her that she should help him.

  * * *

  Sweat trickled along Ashley’s spine and down the sides of her face as she carried a board up the ladder. She would rather be inside sipping a cold beverage than outside in this intense August heat. But she expected another horse to arrive today and wanted the new shelter finished before the truck and trailer pulled into her driveway.

  The crunch of gravel warned her it might be too late to finish. She looked up, but the silver truck coming slowly toward the shed wasn’t pulling a trailer. Great. The last thing she wanted right now was an interruption.

  The truck stopped, the door opened, and a man got out, followed by a yellow Lab. Ashley was about to shout a warning about her own dogs, although they were locked inside the house, but the driver moved to the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. An instant later the Lab jumped into the bed and lay down in the shade cast by the nearest tree.

  She watched as the man—thirtyish, tall, blond, and impossibly good-looking—headed for the door of her house without a glance in her direction. Before he reached it, she called to him. “Nobody’s in there.”

  He stopped and turned at the sound of her voice.

  Not waiting for him to answer, she went down the ladder. By the time she reached the ground, he was approaching her.

  He removed his sunglasses, squinting his blue eyes against the bright sun, and gave her a brief smile. “Are you Ashley Showalter?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m Ben Henning.” He offered his hand.

  She acknowledged his introduction with a nod, then shook his hand.

  “I was told you might be able to help me.”

  “Are you looking to buy a horse?”

  “Yes and no.” He shrugged and smiled again.

  Ashley raised her eyebrows, awaiting a better explanation.

  “I can probably afford to buy one horse now, if the price is right. But I’m in need of more than one. Or will be eventually.”

  What exactly did that mean, she wondered.

  “I own a farm outside of Kuna.” Ben Henning stuck his fingertips in the back pockets of his jeans. “My grandpa raised alfalfa hay on it, and I leased that out this summer. But now I’d like to put the place to use in a different way. I plan to open an equine therapy barn.”

  Ashley felt a quickening in her chest. She couldn’t help it. She believed in equine therapy. Being around horses healed a person’s spirit. She knew that firsthand. “Do you know anything about horses, Mr. Henning?”

  “Call me Ben, please. As for horses, I’m no rodeo cowboy—” He grinned, showing he wasn’t offended by the tone of her question. “But I know the front end of a horse from the back end, and I can saddle and ride one without help.”

  She relaxed slightly. “Let’s go sit in the shade.”

  “I’d like that, Miss Showalter.”

  “Ashley.”

  “Ashley,” he echoed.

  Something about the way he said her name made her insides shiver. The timbre of his voice was like warm honey. And she wasn’t happy with her reaction. Good-looking men with plenty of charm were off-limits. Once burned, twice shy, as the old saying went. And she’d been burned, so all the more reason to stick to business.

  Once they were seated on chairs under the covered patio, Ashley gave him her full attention. “Tell me why you want to open an equine therapy barn.”

  Leaning forward at the waist, forearms resting on his knees, Ben cleared his throat. His expression grew serious. “Do you believe in God, Miss Showalter?”

  “Do I—” She drew back in surprise. That had definitely come out of the blue. But Ben waited, watching her. Finally, she said, “Yes, I . . . I do.”

  “Well, the short answer to your question is God told me that’s what I’m supposed to do with the farm. Make it a place where spirits get healed and hope gets restored through the use of horses.” He spoke with certainty, a new intensity in his eyes.

  “Okay. I like the sound of that. But what makes you so sure . . . God wants you to do it?”

  “That’s hard to explain. It’s just something I feel. In here.” He tapped his chest with one hand. “My grandpa would say it was knowing that you know that you know.” His smile returned.

  “Knowing that you know that you know.” It must be nice to be so sure of something. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  Obliging her, he said, “A number of years ago, I was in counseling myself, and it was recommended that I participate in an equine therapy program. To tell you the truth, I thought it sounded hokey. But by the time I was done with six weeks in the program, I’d changed my mind. It did help me, being with the horses. I don’t even understand why. All I know is it helped. I was better because of spending time with Blacky.” He chuckled softly as he straightened on the chair. “That was the gelding’s name. Anyway, when I inherited my grandfather’s farm, I wasn’t sure what I would do with it. I’m not a farmer myself. My mom thinks I should sell it.”

  A shadow passed over his face, and he fell silent.

  Feeling a strange need to distract him from whatever had made him frown, she asked, “How large is the farm?”

  “Forty acres.”

  “Wow.” What she could do with forty acres. It made her pulse race just to think about it. But she didn’t have anyone who would leave her that kind of legacy, and her job as a clerk in a retail store would never earn her enough that she could buy such a place. She was lucky to have her small house and two acres.

  “I’m not going to sell the farm,” he said emphatically. “I’m going to do something good with it. I don’t expect to make a living from it. At least not at the beginning. Maybe never. But if a few hours in the evening or on a weekend could help a kid or a vet or . . . or a guy like me, anybody who’s struggling . . .” He let the words drift into silence, his hands absently rubbing the arms of his chair.

  She wondered what he meant by “a guy like me.” Until that moment, he’d looked so confident and put together. Why had he needed equine therapy? Was he somebody who’d struggled?

  “Sorry. I guess I got carried away. It’s just that I want this to work out.”

  “No. You shouldn’t apologize for having a passion for something. Especially something that could help others.”

  “Thanks.” With a slight smile of acknowledgment, he leaned back in his chair.

  “But I’m not sure why you came to see me.”

  “I guess I didn’t explain that part well, did I? I was told that you know just about everybody around the valley who’s involved with horses, including in the rescue network. It seems to me maybe we could help each other. I’ve done lots of research this summer. I know there are different kinds of therapy programs. The one I participated in was in a remote location in the mountains and had a narrow focus. I’ve visited one that caters more to kids and adults with disabilities and focuses on riding.” He leaned forward, the excitement back in his eyes. “Then there are the places that take in abused horses and ask nothing of them except to let at-risk kids spend time with them, love them, even.”

  “Broken horses,” she whispered, “helping broken people.”

  “That’s it.” He pointed at her. “That’s it exactly. Broken horses helping broken people. A couple of different people suggested you might be the person I should talk to to help with finding the right horses for my program.” He glanced toward the lean-to shelter. “They said your space is limited, so you take in a horse, get it past the crisis, and then find a home for it. Well, I’ve got lots of space, and I’d like the Harmony Barn to be a permanent home for any rescued horses we acquire.”

  Her pulse began to race.

  “Of course, if we provide a riding program too—and I want to do that—then all the horses can’t be abused. Many of the clients will have disabilities of one kind or another, so I’ll have to have saddle horses that are well trained and gentle.
Perhaps we can buy them. Perhaps we can lease them.” He leaned forward again, and his gaze intensified. “Would you be willing to help me find the right horses for our purposes?”

  The temptation was to lean toward him too. The temptation was to get so caught up in his ideas and enthusiasm that she forgot to be careful. She resisted it, answering with caution, “I can’t say right now. I’d have to see your setup. And I’d want to talk to whatever vet you plan to work with.”

  For an instant, she saw disappointment in his eyes, and she wondered if he might try to say more in order to convince her. But at last he nodded. “Fair enough. I can arrange to show you around the farm any day next week. You figure out the best day and time for you, and I’ll make it happen.” His gaze shifted to the shelter a second time. “I interrupted your work. Would you like a hand with that before I go?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” She answered more out of habit than anything. She was used to doing things on her own and had a serious independent streak.

  Ben got to his feet. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to it.” He took a card from his wallet and placed it on the table next to her chair. “Call me when you know your schedule.”

  “I’ll do it.” Picking up the card, she rose too.

  He paused, eyeing her, then suddenly grinned. “Thanks for listening to my ideas.”

  “Glad to,” she answered, realizing it was true.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving welled up inside of Ben as he drove back to the farm. He’d seen the spark of interest in Ashley Showalter’s eyes. She might not have agreed right then, but his gut told him he would hear from her before the week was out. “Thank You, God,” he said aloud, beginning to grin like a fool. “Thanks for the open door. Finally, an open door.”

  The good feeling didn’t last. It was chased away by the memory of his mom calling him stupid for holding on to such valuable land instead of selling it.

  Ben couldn’t remember a time when things had been good between him and his mom. Not even when he was a little kid. She’d resented him. He’d ruined her plans, she’d told him a thousand times. Pregnant at sixteen and a mom at seventeen, Wendy Henning hadn’t married the boy who’d fathered Ben. Had she even known who the father was? He’d often wondered, but she’d never said. He only knew she blamed having a kid for every problem in her life, past and present. Probably future too.