He turned toward the doorway. A surgeon stood in the threshold wearing green scrubs.
Neely bounded from the chair. “Will you hang on to Joey?”
Though she asked the question, she didn’t wait for his response as she rushed to the doorway and followed the surgeon into the hall.
Devon, letting Joey play with his car keys to keep him distracted, prayed everything went well.
In a minute, Neely returned. He waited, expecting to learn the details. Instead, Neely gave a subtle head nod toward Joey. “I can see her now, but I’m not sure if—” she eyed Joey “—they’ll allow him in, so I’ll go alone and see if it’s possible to take him to see her for a minute.” She gave Devon a searching look. “Do you mind staying with Joey?”
First he wanted answers. “I’m happy to, but what’s the diagnosis?”
Her gaze shifted to Joey. “Minor concussion and a closed fracture. The bleeding was a surface wound.”
Devon nodded. “I was afraid it was a compound fracture.”
Her focus shifted to Joey. “I hope they’ll let me take him in for a visit. They’d both feel better.”
He nodded, admitting to himself he’d feel better, too, if he saw her. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.”
She managed a half grin. “Thanks.” Turning her attention again to the child, she patted his head. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetie. Okay?”
“ʼKay.” The response was accompanied with the jingle of Devon’s keys.
Neely hurried away again, and Joey held up the key ring. “Go for a ride to see Mama.”
Devon could barely focus, and he ached everywhere but especially for the boy. “We have to wait, pal. Then maybe you can see her.” He prayed they’d let the toddler into the room even for a moment. The child had been brave throughout the whole mess. He was bright as a star and sweet as sugar—maybe like his mom.
Joey rested his head against his shoulder, and Devon closed his eyes a moment. The feel of the boy in his arms took him back to when his daughter Kaylee was about that size. She loved to cuddle, and he loved snuggling to her, smelling the sweetness of her hair and the scent of innocence. As Joey calmed, stillness settled over Devon. He relaxed his shoulders and took advantage of the silence.
“Devon.”
He jerked his head and stared bleary eyed at Neely. Joey wriggled against him, arising from his sleep. They’d both gone to dreamland, and now he faced Ashley’s sister, embarrassed. “And I’m supposed to be watching this young man.”
She shook her head, a calmer look on her face. “Neither of you needed watching. I didn’t mean to wake you. I know you’ve had a horrible night, but they gave me permission to bring Joey down for a few minutes.” She bent over and hoisted the toddler in her arms. “You’re getting heavy, big boy.”
“I’m a big boy.” He grinned at her, then turned his dimpled smile to Devon.
Devon pressed his back from the chair cushion and roused himself upward. He realized this ended his excuse for sticking around. “I suppose I should go then.”
“Don’t go.” She raised her hand. “Unless you must. Ashley wants to talk with you a minute if you can wait. I won’t be long with him.” She touched Joey’s cheek. “Or if you’re too tired, I can—”
His palm flexed upward to stop her. “No, I’m fine. I’d be happy to stay.”
“Thanks. She’ll appreciate it.” She turned and headed to the door.
He sank into the chair, his heartbeat playing a rhythm against his chest. The sensation threw him. He’d received a thank-you from many people he’d helped during one disaster after another, and he’d never reacted with this kind of anticipation.
He stretched his legs and folded his hands across his empty belly, searching for a logical explanation. The boy. That was it. Joey reminded him of Kaylee. Since she lived with her mother while he had only a few days with her during his off time, he felt cheated. He missed so many firsts and heard about them secondhand.
Divorce was a nightmare, especially when it wasn’t his doing. He’d taken months to sort through his emotions and to understand what happened. No affair. No sensible reason. Gina announced she was depressed and unhappy. She needed a change.
A change. The word ripped through him. Everyone needed a change once in a while, but not one that ended a marriage. He’d been a good husband...he thought. A hard worker. A loving husband and father. He asked what he’d done wrong. She said nothing.
Maybe that was it. He’d done nothing. Perhaps her life wasn’t exciting enough, while his was too exciting fighting fires and saving lives. He even rescued kittens in trees and dogs trapped in sewer pipes. Sleep swooped over him, and he rubbed his eyes. His head spun with weariness, and he needed to forget the past. She’d wanted a divorce, and his crazy forty-eight-hour shifts complicated having physical custody of Kaylee. Instead, regrettably, he settled for visitation.
He drew in air to clear his mind. Going over it again solved nothing. It was the way it was, and he’d learned to enjoy the time he had with his sweet daughter.
Devon rose, smelling the acrid coffee coming from the urn. He took a step toward the pot, but his stomach churned. He dismissed the idea. He needed food. No. He needed sleep.
“She’s ready to see you.”
His pulse skipped hearing Neely’s voice.
She shifted Joey in her arms. “I’m going to take this boy home and give him some food and then off to bed. Thanks so much for all you’ve done. You’ve been more than kind.”
“I’m glad I was there.” Somehow the words meant more to him than they should. He gazed at Joey. “And don’t worry about the house. I’ll check to make sure everything’s safe before I hit the sack.”
She nodded her thanks and gave him directions to Ashley’s room. With another nod, she pivoted, clutching Joey in her arms and heading for the exit.
Devon strode down the hall, his legs pushing him forward, eagerness in his step. Helping a neighbor, anyone, always uplifted him. But the image of her pinned beneath the trunk depleted his breath. Strange. He’d seen those scenarios many times in his career. People hurt, bleeding, dead. Why this reaction? For one thing, he needed sleep. That had to be all it was.
Copyright © 2014 by Gail Gaymer Martin
ISBN-13: 9781460324615
His Ideal Match
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Rather
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A Mother’s Last Hope
When her troubled teenage s
on is sent to Camp Hope, Emma Shaver is thrilled and relieved. The therapy horse ranch in Broken Bend, Louisiana, is well-known for giving at-risk teens a new lease on life. There’s just one problem—it’s owned by her old high school sweetheart, Max Ringgold, who doesn’t know he’s her son’s father. Emma didn’t plan on facing her past to ensure her son’s future. But when old feelings for Max resurface, Emma must decide if she will reveal the truth to him and restore her family for good.
“I know you have your own life in Dallas.”
Max rested his forehead on hers, then backed away completely, as if realizing he just couldn’t get that close.
Dallas. Yes.
The fog cleared, and snatches of life—real life—pressed back to the surface. But she didn’t want real life. She wanted to stay in this pocket of stillness. Where there was only the twinkle of the stars and the love in a certain cowboy’s eyes and the whisper that life—her life—could still be different. Could be restored.
“But maybe…” Max’s voice trailed, and he tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Maybe.”
Maybe. So much potential in that word. So much hope. When was the last time she’d hoped? She wanted to hope. Wanted to feel again. To believe. To trust. Was it possible?
“Maybe.” She breathed out the word. Maybe would have to be enough for now.
Maybe would hold back real life a little while longer.
Books by Betsy St. Amant
Love Inspired
Return to Love
A Valentine’s Wish
Rodeo Sweetheart
Fireman Dad
Her Family Wish
The Rancher Next Door
The Rancher’s Secret Son
BETSY ST. AMANT
loves polka-dot shoes, chocolate and sharing the good news of God’s grace through her novels. She has a bachelor’s degree in Christian communications from Louisiana Baptist University and is actively pursuing a career in inspirational writing. Betsy resides in northern Louisiana with her husband and daughter and enjoys reading, kickboxing and spending quality time with her family.
THE RANCHER'S SECRET SON
Betsy St. Amant
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
—Romans 8:28
To my Best Friend, Jesus Christ,
whose sustaining presence was with me during
the writing of this novel in a way like never before.
I can do nothing apart from you! I love you.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Excerpt
Chapter One
Despite its name, Camp Hope didn’t manage to lift Emma Shaver’s spirits. If anything, she just felt heavier.
She leaned over the steering wheel of her SUV as they rolled nearer the camp, ignoring the steady thump of her thirteen-year-old son Cody’s fingers pounding a rhythm on the dashboard beside her. The camp’s main structure, a two-story, log cabin–style house, held court in the middle of autumn-weary acreage, still dry from the unforgiving heat of a Louisiana summer, faded golden fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The outbuildings, a rustic, get-it-done crimson barn and an open-sided lean-to, nestled behind two rows of temporary buildings that, according to the camp’s website, served as the dorms for the teenagers.
Cody could probably weasel his way out of one of those with a toothpick.
Rat tattat.
She inhaled a tight breath. Pick her battles, was her motto. Cody was here, ready—if not willing—to get the help he needed or else. That was a battle she had to fight. Annoying drumbeats were not.
Rat tat tattat.
Camp Hope looked tired. Or maybe she was just tired.
Rat tattat.
“That’s really getting old, Cody.” So was the headache pounding at her temples that hadn’t stopped since their appearance in court. The day she got the news that would forever change her world.
Again.
Cody shrugged and flopped against the seat, the seat belt stretching across his thin chest and tangling in the cords of his iPod. At least he’d changed shirts. That was yet another battle she’d had to fight this morning before driving to Broken Bend, Louisiana. She wasn’t sure where he’d gotten that holey, rumpled excuse for a T-shirt, but she knew enough about gangs to know it was going straight into the trash.
Too bad all her psych books didn’t tell what to do when the client was your own kid. The rules blurred then, the text grew fuzzy. Nothing was black-and-white anymore like it used to be in college when she’d been working toward her degree. She might have earned her master’s and opened a successful clinic in Dallas, Texas, against all odds, but at home—she was an epic failure.
But she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of her son.
She steeled her nerves. “We’re here.” Not exactly the way she imagined her Monday going, but hey, life was full of surprises. She could write the book on that one.
Cody yanked the iPod buds from his ears, grumbling. “I still don’t see why I had to come.”
That was precisely the problem. She counted to ten before answering, even as she steered the car toward the dusty, gravel parking lot. “You heard what the judge said. It’s either Camp Hope or juvenile detention.” She pulled into a spot between a beat-up pickup and a shiny hybrid. Guess it took all types to have troubled teens. Yet the reminder didn’t make her feel better. This wasn’t anyone’s kid—it was her kid.
She angled a glance at her muttering son as she shifted into park. “You think me making you change shirts was bad? At least it wasn’t an orange jumpsuit.”
Cody snorted, but she could tell her point got across. He grudgingly released his seat belt and peered out the window at the house before him. Was he as nervous as she was? It was hard to trust a system she knew from her job didn’t always bring positive results. But the judge had been adamant, and here they were. It beat juvenile detention by far. Apparently the facility had become quite popular with local officials for its moral-based program and positive outcomes.
She’d have been more prone to hope except the camp was back in her hometown—the town she hadn’t visited once since her father’s funeral five years ago. She’d arranged to take some time off and stay with her mom in Broken Bend while Cody went through the program, maybe work on some of her own issues. She couldn’t avoid her hometown forever, and Cody would benefit from seeing his grandmother again. Besides, despite her own painful past, she had to do what was best for her son. Being nearby if he had a breakthrough was crucial. He’d been miles away for far too long already.
But what if the camp didn’t help and Cody ended up in juvie later anyway?
Her stomach flipped, and bile rose in her throat. Here she was a professional counselor, and her son had been caught breaking and entering into his school and vandalizing the gym with a crowd of older teens—after shoplifting the month before and getting into a fistfight in the cafeteria three months before that.
Could one month of hard work, counse
ling and time spent with animals really turn him around?
Not that she had a lot of choices at the moment. She had to trust that the leaders of the program—whoever they were, as the website info had been vague at best—knew what they were doing.
Had to trust that God wouldn’t give up on her son.
She opened her car door and squinted against the afternoon sunlight. Sliding her sunglasses into place, she motioned for Cody to get out of the car and grab his duffel. Packing for a month at a working ranch had been trickier than she’d thought, especially when Cody’s wardrobe mostly consisted of dark pants, black T-shirts and tennis shoes. She’d bought boots after she’d browsed Camp Hope’s requirements list online but couldn’t for the life of her picture Cody wearing them.
Maybe that was a good thing—a sign that he would undergo a complete transformation.
She just wanted her son back. The one who used to crawl on her lap during thunderstorms, make hideouts from superhero sheets and a few chairs, and open her car door for her while boasting about being a gentleman. What had gone so wrong, so quickly?
Tears pressed behind her lids and she blinked rapidly to clear them away. Last time she’d let her guard down and cried in front of Cody, he’d snuck out of the house for three hours with no word of where he was going. Besides, it wasn’t healthy for a child to see his mother cry—especially if he was the cause of the tears.
Cody shut his car door a little harder than necessary and shouldered his duffel. The defensive scowl on his face as he slipped his iPod buds back in reminded her of his dad. She’d managed to stuff away thoughts of Max Ringgold for years, until recently, when Cody’s attitude mirrored his absent father’s more than she wanted to admit. Cody’s hair was blond like hers, but he had a similar cowlick to his dad’s, a testament to their shared stubbornness. He also had that same charming, do-no-wrong smile Max had always worn as easily as his trademark leather jacket.
Love Inspired January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Unexpected CowboyHis Ideal MatchThe Rancher's Secret Son Page 39