If a known ex-prostitute came to your church, how do you think you would respond? Disgust? Fear? Compassion? Mercy?
The book’s theme deals with beauty for ashes. Are you struggling with a past that still causes you pain? Do you feel like you need God to heal those hurts? Can you ask for prayer?
Turn the page for an exciting preview of
DANGEROUS HEART
The final book in the Westward Hearts series
By Tracey Bateman
Coming Soon from Avon Inspire
A blast of gunfire startled Ginger Freeman from the first sound sleep she’d had in a week. She bolted upright in the tent she shared with Toni Rodden and fumbled around in the dark for her moccasins.
“What is it?” Toni asked from the other side of the tent. She made a shadowy figure as she sat up and reached for her own shoes.
“I don’t know. I’m going to check on it.” She slipped on her moccasins and stood to her feet. “You best stay put.”
Another blast of gunfire pierced the air and the sound of yelling echoed through the camp. “Outlaws! Take cover!”
Toni gasped.
“Outlaws?” Ginger frowned. “What kind of dumb outlaws would attack a wagon train the size of this one?”
“Maybe there’s a lot of them.” Toni’s voice trembled, but Ginger didn’t have time to coddle her friend. She figured her help was needed out there. After all, she could shoot just as straight and just as fast as any man—just about.
“I ain’t ever heard of any outlaws traveling in a band that big.”
And if there was one thing Ginger knew a little something about, it was outlaws. Of course, she couldn’t very well mention that fact to Toni or anyone else, but this attack just didn’t make any kind of sense. There were either an awful lot of men who thought there was an awful lot of treasure to be had among this battered, weary band of travelers, or the men out there firing into the camp were missing a few brains. That’s what Ginger was betting on.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said to Toni. “Hunker down and stay out of sight.”
Ginger pulled back the tent flap and slipped outside, taking care to keep her head down and her senses alert. She gripped her Colt revolver firmly in her right hand, ready to use it if necessary, and she figured it would be necessary real soon.
She tried to take stock of the situation. Outside the circle of wagons, the trees were thick enough to hide a few outlaws bent on mischief. But she still couldn’t imagine anyone dumb enough to go up against a wagon train the size of this one. Dawn was beginning to break over the mountains to the east, but it was still too dark to make out more than shadows beyond the camp’s fires.
Strong fingers gripped her buckskin-clad arm and spun her around. Grant Kelley stood there, a deep frown pushing his eyebrows together. “Ginger, get back inside that tent before you get your head shot off!”
“My gun’s as good as yours, Grant Kelley, so mind your own business.”
“You’re too bullheaded for your own good.” Grant yanked her to the ground with him as a bullet whizzed past her ear. Ducking behind a wagon wheel, he took aim in the direction that bullet had come from and fired off two shots, then turned back to her. “Remember last time you joined a man’s fight, you got an arrow through your leg.”
Humiliation burned her cheeks at the low-down reminder that he had been the one to pull that arrow out and patch her up while she laid on the ground in a dead faint. She took aim toward the trees, firing off a couple of rounds herself. “I’ll be sure not to get in the way of a bullet.”
“See that you don’t.” He fired again. And again.
Not to be outdone, Ginger raised her Colt toward the woods and squeezed the trigger. “Ow!” she heard a split second later. “Dadburn it, I just got myself shot! Fall back.”
Ginger gave a smug grin. “See how he likes that,” she said. Then on a whim she called out, “Keep your head down if you don’t want to get it shot off.” Then it occurred to her Grant had said the same thing to her less than ten minutes earlier. Her face warmed and she hoped he didn’t remember that he’d said it first.
Grant snorted. “That was luck.”
Outraged at the very suggestion, Ginger turned a fierce glare on the wagon scout. “What are you talking about? I aimed plain as the nose on your face, Grant Kelley.”
He fired off a round. “No one could see into those woods. There’s no shame in getting a luck shot. I’d venture to say that’s the first bullet to make contact with one of those varmints.”
“I’d say so too,” Ginger said stubbornly. “Only it wasn’t a lucky shot. I took aim.”
Within minutes it seemed all the outlaws figured out they were fighting a losing battle. The gunfire stopped and, by the rustling in the trees, it was apparent they had ridden away. Ginger doubted they’d be back. Slowly, cautiously, the members of the wagon train stood and ventured out.
“Doc!” someone called. Ginger looked up at Grant. “They’re callin for you.”
His eyes clouded over. “I wish they wouldn’t call me that.”
“How come? That’s what you are.”
“Was.”
He looked past her, and Ginger turned to find thirteen-year-old Katie Caldwell running toward them. “Doc! Miss Sadie says come quick. Yellow Bird’s time has come and she’s having a rough go of it.”
“I’ll be right there!” Grant turned to Ginger and placed his big hands on her shoulders. “Go to the supply wagon and bring the black doctor bag to Miss Sadie’s tent. It’s on the right when you go in. Hurry up. You know if Miss Sadie called for me, something must be wrong.”
Ginger didn’t argue. Nor did she speak. Instead, she nodded and took off at a run to do as she’d been instructed.
Grant entered Miss Sadie’s tent without waiting to be invited. Yellow Bird, the young Indian woman who had joined the wagon train only recently, writhed in pain, but didn’t utter a sound.
“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked the middle-aged widow, whose face was drawn with worry. Miss Sadie had helped with the birthing of every baby born in the wagon train since they headed out from Independence almost four months earlier.
“I think the baby is stuck.”
“How long has she been having pains?”
“Since yesterday afternoon.”
Grant examined her and found Miss Sadie’s assessment of the situation to be correct. He nodded to Miss Sadie. “You’re right,” he said grimly. “I need to pray.”
He took Yellow Bird’s hand. She stared up at him, eyes filled with pain and fear. “My baby?”
“We need to get him out soon or he’ll die.” Grant reached forward and smoothed a strand of silky black hair from her forehead. “Do you know Jesus?”
Yellow Bird nodded. “I know Him.”
“Okay, then we’re going to pray that God will help me deliver your baby safely.”
He kept her hand firmly inside of his and they closed their eyes just as Ginger barreled in, her eyes wild, chest heaving from exertion. “Here’s the bag. How is she?” She looked down at Yellow Bird. “You okay?”
The Indian woman nodded. “We will pray now.”
Grant looked up at Ginger. Her face was void of all color and it was easy to see the worry in her eyes.
“Well, I suppose I’ll just wait outside ’til you’re done.”
“Sit down, Ginger,” Grant said, irritation edging his voice. “Close your eyes and be quiet while we pray.”
Yellow Bird nodded, her teary eyes filled with pleading as she looked up at Ginger. “You pray too. For my ba-by.”
Ginger’s face gentled more than Grant had ever seen before. To her credit she knelt beside Yellow Bird. Then she opened her mouth. “Okay, but God ain’t never answered any of my prayers before,” she muttered. “I don’t see why He’d start now.”
Grant nudged her. She nodded a little as though she understood his meaning. “I bet this is my lucky day, though,” she hastily (and poorly in G
rant’s opinion) tried to amend.
“Let’s hope,” Grant said. They bowed their heads and he began to pray. “Lord, give me wisdom and mercy to bring this baby safely into your beautiful world. Show me how to dislodge the baby’s head and bring it forth. Amen.”
Ginger spoke with matter-of-fact confidence. “When our old cow was having a rough go of it one time, my daddy reached in and turned the little calf and yanked on it a little. It came out neat as you please.”
Grant rubbed Yellow Bird’s belly, hoping the baby would dislodge itself from wherever it seemed to be hung up. “Well, a calf isn’t a baby.”
“Well, I know that,” Ginger said, scowling. “Don’t you think I know the difference?”
Yellow Bird moaned. Grant knew she had to be in excruciating pain; still she barely made a sound.
He caught Miss Sadie’s gaze. Dark circles surrounded her eyes and the lines on her face seemed more pronounced than he’d ever noticed. “You might give Ginger’s suggestion a try, Grant,” she said. “I’ve seen it work on more babies than I can count.”
Still, Grant hesitated. How could he bear it if the child died in his hands, along with Yellow Bird. “It’s risky.”
“But not impossible,” she countered.
He nodded, then turned to the young mother. “Yellow Bird,” he said softly, caressing her sweat-soaked brow. “Your baby is not able to come any further because he isn’t in the right position. I am going to try to turn him and pull him out. It will be painful, and there are no guarantees. But we have to try. Do you understand?”
She moaned and nodded.
Grant sprang into action. The young woman was growing weaker by the minute and if he didn’t do something fast he would likely lose them both. “Ginger, Miss Sadie, get on either side of Yellow Bird and don’t let her thrash about too much.”
“Me?” Ginger’s voice sounded faint. “Uh, I’ll just go get Toni or Fannie. And I’ll be right back.”
“There’s no time!” Grant grabbed the white-faced girl by the shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Ginger! You have to be strong. I know you don’t like illness or blood. But you cannot faint, is that clear?”
“Wh-who said I was going to faint?”
Good—some of her spunk was showing.
Grant tried not to be affected by the sound of Yellow Bird’s groans as he felt for the baby’s head and slowly began to turn it to the right position. Still, with the next pain, the baby didn’t descend any further.
Ginger prayed the same two words over an over like a mantra. “Please God, please God, please God, please God.” Finally, Grant’s nerves couldn’t take it any longer.
“Ginger! Shut up.”
“Well, you’re the one that told me to pray!”
“Can’t you pray something else?”
Yellow Bird let out a scream that pierced the interior of the tent.
Ginger resumed her prayer. “Please God, please God, please God, please God.”
As Grant felt the baby begin to dislodge, he found himself praying Ginger’s prayer. “Please God, please God, please God.”
Moments later, a healthy boy slid into the world with lusty cries. “Would you look at that?” Ginger said, excitement and wonder in her tone. Miss Sadie wrapped the baby and tried to give him to Yellow Bird. The young woman had fainted. “Ginger, take the baby,” Miss Sadie said. “I need to help Grant take care of Yellow Bird.”
“I might drop it,” Ginger said. “I never held a human baby before.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Miss Sadie said. “There’s nothing to it.”
Miss Sadie slipped the baby carefully into Ginger’s arms. A soft gasp caused Grant to raise his head just for a second. Surprise lifted his brow. For all of her spit and fire, and annoying behavior, Ginger Freeman could be as soft as any woman when holding a baby.
Special Thanks
My family: Rusty, Cat, Mike, Stevan, and Will. You give me grace and space to do what I do. Thank you for so graciously sharing my dream. I share each of yours as well.
Mom, as always, your support means everything to me.
Chris, Kevin, Kristianna, and Kaleigh Lynxwiler. God breathes his goodness through you. Your commitment to Christ constantly inspires me to check my heart. I love each of you as cherished family members. Thank you for your unconditional love, kindness, and friendship.
Cindy DiTiberio. You have great insights that I appreciate so much. You’ve truly made the editing process a team effort and I value our partnership. I pray that God will continue to bless you in your career and give you wisdom to continue the job He’s given you to do for His glory.
The HarperSanFrancisco/Avon Inspire team from marketing to cover design to every other area that I know very little about but recognize from the results. I’m in awe of your incredible work on this series. Every detail is attended to in such a caring manner. I’m extremely thankful that you hold my books in your hands and do everything you can to join with me to get them to the readers.
Last, but most definitely not least, my agent Steve Laube. I thank my God upon every remembrance of you. Thank you for understanding me, even though you may need therapy if you stick with me much longer. I’ll split the cost with you.
About the Author
Tracey Bateman lives in Missouri with her husband and four children. Their rural home provides a wonderful atmosphere for a writer’s imagination to grow and produce characters, plots, and settings. In 1994, with three children to raise, she and her husband agreed that she should go to college and earn a degree. In a freshman English class, her love for writing was rekindled and she wrote a short story that she later turned into a book. Her college career was cut short with the news of their fourth baby’s impending arrival, but the seeds of hope for a writing career had already taken root. Over the next several years she wrote, hooked up with critique partners, studied the craft of writing, and eventually all the hard work paid off. She currently has over twenty-five books published in a variety of genres. Tracey believes completely that God has big plans for His kids, and that all things are possible to those who will put their hope and trust in Him.
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By Tracey Bateman
DEFIANT HEART
DISTANT HEART
Coming Soon
DANGEROUS HEART
Credits
Cover design by Laura Klynstra
Cover photograph © Erik Almas/Workbook Stock/Jupiterimages
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DISTANT HEART. Copyright © 2008 by Tracey Bateman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition November 2007 ISBN 9780061744624
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