A Mother's Strength

by Allie Pleiter

  “If you let him down, I...”

  Molly broke her stare and swallowed hard against the threat of tears.

  “Molly.” He said nothing but her name. But the way he said her name said everything. If she’d had any doubt of how strong the pull was growing between them—a pull she knew she had to ignore—the tone of his voice and his eyes confirmed it.

  “This has to be about Zack. I have to be sure you know that.” She wouldn’t come out and say “It can’t be about me,” so she had to trust that her words got the message through. This would have been so much easier if there weren’t volumes behind his eyes, if he didn’t radiate that lost-but-noble-soul vibe that always did her in.

  “Zack is the most important thing here,” he said. While the solemnity of his tone put her a bit at ease, it also implied Zack’s needs weren’t the only thing here. Was Sawyer’s telling choice of wording a skilled response or simple truth?

  Allie Pleiter, an award-winning author and RITA® Award finalist, writes both fiction and nonfiction. Her passion for knitting shows up in many of her books and all over her life. Entirely too fond of French macarons and lemon meringue pie, Allie spends her days writing books and avoiding housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in speech from Northwestern University and lives near Chicago, Illinois.

  Books by Allie Pleiter

  Love Inspired

  Wander Canyon

  Their Wander Canyon Wish

  Winning Back Her Heart

  His Christmas Wish

  A Mother’s Strength

  Matrimony Valley

  His Surprise Son

  Snowbound with the Best Man

  Wander Canyon Courtship

  Blue Thorn Ranch

  The Texas Rancher’s Return

  Coming Home to Texas

  The Texan’s Second Chance

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  A MOTHER’S STRENGTH

  Allie Pleiter

  I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.

  —Psalm 34:4

  To first responders everywhere

  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

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Lost and Found Faith by Laurel Blount

  Chapter One

  Molly Kane stared at the double-shot Americano coffee with one sugar sitting waiting on the counter.

  Sawyer Bradshaw was late.

  It was 9:32 a.m. and Sawyer was never late. A mid-April snowfall wasn’t rare enough to make anyone late in this part of Colorado. No, her “right after 9:00” customer with the sad, gold-hued eyes was as constant as the sunrise.

  Constancy aside, he’d become a favorite customer. He always thanked her profusely for the waiting coffee. It tugged at her heart the way he seemed so startled by her kindness.

  Her request today would surely startle him. You’ve got to make this work, Lord. Zack needs it. The request she was about to make on behalf of her son was beyond brave to ask someone she’d never seen anywhere but here at The Depot. In fact, she only knew his name from the badge pinned to his work shirt.

  Molly had spent half the night last night talking herself into believing that loner Sawyer had ended up in an “everybody knows everybody else and pokes their nose into everyone’s business” town like Wander Canyon for a reason. Her reason—or rather, Zack’s. Now, as she watched the minutes tick past, doubts made her stomach tumble.

  Sawyer’s truck pulled up just before 10:00 a.m., sending a pop of relief to fill her chest.

  “Chilly day. I’ll just warm this up for you, Sawyer,” she said as he pushed through the door of the old train car repurposed into a unique coffee shop. Sawyer gave a weary grunt as he shook the damp spring snow off his shoulders.

  He’d shown up every other morning at exactly 9:13, straight off his shift as the night watchman at Mountain Vista Golf Resort. Molly nodded toward the clock as she poured hot coffee into the already strong espresso drink. “Not like you to be late.” That seemed a less invasive question than “Is everything okay?”

  He rolled his shoulders. “Bit of a day. Bit of a night, actually.”

  “Well,” she said, adding a deliberate cheer to her voice as she slid the steaming mug across the counter toward Sawyer. “Hope this helps. Because, well, I need to ask a favor. Kind of a big one, actually.”

  Sawyer stared in surprise at the stoneware mug. Every other morning, he took his coffee in a to-go cup. “Uh... Molly?”

  He’d never used her name before. She took that as a good sign.

  Molly flashed a quick look to Pastor Newton, who had been sitting in a nearby booth waiting for Sawyer as long as she had been. Pastor Newton thought her idea was a bit far-fetched, too, but he was at least willing to lend his support.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d stay and drink this one. Got a minute?”

  Sawyer’s surprise turned to shock. “I...suppose.” He looked suspicious—wary, even—as he slid the three one-dollar bills and a trio of silver quarters onto the counter. He paid with exact change every morning. Molly pictured sets of coins and bills lined up on his kitchen counter each week—it was the kind of thing Zack would do.

  Her seven-year-old son waged his battles with anxiety through fastidious rituals just like that. Shoes lined up. Books in color order. The same breakfast at the same time on the same plate every morning. The similarities were what had given her the idea she was about to launch.

  “Come on over and sit down, Sawyer,” Pastor Newton said as Molly nodded to her coworker and untied the apron from around her waist. Sawyer hesitated, clearly wondering what was going on.

  Pastor Newton smiled as if he asked total strangers to join him for coffee every day—because, in fact, he often did.

  “Did you know Molly has a son? Zack’s in the second grade. He’s a special boy.”

  Molly tried not to cringe. Zack was special. Still, people too often used “special” to avoid using “odd” or “troubled.”

  Zack was also struggling. Badly. Only a mother’s desperation would produce the bravery needed to make the request she had in mind. A wild solution for an enormous problem.

  Molly avoided Sawyer’s suspicious eyes as she brought her double-whip mocha latte to the table to join Sawyer and Pastor Newton.

  Molly took a deep breath. It was never an easy thing to admit Zack’s troubles. And now she was going to lay it all out to someone she only knew as one of her customers.

  Molly had a gift for seeing hurt souls, for seeing the people who sulked through life like a shadow. Sawyer was one of those. She had to believe he’d understand.

  “Zack is an anxious boy. Every once in a while, it gets the best of him.” She paused, trying to gauge Sawyer’s reaction to that statement.

  “Why don’t you tell Sawyer what you told me yesterday?” the reverend suggested.

  “Lately he’s been struggling much more.” Tell him all of it. He needs to hear all of i
t. “Actually, the school nurse found him curled up in the utility closet at before-school care yesterday. It took her twenty minutes to talk him out.”

  “The counselor he’s been seeing was helping, wasn’t she?” Pastor Newton’s voice was encouraging.

  “Yes. Mrs. Hollings felt we were making progress. Some, at least. More good days than bad.” Molly twisted the paper napkin she’d brought over between her fingers. It almost made her laugh—Zack twisted rubber bands between his fingers when he was nervous, and she was certainly nervous now. “It’s been a while since we had something like this. No one can figure out what brought it on. Sometimes I think nothing at all brings it on. It just comes.”

  Molly ignored Sawyer’s “Why are you telling me this?” expression and pressed on.

  “Mrs. Hollings and I brought him to the nurse’s office for a few minutes and got him ready for class. Eventually. Which is better than the last time where we just had to give up and go home.”

  “That’s good,” the pastor said. “Progress, right?”

  “It doesn’t feel like it.” Molly wrapped her hands around the stoneware mug. “She had an idea. It might sound absurd, but at this point I’m willing to try anything.”

  Pastor Newton turned to Sawyer. “Jean Hollings is very good at her job. And very creative.”

  Molly leaned in toward Sawyer. She wasn’t going to leave a single stone unturned to help Zack find the emotional footing that kept eluding him. Second grade had turned out to be a disastrous year, and if she didn’t do something soon, it was going to take a monster of a battle to get Zack back into school in the fall. Into the third grade, even. She had to find a way to make the current year end on something close to a high note.

  “That’s sort of where you come in.”

  * * *

  “Me?” Sawyer tried not to gulp. He barely knew Molly.

  Sure, he was a near-daily customer, but he’d never told her how much he liked this place. He didn’t make small talk. He hadn’t even known she had a son, until this moment. How on earth did he get swept up in whatever it was Molly had in mind?

  “Mrs. Hollings seems to think Zack needs an outlet.” Molly took a deep breath and nervously braced herself against the table. “Something to build up his confidence, to feel as if he could be good at something. Something sort of physical, so he can burn off some of that nervous energy that keeps drowning him.” Molly’s eyes held a hopeful gleam that was near frantic.

  “Doesn’t the town have a Little League or something?” Sawyer said, stumped for any other response.

  She gave a forced, tight laugh. “A team sport won’t work. I’m talking more on the ‘sort of’ side than the ‘physical’ side.”

  “So I take it Jean had a suggestion.” Pastor Newton urged her on.

  Molly took another deep breath. She hadn’t even touched the coffee she’d brought to the table; she just kept wringing that paper napkin within an inch of its life. “She did. Like I said, it’s a bit weird, but honestly, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t try.”

  “Of course,” the pastor said. “You’re his mother.”

  Sawyer fought the feeling of being cornered. The whole point of him coming to Wander Canyon was to be invisible. To work out the kinks of the last year without anyone watching. To not get involved. His one indulgence had been his morning trips to The Depot for coffee. And now, from the looks of it, that indulgence was about to get him into a whole lot of...of what? Trouble? Involvement? Small-town drama?

  Molly looked at him with pleading eyes. “Mrs. Hollings seems to think Zack should try...golf.”

  Sawyer was sure he hadn’t heard right. “Golf?” Even the pastor looked as if he was working to not look like he found the idea ridiculous. And weren’t pastors supposed to play a lot of golf? Or was that just doctors?

  Molly held up a hand and began to tick off a list of reasons Sawyer wasn’t certain he wanted to hear. “It’s not overly physical, but involves time out in open spaces. It’s something he can do in a small way on his own and then bring other people into it when he’s ready. It’s—”

  “One of the most frustrating sports on the planet,” Sawyer butted in to stop her right there. “I could show you piles of golf clubs bent from their owners whacking them against a tree in frustration.” He sat back, stunned. “Golf? Really?”

  His astonishment clearly pushed her buttons. “Well, you don’t have to put it quite that way. It’s unusual, I know. But the more I think about it...it makes a kind of sense.”

  “It’s an unusual solution for an unusual boy,” Pastor Newton said. “Good for Jean for thinking out of the box. But I do wonder about one thing. Golf’s not especially popular in this town. No offense, Sawyer.”

  “None taken,” Sawyer said. “Just a job.” Sawyer hadn’t been blind to the smug reactions to his Mountain Vista name tag and uniform shirt. Folks in Wander Canyon harbored no good wishes for the resort. He’d heard the stories of how Mountain Vista had tried more than once to expand by making paltry offers for the land of struggling ranchers. Working for the bad guys suited him—people steered clear of him, and he liked that just fine.

  “But you must play,” Molly insisted. “You must know how. I mean, nobody takes a job at a golf resort and doesn’t golf, right?”

  Oh, he didn’t like where this was heading. “I’m bad at it.”

  Molly smiled. “That’s great!”

  Why on earth did that make her happy?

  “That’s exactly what Zack needs.”

  “Huh?”

  “Someone who can help him see it’s okay that he’s not great at it. Someone to show him how, just enough so he doesn’t feel any pressure about it.”

  The full realization of this woman’s request hit him like a gust of wind. “You...you’re asking me to teach your son to play golf?”

  Molly straightened in her chair like that wasn’t the most bizarre thing Sawyer had heard this week. Maybe this year. And it had been one whopper of a year. “Well, yes.”

  “Me?”

  “I don’t know anyone else who works at Mountain Vista, so, yes. What I don’t need is someone from the long list of Wander folks who hate the place.”

  “She’s right,” Pastor Newton agreed. “Golf and Wander don’t exactly get along these days.”

  Sawyer sat back in his chair, scrambling for excuses. Only a bafflingly short list came to mind. “It isn’t even warm outside yet. I’m no golf pro. I hardly qualify as a duffer.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Someone who wishes he was a lot better at golf,” Pastor Newton joked. “Or so I’m told. Lots of pastors golf. Just not around here.”

  “Zack doesn’t need a golf pro.” Was she doing that on purpose? Looking at him with wide, persuasive blue eyes that could melt the spring snow outside? “What Zack needs is a friend. Who plays golf, and kinda badly at that.”

  Sawyer swallowed hard and told himself it was perfectly reasonable to say no. He wished she hadn’t leaned in and made her voice all soft and musical. “He needs someone who understands what it’s like to be alone.” She paused and took one final, heart-melting breath before adding, “I think that’s you.”

  “He’s a special boy,” Pastor Newton repeated. “You could be doing him an amazing service. And Molly’s right—there isn’t anyone else in our little town in the position you are to do it.”

  Sawyer couldn’t believe he was even thinking about it. Then that confounded woman pulled out the final piece of persuasion she knew he couldn’t refuse. “Free coffee for a year.”

  Sawyer didn’t reply. He was currently applying every ounce of his willpower to do the sensible thing and say no.

  “I can’t help thinking you were drawn to this place and Molly’s coffee for a reason,” the pastor said. “Things like this never line up by accident. You could change a little boy’s lif
e.”

  “You could save my little boy’s life.” Her face flushed a bit at the drastic words. “A bit dramatic, perhaps, but if things don’t turn around for Zack soon... No seven-year-old should be this unhappy.”

  Now she was tearing up. Granted, Sawyer was well acquainted with looking like the bad guy, but refusing now would make him look like an ugly troll. Even so, Sawyer bit back the “Maybe” trying to leap recklessly off his tongue.

  “All he needs is one small win, a foothold against the avalanche of ‘not enough’ that’s plowing over his life. Please.”

  The word burrowed under the ten-foot-high wall Sawyer had built around himself and smacked into the one tender spot he had left. She looked tired, frustrated, helpless and beyond worried.

  “Please.”

  “This idea makes no sense,” Sawyer said, trying one last time to keep from giving in to her.

  “Those are my favorite kind,” she replied, brightening like a sunrise.

  Sawyer found himself nodding, absolutely certain he’d regret it. Well, he was regretting a truckload of things lately, why not add this to the list?

  Chapter Two

  Zack fidgeted in his chair, turning a blue rubber band over and over between his fingers as they sat in Cuccio’s Pizza a few days later. Molly watched his dark brows—entirely too much like his father Steve’s—furrow. “What if he’s mean?”

  “He’s not mean. I know him from the coffee shop. He’s actually very nice.” “Very nice” might have been a bit of an overstatement, but Molly knew she was fighting an uphill battle here.

  “What if I stink at it?”

  She’d endured an endless stream of anxious questions from Zack since she’d set this date for him to meet Sawyer over pizza. That was just who Zack was, how he processed the world, but it taxed her extroverted patience no matter how much she loved her son. “We played mini-golf on vacation last year. You didn’t stink at that.” She tried to lean in playfully. “Besides, Mr. Sawyer says he’s not very good at golf, either. You can stink at it together.”