Love Inspired March 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Wife for Jacob\The Forest Ranger's Rescue\Alaskan Homecoming (35 page)

Evie didn't fight him as he tugged her along, but she stared over her shoulder at Jill.

Tears scalded Jill's eyes, and she couldn't keep them from falling. Down her cheeks they plummeted unheeded. But what did her smudged mascara matter when her whole world was walking away from her?

Jill waved goodbye, her heart bursting into a trillion shards of broken glass. She watched in misery as the love of her life and his precious daughter got into the Forest Service truck and drove away.

An arm slid around her trembling shoulders and she thought it was Alan. But no, it was Mom.

“You should go after him,” Arline whispered.

Jill jerked her head to look at her mother with startled wonder. “What?”

“You heard me right. I said you should go after him. He's a nice man and you don't want to lose him.” Arline showed a serene smile of acceptance.

Alan stood beside them and nodded. “For sure. I'd take the ranger for my brother-in-law over that rotten ex-husband of yours any day of the week. At least the ranger's an honest man. We can trust him.”

Jill gave a choking laugh, glancing between the two of them. Her family. And how she loved them. But not in a million years had she expected this turn of events. “Do you both mean that? Really, truly?”

“I do,” Alan said. “You know, there's no reason for you to go back to Boise. Ed Sallinger has a sweet little daughter with Down's syndrome. And Terry Bates has a son with autism. And of course, there's also Evie. I'm sure there are other special-needs kids in the area that we don't even know about. You can continue your work right here in Bartlett. Why don't you stay?”

Jill hadn't thought about that, but Alan was right. She could stay right here where she felt most at home. She didn't need to live in Boise to perform the work she loved. And then she could be near Brent and Evie, too.

Mom pressed her palms against Jill's back. “Go after him. He and his daughter make you happy. I can see that. And life's too short to let love pass you by. I never thought I'd say this, but he's the first reasonable forest ranger I've ever met. And he loves you, too, that's obvious. If he's what you want, I won't stand in your way. And if Evie is any indication of the grandchildren you two might give to me, then I'm fine with that, too.”

“Oh, Mom!” Jill whirled around and hugged her mother, overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions flittering through her chest. She felt as though she was finally free. As though a leaden weight had slid off her shoulders.

Alan dangled her purse and car keys in front of her nose. “If you're gonna go chasing after the ranger, you better put on some shoes first.”

He glanced pointedly at her bare feet.

Mom chuckled. “I never could keep shoes on you, even when you were a little girl.”

Jill laughed. “I love you both.”

She grabbed the purse and keys and raced through the house to the backyard. Taking the steps up to her apartment two at a time, she jerked on a pair of socks and tied her tennis shoes. Armed with her family's approval, she scurried outside to her car. One thought pounded her brain. Brent and Evie. She had to find them. Right now. She had to tell them that she loved them. That she wanted to be with them always. That she never wanted to be parted from them again.

* * *

High on Cove Mountain, Brent viewed the pristine beauty of the alpine meadow and tried to jot memos in his notebook. The cutblock would include ponderosa pine and some Douglas fir. If the loggers got started, they could finish the harvest before the weather got too cold. Then the Forest Service could start a replanting program up here in the spring...

His hand shook, making scribbles of his notes. He had to draw a line through the words and start again. Now, what had he been writing? He couldn't remember. His thoughts were still back in town with Jill. All he could think about was leaving her. Maybe never seeing her again.

A chilling melancholy overshadowed his heart. He couldn't work today. If he had to beg on his hands and knees, he was going back to Arline's house to ask for her daughter's hand in marriage.

He clicked off the pen and slipped it into his front shirt pocket as he looked up at Evie. Oblivious to the pain and chaos he was harboring, she stood in the middle of the meadow, blissfully picking white and yellow wildflowers.

Humming. Some little tune he'd never heard before. A chorus of angels couldn't have sounded more heavenly to his ears.

He smiled, his body relaxing. His pulse rate slowed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his child sing. Now she was talking again, it was as if a dam had broken inside of her. She'd chattered nonstop on the ride up here. And if Evie could start speaking again, then surely he could convince Arline Russell to let him marry Jill.

He sent a prayer heavenward, knowing the Lord could make it happen. He just had to have faith. Some way. Somehow. He had to convince Arline and Alan that he was the man for Jill. That he could make her happy...

“Hi, there.”

He whirled around and dropped the notebook in the dirt. Jill stood before him, wearing her calf-length skinny jeans and tennis shoes. Her warm blond hair hung about her shoulders in soft curls. He could imagine the silky texture and longed to bury his face in it and breathe in her delicate fragrance.

He blinked, trying to clear his mind. “Are you a mirage?”

She shook her head and stepped close, a gentle smile curving her perfectly beautiful lips. “No, I'm real.”

Above the meadow, Evie's voice rose in crescendo. She didn't know Jill was here yet.

Jill gestured toward the child. “She's happy again.”

“Yes. But wh...what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I came for you.” She took another step that brought her close enough to touch his chest.

As she lifted a hand and rested her palm directly over his heart, he took a sharp inhale. He didn't dare speak, for fear she might disappear.

“I had a heart-to-heart talk with my family,” she said.

“You did?” He quirked his brows, his mind filled with hopeful wonder as he reached up and covered her hand with his.

“Yes, and they told me I should come after you. They've given me their blessing to be here.”

“They...they did?” Oh, he felt stupid and tongue-tied right now. All rational thought fled his dazed brain.

“Yes, so I've come here to tell you that I'm in love with you.”

A hard lump settled in his stomach. “You are?”

She nodded. “Yes, I am.”

His throat felt like dry sandpaper. He couldn't speak. Couldn't move a muscle. He was completely at her mercy, and he prayed she soon put him out of his misery.

“I love you and Evie so much,” she said. “I want nothing more than for us to be together as a real family.”

And then, she did something that tore his heart in two and sent his spirit rocketing to the sun. She took his hand and knelt on one knee. Looking up at him with adoration gleaming in her eyes, she cleared her throat.

“Brent Knowles, I love you more than anything in this world. Please marry me. Because I want to be happy for the rest of eternity.”

He whisked her up into his arms, swinging her feet clear of the earth. Holding her tight to his chest, his voice rasped against her cheek. “Oh, darling. Don't you get on your knees. Not before me. Not ever. That's my job. I love you, too. So very much. And yes, I'll marry you. As soon as we possibly can.”

“Really?” She laughed, as though she couldn't believe it was true.

Finally, he set her on her feet. “Yes, really. I never thought this was possible. I thought because I'd threatened Alan and the mill that you'd hate me forever.”

She gazed up at him with adoration. “No, you did your job. You did what was right. Even Mom and Alan realize that. And what you've done has made me respect and love you all the more.”

Standing close, he cupped her face with his hand, hardly able to believe his dream was coming true. “That day you rescued Evie, I had no idea you'd also be rescuing me.”

“And I had no idea you'd be rescuing me.” She breathed the words on a sigh. “I think Evie will make the cutest flower girl the world has ever seen.”

“I have no doubt she'll like knowing you're about to become her new mommy,” he conceded.

“God has blessed us so generously.” She spoke in awe, as though she still couldn't believe their happiness was coming true.

“He has indeed.” Pulling her into his arms, Brent kissed her deeply. He breathed her in, knowing they'd found their rose among the thorns. And after all, what more could they ask for?

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from FINDING HIS WAY HOME by Mia Ross.

Dear Reader

Having grown up in small towns throughout the Western United States, I actually worked in a sawmill once. You might find it hard to believe, but there weren't a lot of jobs available in my town for a kid seeking employment. At the age of fifteen, I spent one summer pulling boards off the green chain, to pay for my school clothes in the fall.

The crime of timber theft is personally a very important one. Timber theft is a billion-dollars-a-year crime. Stealing timber destroys ecological and watershed systems, and takes something precious from future generations of people.

I must point out that the Forest Service would plant seedlings in March, when the ground is nice and damp, not in May and June when the weather is turning hot. Additionally, they never would start planting seedlings in a theft area until after law enforcement had completed their investigation. I have violated a few of these rules in order to make this story work. I hope you'll forgive any inaccuracies and focus more on the overall message I'm trying to convey. That love can conquer fear and pain. That even when we feel abandoned, God walks with us through every trial of our faith. Just as Evie needed rescuing from the silent world she'd built around herself, so too did Brent and Jill need rescuing from the hurt they'd experienced in their lives. And the atonement of Jesus Christ is the ultimate rescue for each of us.

I hope you enjoy reading
The Forest Ranger's Rescue
, and I invite you to visit my website at
leighbale.com
to learn more about my books.

May you find peace in the Lord's words!

Leigh Bale

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

You believe hearts can heal.
Love Inspired
stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

Chapter One

W
illiam Henry Barrett. Cherished on earth and in heaven
.

Hands folded in front of him, Scott Barrett stared down at the granite headstone that marked his grandfather's resting place in the Barrett's Mill Cemetery. Solid and straightforward, in Scott's mind the stone and its message couldn't have summed up Granddad any better. A kind, hardworking man all his life, Will had given everything he had to his family and the sleepy Virginia town that bore their name.

And now he was gone.

Out of necessity, over the years Scott had learned to mask his emotions behind a cool facade that gave nothing away. But now, facing up to the consequences of bad choices he'd made long ago, a wave of remorse threatened to overwhelm him. If only he'd taken the high road, he lamented silently, he would've been able to get here in time to say goodbye.

Unfortunately, some mistakes took root in your life like weeds and spoiled what might have been a good thing if you'd tended to it properly from the start. That lesson, among many others, had been drummed into his head every day for the past three years. From his childhood through graduation day, his mother had complained to him and his four brothers that Barrett men never learned anything the easy way. And he was Barrett to the core.

Granddad had accepted that, Scott recalled as he sat down on the freshly turned ground in front of the stone. He'd seen all that in his headstrong grandson, and more.

I'm sad to see you go
, he'd said the last time Scott left their tiny hometown in the Blue Ridge Mountains for some vague destination.
But I'll be here waiting for you when you get back.

Leaning his head against the marker, Scott followed his memories back in time and dredged up a visual of Granddad, smiling and waving as he drove away. Closing his eyes, he swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “I'm sorry I missed out on seeing you again, Granddad. I got home as fast as I could.”

The warm spring breeze ruffled through his hair, and he felt a small measure of calm settle over him. Even though he knew it was unlikely, he chose to believe it was his grandfather reaching down from heaven to let him know he understood.

“Scott?”

An unfamiliar voice jolted him from his brooding, and he looked up to find a stranger looking down at him. A very pretty stranger, he noted with surprise. Dressed in a pink tank top and faded overalls spattered with every color imaginable, she had dark, curly hair and eyes that made him think of a flawless summer sky. She was holding a spade and a bushel basket filled with flowers, and she set them next to Granddad's grave as if she meant to stay.

In the interest of avoiding trouble, he'd developed a habit of ducking his head and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. But this was another place, he reminded himself, and here that kind of behavior would come across as rude. Recalling the manners his mother had insisted they all learn and use, he got to his feet and did his best to put on a friendly face. “That's me. I've been gone awhile, so I don't think we've met.”

“Jenna Reed,” she replied, offering a slender hand covered in flecks of purple and green. “I moved here last summer and started up Reed's Artworks. You may have seen my sign out on the highway on your way into town.”

That explained her unusual clothes, and he tried to sound friendly. “I did, actually. How's business?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she said breezily, as if they'd known each other for months instead of mere seconds. “Up and down, depending on the day.”

Like his life, Scott added silently. Meeting this lovely, outgoing woman in a cemetery had to qualify as an up, though. Maybe it was a sign of better things to come. “Yeah, I hear you. How'd you know who I was?”

“I've gotten to know your family since I've been here, and I recognized you from the picture of you and your brothers on your grandmother's mantel.”

“How's she doing?” When he realized he'd just admitted he hadn't gone to visit her yet, he mentally cringed. Acting without thinking had gotten him in a world of trouble, he cautioned himself. Now that he'd escaped the worst of it, he really needed to work on being less impulsive.

“You know Olivia. Everything's fine, even when the rest of us think it's falling apart. At the end, she was the most positive one in your whole family. I've never seen anyone so strong.”

“Yup, that's Gram.”

The conversation stalled right there, and he searched for a way to grind his rusty social skills back into gear. Then he remembered the shovel and flowers and nodded toward them. “Whatcha got there?”

It wasn't smooth, but judging by her quick smile, she either didn't notice his floundering or didn't mind. “Flowers for Will from the Crossroads Church. We thought he should have them year-round, so I volunteered to plant some perennials that will come up every spring.”

“That's nice of you.” He couldn't imagine why she'd do such a thing for someone she wasn't related to. In the world he'd been living in, it was everyone for himself, and people didn't help anyone else unless there was something in it for them. And then, out of nowhere, he heard himself ask, “Want a hand?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He couldn't believe what he'd just done, but there was no way he could change his mind without looking like a total jerk. It wasn't as if he had anything pressing to do this morning, so he picked up the shovel and got to work turning the soil back for a small garden.

“Let's make an arch,” she suggested, pointing in a semicircle. “That will look nicer, don't you think?”

It didn't matter much to him, since he thought the flowers were more than enough, but he appreciated her asking for his input. It had been a long time since he'd been treated with the kind of respect this perky stranger was showing him. “Sounds good.”

“Your grandmother has the prettiest gardens,” Jenna commented while she set peat pots of various flowers into a pattern that seemed to make sense to her. Apparently not satisfied, she rearranged them several times until she finally quit and sat back on the heels of her sneakers. “What do you think?”

“Pretty.”

Angling a look up at him, she gave him a teasing smile. “The flowers or me?”

He caught himself smiling back, and alarms started clanging in his head. Another hard-won lesson had taught him that women were nothing but trouble, and pretty ones were the worst of all. He had a feeling the worst of all were the artistic kind with freckles sprinkled across their noses.

Being drawn to her so quickly baffled—and worried—him, and he firmly put his conflicting reactions to her aside as he got back to his digging. She didn't say anything, but he could feel her watching him, studying him like some new species she'd discovered under a microscope. His movements allowed him to glance over at her every shovelful or so, and at one point he met those amazing eyes head-on.

Setting down the pot she was holding, she gave him a gentle smile. “Did you want to ask me something?”

A lot of somethings, he thought, but one zoomed to the top of his list. He plunged the shovel into the ground and leaned on the battered red handle. “How much do you know about me?”

“More than you'd like, I'm guessing.” Another smile, this one tinged with compassion. “We all make mistakes, Scott.”

“Most folks don't make the kind that land them in prison.”

“I try not to judge people based on what they might have done before, but on what I see in them right now.” Pausing, she gave him an assessing look. “I see a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong crowd. He owned up to his part in what they did and took his punishment for it. Now he's come back to his hometown, where people care about him, hoping to put his life back together. How'm I doing?”

Those warnings in his mind blared again, but quieter this time. Despite his misgivings, Scott allowed himself a slight grin. “Fine. Makes me wonder how someone as young as you would come by that opinion, though.”

“Just how young do you think I am?”

He wasn't touching that one, so he said, “Well, I'm twenty-seven, and I'm thinking you're a couple years younger than that. How'm I doing?” he added, echoing her earlier question.

“Fine,” she parroted him with a little smirk, then got serious. “You're not the only person in the world who's had to shake off their past and start over again, y'know.”

With that, she took a trowel from her basket and began digging in the earth he'd turned. It struck him as an odd thing to say, but she didn't volunteer anything more. Taking her silence as a hint that she was done discussing that topic, he began shaping the crescent she'd requested. “So how do you like it here?”

“It's a charming little town, and the people are really nice.”

He'd known enough women to hear a qualifier in there somewhere, and he nudged. “But?”

After hesitating for a few moments, she sighed. “I've been here almost a year. The summer art fairs will be starting up soon, and I'll be on my way.”

Her tone had a tinge of resignation in it, and he frowned. He'd just met her, but the thought of this cheerful painter being unhappy bothered him for some reason. “You don't sound thrilled with that.”

“It's the way it is,” she replied with a shrug. “I've learned that things go better for me if I'm not in one place too long.”

Scott understood that philosophy all too well. It had governed his life for years, and at first it had been fun. The excitement of drifting around the country, working at this job or that one, following the good weather, had given him some great memories. Then, one steamy Houston afternoon, the thing he valued most had been wrenched away from him.

That fateful day, he'd lost his freedom. It had taken him a long time to get it back, and he'd die before he would let anyone take it from him again.

* * *

Jenna knew a mess when she saw one.

Wearing tattered jeans and a well-loved rock-concert T-shirt that hung loosely on his tall frame, Scott Barrett definitely fit the bill. While they worked, she noticed he was careful to keep his distance from her. She'd never been to prison herself, but it wasn't hard to imagine why he'd become so guarded about his personal space. There was something about him that spoke to her, though, and it was more than the slightly shaggy brown hair and determined set of his jaw. When he glanced over at her, she finally pegged what had snared her attention.

His eyes. Dark and wary, they connected with hers for a moment before flitting away. It was as if he didn't want her to catch him observing her. She did a lot of portrait work for clients, and it had made her adept at reading people. Her instincts told her he wasn't eyeing her in a creepy, stalkerish kind of way. Because she moved around so much, she knew how it felt to be an outsider in a community, but for him it was different. He should have felt at home here in the place where he'd grown up, but he didn't. Knowing that made her feel sad for him, and she hunted for a way to ease his mind.

Hoping to draw him out a little, she attempted to resuscitate their lapsed conversation. “So, it must be nice to be back in your hometown.”

“Didn't have anywhere else to go,” he muttered, stabbing at fresh ground with the spade.

He was digging outside the area she'd shown him for Will's garden, but out of respect for his current attitude she chose not to point that out. Instead, she tried again. “I've lived in lots of different places myself. I think Denver was my favorite with the mountains and so many interesting spots to paint. How 'bout you?”

“I liked Texas. Till they told me I couldn't leave,” he added with a wry grin.

The dark gallows humor caught her by surprise, and she couldn't help laughing. “I can't believe you can joke about that.”

“You give a man enough time alone with his thoughts, one of two things happens—he either goes crazy or he comes to terms with what happened. I'm not the loony-bin type.”

“I'm glad,” she said reflexively, getting a questioning look in reply. “I mean, for your family. They've all missed you so much.”

“I missed them, too.” Staring at his grandfather's marker, he sighed. “More than you could possibly know.”

He had the same rangy, muscular build as his brothers, but there was something different about him she couldn't quite identify. An artist as much by nature as profession, she'd always been inquisitive about everything and everyone around her. What made them unique, what made them tick. While she recognized that Scott was an individual with his own qualities, she couldn't help comparing him to the Barretts she'd gotten to know. There was no denying he had his own vibe, and she searched for a way to define it.

Out of nowhere, it hit her: he was wounded. Judging by his pragmatic way of looking at life, it wasn't from being locked up, at least not entirely. Since they'd just met, she didn't want to pry into what was certainly very personal business, so she tamped down her curiosity and turned her attention to the cluster of forget-me-nots she was planting.

They didn't talk at all, but he seemed to understand where she needed the soil dug out and stayed a few shovelfuls ahead of her while she worked. When she'd planted the last of the flowers, she stood and wiped the dirt off her palms onto her overalls. Holding out a hand, she smiled. “Thanks for the help, Scott. It was great to meet you, but I should be getting back to my studio.”

After hesitating for a moment, he gently took her hand, shaking it as if it was made of glass. Those dark eyes connected directly with hers for the first time, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't make herself look away. There was that pain again, but now it was joined by the hopeful look of a lonely little boy who thought maybe—just maybe—he'd found a new friend.