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Blessings of The Heart
Valerie Hansen
Writer Brianna Walker had moved to the Arkansas hills for a little peace and quiet. But the stormy night a handsome man, two bedraggled boys and a scruffy dog washed up in her front yard, Bree' s peaceful and quiet life became a thing of the past.Homeless after their cabin floated away in the rain, single dad Mitch Fowler and his two young sons had no choice but to seek shelter at their closest neighbor' s home. And it didn' t take the boys long to find their way into Bree' s warm and caring heart. But could Mitch ever convince Bree to take a chance on a ready-made family and make that fateful storm the answer to everyone' s prayers?
“You live here here all alone?
In this great big house?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure we won’t be a bother?”
Bending down to grab a carton of milk, Bree hadn’t heard Mitch clearly. The low rumble of his voice, however, had sent a shiver zinging up her spine. She straightened abruptly to ask, “What?” and found him standing close behind her. Very close.
Her senses were bombarded by his clean, masculine scent, his overpowering presence and his exhilarating voice. Awed by her reaction to his innocent nearness, Bree wanted to climb into the refrigerator and pull the door shut behind her. Instead, she sidled away and put the center island workstation between her and the attractive man.
Mitch watched her, his arms folded across his broad chest. “I’m not dangerous, you know.”
VALERIE HANSEN
was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.
Married to her high school sweetheart since age seventeen, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line.
Life doesn’t get much better than that!
Blessings of the Heart
Valerie Hansen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell
in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall
Thy hand lead me and Thy right hand shall hold me.
—Psalms 139:9-10
To Joe, for having the courage and strength
of character to walk away from a lucrative,
prestigious job and come chase rainbows with me.
Dear Reader,
As you’ve probably gathered by now, especially if you’ve read my earlier Love Inspired titles, I love rural life in the Ozark Mountains.
We moved out here in the country to escape, just as Brianne did in my story. Only, we did it for different reasons. We weren’t running away from anything, we were running toward it. A city had grown up around us where we’d lived before and our life had gotten too fast-paced and complicated as a result. Yes, wages there were high and jobs were plentiful, but without peace of mind and good physical health, what difference does that make?
So we left. Some of our friends thought we were crazy to follow our dream all the way from Southern California to the backwoods of Arkansas. Others envied us. It took guts and faith to do what we did, but we’ve never been sorry.
There have been a few interesting surprises along the way, too. I knew I could continue to write no matter where I lived but I’d never imagined how much finding a good country church, a Bible-preaching pastor and dozens of new Christian friends would reshape and refocus my faith.
I had to come here as preparation for the books I’m writing now. I just didn’t know it ahead of time!
I invite your letters at P.O. Box 13, Glencoe, AR 72539-0013, e-mails at VALW@centurytel.net or visit my Web site for the latest news, http://www.centurytel.net/valeriewhisenand/.
Blessings,
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
“If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me.”
—Psalm 139:9-10
S tartled, Brianne Bailey froze. Listened. Straightened. Who in the world could be making such an awful racket?
She’d been in her kitchen, peacefully raiding the refrigerator for a quick afternoon snack, when she’d heard the first whack. Before she could determine the source, repeated pounding had built to a deafening crescendo and was echoing through the enormous house. It sounded as if a herd of rampaging elephants was trampling down her substantial mahogany front door. That, or she was being accosted by a psychopathic door-to-door salesman who knew she was there alone and hoped to frighten her into buying his wares!
Both ideas were so ludicrous they made Bree chuckle as she hurried down the hall to answer the knock. “Boy, I’ve been living in a world of fiction for too long,” she muttered. “I’m beginning to think like the crazy characters in my stories.” Which wouldn’t be too bad if I were writing at the time, she added, smiling.
The hammering intensified. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” Brianne shouted. “Don’t you break the stained glass in the top of that door, whoever you are. I’ll never be able to replace it.”
She grabbed the knob and jerked open the door, ready to continue scolding her would-be intruder. Instead, she took one look at the cause of the disturbance and gasped, slack-jawed.
The man standing on the porch with his fist raised to continue his assault on her helpless door was dirty, sweaty, scratched and bleeding, as if he’d just plunged through a green-briar thicket. He was also remarkably handsome in spite of his disheveled appearance. Left speechless, she wasn’t having a lot of luck sucking in enough air for adequate breathing, either.
Her visitor looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark, wavy hair and darker eyes beneath scowling brows. Standing there, facing her, he seemed larger than life. As if the pounding hadn’t been enough, his reddened face was added proof of his anger, although what had upset him was a mystery to Bree. Far as she knew, she didn’t have an enemy in the world.
“Can I help you?” She managed to speak.
“It’s your pond,” the man said, looking directly into her wide, blue eyes and pointing with a thrust of his arm. “It’s cut off all my water!”
Brianne held up one hand in a calming gesture. “Whoa. There’s no need to get upset. I’m sure we can work things out. Just tell me exactly what water you’re talking about?”
“From the spring. Over there,” he explained. “You built your new pond between my place and the spring.”
“My pond? Oh, dear. Did I do something against the law?”
“I don’t know. What difference does it make? By the time we finally get enough rain to finish filling that enormous hole of yours and spill over into the creek bed again, I’ll be an old man.”
Oddly, his comment amused her. She smiled, smoothed the hem of her knit shirt over her shorts and said, “I imagine that will be quite a long time.”
“This isn’t funny. I need water for my cabin.”
“Which is, I take it, downhill from here?”
“Brilliant deduction.”
Certain the man wouldn’t appreciate her growing humor, Bree fought a threatened eruption of giggles. “Thanks. I’m trying.”
“Well?” he asked, scowling.
“Well, what? I had that valley explored before I made any changes in the landscaping up here. We did find one old cabin, but these hills are full of abandoned homesteads. Surely, you can’t be talking about that decrepit old place.”
“I certainly am.”
“Oops. Sorry.” Her smile turned apologetic. “You live there?”
“I do now.”
“I see. What about your well?”
“Don’t have a well. Or running water. Never have.” He held up the bucket he was carrying. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I thought I just did.”
“Not hardly,” Bree argued. “If you’d knocked on my door politely and explained your problem we could have handled this without everybody getting upset.”
“Who said I was upset?”
She arched an eyebrow as she eyed him critically. “Some things are self-explanatory, Mr….”
“Fowler. Mitch Fowler.”
“All right, Mr. Fowler. You can take all the water you need from my well. Will that satisfy you?”
“I guess that’s my only choice.” Some of the tension left him. “My Uncle Eldon and Aunt Vi used to live in the same old cabin. Maybe you knew them.”
“I’m afraid not. I’m Brianne Bailey. Bree, for short.” She politely offered to shake hands, waiting while Mitch wiped his on his jeans. “I’m not from around here. I…”
The moment Mitch’s hand touched hers she forgot whatever else she was going to say. Staring at him, she realized that he was returning her gaze with a look of equal amazement. Now that he was no longer irate, his glance seemed warmer, more appealing. It reminded her of a cup of dark, rich coffee on a cold winter’s morning.
Brianne didn’t know how long she stood there holding the stranger’s hand, because time had ceased to register. She didn’t come to her senses until she heard him clear his throat.
“I’m sorry I came on so strong just now,” Mitch said, finally letting go and stepping away. “When I discovered we had no water it threw me for a loop.”
“I’m sure it did.” Bree eyed the bucket. “Before I get back to work I suppose I should show you where to fill that.”
“That won’t be necessary. It’s too hot to come outside if you don’t need to. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
The mention of temperature and hair together made her unconsciously lift her long, honey-blond tresses off her neck to cool her skin. Even in shorts and a sleeveless blouse she was feeling the heat, too.
“Nonsense,” she said. “You look like you had to fight your way through a pack of wildcats to get up here. The least I can do is walk you out to the hose. Besides, I was taking a break, anyway.”
“A break? Do you work at home?”
“Yes. I’m a writer.” She waited for the usual questions about her publishing history. When they didn’t come, she relaxed, smiled amiably and pointed. “This way. I need to water the new flower beds over there again, anyway. Sure wish we’d get some decent rain. It’s been awfully dry lately.”
“I know. At first I was afraid the spring had dried up.”
Mitch stepped back to give her room to pass, then walked beside her as she led the way down the stone steps and along the path that took them around the east wing of the sprawling dwelling. In the distance lay the offending pond. Closer to the house, a bright yellow hose stood out against the green of the perfectly groomed lawn.
“You have a nice place here,” Mitch said.
“Thanks. I like it.”
“I do a little building, myself.”
