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Cheyenne Rhodes came striding through the door and, as had happened last night, Trace’s heart jump-started.
“Afternoon,” he said, suddenly not as busy as he thought he was. “Here to see the puppies?”
“Not really.” She tossed her hair back in a self-conscious gesture. “I mean, I’d like to, but that’s not why I’m here.” She paused. “About that job you offered last night…”
“Are you asking if the offer still stands?”
She bit down on her lip before saying a reluctant yes.
Trace studied the darkly pretty woman before him. She didn’t want to take the job, but she was going to. He suspected Cheyenne needed the job for more reasons than a paycheck. Maybe the Lord had sent her. Maybe she needed the warm, accepting love of cats and dogs.
And he could use the help. Maybe he also wanted to get to know her better. For ministry purposes, of course.
And if he was a little too happy about the prospect of getting to know Cheyenne Rhodes, so be it.
LINDA GOODNIGHT
Winner of a RITA® Award for excellence in inspirational fiction, Linda Goodnight has also won the Booksellers’ Best, ACFW Book of the Year, and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from RT Book Reviews. Linda has appeared on the Christian bestseller list and her romance novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Active in orphan ministry, this former nurse and teacher enjoys writing fiction that carries a message of hope and light in a sometimes dark world. She and her husband, Gene, live in Oklahoma. Readers can write to her at [email protected], or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
Finding Her Way Home
Linda Goodnight
If I say “surely the night will cover me,” even the night will be light around me. The darkness is not dark to You, and the night shines as the day.
—Psalms 139:11–12
One of my personal heroes is my daughter, Sundy Goodnight, whose heart is bigger than the sun and who has truly forsaken all to follow the call of the Lord. For her work with Stop Child Trafficking Now, a humanitarian group determined to end the sexual sale of children, as well as for the hundreds of hours of counseling she’s done with broken young women, particularly rape and abuse victims. Her knowledge and understanding of a woman’s psychological function after sexual assault was invaluable in the writing of this book.
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
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Cheyenne Rhodes had hoped if she drove far enough she could outrun the darkness. But six hundred miles and counting had done nothing to shake the brooding anxiety that overtook her one unspeakable night a year ago. In her own garage. With a known criminal. And no help in sight.
She circled her head to loosen the knot in her shoulders and shook off the images flickering through her mind like a bad action movie. It was over. He was dead. She had to forget what had happened and start her life again. Somehow.
She shot a glance at the map opened on the seat beside her. Her destination, a small Oklahoma town, couldn’t be too much farther.
She gave a derisive snort. The town was more like a hiding place than a destination. A place far, far from Colorado. A place where her face and name would not be known, would not be plastered on the front pages of the newspaper, where no one cared what she’d done or suffered that one terrible night.
She clicked on the radio, hoping for something cheery to dispel the dark thoughts. Up ahead on the side of the road an overturned cardboard box caught her attention. Next to the box was a pair of waddling puppies. Cheyenne groaned and tried not to look.
After a second, her shoulders slumped.
“Sucker,” she mouthed, knowing she wasn’t heartless enough to pass them by. She pulled to the side of the empty highway and slammed out of her Honda.
The pups toddled toward her, whining softly. Cheyenne clamped down a surge of pity. Hands on her hips, she stared at them. Poor babies wouldn’t last long out here on the highway.
“What am I gonna do with you? I don’t even know where the nearest animal shelter is.”
One of the pups climbed onto her shoe and, with his round belly and stubby legs, got stuck on high center. He set up such a fuss of wiggles and whines that the other puppy began to cry louder, too. With a groan of surrender, Cheyenne bent down and lifted the tiny dogs against her cheek. The contact with soft, wiggling puppies brought a smile and for that bit of cheer she owed them. They were mutts, but cute ones with black and white spots and upright ears that flopped forward at the tips. Fat bellies and clean coats indicated they’d been dumped recently.
Puppy dumpers were on her list of low-life scum, though nowhere near the top.
“All right, guys—if you are guys—back into the box you go. I’ll give you a lift as far as the next town and then we’re done. Deal?”
She had no business taking them in. She didn’t want to. But even a tough nut like her couldn’t resist a crying puppy.
She crouched beside the box, put the dogs inside and glanced around to be sure no other litter mates had wandered off.
Squinting against the evening sun, she looked down the long stretch of Highway 62 to gauge her location. The pretty road passed verdant rolling hills and distant farmhouses that had grown closer together in the past few miles, a sure sign of approaching civilization. Up ahead, a lazy river flowed beneath an arched bridge, not steel and modern but apparently a throwback to earlier times and made of stone. The foliage increased there, near the river, and the western sunlight glistened on the water. It was a peaceful scene, a scene that beckoned her to explore and relax and forget.
