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It wasn’t every day a girl got to round up runaway horses with a handsome—and kind—cowboy.
“He’s cheeky. You taught him that, didn’t you?” Lauren asked.
“Sure did. I suppose there weren’t horses where you grew up,” Caleb said.
“The merry-go-round kind. As a little girl, I always wanted a horse. It was just a phase, I guess.”
“It’s a phase I never grew out of.”
“It must be nice.” In the mellow evening sunshine, he looked like everything good in the world. Her heart ached a little, and she couldn’t say why.
“Well,” she said as she took a step back. “I’d best get going.”
She kept backing away, because it was safer. Maybe it was better to escape while she could. Even a man as decent as Caleb had shortcomings, as everyone did. And that was the exact reason why she couldn’t let herself start to think that he was as great as he seemed, as she seemed to want him to be.
JILLIAN HART
makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.
A McKaslin Homecoming
Jillian Hart
Perfect love drives out fear.
—1 John 4:18
To Patience Smith, with my deepest thanks
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
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Lauren McKaslin climbed out of her little compact sedan and into the heat of the central Montana afternoon. She looked around at the sprawling two-story house on the rise above her—her grandmother’s house.
Nothing about it seemed familiar. She’d hoped to remember some part of her early childhood, jog some memory of visiting her grandmother here, but she had no memory at all. As always, the past remained as void as a black hole hovering in space, its gravity so powerful that no light or substance could escape.
She studied the surrounding countryside and tried to breathe in some of the peaceful calm, but it was impossible. She’d come to meet the grandmother she couldn’t remember. The one her mother had told her had passed away.
Well, wasn’t this the ultimate moment of truth? She’d driven a long way and she’d worried every mile of her trip from Southern California. Her heart beat a panicky staccato against her ribs and her hands were cold despite the ninety-six-degree shade. Since she’d started college, she’d been alone. Her mother didn’t approve.
Please, Lord, let this turn out like I hope. I really want a family. It wasn’t only her grandmother she’d come to meet. That was a scary thought, too.
The gravel crunched beneath the soles of her worn-out rubber flip-flops. Her throat was dry as she closed her car door. It sounded like a slam in the far-reaching stillness. The only other sound was the whisper of the hot breeze in the maples overhead.
It’s going to be okay, Lauren. Remember how nice Gran was on the phone? But that didn’t stop the anxiety washing through her. Shyness rolled over her in a wave. But something worse, something as heavy as lead, was sitting in the middle of her stomach. Fear. Maybe it was because of her mother’s response when, as a teenager, she’d wanted to contact her long-lost family. She won’t want you any more than she wanted me. Go ahead. You’ll see. As for the rest of ’em, they didn’t want you then, they won’t want you now.
Her life had been so bleak at the time, those words had seemed reasonable. And for the last few years she’d been afraid to find out. What if she learned her mother was right?
Don’t think about that, Lauren. Her mom had rarely been right about anything. She was probably wrong about this, too. Still, the doubt had taken hold and, like a vicious dog, had sunk in its teeth and would not let go. She felt very small standing in the shade of the enormous, upscale house. Even while she smoothed at the wrinkles in her walking shorts, she imagined she was very rumpled.
“Hello there.”
She startled at the rumble of a man’s voice—vibrant and resonant and deep. Then she saw him. He was nothing more than a part of the shadows in the shade of the porch. The shadow became a tall, wide-shouldered man. As he ambled toward her with an easygoing stride, he came into the touch of the dappled sunlight and she could see him clearly. He had a rugged, granite look to him. Dark brown hair tumbled over a high forehead. A confident sloping nose, a hard line of mouth, dark eyes and a chiseled jaw all complemented his square, handsome face. His big hands gripped the polished porch rail as he focused on her.
Shyness rolled over her in a bigger wave. Who was he? Before she could get up the courage to ask, he walked down the steps in her direction.
“Are you looking for Mary?”
She nodded, realizing that with every step he took, he became bigger. Not that he was scary looking, it was just that she didn’t trust men that much. Also, as far as she could tell, they were absolutely alone, aside from the half-dozen horses in the field beyond the impressive house and the acres of grass and white rail fencing and fruit trees. She liked to keep her distance from strange men.
But then he smiled and that simple change softened his strong features. He was near enough that she could see the warmth of his eyes, which had initially seemed so dark. There was friendliness in those depths.
Nothing to be worried about. She’d grown up in the inner city and old habits die hard. “Y-yes, I’m looking for Mary. She’s expecting me.”
“All I know is that she gave me a call about thirty minutes back, said she was running late and asked me to be here to meet her houseguest. I suppose
