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“You’re going to be safe here, Alexandra.”
John resisted the urge to reach out and brush away the lines of worry from her brow with the pad of his thumb. He knew what it was like to be afraid. To hurt. To want peace. “I’m going to make sure of it.”
“I can’t ask that of you. I’m not even sure I should be here. You’re not my keeper.”
“Someone has to be.” John offered her the cookie bowl. “Just think of me and my family as your temporary guardian angels. We’ll watch over you.”
“A girl can’t have too many angels looking out for her.” Alexandra bit into an iced cookie and let the sweetness melt on her tongue. She thought of her self-esteem, still tender, and tried to put aside the bad memories. She was strong enough to make a new life. With the Lord watching over her and a few extra guardian angels, she couldn’t go wrong.
John’s gaze met hers, full of promise, as unyielding as the strongest steel. “You’re safe with me. You can count on it.”
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.
Heaven Knows
Jillian Hart
MILLS & BOON
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Dear friends, since God so loved us,
we also ought to love one another.
—1 John 4:11
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
The warmth of the early-spring sun felt like a promise. Alexandra Sims shut the door of her ancient VW, careful of the loose window, and stared at the little town. She could see all of it from where she stood, with shops on one side of the road. On the other, railroad tracks paralleled the town, and beyond, new green fields shimmered.
She’d grown up in a town like this one along the coast of Washington State. So small, her high school graduating class had been thirty-eight. Maybe because of bad memories, she didn’t like small towns much. They’d never brought her luck.
But today she felt luck was in the air, and that made her step lighter as she strolled along the cement sidewalk. She’d pulled off the interstate to fill her gas tank and, since she was here, maybe she’d stop to eat lunch and do a little shopping. This was as good of a place as any.
This little town of Manhattan was truly no different from the other small Montana towns she’d passed through since recently she’d thrown what little she needed into her car and fled in the dark of the night.
Few of the buildings were new, many dating from the fifties or earlier when agriculture belonged to the family farmer and not huge corporations. The people who lived here took pride in their town—the streets were clean, the sidewalks swept and not a speck of litter could be found anywhere.
Sparkling store windows tossed her reflection back at her as she halted beneath a blue-striped awning. Corey’s Hardware, the sign proclaimed in bright blue paint.
She pushed her sunglasses onto the crown of her head and stepped through the doorway. A bell jangled overhead.
“Hello, there,” called a polite male voice the instant her sneakers hit the tile floor. “What can I do for you?”
Whoever belonged to that molasses-rich voice wasn’t in sight. Head-high shelves of merchandise blocked the way.
“Where are your ropes?” she called out.
“To your right, all the way against the wall.” A handsome athlete of a man came into view behind the long, old-fashioned wooden counter.
She caught a glimpse of dark black hair tumbling over a high intelligent forehead. Brooding hazel eyes, a sharp straight blade of a nose and a strong jaw that looked about as soft as granite. Definitely a remote, unreachable type.
She retreated to the far wall, where everything from braided hemp to thin nylon rope could be found. Lucky thing, because she found exactly what she needed. What she didn’t find was something to cut it with.
“How much do you need?” he asked in that voice that could melt chocolate.
“Three yards.”
He was at her side, taller than she’d first thought. He was well over six feet, and while he wasn’t lean, he wasn’t heavily muscled, either. He didn’t have much to say, which was fine with her. Really nice and handsome men made her nervous and tongue-tied. Probably because she wasn’t used to them—and great guys had always seemed out of her reach.
As gallant as a knight of old, he measured the thin nylon cord for her, giving her an extra foot, before cutting the end neatly and looping it into a tidy coil for her. “Anything else?”
“That should do it.”
He was very efficient—she had to give him that.
“I’ll
