His Montana Sweetheart. Ruth Herne Logan

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      That scenario meant Liv better figure out where she was going and what she was doing sooner rather than later. But for now— “Dad’s got a touch, that’s for sure. I’ll make certain the downstairs bedroom is clean.”

      “A few prayers would be a nice addition,” her father mused. “I think Grandma’s had a lot on her plate, and the thought of closing up the house, selling things, or sorting through and giving them away, weighs on her.”

      “A daunting task,” Jane agreed. “But we can help while we’re there. And if we bring them here, I think your aunt Kathy would step in and oversee the real estate sale. She’s closest.” Jane turned back to Liv. “I’m sorry we’re ducking out on you your second week back, but you’ll be busy with your historical research and the centennial stuff, so it should be fine. Right?”

      Talk about embarrassing. To have a mother coddling a thirty-year-old daughter in the very nest she was born in?

      Liv bit back a growl of self-contempt and nodded. “I’m knee-deep in research now, and actually loving it. The Lewis and Clark influence on this part of the country, the early settlers east of here, the problems that brought the Shaw and Massey families across the state to settle in the gulch? There’s some truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stuff in those old stories. So I’m fine, I’ll take care of everything here—”

      “Including Tabby.”

      The overweight cat shifted on the porch glider. He yawned, stretched and settled back into slumber on the woven floral cushion, a purr of contentment lulling the old boy back to sleep.

      “I’m putting him on an exercise regimen the minute you’re gone,” Liv confirmed, but she softened the order by reaching out and stroking the gray-striped cat’s head. “He’s gotten lazy with Tank gone.”

      Dave’s expression said he agreed. “Cats are disinclined to exercise when they get older. Or maybe he just misses his old friend.”

      “We talked about getting a new dog, but a puppy might be too much for Grandma and Grandpa. The way things are going, we didn’t want to jump into anything.”

      Kind. Considerate. Thoughtful.

      Her parents were that and more, cornerstones of their community. And they did it together, bound by love.

      “I almost wrapped up that picnic bench in time to get to the prayer service tonight,” Dave noted as he leaned a hip against a strong, solid porch rail. “Hearing those bells ring, knowing what it meant, to pause and remember what we’ve been given, I think I did an even better job of sanding those seat boards.”

      “I love hearing the bells from Mountainview Church, even though it’s a recording,” Livvie admitted. “The area churches near my old condo had to silence their bell towers because neighbors complained.”

      “I can’t imagine such a thing.” Jane sat straighter, surprised. “Complaining about church bells? Who does that?”

      “Some folks figure sleeping in is more important than going to services,” Dave offered. “But I think there’s something nice about getting up early and using that time to do some good.”

      Liv nodded, but realized she’d fallen more into the first category than the last, and that made her a little sad. Had she gotten lazy these past years? Uninvolved?

      Yes.

      The truth of that lay before her: her grandparents’ circumstances, her lack of contact with family, keeping her distance on purpose. A sense of selfishness rose within her, but her mother put a hand on her arm, a touch that said she understood more than she let on. “It’s hard to keep up with everything when we’re first on our own, in a new area and newly married. Having said that, I’m mighty glad to have you here but sorry for the reasons that brought you back.”

      “Me, too.” Her father’s look said he’d be there if she wanted to talk but wouldn’t pressure her. While she was grateful for that space, she knew Grandma Mason would have no such qualms.

      “Grandma will not share your reserve,” Livvie reminded them. “She’ll delve until she gets answers.” She stood and stretched, ready for the sweet oblivion of sleep, away from failed marriages and old boyfriends. “In a way, that might be healing to both of us. Good night, guys. Love you.”

      They called good-night to her as she entered the house, a feeling of same-old, same-old washing over her.

      She’d taken big steps backward these past few weeks. It pained her to admit it. But as she climbed the steps, the image in her head wasn’t the pretty mountain painting at the ninety-degree turn, or the tiny floral wallpaper from her childhood.

      It was Jack’s expression as he spotted her that evening, his look, his gaze, the way his eyes sharpened in awareness.

      Her gut clenched, remembering. Her heart skipped a beat.

      She smacked a firm “Don’t Go There” on the physical reactions. She hadn’t come back here to see Jack McGuire. She’d come to regather her bearings while at a crossroads of life. To think. Plan.

      Pray?

      Her mother would have added that. Not Livvie. She’d prayed as a child and as a young adult, but she could see no tangible answer to prayer in her life. Sure, she had blessings in her parents, her education, and a few good friends.

      But that seemed like a meager pile at age thirty. Had prayer helped her situation with Jack eight years back?

      No.

      And if she was to list each instance of prayer in the past decade, she came up with a big fat zero on the response page. So be it.

      But as she climbed into the old familiar bed, the memory of those bells, chiming an eventide call to worship, almost made her wish she could answer the invitation. Almost...but not quite.

      * * *

      “Jack, you got a minute?”

      Jack turned at the top of the church steps and nodded to the new pastor of Mountainview Church of the Savior. “Ethan, yeah. What’s up?”

      “I heard through the grapevine—”

      “Gossip mill, you mean.”

      Ethan Johnson’s laugh said he couldn’t disagree. “We’ll work on that over a long, cold winter. Anyway, if you need players for the game, I’m not old-time Jasper Gulch, but I played some ball in my time. I’d be glad to fill a spot.”

      “Do you have a favorite position?”

      “Shortstop.”

      Jack met the thirtysomething pastor’s gaze and lowered his voice. “Folks that play now and again don’t play shortstop. You good?”

      “Played in a couple of district championships back in the day. Did all right.” The humility in his tone didn’t negate the high level of play the words district championship brought to Jack’s mind.

      “I think the Good Lord just dropped a gold mine in my lap.” Jack grinned and pounded Ethan on the back. “You just filled a very important hole in our СКАЧАТЬ