The Bounty Hunter’s Redemption. Janet Dean

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СКАЧАТЬ harming her, but that wouldn’t stop this driven man accustomed to getting his way.

      Inside her gloves, Carly’s hands chilled. He had appeared confident, as if he’d known the law was on his side and she was destined to lose her shop. If the judge agreed, she’d have to move, start over. Leave everything she’d worked hard to build.

      Lord, why did You allow a new threat? Hasn’t my son been through enough? Why?

      Well, she would handle this. Henry would be home from school soon. No time to search. After she tucked him in tonight, she’d look for that deed, proving the bounty hunter was lying through his even, white teeth.

      * * *

      Carly sat on her son’s bed. Across from her Henry tugged his muslin nightshirt to his knees, his head bent low, revealing his slender nape and the curve of his velvety cheek.

      With a grin Henry scrambled up beside her and cuddled close, gazing up at her. “Mama, is that nice man coming back?”

      “What nice man?”

      “The man that promised to help you. When you was asleep.”

      Henry thought that bounty hunter was nice? Nate Sergeant would most likely show up tomorrow with his sister in tow and try to toss them out.

      Well, she wouldn’t budge. “I expect he will.” I expect he will help us to the street. But she couldn’t say that without scaring her son.

      She gazed into his guileless blue eyes. “Why do you call Mr. Sergeant nice?”

      “You fell down and he caught you. He looked scared. Not scary like Pa.”

      Uninvited images surfaced in Carly’s mind, of a full head of dark hair, the shadow of beard along his chiseled jaw, gray eyes laced with regret, the pupils rimmed in charcoal. Those pupils had enlarged, and she’d felt the strangest pull.

      Ridiculous.

      Nate Sergeant might be handsome, manly, even uneasy about snatching her shop, but that wouldn’t stop him.

      “I thought you was dead, Mama. I was afraid.”

      “Oh, sweet boy, I’m sorry I frightened you.”

      His chin trembling, Henry clutched her arm. “Are you sick?”

      “No, I’m healthy and strong. Why, I could wrestle a grizzly bear and win.” Carly tugged him onto her lap.

      He smiled up at her, his fear forgotten. “I’m strong, too,” he said, fisting his right hand and gazing at the tiny swell beneath his sleeve. “See my muscle?”

      “You are strong. Now climb into bed, my little monkey.”

      Henry grabbed the stuffed elephant she’d made for him, its trunk bent and droopy, and scrambled under the covers, pulling them up until only his eyebrows stuck above the quilt. “I’m sleepin’, Mama.”

      “Is that so?” Carly leaned forward and peeled back the edge of the blanket with one finger. “Well, I don’t see a sleeping boy. I see a pretending boy.” She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Henry’s forehead, pausing long enough to inhale his sweet, innocent fragrance. He filled her heart with joy, made her world complete. “I expect a story will make you sleepy.”

      The blanket inched down until she could see mischievous blue eyes, an impish grin. “I love stories.”

      Book in hand, Carly slid into the space beside her son. “That’s good, because I love reading you stories.”

      Head cradled on his hands, Henry curved toward her, a sixty-pound bundle of energy that brought infinite happiness to her life. Moments like these were what mattered. Moments like these filled her life with meaning. Moments like these had gotten her through the worst days with Max and had her counting her blessings twice over.

      Henry listened intently to every word, only interrupting to mimic the sounds made by the animals in the story.

      Carly tucked the book on the nightstand. “Time for our bedtime song.” The nighttime ritual reminded Carly of her mother’s faith and the memories of the happy times they’d shared.

      Carly cupped her son’s cheek in her palm, and then sang, “Father, we thank Thee for the night and for the blessed morning light. For food and rest and loving care and all that makes the day so fair.”

      Lying back on the pillow, his features sweeter than a rosy-cheeked cupid on a postcard Valentine, Henry tilted his face to the ceiling, as if singing for God Himself. “Help me do the things I should and be to others kind and good. In all I do in work or play to grow more loving every day.”

      Henry rolled his head toward her and smiled. “Does Grandma hear us singing?”

      “She might. If she does, she’s proud of her grandson.”

      “She’s proud of you, too, Mama.”

      What had Carly ever done to deserve this precious boy? Her throat knotted. She was all that stood between Henry and the ugliness of this world. Was she up to the task of guiding her son to become a man who loved God, a man who thought of others, a man who lived the words of this bedtime song?

      To protect Henry and ensure that happy life she wanted for him, she must first save their home and livelihood.

      Help me, Lord. Please, save my shop.

      She kissed Henry on both cheeks, and then walked to the door. “Sleep tight.”

      “’Night, Mama.” Henry’s eyelids were already lowering, his mouth opening in a wide yawn.

      Once satisfied her son was asleep, Carly began her search for the deed. In the attic, Max’s trunk was tucked in a dark corner of the back wall, off by itself. Much like the man. During the eight years of her marriage, Max had dwelled on the fringe of her life. What did she know about him, really?

      Inside the trunk under a pile of photo albums, Carly found Lillian’s Bible, the binding wobbly, the pages worn, verses underlined. Stuck beside the Twenty-third Psalm was an envelope addressed to Max, the flap open. She pulled out and unfolded a single sheet of paper, the words written with an unsteady hand.

      Dearest Max,

      I pen this letter knowing my time on earth is coming to an end. I love you, son. I will die with a prayer for you on my lips, that you will return to the Lord and one day we will meet again.

      Your loving mother

      Tears stung Carly’s eyes. From what she knew, Lillian’s prayer had gone unanswered. If she’d tried harder, could Carly have led Max to the Lord? Or would she have paid dearly for suggesting he needed God and should attend church?

      The choice had been Max’s to make. The consequence, his doing, yet Lillian had also paid a price for her son’s rebellion.

      What would Carly do if Henry made bad choices, turned his back on God? To be both father and mother to her son weighed heavily on her, but better to rear him alone than to expose him to another bad influence, another heartless man.

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ