Kansas Courtship. Victoria Bylin

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      “You tricked me.”

      “You tricked yourself,” Nora said mildly. “You jumped to a conclusion.”

      “A logical one,” Zeb said.

      “A biased one.”

      “You knew I’d think you were male.”

      “You’re right.” She wrinkled her nose like a little girl. “I apologize.”

      She looked downright cute. Zeb wanted to kiss her. The thought made him crazy. What was he thinking? She was an uppity know-it-all woman. She had too much education and too much ambition. The next woman he kissed would be his future wife, whoever annoyed him the least. Dr. Mitchell annoyed him the most.

      “You’re hired for one month. Make it work or get out.”

      AFTER THE STORM:

      THE FOUNDING YEARS

      A tornado can’t tear apart the fabric of faith and love in a frontier Kansas town

      Kansas Courtship—

      Victoria Bylin, March 2010

      VICTORIA BYLIN

      fell in love with God and her husband at the same time. It started with a ride on a big red motorcycle and a date to see a Star Trek movie. A recent graduate of UC Berkeley, Victoria had been seeking that elusive “something more” when Michael rode into her life. Neither knew it, but they were each reading the Bible.

      Five months later they got married and the blessings began. They have two sons and have lived in California and Virginia. Michael’s career allowed Victoria to be both a stay-at-home mom and a writer. She’s living a dream that started when she read her first book and thought, “I want to tell stories.” For that gift, she will be forever grateful.

      Feel free to drop Victoria an e-mail at [email protected] or visit her Web site at www.victoriabylin.com.

      Kansas Courtship

      Victoria Bylin

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Special thanks and acknowledgment to Victoria Bylin for her contribution to the AFTER THE STORM: THE FOUNDING YEARS miniseries.

      Thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of him in every place.

      —II Corinthians 2:14

      For my grandmothers,

       Ethel Kennedy Bylin and Cecille Jewel Vickers

      Nana Bylin bought me books

       And Grandma Vickers gave me a love of writing

       Eternal love to you both!

      Contents

      Prologue

      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

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Epilogue

      Questions for Discussion

      Prologue

      June 1860

       High Plains, Kansas

      Zeb Garrison didn’t think much of church or preachers. Still, he had to give Reverend Preston credit for striking a chord that hadn’t stopped echoing since Sunday morning. Zeb had been sitting in the back pew, alone because he’d overslept and his sister, Cassandra, had left without him. He’d been half asleep when the reverend jarred him awake with a single statement.

      If you died tomorrow, what would you leave behind?

      The reverend hadn’t shouted the words. He hadn’t even raised his voice. He’d made a statement, but the question had stayed in Zeb’s mind for five solid days as he went about the business of running Garrison Mill. It hung there now, dangling like a ripe apple ready to drop.

      Positioned at the standing desk in his mill’s office, a custom piece of furniture built to match his height, Zeb dragged his hand through his dark hair. He needed a haircut, badly. As always, he’d put it off to the point of rebellion. A glance at the wall clock told him the town barber would be open, but a look out the window confirmed what he’d noticed earlier. Bad weather was coming. Fast. Through the window, he saw clouds racing across the grasslands, picking up speed like a runaway horse.

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