A Mother at Heart

“Don't make
what
harder?” he asked softly.

“Leaving.”

She saw the stricken look on his face and lowered her gaze, as if to erase the memory. “Jake,” she said before she could stop herself, “I love you, I do. But I can't be what you want me to be.” Her face twisted with sorrow. “I can't be the kind of mother Taryn needs. I thought I could, but now I realize…”

She dropped her head into her hands.
This isn't fair, Lord,
she thought.
I can't be what he wants me to be. The only thing I can do is leave. He will think I hate him, when I'm doing it because I love him….

I have swept away your offenses like a cloud,
your sins like the morning mist.

Return to me, for I have redeemed you.

—
Isaiah
44:22

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

M
iriam yanked open the hood of her small, black sports car, glared down at the smoking engine, then sneezed as the harsh smell of leaking radiator fluid assaulted her nostrils.

She pushed back her short hair and dragged her hand down the back of her head, rolling her neck to ease the kink in it. She was tired, cranky and worn out. For the past few days she'd been putting in twelve hours behind the wheel to get here. It was just her ill luck to break down only three miles from her destination.

With a sigh, she looked around. All she saw were rolling hills, and copses of poplar and spruce trees broken by fields ready for spring planting. Fields she had ridden past for most of her life on her way to school. Fields where she had ridden her horse before spring planting and after combining.

The county of Waylen. Her old home.

She hadn't been back since that horrible day, ten
years ago, when she had walked down these very roads, tears blurring her eyes as she headed toward the highway, her possessions thrown together in a knapsack slung over her shoulder. She had never known why leaving abruptly was called “running away.” She had walked every dreary and heartsick step on that early summer morning, her boyfriend's words ringing in her ears. Jake didn't love her anymore.

Halfway to town her mother had caught up with her, and high drama was replaced by her mother's usual carping and nagging.

Miriam sneezed once more, yanked back to the present by the stark reality that there was still no vehicle in sight. She had no option but to start walking down a gravel road in sandals far more suited to paved city sidewalks.

She pulled out the keys to the car and threw her cell phone in her large handbag along with a bottle of water she always had on hand. She was thankful that her cotton pants were thin. If she got too warm, she could put the cardigan she wore into the bag and risk sunburning her shoulders. She just wished she had a hat.

Shouldering her bag, she took a deep breath and started walking down the road. She pushed aside her irritation, reminding herself that she was on country time now. What would be would be, and fussing wouldn't change anything.

Besides, this was supposed to be a vacation. A time to catch her breath before she went back to try to save her business the only way she knew how.

Miriam pulled a face as she skirted a small puddle
in the middle of the road. The idea of going back to the hurrying and waiting that characterized most of her modeling career held little appeal.

The sun shone down on her unprotected head, and not for the first time since she'd pointed her little car west did Miriam wonder why she hadn't sold her father's farm in western Alberta from the safety of New York.

As long as her mother had been alive the farm had remained unsold. It was where Edna had been born. Even after Edna had her stroke she made it quite clear the farm was not to be sold.

Now her mother was dead. Miriam needed the money to cover part of the debt she had amassed when a creditor defaulted on a large shipment. Her fledgling clothing company had been unable to absorb the huge loss.

Miriam had also fallen back on the one thing she knew. Modeling. She found a new agent. A good man and sincere Christian. Carl Hanson. It was Carl who had suggested this break. “Drive back to your farm,” he said. “Don't sell it from here. Go back to your past. Catch your breath. Take a break from your trouble.”

“If Carl could only see me now,” she muttered, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

She had gone only a quarter of a mile and her feet were already sore, when a sound behind her made her turn. But she saw nothing. Heat shimmered up from the gravel road, and below her the land flowed away. Her eyes followed the brown hills, broken by groupings of poplar and spruce. The bare, lacy branches of the aspen trees held a hint of soft green
that would be full when it was time for her to leave again.

Miriam eased out her breath, looked around. These rolling hills had occupied her mind many times, even in the most exotic of locales.

A yearning caught her unaware, reminding her of past events, still unresolved. Events that Carl knew occupied her mind. Events he had hinted that she should try to settle before she came back to a busy and time-consuming schedule.

Miriam stopped, her heart lifting at the sound of a vehicle coming.

She could hear it slow down by her car, then speed up again. A cloud of dust roiled behind it as it topped the rise.

The sun reflected off the glass of the cab so she couldn't see the driver. The truck skidded to a halt on the loose gravel, and the driver opened his door and got out.

She put on her most polite “I'm sorry to bother you” smile, as the man came closer and stopped in front of her, wiping his hands on his blue jeans, his white T-shirt already stained with grease and dirt.

Dark brown hair in need of a cut fell across his forehead. Heavily lashed brown eyes stared at her from beneath level brows. His full mouth was parted in a half smile. His strong jaw was dark with stubble.

Miriam acknowledged his good looks almost analytically. Her job as a model put her in the company of many good-looking men, but this man had an earthy appeal that spoke more strongly to her than did the clean, stylized looks she was used to. She
was about to raise her hand to shake his when recognition dawned, and her stomach plunged.

Of all the people she would have to meet under these circumstances! Jake Steele. Next-door neighbor, one-time boyfriend and the man over whom she had shed a thousand tears.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, as she realized he didn't recognize her.

“I'm guessing that was your car parked back there. Do you need some help?” Jake said, his deep voice quiet. He looked down at her, his weight resting on one leg, his one thumb hooked on the belt loop of his jeans. The dusty white T-shirt and the faded jeans enhanced his masculine appeal. It wasn't lost on Miriam.

A girl can still lose herself in his eyes, she thought, remembering another time on this same road when she had done just that. When she and Jake had sat on the tailgate of his pickup, arms around each other, ignoring the moonlit landscape below them, lost in each other and the wonder of their love. A love Miriam had promised Jake would be his forever. A love he had quickly replaced—with her best friend.

What a fool she had been! Then came the anger. Again. She was surprised at its intensity, at the fact that after ten years she had any emotions to spare for this man. Taking a breath, she controlled herself. She hadn't come here to get even, just to find closure.

“My car broke down. I'm pretty sure it's the radiator. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

Jake scratched his head, frowning, as if trying to place her. “Were you headed to my folks' place? There's no other place down this road.”

Miriam swallowed down the unexpected hurt, readjusting her purse on her shoulder. “You don't know who I am, do you?”

Jake shrugged, the casual movement giving her a fresh pain. Once upon a time, years ago, she could have come up with some smart comment that would have made him smile, that would have eased away her own awkwardness. But life had been difficult the past few years, and laughter and joking didn't come as readily. Instead, she looked directly at him and simply said, “I'm Miriam.”

She could tell from his expression the moment he finally recognized her. “Miriam Spencer?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Miriam made herself hold his gaze without blinking. “Not too many other Miriams around,” she said, forcing herself to match his own even tone.

He nodded, his hands hanging loosely at his sides as he continued to look at her.

A soft spring breeze swirled around them, and the sharp trill of a red-tailed hawk shivered down. Anticipation hovered around them.

How many times had she relived this reunion in her mind? How many times had she imagined herself coming back, full of self-confidence, preferably on the arm of an equally self-confident and attractive man? Miriam Spencer returning to the place of her humiliation.

“We've been hearing a lot about you,” he finally said, his voice cool.

Miriam felt herself stiffen in reaction to his sudden reserve. She could see the condemnation in his eyes, feel the censure. She wondered which of the many
false stories written about her in the tabloids he actually believed.

“I'm sure you have.” She tilted her head, lifted her chin and held his gaze. “But you should know you can't believe everything you read.” She turned to go, but Jake caught her by the arm, turning her back.

“I'm sorry,” he said automatically, but she could see his apology lacked conviction. He was merely being polite. The way he always was. “Do you need a lift to your place?”

“That's okay. I don't want to put you out.” Miriam shifted her bag, wishing she could just leave, but Jake still had his hand on her arm. Try as she might, she couldn't ignore the strength and warmth of it through her shirt. “And you can let go of my arm,” she said, looking down pointedly.

Jake dropped his hand as if her arm were on fire. “Sorry,” he muttered. Then he looked at her. “Look, it's a long walk back.” He glanced down at the thin sandals on her feet, her loose-fitting linen pants that were already stained with dust from the road. “My truck is no limo, but it will get you to your place quicker than walking.”

Miriam wished she could say no. She didn't want his help. But a three-mile walk, on the sandals he had looked at so disdainfully, wasn't appealing. Accepting his offer was the mature thing to do. And that was part of the reason for this trip, wasn't it? To show herself that she had gotten past this part of her life?

So she nodded. “Thanks for the offer,” she said,
and she walked around to the passenger side of the truck.

He followed, saying nothing, and just as she was about to open the door, he reached past and did it for her.

Miriam glanced at him and nodded her thanks, then climbed up into the truck and settled on the seat.

Jake climbed in without saying a word, put the truck into gear, and they were off. A song blared from the radio, but Jake reached over and switched it off. Miriam wished he hadn't. The muted roar of the truck, the faint whiff of diesel mixed with dust that permeated the cab—both combined to bring back surprisingly sharp memories.

Memories of being scrunched awkwardly into a narrow tractor cab, riding along with Jake while he plowed, cultivated, seeded, sprayed, swathed or combined, singing along with songs on the radio, as they looked into each other's eyes. It didn't matter what job he had to do on his foster father's farm, she usually managed to finagle a ride with him.

Now, Miriam couldn't help but glance over at Jake. His dark hair still curled over the back of his collar, still invited a girl to run her hands through it.

Give your head a shake, Miriam chided herself, sighing lightly. He's married, and even if he wasn't, you're not looking, remember?

She blamed her lapse on the surroundings. It was as if driving down these roads, seeing an endless sky, had immediately erased the past ten years in one quick swipe. It was as if being back here turned her from a woman, determined to keep her heart to her
self, back into that young girl who gave it to the first boy she had been attracted to. Jake Steele.

Stick to the plan, she reminded herself. You're here to sell the farm, to put the past to rest. Then you go back east and keep struggling.

Miriam pushed the depressing thoughts aside and forced herself to ignore Jake, to look around. The road followed a ridge that cut alongside a hill rising above them on one side and flowing away from them on the other. Rock Lake was at the bottom of the hill, hidden by a large stand of spruce and aspen tinged with the pale green of new growth.

Ahead of them lay more fields, more bush, alternating shade and warmth as they drove along. Not much had changed since she left, she realized. The trees looked the same, the fields were the same.

It was like stepping back, and she shivered in reaction.

“Too cold?” Jake asked, finally speaking. He didn't wait for her answer but reached over to adjust the air-conditioning.

“Thanks.” She fidgeted on the seat, the silence in the cab pressing down on her. “How's the weather been?” she blurted out, and then forced herself not to groan. What a cliché question. He would think she was a total airhead.

“Good.”

“Seeding done?”

“Pretty much.”

“How much land do you farm now?”

Jake shrugged. “About five quarters.”

“Do you still have the cows?”

“Yup.”

“How many?”

“One-hundred head. Just commercial.”

“Wow. You and Fred have expanded.”

Jake only nodded, and Miriam turned away in exasperation. He wasn't going to make this one bit easy for her. As if he had the right to be so taciturn.

Miriam wished she had never accepted his offer of a ride. Wished she had just started walking. Sore feet and overheating would have been preferable to this heavy atmosphere.

But she was a big girl now and determined to see this through. After all, he and Paula lived half a mile from her farm; she would be seeing them over the course of her stay. Better to try to get some of that first-time awkwardness out of the way before she met Paula, her old girlfriend—Jake's wife.

“So how is Paula?” she asked, pleased at the even tone in her voice. A tone that didn't betray the hurt that gripped her even now.

Jake's hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he threw her a quick glance, then looked away. “You've really been out of touch, haven't you?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Miriam almost pressed herself back against the seat at the anger in his voice. “I don't understand what you're talking about,” she said sharply. What right did he have to use that tone with her? He was the one who had gotten married barely four months after she left. She knew she had been out of touch, but what did she have to say to either him or her old girlfriend?