Authors: Jennifer Rodewald
Reclaimed
RECLAIMED
J
ENNIFER
R
ODEWALD
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Rodewald
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
978-0692517093
Reclaimed
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Rodewald
All rights reserved.
ISBN:
978-0692517093
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles, without the prior written consent of the author.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
Cover Design by Jennifer Rodewald and
Roseanna White Designs,
www.RoseannaWhiteDesigns.com
Cover photos from
www.Shutterstock.com
Author Photo by Larisa O’Brien Photography
Published by Rooted Publishing
McCook, NE 69001
Opening quote taken from
Morning and Evening
by C. H. Spurgeon and revised by Alistair Begg, © 2003, from October 18. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, Wheaton, IL 60187,
www.crossway.org
.
Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible
®
, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
For my Superman,
because you show me
A more excellent way.
“Starving souls live at a distance from the Mercy-seat and become like the parched fields in times of drought.”
~CH Spurgeon
Maybe today I will find peace.
Suzanna Wilton fingered the ring dangling from a chain around her neck. The metal pressed cold against her skin, and the bitter taste of resentment soured in her mouth.
Nope. Country life didn’t fix the heartache. Even after living in Rock Creek, Nebraska for four weeks, Suzanna couldn’t claim peace. But, then again, it’d been years since she’d lived with anything she could label as peace.
She stepped out of her front door onto the wood-planked porch, amazed to hear nothing but the gentle rustle of a hushed morning. Echoes of city life still reverberated in her mind—busy streets, sirens and the footfalls of hundreds of people as they passed below her third-floor balcony. Another life. One she did not intend to revisit.
A kitten bounded onto the porch and wove its velvety body around her ankles. Suzanna bent to lift the little tabby, tucking it under her chin to feel its silky coat against her skin. Beyond her front yard the pasture seemed to never end, and she drank in the view. Emerald waves rippled along the hills, which heaved and sighed to the horizon. Autumn-blazed treetops clustered on her left, protecting the spring-fed creek nestled in the small ravine.
All the harmony one could imagine, and yet she was, as ever, unsettled, dissatisfied. Restless.
The gravel road crackled as an engine rumbled from the south. No more than three vehicles passed the farmhouse on any given day, so it commanded Suzanna’s attention. A blue truck slowed as its nose peeked through the tree line, stirring behind it a brown cloud which billowed toward the far pasture.
Dust. She’d traded smog for dust. Even after a rain, the clay roads would suck the moisture in deep, leaving the surface dry and cracked. Within a day her Jeep Wrangler would be kicking up the dust.
Suzanna scowled as the vehicle turned into her dirt-packed driveway. Setting the kitten on the porch railing, she stepped down the porch stairs. The driver put his early nineties Ford in
park
and slid his Stetson over his cropped hair. Another middle-aged cowboy.
She could guess what the stranger wanted as his booted feet touched the ground, so she couldn’t muster a friendly greeting.
“Miss Wilton?” He reached toward her as he strode away from his truck.
She dipped a curt nod while she gripped his hand, intending to send a message. Maybe she was a city girl on her own in the middle of nowhere, but she wasn’t an idiot.
“Paul Rustin,” he continued smoothly. “I’m your nearest neighbor to the south.”
Hmm. It’d been a month since she’d moved in. He just now decided to be neighborly? And they say small towns are so friendly. She’d met her city neighbors within twenty-four hours of moving. Must be a different standard ’round these here parts.
“So, you’re Mike’s daughter.”
Obviously.
“The younger of two, yes.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man, a good neighbor. I feel bad that I missed his services. I’ve been away.”
A stale excuse. Away where? She’d learned quite a bit in the short time she’d been on the land. First rule: animals need daily care. Mr. Whatever-his-name-is was blowing dust in her face. She really hated dust.
“You doing okay out here on your own?”
Suzanna crossed her arms. “Managing, so far.”
“I imagine it’s quite a shock, with your dad passing and you suddenly moving. I thought I’d let you know I’m available if you need help.”
Uh-huh. Wait for it
. “Sure.” Suzanna barely held her sarcasm. “Thanks.”
The cowboy kicked at the dirt beneath his boots, shoving his hands in his denim pockets. “Also wanted you to know if you need an out, I’m prepared to make you an offer on this place.”
And there it was.
Get in line, buddy
. She’d had enough. Tossing her shoulder-length hair, Suzanna pinned him with a glare.
“Why is it you cowboys see some city girl and assume she’s a sucker?”
The man drew back, his eyes growing round. “Excuse me?”
Shocking, isn’t it, cowboy? Yes, a city girl can have a backbone—and a brain.
“Land’s not for sale, mister.” Suzanna bit off each word as she stepped into his space. “I’m fine. Thank you for the concern.”
He stared, his mouth sagging open. “Yes, ma’am.” Still looking dumbfounded, he tipped his hat and backed away. “You have a good day, Miss Wilton.”
“Oh yes,” she muttered under her breath, “you too.”
The truck growled to life, and her neighbor pulled out, returning the way he’d come. She had yet to meet a man on this pathetic dot of earth who didn’t offer an introduction only to present her a deal—one certainly tailored to benefit himself. Friendliness evidently came as a pretense in this small town.
Well, she had no intention of selling.
Wow. She was pricklier than a yucca plant.
Paul passed the tree line and floored the gas pedal. Irritation exploded inside his head. Where did she get off jabbing him with her spiny rudeness? Especially after he’d made it a priority to visit her first thing. Such a waste of time. He had nothing in his fridge worth chewing on, and catching up on business in town would take at least a week, but he’d deferred it all to say how’ do. What a rip.
And to think Andrea had told him he had a pretty, new neighbor. Apparently Dre hadn’t met the woman. His sister knew he wasn’t that desperate. Or stupid.
What was the bur with that girl, anyway? She hadn’t even smiled. Eyes cold enough to warrant a parka in August. He was a perfect stranger. Didn’t she know it was rude to treat another human being that way?
Okay, she’d lost her dad. Maybe that gave her a little latitude. A smidge. Anyway, he didn’t need to let it ruin his day. He had too much to do.
Nearing his home, Paul kept the pressure on the gas and bypassed his driveway. Two miles down the road, Dre would have some breakfast about ready by now. A full stomach, some laughs with the kids, and a mug of coffee with Tom should set his day straight. Miss Wilton could pickle away in her sourness. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference to him.
