Blessings,
Lois Richer
What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.
—Psalms 56:3
For Mom, who wrote her last chapter so well.
And for Oliver, who’s just begun his own story.
Contents
One minute Olivia DeWitt was happily steering her car up the hill toward home, the next minute she was heading for the ditch.
With a gasp of dismay she slammed on her brakes, managing to stay on the road shoulder—barely. She exhaled, slowly released her fingers from the wheel and then exited the car. The sight of the shredded tire made her groan.
“You couldn’t have waited ten minutes before blowing?” Shielding her eyes, Olivia peered longingly at—was it still home?—The Haven, a massive stone house perched on the rocky mountain promontory above her. “At least it’s summer,” she consoled herself, then mocked the sentiment as a teasing breeze reminded her that June in the Canadian Rockies bore no resemblance to June in the eastern provinces.
For a microsecond Olivia considered calling The Haven and asking Jake, her foster aunts’ handyman, to come and help her. Until a glance at her phone showed it was dead. Again. Not that it mattered, because she had no intention of calling.
Olivia never took the easy way out. She prided herself on being responsible and that included fixing a tire, even though she’d have to completely unpack her fully laden car to retrieve her spare.
“Nothing good comes easily,” she reminded herself with a weary sigh.
Olivia had her hand on the trunk latch when a rumble to her right made her pause. A half-ton truck beetled toward her, leaving behind a massive dust plume from the bumpy dirt track—well, you could hardly call it a road.
Some might say you could hardly call the vehicle a truck. Rusted-out fenders, splotches of turquoise paint dabbed here and there—probably to contain the rust—and a cracked windshield numbered among its less noteworthy features.
“At least his vehicle is running,” she chastised herself.
He was Gabe Webber, foreman of the Double M, the sprawling ranch next door to The Haven. Olivia knew him, but only casually. Gabe had been employed after she and her foster sisters Victoria, Adele and Gemma had left The Haven to attend university.
Years ago, when they were not quite teens, Olivia and the other girls had been brought here by Tillie and Margaret Spenser, former missionaries and aging owners of the huge stone house and pristinely forested estate known as The Haven. Despite their being dubbed troublemakers in the foster care system, the four girls had bonded while the Spenser sisters, whom they affectionately called “the aunties,” sheltered and lovingly raised them as if they were all part of one big family. Those precious years had created a debt none of the four girls could ever hope to repay.
Over a year ago the aunties had come up with a plan to sponsor an outreach program at The Haven, a way to offer respite to troubled foster children. Victoria had set that plan into motion. Then last fall, Adele, Olivia’s second foster sister, came on board as the food and beverage manager. In a recent phone call to Olivia, Victoria had raved that the foster kids who now came to The Haven on a weekend, or for weeklong programs, loved the addition of trail rides to their activities, and she’d given a big part of the credit to the Double M foreman, Gabe.
Olivia was happy for Victoria and Adele and The Haven’s success, but she didn’t intend to become part of it. Olivia didn’t do responsibility for kids. Never again.
Gabe’s battered truck pulled up behind her car, motor purring smoothly. He climbed out. Six feet four inches and leaner than lean, Gabe Webber was always the image that came to mind when Olivia thought “cowboy.” Handsome and hunky, his crisp dark hair glistened in the sunshine as he whipped off his black Stetson and smiled at her.
“Hello,