A Love Worth Waiting For
Her neighbors in Dry Creek, Montana, think Gracie Stone is rebuilding her life just fine on the family ranch. But Calen Gray knows better. Foreman of nearby Elkton Ranch, Calen has been sweet on Gracie half their lives. But harrowing circumstances kept them apart—and sent Gracie away. Now she’s back, barely holding her head up, and refusing to believe she has a second chance at happiness. With faith, love and the gentle airing of long-held secrets, Calen just might find a way to bring back her smile—forever.
“Tessie likes you.”
“She’s special, isn’t she?” Gracie replied.
“You’re my first choice to help me take care of her,” Calen replied.
Gracie smiled and nodded. “I’m glad to help, then.”
Calen draped a blanket over Gracie’s shoulders and tucked it between them in the place under his arm where she was pressed against him. She closed her eyes as though she was weary.
Then he leaned over and kissed her forehead.
“What’s that for?” she muttered sleepily.
He smiled. “Nothing.”
“You always were a Romeo,” she whispered without opening her eyes. “A woman in every port, Buck used to say.”
“I never did take to the sea,” he corrected her mildly. He wondered suddenly how different their futures would have been if he’d been the first one to ask Gracie out on a date in high school. He had wanted to, but his nerves had failed him. By the time he got the courage, Buck had asked her instead.
Maybe there was time yet to find out where the feelings he had for her would lead if he let them....
JANET TRONSTAD
grew up on her family’s farm in central Montana and now lives in Pasadena, California, where she is always at work on her next book. She has written more than thirty books, many of them set in the fictitious town of Dry Creek, Montana, where the men spend the winters gathered around the potbellied stove in the hardware store and the women make jelly in the fall.
Second Chance in Dry Creek
Janet Tronstad
He causes His sun to rise on the wicked
and the good, and He makes it rain on the just
and the unjust.
—Matthew 5:45
I dedicate this book to broken families.
May God have mercy on all of us.
Contents
Chapter One
Gracie Stone sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea growing cold in front of her. She gathered her frayed bathrobe around her against the night’s chill and glanced up at the clock, wincing when she saw it was almost midnight. Every time she was ready to doze off, she remembered the determined voices of her grown sons as they had vowed earlier in the day that they were going to find a husband for her.
“They’re just worried about me living alone,” she muttered to Rusty, the dog lying at her feet. There had been a string of gas station robberies up north around Havre, and she supposed the boys were right to be concerned.
“But a husband? That’s a bit extreme,” she said, telling her faithful companion the same thing she’d told her sons, as she bent down to rub the dog’s ears. She had returned to the family ranch in Dry Creek, Montana, to get her old life back, not start a new one. “They should know I’m not going to take a chance on marriage again.”
Suddenly, a flicker of light shone briefly through the window above the sink.
Gracie blinked before realizing it had to be the headlights of a vehicle driving over the small rise in the lane that led to her house. She figured she might as well put the teakettle back on the burner. As she stood up, she wondered which of her three sons had looked out his window in the middle of the night and noticed that her light was on. Each lived with his newlywed wife on the ranch property, their individual houses just far apart enough to need separate driveways.
Gracie reached up to the cupboard for another mug. She would appreciate the company tonight even if she had to listen to another lecture on the virtues of matrimony. Rusty seemed to agree. He’d gotten to his feet and was running in circles around the table, barking as he went.
“Hush now,” she said. The dog was always excited to see her sons.
Just then, she heard the sound of the engine stopping. Shortly thereafter she heard a faint knock on her kitchen door.
She paused, the mug still in her hand. She hadn’t heard footsteps on the porch, and all of her sons wore cowboy boots that beat a loud rhythm as they pounded up those old wooden steps. Rusty usually didn’t carry on for this long when they came, either.
“Just a minute,” she called as she set the cup down on the counter and tightened the sash on her robe. Her feet were bare, but that couldn’t be helped. At least she was wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants under her robe.
She stepped over to the sink and looked through the window. The porch was around the corner, but she could see a small car, its headlights still on, parked in her driveway. She didn’t recognize the vehicle, but then none of the neighbors would be knocking at her door at this time of night without phoning first anyway.
“Yes?” she said as she walked closer to the door.
Her