Mason had envisioned Norah as a woman in her sixties who would provide a grandmotherly model for the children in the therapeutic program.
But Norah wasn’t grandmotherly. He could hardly believe she was forty-two. Her straight, silvery-gray hair was arranged over her forehead in a wispy mist, then flowed in soft layers to the base of her neck. Her bright, clear blue eyes were highlighted by long black lashes that contrasted with her ivory skin.
Mason had been lonely since his father’s death, but he hadn’t understood how lonely until Norah had entered his home. Yearnings that Mason thought he’d stifled forever suddenly seemed important again….
IRENE BRAND
Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984, she’s published twenty-four contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Thomas Nelson, Barbour, Kregel and Steeple Hill. She started writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.
Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States, Hawaii excepted, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.
Song of Her Heart
Irene Brand
MILLS & BOON
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I call to remembrance my song in the night:
I commune with mine own heart:
and my spirit made diligent search.
—Psalms 77:6
Thanks to Myra Johnson for sharing information
about her work with SIRE,
Houston’s Therapeutic Equestrian Center.
And to Charles and Elaine Rawson for sharing
expertise on how to prepare for an ox roast.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Norah Williamson picked up speed on the unpaved road, topped a small hill and hit the brakes with such force that the seat belt clamped her body in an unyielding grip. She panicked momentarily, finding it hard to breathe.
Blocking the roadway was the most intimidating animal she’d ever seen in her life—an enormous white-faced red bull with white patches on his chest, flanks and lower legs. Curled forward around his face were two ominous-looking horns. To Norah, the animal appeared to be gigantic as an elephant, although when she recovered from her initial shock, she realized he wasn’t really that big.
Her brother’s accusation flashed through Norah’s mind. When Sam had learned that she’d put the family home in Springfield, Missouri, on the market and was going to take a job on a ranch in northern Nebraska, he’d said, with biting sarcasm, “You’re nothing but a foolish old maid, searching for a dream that vanished twenty-five years ago.”
Norah wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive Sam for that remark, nor did she remind him that he was one of the reasons she’d lost her dream. But now, stranded in the middle of a sea of grassland, her way obstructed by a Hereford bull, she conceded that Sam’s assessment might very well describe her situation.
After leisurely driving for two hours through Nebraska’s Sand Hills, enjoying the spring flowers that dotted the fields of waving grass, pausing often to watch white-tailed deer bounding across the prairie, Norah had become a bit concerned when she realized that darkness was approaching. She’d started wondering how long it had been since she’d seen another car or even a driveway into a ranch. She’d noticed several towns of black-tailed prairie dogs, hundreds of birds on the roadside lakes and herds of white-faced cattle, but no signs of human habitation. This rangeland was overwhelming to a woman who’d lived all of her forty-two years in a city.
Her concern had lightened when she’d seen a mailbox beside the road and a sign indicating that the Flying K ranch, her destination, was three miles away. But right now she was stranded in the middle of nowhere because of this bull.
Knowing she couldn’t spend the night in a standoff with the animal, she blew the horn. He shook his head, bellowed and moved forward menacingly, shoving his huge head and shoulders over the hood of her small car. Eyeball to eyeball with the beast, she raced the engine, backed up quickly and started to pass on the right side. But instead of going forward, the car slid sideways into a deep ditch, startling a grouse from her nest in a clump of grass.
The bull ambled to the side of the road and peered down at her. Norah cowered, body trembling, expecting him to attack the car at any moment. If he did, her ten-year-old compact vehicle wouldn’t provide much protection. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the steering wheel.
“God,” Norah prayed aloud, “what am I going to do? In spite of my family’s displeasure with me, I’m convinced it’s Your will for me to take this job. I need help.”
The car was slanted at a forty-five-degree angle, and the left wheels of the vehicle were suspended several inches above the ground. She shut off the car’s engine, resigned to spend the night in this position if she had to.
Opening the window a sliver, Norah detected the sound of an approaching vehicle, and saw dual head-lights bounding up and down across the prairie. A red pickup ground to a halt, and a large, blackwhiskered man, garbed in jeans, brown jacket, boots and a wide-brimmed hat, jumped from the truck and swatted the bull across the