A Place to Belong © 2017 by Barbara Tifft Blakey
An Unlikely Hero © 2017 by Mary Davis
The Gambler’s Daughter © 2017 by Darlene Franklin
Her Lonely Heart © 2017 by Cynthia Hickey
My Dear Adora © 2017 by Maureen Lang
Ride into My Heart © 2017 by Debby Lee
Echoes of the Heart © 2017 by Donna Schlachter
Abundance of the Heart © 2017 by Connie Stevens
Embattled Hearts © 2017 by Pegg Thomas
Print ISBN 978-1-68322-117-3
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-119-7
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-118-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in Canada.
Table of Contents
A Place to Belong
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
An Unlikely Hero
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
The Gambler’s Daughter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Her Lonely Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
My Dear Adora
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Ride into My Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Echoes of the Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Abundance of the Heart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Embattled Hearts
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
A Place to Belong
by Barbara Tifft Blakey
Chapter One
Abigail Robertson shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare in the blue-white Nevada sky. Sweat trickled down the sides of her face and the middle of her back. Flies buzzed. She swatted one away then repositioned herself on the woven mat, relaxing her crossed legs. On one side next to her lay a stout walking cane, and on the other, her deceased mother’s sketchbook, the pages open to a scene far different from the one Abigail drew.
Her mother’s depicted a two-story log cabin nestled among trees, with snow-covered mountains rising in the distance. Abigail imagined it was their home before they’d headed west, before gold fever struck her father, before the horrific accident that left her an orphan. Someday she’d find a way to return to it.
She opened to a clean page in her nearly full sketchbook and considered this view of the ranch. She’d never drawn the barn in this light. Each rock in the stone walls stood out more sharply, the shadows creating new angles.
And then something—someone—moved in the shadow. If the movement hadn’t been so quick, it might not have caught her attention. She squinted to see better. Three. There were three somebodies crouched low, running along the back wall. Paiutes? But why? They were welcome on the ranch. How many times had she given them doughnuts and cookies right from the kitchen door? They weren’t exactly friends, but certainly not enemies.
She rose from the mat to get a better view. Her movement must have caught the intruders’ attention, for one stood and pointed her way. He drew an arrow into his bow. Her heart skipped; her throat constricted. She dropped to the ground. No arrow whizzed past. She lifted her head, but they were out of sight.
She had to warn her uncle! She rose and waved her arms high back and forth. “Uncle Frank! Sammy! Jacob!”
Continuing to yell, she hobbled toward the ranch. Her too-short right leg made running risky, but she willed herself forward with as much speed as she could muster. “Uncle Frank! Sammy!” she called again.
Were other Paiutes hiding, waiting to ambush? She glanced from one side to the other. What was that sound behind her? She chanced a look backwards, tripped over a rock, and fell face-first into a tumbleweed.
She struggled to rise, pushing herself up from the prickly bush, wishing she’d grabbed her walking stick. Her legs tangled with her skirt. She kicked to free them. Boots thudded on the desert floor toward her, then Uncle Frank lifted her. Jacob was a step behind.
“What’s wrong, Abby?” Her uncle’s gun was already drawn. “A rattler?” He scanned the area. “Did you get bit? Didn’t you bring your pistol with you? I’ve told you and told you not to leave the ranch yard without it.”
Abigail gasped for breath as she pointed to the barn. “They were there. Running along the wall. I think they’re after the horses.”
“What? Who?” Uncle Frank pulled his hat low and surveyed the spaces around the barn.
Horse hooves galloping on the hard dirt drew their attention. Six mustangs raced away from the ranch, three of them mounted by Paiutes.
Uncle Frank aimed his revolver, but didn’t shoot. They were out of range. “Blasted thiev
es.”
Abigail tugged on his arm. “Shouldn’t we go after them?”
“By the time we get to the corral and on horses, those renegades will be long gone.”
“I thought we were on good terms with Chief Winnemucca. He wouldn’t raid our horses.” Abigail brushed off her skirt. “They haven’t taken a calf in years.”
“They don’t take our beef because we keep the few we have left close by, and I give them a steer every year.” He put his hands on his hips. “Besides, Winnemucca’s dead. The new high chief is Numaga, and he’s eager to fight.”
Jacob handed Abigail her walking stick. “There’ve been rumors of raids against Pony Express riders. The boys have fast, strong ponies, and so far they’ve escaped trouble. But if the Paiutes are stealing Express horses, the riders won’t have such an advantage anymore.”
“You’re right, Jacob.” Uncle Frank rubbed his stubbled chin. “We’ve got to figure out a way to protect those ponies.”
“Maybe if we had a dog, we’d at least have some warning.” How many times had Abigail suggested this? Sammy wanted one in the worst way.
Uncle Frank huffed. “No dogs. They chase chickens.”
As they headed back to the ranch, Abigail did her best to keep up with her uncle’s long stride, aware of once again being a burden to him. It was a constant concern to her. He obviously wanted to return to the ranch quickly, and her limp slowed him down. It was always in the way, preventing her from being useful, adding to his burdens. She couldn’t carry a bucket of water without sloshing half of it over the rim. Sammy had to carry the dinner trays for her.
Soon after her parents died when she was six, she heard Uncle Frank pray in a pain-filled voice, asking God to give him strength to carry his burdens. It was eleven years ago, and she couldn’t remember everything he asked help for, but she’d never forgotten his agony-laced tone when he prayed, “Dear God, I don’t know how to do this. My son, Sammy, poor Abby. What am I to do? Help me, God.”
Exertion to keep up left her out of breath as sweat beaded on her forehead. She hated holding her uncle back. “Go on ahead.” She glanced from Jacob to Uncle Frank. “I’m fine to come on my own.”
Uncle Frank nodded and increased his pace, but Jacob walked along with her until they reached the low stone house. His presence shamed her. She was not a child in need of a guardian, but she held her feelings inside. He meant well.
Outside the kitchen door, Jacob handed Abigail the rest of her possessions. “I wish you’d listen to your uncle. You shouldn’t be out there without a gun.” He turned and headed toward the barn.
She watched him go, wondering at his little speech. Jacob had come to the ranch about two years ago. Her uncle needed the help then, and even more now with the Pony Express business, so she was thankful he was around, but he kept to himself and rarely addressed her. Why lecture her now? She shook her head. There was no figuring men out.
Earlier she had put a pot of rabbit stew on the cookstove to simmer and set out dough to rise. It was time to get the bread baked and the table set before the stagecoach arrived and the place exploded with weary and hungry travelers. They’d stay the night, along with another Pony Express rider.
Her uncle’s ranch served as home base, and the boys could rest up a day or two in the bunkhouse before their next turn at the relay. The stagecoach guests slept in the bunkhouse as well. The occasional woman passenger slept in the spare bedroom next to Abigail’s. The ranch hadn’t much to offer in the way of creature comforts, but Abigail did what she could to provide delicious, hearty meals. It was more than travelers got at most stage stops.
“Sam!” Uncle Frank’s voice pulsed through the air. “Where is that fool boy when I want him?”
Uncle Frank headed toward the corral, but if Abigail knew Sammy, he wouldn’t be there. He’d be in the bunkhouse with the riders, listening to a tale of adventure and derring-do. It was all new and exciting to him. Before his admiration of the Express boys, he’d wanted to be a stagecoach driver. Before that, a gunslinger. But, Abigail reasoned, thirteen-year-old boys didn’t really know much what they wanted.
She headed toward the bunkhouse. Sammy had been warned not to bother the riders, and if his father found him there, he’d get switched. Uncle Frank was a good, God-fearing man who believed in obedience and discipline. He’d never been cruel, but no one would accuse him of being soft.
She knocked on the bunkhouse door then opened it. The room was quiet as two riders slept. She backed out.
A shout from Jacob rang loud. “Hey, boss, come quick!”
The tone of his voice stabbed Abigail’s heart with fear. She limped as quickly as she could toward the barn. Jacob had someone in his arms. She saw an arrow, blood, and Sammy’s blond hair.
Chapter Two
Jacob Scott pitched more hay for the horses then gave them a scoop of oats. Their speed and endurance would be in demand shortly, and he wanted to make sure they were ready. The mustang would be needed first, as the Pony Express relay would happen near dinnertime. But even the Thoroughbreds and quarter horses required strength and staying power to pull the stagecoach across the Sierra Nevada Mountains into California.
He had thought about going to California himself. He could hitch a ride on the stagecoach or ride on top as a lookout. Or maybe he should go southeast. There was talk of some southern states seceding, which would mean war, and possibly the Lord had a mission for him there. He wished he knew. He thought he had heard the Lord clearly when he left home four years ago, but that hadn’t turned out so well.
As a result, he had wasted the last two years on this ranch, or stagecoach station, or whatever it was, in the middle of nowhere. He shook his head. The years hadn’t been actually wasted, but he was no clearer about what the Lord had in store for him than when he arrived. After his last debacle before coming to the ranch, he wanted to be sure of his next move. What was that saying? Look before you leap? No more blind leaping for him.
He enjoyed the ranch work. He liked the feel of burning muscles and honestly earned sweat. He appreciated that he was needed. And he was. Especially now with the added burden of the Pony Express home base. Frank Robertson wasn’t too old for the work, but he was getting on, and he needed more than a half-grown, dreamy-eyed son and an orphan niece to run the place.
Although, that orphan niece, Abigail—she did more than her share, for sure and for certain. When he first met her, he pitied her limp, but now he rarely noticed it. Jacob smiled at the thought of her. She’d make somebody a good wife. Wife! The word sent shock waves through him.
Good thing he wasn’t looking for one.
He turned the rest of the horses into the corral and went back to muck the stalls. As he worked, he prayed. He prayed for forgiveness for himself, then for blessings for Abigail, Frank, Sammy, the stagecoach drivers, and the young men riding the Express horses. As people entered his mind, he prayed for them. His parents, his sister, the Paiutes—really, Lord? “Well, okay, God bless the Paiutes.”
“What did you say?” Sammy stood in the barn door.
Jacob smiled. “Well, Samuel Robertson, nice of you to show up. Thought you were off daydreaming about dashing away on one of these ponies, facing danger at every turn.”
“I told you I’d help muck the stalls.” Sammy folded his arms across his chest and glared.
“And here you are.” Jacob grimaced inwardly. He shouldn’t tease the boy. He knew what it was like to try to find your way in the world, and dreams were the jumping-off place.
He leaned against the pitchfork and let his eyes roam across the barnyard. Abigail was walking away from the kitchen, carrying that book she was never without. A breeze flirted with her skirts, but she seemed not to notice. He wished he had the nerve to talk to her, but it felt as if she didn’t see him. Not like she did the stagecoach drivers. And definitely not like the Express riders. She stared sometimes, from that dark corner of hers in the dining room, as if memorizing their features.
He wa
sn’t jealous. Okay, he was. But he’d been there two years, and she’d barely noticed him. Not that it would have mattered. He was sticking to his plan to wait for the Lord to reveal His plan, and he was certain it didn’t involve a pretty, young woman. Paul’s words in the Good Book warned against marrying, said it could get in the way of serving, and he intended to serve God with all his might. He turned his attention back to the boy waiting in the doorway. “I can finish up here, Sammy. How about you go collect more cow chips for the kitchen stove.”
“You ain’t my boss.”
Apparently he was still smarting over the ill-timed teasing. “You’re right, I’m not. So what would you prefer to do, the mucking or the plucking?” Jacob laughed at his own word choice, hoping Sammy would think it funny as well.
“Plucking?” Sammy laughed. “You’re strange, Jacob. But, yeah, I’ll get more cow chips for Abby.” He disappeared, and Jacob leaned into his work. Although not quite noon, the day was already hot. Hoping to catch more of the breeze, he opened the barn’s back door. His gaze swept across the dry, rocky land. Scattered Joshua trees offered interest to the ubiquitous sagebrush. A vast expanse stretched out before him. Near the rocky outcropping sat Abigail.
Why did she go out there almost daily? Her head was bent, intent on something in her lap. Probably the book. Was it her diary? He would like to know what was written there. Not to pry, but to understand her better. What was it about those other men that caught her attention? He’d like to know.
As he turned back toward the barn, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He turned his head for a full view, but saw nothing. Several horses stamped and whinnied. Something was wrong.
Perhaps a mountain lion had ventured too close to the ranch again. He spoke soothingly to the nervous ponies while he continually scanned the brown landscape. Mountain lions blended in, perfectly camouflaged. If one were out there, he should warn Abigail. Something had definitely stirred up the horses.
Suddenly, she stood, waving her arms and shouting, but he couldn’t make out her words. A mountain lion? A rattler? He raced toward her, saw her fall. His heart rate quickened; his throat constricted. Was she hurt? Coming from a different angle, Frank sprinted closer to her.
Abigail lay unmoving on the desert floor. As Jacob pushed himself to run faster, he prayed. “Gracious Father, please help her. Don’t let her be hurt.”
The Pony Express Romance Collection Page 1
