Jake wrinkled his nose as Amanda approached.
“Sit here in the sun next to the sheriff, and I’ll comb out your hair,” said Pamela.
Amanda plopped down on the blanket. Pamela sat behind her and started gently working the brush through the tangled wet locks.
“Where’s my own clothes?” asked Amanda with a pout.
“Remember? They blew away with the tornado,” answered Jake. “They might have flown right back to St. Louis, Missouri. They might have landed right in your very own backyard and hung themselves up on that laundry line you spoke of, right next to your father’s nightshirt.”
“I don’t think so.” Amanda squirmed under Pamela’s brushing and yawned.
“Althea isn’t going to like this dress. Althea has good taste. She’s very par-tic-u-lar about her attire.”
“I think,” said Pamela, “Althea is going to be so glad to see you’re safe that she won’t fuss about what you are wearing.”
Amanda leaned sideways against Pamela’s lap, and her head sank down on her folded arms.
“Augusta says Althea can fuss better than a flock of hens. She says Althea has taken fussing seriously as if it were an art form.”
“And what does Althea say about that?” asked Jake.
Amanda yawned again. “Althea says, ‘What can you expect from a woman who lets her husband call her Gussie?’”
Finally, the tangles were out, but Pamela continued to stroke the brush through Amanda’s curls.
“She’s asleep,” whispered Jake.
“It’s been a long day for her, and she usually takes a nap,” answered Pamela. She put down the brush and smoothed the curls back from the sleeping child’s face. “Isn’t she adorable? She bounces back and forth from acting like a little old lady to the little girl she is. I would love to keep her and give her the chance to get dirty more often.”
“As long as it’s dirty and not smelly,” said Jake.
Pamela giggled. “She does have rather an air about her still.”
“Should we load up the sleeping beauty and get back on the road?” asked Jake.
“Oh no,” said Pamela, looking off toward the stream. “I’ve spread our wet things on the bushes to dry, and you could use some time to dry as well.”
“We’re going to be late getting into Big Springs.”
“Does it matter?” asked Pamela. “Amanda’s sister isn’t expecting us today, so she won’t be worried. My sister isn’t expecting us, either. I’d rather stay here.” She didn’t say that she wanted the day together to last as long as possible, but she looked back at Jake stretched out on the blanket, and her eyes took on the softness of thorough contentment.
Jake gazed at her for a minute and then shook himself as if trying to awaken from a dream.
“We’d better move her out of the sun, then, or she’ll get a burn.” He quickly rose, and with Pamela clutching the blanket on one side and he the other, they moved it under the shade of the willow again. Settling down on each side of the sleeping child, they spoke quietly.
“All of your sisters have moved to cities, haven’t they?” asked Jake.
Pamela nodded. She leaned back on the blanket and studied the trailing limbs of the willow that nearly surrounded them as a leafy bower.
“Do you want to leave the farm, too?” asked Jake.
Pamela’s head jerked around to look at him. “No, not at all. I’m the youngest, and I think I missed the worst hardships during the early years when Pa was building up the farm. I’ve heard the stories about how grueling it was, and my older sisters relish the comparative ease of living in town. But by the time I was old enough to take note of things, Pa’s farm was well established. It’s still a hardworking life, but not nearly what it once was. Now he’s doing well enough to have hired help.
“I love the farm. I love gardening and my chickens and the excitement of harvesttime. I want to stay.”
Jake nodded. “It is hard work, but it’s good work. It would be my first choice.” He shrugged and gave her a wistful smile. “Maybe someday I’ll figure out just exactly what it is God wants me to do with my life. At first I thought it was farming because I took to it so natural. Then when Uncle Will’s constant reminders that the farm was going to his boys finally sunk in, I thought it was being a lawyer. I thought maybe I’d be a lawyer for the Grange Movement, or the Farmers’ Alliance, but God didn’t seem to be directing me that way either. I’m twenty-six years old, Pamela, and still living day by day with no vision of what the Lord wants me to do with my life.”
“Patience, waiting, longsuffering,” said Pamela. “I think that’s the hardest thing God asks us to do.”
Jake nodded.
“But it’ll come, Jake.” She smiled at him. “I know you’ve been faithful with the small things, living the day-to-day life of a Christian without any fanfare. Someday God will lay a purpose on your heart, and you’ll be ready.”
Jake could only nod in her direction. He didn’t have all the words he wanted to say to tell her how grateful he was that she understood. He didn’t think he could explain how, through her words, she had just answered a prayer.
He leaned back and folded his arms behind his neck, looking up into the branches of the tree. He spotted a squirrel jerking its bushy tail and eyeing them. He pointed the saucy animal out to Pamela.
During the comfortable quiet that followed, Jake turned over the conversation in his mind. Pamela Kotchkis understood his frustration and didn’t condemn him for having no goal in life. She was right that he had to wait on God’s leading instead of forging ahead on his own. God had made him the sheriff, and he would be a good sheriff until another door opened up.
Jake rolled on his side to speak to her but saw she was asleep. She had turned on her side, facing Amanda. The breeze lifted the small curls on Pamela’s forehead. The cinnamon-brown lashes of her eyes lay in a fringed semicircle across each cheek.
“Pamela,” Jake whispered. She didn’t stir. “Pamela,” he whispered again, just because he liked the sound of it. She’d called him Jake instead of Sheriff, and he’d forgotten the formality of Miss Kotchkis, or even Miss Pamela. He feltcomfortable with Miss Pamela Kotchkis, and as soon as they returned Amanda to her family, he intended to court the lady in a proper fashion.
A smile hovered on Pamela’s lips as if she dreamed of something pleasant. The dimple flashed. Jake moved to his knees and leaned carefully over Amanda so as not to disturb her sleep. With great care, he stretched an arm over to prop himself. Slowly, not wanting to disturb either sleeper, he moved in and laid a gentle kiss on Pamela’s lips. She responded slightly to the kiss, and Jake jerked back. He searched her face, thinking he must have awakened her. She didn’t move. He sighed and leaned back on his heels. A small giggle caught him off guard, and he looked down into Amanda’s laughing eyes.
“Shh!” He put a finger to his lips.
“You kissed Miss Kottis,” whispered Amanda.
“Her name is Miss Kotchkis,” said Jake.
“Kost-sis,” repeated Amanda.
“No,” said Jake patiently, “Kotch-kis.”
“Kot-kis.”
“No, Amanda. Think about playing a game of tag. If I was it and I chased you and caught you, I would say, ‘Caught cha.’ Can you say, ‘Caught cha’?”
Amanda nodded. “Caught cha.”
“That’s good. Now say ‘caught cha’ real fast and leave off the ‘uh’ at the end. Like this: caughtch.”
“Caughtch,” she repeated perfectly.
Jake grinned. “Now just add ‘kiss.’ Caughtch-kiss.”
“Caughtch-kiss,” said Amanda and clapped her hands, delighted with her success.
“It sounds like you two are having a sneezing fit,” said Pamela as she sat up.
“Miss Kotchkis! Miss Kotchkis!” Amanda turned and threw her arms around her friend. “I learned to say your name. Sheriff Moore taught me ‘cause I caught him kissing you. Kotchkis, Kotchkis, I caught cha kissing Miss Kotchki
s.”
She bounced out of Pamela’s lap and tackled Jake, knocking him over so they rolled on the ground. He tickled her, telling her not to tell secrets. Pamela crossed her arms over her chest and watched them. When they settled down a bit, she addressed the child.
“Amanda, would you please go see if our clothes are dry and pack them in the luggage? I need to talk to Sheriff Moore.”
Amanda scrambled to her feet and started for the bushes.
Jake sat up and reached for his hat. He concentrated on putting it on, smoothing his hair, setting it in place, taking it off, and replacing it a tad farther back on his head.
He finally looked at Pamela.
“Well?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.
He blushed and started to rise. “Perhaps I’d better help Miss Amanda. We don’t want her picking up any more country kitties.”
Pamela put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
“Why did you kiss me?” she asked quietly.
Her voice had a bubble of enjoyment in it, and Jake looked directly into her eyes, trying to decipher its meaning. The irrepressible dimple hovered at the corner of her lips, and her eyes twinkled with amusement over his discomfort.
“It was your fault,” he said.
“Mine!”
“You’ve got this dimple that invites me to kiss you,” said Jake with a certain amount of phony priggishness. “I’ve done my best to resist temptation, but when you start winking that dimple at me even when you’re asleep…what’s a man suppose to do?”
Pamela’s mouth dropped open in outrage, and she snatched his new hat right off his head. With mock anger, she bludgeoned him with it. He raised his arms to ward off the attack, and when he saw an opening, he reached past the flailing hat and grabbed her around the waist. With a twist, he had her pinned to the blanket. She laughed so hard he had no trouble reclaiming his hat. With one hand, he jammed it on top of her head, still keeping her arms captured.
“You have no right to be battering an officer of the law that way, Miss Kotchkis.”
“It was you who trespassed against me while sleeping.” Pamela laughed and continued, “I have a confession to make, Sheriff.”
“Yes?”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
She laughed again at the expression on his face.
“Miss Kotchkis, I fear you must be punished by the law for your trickery.”
“Oh dear,” she sighed. “What is my punishment?”
He didn’t answer but lowered his head to touch his lips again to hers. The tender kiss led to another. That one led to one less tender and more urgent. Somehow her arms escaped, and she wrapped them around his shoulders. He leaned back and gazed into the dreamy expression in her eyes. He shifted his weight to free her and pulled on her arms so that she sat beside him.
Just then Amanda came struggling through the bushes, dragging a suitcase. She stopped and looked at the happy couple.
“I caught cha kissing again, didn’t I, Miss Kotchkis?”
Jake stood in one swift movement and easily lifted Pamela to stand beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and addressed Amanda.
“I’ve decided I must change her name, Miss Amanda.”
Pamela looked up at him with suspicion in her eyes.
“If she’ll have me, I’m going to marry her so her name will be Moore and not Kotchkis anymore. I’d hate to think she was going around all over Kansas being caught kissing.” He turned to look again at the smiling face he adored. He cleared his throat. “Unless it was me she was kissing.”
Pamela shook her head slightly. “That may cause us more problems, Sheriff,” she said.
He frowned.
“I might become demanding,” she explained. She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I might start demanding Moore, Moore, Moore.” She punctuated each pronunciation of his name with a kiss.
“Are you going to marry the sheriff?” asked Amanda.
“Oh yes, most definitely,” answered Pamela.
“Can we go to Big Springs first? I want to tell Althea about the tornado and the china cup and feeding the banty hens and dancing and the skunk. She’ll never believe it all.”
“I think she’ll believe the skunk, Miss Amanda,” said Jake as he bent to pick up the blanket and fold it.
Amanda pouted.
“Never mind him, Amanda,” said Pamela. “Right now he’s pretty full of himself. Let’s gather up the rest of our things and pack up the surrey. We still have a fine bit of traveling to do to get to Big Springs tonight.”
Amanda nodded. The curls were dry and bounced a happy rhythm around her face.
“Yes,” she said. “We can’t forget to do our duty just because we’re having a grand time.”
Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I guess I’ve been having too grand a time, Miss Amanda. Just what is our duty today?”
Amanda placed her hands on her hips and announced loud and clear: “Returning Amanda!”
KATHLEEN PAUL teaches spelling, creative writing, and first grade part-time in a homeschool supplementary academy. Kate’s desire to write inspirational romance came about several years ago when her daughter wanted to read “grown-up” books about love. She decided to write something romantic that wouldn’t “pollute her heart, mind, and soul.” Her daughter is now living her own Christian romance, leaving Kate with her mom, son, two dogs, and dust bunnies in a Colorado Springs household recovering from wedding shock.
Only Believe
by Janet Spaeth
Chapter 1
Dakota Territory, 1879
Catherine stared at the heap of metal and leather. This was probably the equipment she needed to harvest Andrew’s fields. Then again, it might just be what he used to plant. Or maybe it was all the same gear.
She sighed. She had no idea.
From the nearby stall, a horse whinnied a greeting, and Catherine turned to see the huge animal’s velvety gray nose nudging the low slats of the gate.
Catherine laughed. “The worst part of all this is that you probably know exactly what this is and how it goes together. But you don’t speak English, and I, my equine friend, do not speak Horse.”
She moved to the stable gate and stroked the soft nose. The horse whickered again, and Catherine tried an experimental whinny in return. Was it her imagination, or did the horse perk up his ears?
She tried again. Yes, definitely the beast was responding. She whinnied once more and waited, almost expecting to hear a response.
“Ma’am?”
She jumped.
The silhouette of a man stood outlined against the late afternoon sun. Dust from the straw on the barn floor drifted in the hot August air, surrounding him with a slowly moving aura of glistening bits.
She was frozen in place. Her heart had stopped beating entirely, she was sure. He was here to—well, she didn’t exactly know what he was here for, but it had to be bad. Men didn’t just appear out of nowhere with good intentions.
He moved into the barn, out of the direct sunlight, and walked straight toward her.
The horse nickered, and Catherine stared as the man went directly to the stall, murmuring the name Orion, and holding out an apple he’d taken from his pocket.
The horse bobbed his head up and down in recognition as the man spoke quietly to him.
“You know him?” Catherine wasn’t sure how she managed to speak, nor was she sure if she was talking to the horse or to the man.
The man turned, and in the half light of the dim barn, she could see his face at last.
His was a face shaped by weather—and by laughter. The lines that were carved in it were premature. He couldn’t be much past thirty.
He studied her with eyes as dark as chocolate drops, and then his cheeks crinkled into a smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Micah Dunford. I have the next claim over.”
Micah Dunford. She knew the name. Her brother had said it before he lapsed b
ack into the deep sleep of a coma.
“I’m glad to meet you.” She took the hand and shook it. His grasp was firm and warm, and she could feel the blisters on his palm, evidence of hard work. “Andrew spoke of you.”
“You must be Catherine.” His fingers gripped hers even tighter. “Andrew talked about you often, about how much he missed you and how much he wished you were here. And now you are. This is wonderful.”
She forced her lips into a bad imitation of a smile. “I wish the circumstances were different.”
“Of course, of course,” he agreed, his words tinged with sadness. “How is Andrew, by the way?”
“When I saw him, he was doing as well as could be expected.” She swallowed over the lump that ached in her throat.
“Has he regained consciousness?”
She nodded, fighting the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. “Only for a moment. Just a moment.”
The memory of his eyes fluttering open, the way his hand weakly but distinctly squeezed her fingers, the single word that tore from his lips, then a too-rapid drop back into that deep sleep—it was too much for her to think about right now.
Micah’s forehead furrowed with concern. “I wish him a rapid recovery. Do the doctors have a better picture of his prognosis?”
Catherine blinked back the tight dryness of unshed tears. “They weren’t overly worried about the coma. They said it gives his body time to heal. He should be home by late September.” She had to clear her throat. “At least that’s the hope.”
“You know he’s in good hands,” Micah said softly.
“The doctors at the hospital are the best in the region,” she admitted.
“Of course. But I was referring to a more powerful healer.”
Catherine stared at him. “There’s someone better?” She pulled on his sleeve urgently. “Tell me who he is so I can send him to Andrew!”
“He’s already with Him.” Micah removed her hand from his arm and grasped it tightly. “I mean God.”
“Well, of course.” Catherine pulled her hand away, trying to push away the sense of betrayal. “I thought you meant a doctor. That kind of healer.”
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