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    Warrior's Heart
    Warrior's Heart
    Warrior's Heart
    Ebook522 pages5 hours

    Warrior's Heart

    By Donna Fleisher

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    A new home. A new life. To have both, she must outlast a bitter storm. Once Chris fought for her country. Now she’s fighting for her faith. And she’s about to fight for her life. This is no mere storm. It’s a deluge of catastrophic proportions. Swollen by record rains and a ten-inch snowmelt, the Willamette River is hammering Portland, Oregon, with the flood of the century. In Chris McIntyre’s heart, a different kind of flood—a rising torrent of emotions—threatens to sweep her away from the community of Kimberly Square. Her newfound faith keeps her from running. But how can she stay? Her push-the-limits personality may have made her a perfect soldier, but it sets her apart from the people at her church. And it sets her at odds with Scott Mathis, the husband of her closest friend, Erin. Fearing for Erin’s safety, Scott resents his wife’s high-risk friendship with Chris. But when Scott and Chris are forced together to help Kimberly Square residents ride out the storm, a different, equally lethal danger descends on them. Death or redemption rest in the hands of one person—a woman with a warrior’s heart.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZondervan
    Release dateAug 30, 2009
    ISBN9780310864592
    Author

    Donna Fleisher

    Donna Fleisher, like her father and brother, is a veteran of the U.S. Air Force.  Her previous novels include Wounded Healer, Warrior's Heart, and Valiant Hope.  She lives on the Oregon Coast and is in a never-ending search for sand dollars.  Visit her website at www.donnafleisher.com.

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      Book preview

      Warrior's Heart - Donna Fleisher

      3

      This series is dedicated to all

      US military veterans of all branches

      who served in times of peace or war,

      for your families who stood by you,

      for all of you now serving our country,

      for all now waiting for a loved one to return,

      and for those whose wait has ended in tragedy.

      God’s love is for you.

      The Homeland Heroes Series is for you.

      3

      Also by Donna Fleisher

      Wounded Healer (Homeland Heroes—Book One)

      4

      ZONDERVAN

      WARRIOR’S HEART

      Copyright © 2005 by Donna Fleisher

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

      ePub Edition June 2009 ISBN: 0-310-86459-3

      Requests for information should be addressed to:

      Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

      Fleisher, Donna

      Warrior’s heart / Donna Fleisher.

      p. cm.

      ISBN-13: 978-0-310-26395-1

      I. Title.

      PS3606.L454W68 2005

      813'.6—dc22

      2005002987

      All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

      05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 / 2 DCI/ 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      CONTENT

      COVER PAGE

      TITLE PAGE

      COPYRIGHT

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      FEBRUARY 1996

      ONE

      TWO

      THREE

      FOUR

      FIVE

      SIX

      SEVEN

      EIGHT

      NINE

      TEN

      ELEVEN

      TWELVE

      THIRTEEN

      FOURTEEN

      ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

      SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS

      For Brooke

      What made me think I could take five weeks off in the middle of deadline to travel the entire western hemisphere? But sharing that trip with you, and sharing each moment of the journey of this book with you across the miles, has been incredible. Especially those last two weeks of desperate overtime. You’re not just a friend, you’re a gift.

      And for Margaret

      What made me think I could take five weeks off in the middle of deadline to travel the entire western hemisphere? But from Philadelphia to Denver to the rolling Caribbean and back, watching you sing, speak, laugh, and share so much of yourself with all of us . . . it was incredible. What you do, how you do it, for all these years, there are no words to describe how grateful I am to you. Fro you. For all you are. Thanks, lady.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      Precious Lord God, here we are again! Thank You so much for this incredible journey. And thank You for all those who encouraged and strengthened me along the way. Especially . . .

      Mom and Dad, Chris, Thess, Christine, and Mario. My precious family.

      Karen Ball, Diane Noble, and positively everyone at Zondervan. I cannot thank them enough, Lord, so I’ll leave it up to You to bless them in ways I can’t even imagine. Please, again, accept our offering and use it to Your honor.

      Thanks for everyone at the 2004 and 2005 Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conferences and everyone at Oregon Christian Writers. What can I say, Lord? So many sweet memories. So many sweet friends. Thank You for each and every one.

      Thanks again for everyone at the Sandcastle, and for my little beachfront home.

      Thanks for Shannon and Susie and Vickie and Heather and Melissa and Trish and Steph and June and their families. I love them all so much. Thank You for Jeanna. Thank You for Brooke and the Schwhew Crew. Thank You for Margaret Becker and Gayle Erwin, who minister Your Word straight to my soul. Thank You for Francine Rivers, who is my example in this crazy mixed-up industry.

      And Lord? Thanks for Corinne at Ole’s Gun Shop, who answered my questions about 9mm Berettas and .38 Specials while praise and worship music filtered through the speakers in her store. Of all the gun shops in Salem, Oregon, You sent me to Ole’s to meet a sister. What an awesome God You are!

      WARRIOR’S

      HEART

      FEBRUARY 1996

      ONE

      ERINMATHIS PULLED OPEN ONE of the new glass double doors leading into the hollowed-out warehouse that would soon become Kimberley Square’s gymnasium and held it open so Sonya Connelly could enter first.

      Judging by her smile, Sonya appreciated the gesture, until she took two steps inside the warehouse, stopped in her tracks, raised her chin, and shrieked, Christina McIntyre! What on earth do you think you’re doing?

      The sudden intensity and sheer volume of Sonya’s normally pleasant southern drawl startled Erin so much, her sharp intake of breath sounded to her own ears like a puppy’s yelp. She hurried inside. Isaiah Sadler stood on the other side of the room. He held a rope in his hands. Erin’s gaze followed that rope up into the rafters of the old warehouse.

      Her mouth fell open. High above Isaiah, at the other end of the rope, Christina McIntyre, one of Erin’s dearest friends, dangled upside down by her knees from a rafter, clutching what looked like a plastic Safeway bag in her teeth.

      Well. No wonder Sonya stopped in her tracks. A smile worked its way across Erin’s lips.

      Why are you—? Sonya’s drawl echoed across the warehouse. Christina! You come down from there!

      Erin’s smile faded as a thread of fear laced itself around her heart.

      Right now, young lady! Before you fall!

      Isaiah’s soft voice carried to them. She’s fine, now, Sonya. She’s almost done. Standing there, holding the rope Chris had obviously used to climb up into the rafters, Isaiah’s eyes reflected a hint of sheepishness.

      What is she doing? Sonya peered heavenward as she and Erin walked closer. Christina? Are you all right?

      Chris pulled the bag from her teeth. Her voice rained down from above. Hey, Sonya! Hey, Rinny! What’s up?

      Erin couldn’t help it. She started to laugh—until Sonya turned and gave her a don’t-encourage-her scowl. Her laughter died on a fake cough.

      Yep, Isaiah, I think that’ll do it, Chris said. This bulb is definitely defective. We should take it back.

      Um, okay, Chris. Isaiah didn’t look up as he said the words. I’ll take care of that Monday. He looked at Sonya. His face bore a strained smile.

      A lightbulb? Sonya stopped a few feet from him and put her hands on her hips. She climbed up there just to change a lightbulb?

      Little slack, came from above.

      Isaiah fed a few feet of rope through his fingers.

      Erin glanced up—just as Chris slid down the rope, still upside down, Safeway bag in her teeth, feet flying. She dropped to almost perfect eye level; the rope creaked as she bounced once, then twice. She pulled the bag from her teeth, handed it to Isaiah, then beamed an upside-down red-faced smile at Sonya and said, Hi there.

      For a second, nobody moved. Nobody said a word. But then Chris, hanging like a yo-yo, slowly started to turn as the rope she hung from, the rope she had twisted together around the rafter, started to unwind.

      Erin stole a glance at Sonya. Saw a mouth that gaped, cheeks that had flushed into a deep, dark pink.

      Chris lowered her feet and lightly touched back down on earth. As the silence lingered, she tugged off her thick leather gloves and rubbed her nose.

      Sonya quickly shook her head. Then looked at Isaiah. Where’s Amanda?

      She’s, um . . . He coughed quietly. She’s in the office pumpin’ up volleyballs.

      Sonya’s voice pierced Erin’s eardrums. AMANDA!

      The little girl’s head popped through the office door. Hi, Grammy!

      Get your jacket. It’s time for lunch.

      Aww, do I have to, Grammy? I’m not finished yet.

      Yes, child. You can come back later. Sonya lowered her voice. Unless the two of you have more lightbulbs to change.

      Um, no, Sonya. We’re done. Chris tossed the rope away, though it came back and slapped against her backside.

      The expression on Chris’s face eased the fear in Erin’s heart. Chris looked like she had just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

      Good. Because she had.

      Hi, Auntie Erin! Amanda’s sweet voice shook as she skipped toward the group. Guess what! I was blowin’ up volleyballs!

      Very cool! Erin swept the little girl up into a half hug. I bet your lips are tired. She let the girl’s burst of giggles carry her own.

      Are we havin’ pizza for lunch, Grammy? Amanda pushed her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. Pep’roni, huh? Or maybe chicken! Yay! Her sparkly blue eyes peeked out through flyaway blonde curls. Let’s go, Grammy. I’m hungry. Bye, Uncle ’Saiah! Bye, Auntie Chris! She turned and skipped toward the door.

      Happy good-byes and waves came from both Chris and Isaiah, until they glanced at Sonya. Silence descended. Smiles became sheepish grins.

      With a quick shake of her head, Sonya turned and started for the door.

      Erin stood there another second, then smirked at both Chris and Isaiah before turning to follow Sonya and Amanda outside.

      On the other side of the gym’s glass doors, outside under the trees, a cold, misty dampness had settled in with the afternoon. The heavy air fell over Erin gently, as it always did. She breathed deeply and enjoyed all the familiar fragrances of her forested inner-city home.

      Sonya seemed to be waiting for her, standing there, watching her granddaughter skip and hop, skip and hop across the cracks in the sidewalk.

      You okay? Erin said, her voice soft as a whisper.

      The long silence concerned her. Sonya’s face appeared hard and set, until she looked at Erin and said, her voice hushed to protect her little one’s tender ears, She has this thing about . . . being upside down on a rope, doesn’t she.

      Erin tried to restrain a smile.

      This is what Benjamin told me about.

      He told you about the time she repelled out of the Huey?

      Yes. But I hardly believed it. Until now.

      She couldn’t help it. Her outgoing breath carried a hint of laughter.

      How could she do that? Sonya’s voice raised to the next octave. How could she fall upside down out of a hovering helicopter?

      Erin shook her head. I really don’t know.

      "Why would she do it?"

      She drew in a deep breath. I don’t know that either. For a while, I used to wonder about her.

      Well, I should say so. After what I just saw, I’m beginning to wonder about her.

      Don’t, Sonya. She’s all right. She just lives life on a different plane than us.

      What is she thinking? Is she trying to prove something?

      No, she’s not trying to prove anything. She can just do these things. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known before. She’s strong. And she’s not afraid of anything.

      I didn’t even know women like this existed.

      Erin only smiled.

      Shows you what I know.

      Look, Grammy! A worm!

      Sonya rolled her eyes. Don’t touch it!

      Erin’s smile widened.

      All right, well, I guess . . . Sonya blew out a deep breath, then turned toward her grandchild.

      Sonya?

      She stopped and looked back at Erin.

      Don’t be too hard on Chris, Erin said softly. She’s still trying to find her way here.

      Mercy, child. Listen to you. Sonya’s eyebrows lifted. Do you forget who you’re talking to?

      Erin’s gaze fell away as she smiled.

      I love that child. Just because I don’t particularly understand her at the moment doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving her.

      Erin slowly nodded.

      She’s a precious treasure, and we’re all so glad she’s here. Don’t you ever forget that.

      Yeah. I’m sorry.

      Nah. No need to be. Why don’t you two come on over for dinner tonight? And bring Scott. There’ll be plenty.

      Thanks, Sonya. But Scott’s taking me out tonight. To a Blazer game.

      Ahh. Well, that sounds like a plan. Sonya gasped. Amanda! I told you not to touch that! Come here. Give me your hand. She gathered up her granddaughter and pointed her toward home. See you tomorrow, then, sweetheart, she said to Erin.

      Bye, Sonya. Love you. Bye, Mandy!

      Bye, Auntie Erin!

      Erin’s smile faded as she watched Amanda’s worm scurry back away under a pile of leaves.

      Whatcha doin’, Auntie Erin?

      That familiar voice. Erin looked over her shoulder. Chris stood by the gym’s doors. Well, hello there, Auntie Chris. She turned to face her, then lowered her chin and tilted her head. Are you and Uncle ’Saiah planning any more adventures for today?

      Chris didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile. Her gaze traced the outline of the sidewalk for a few seconds. She looked up. Um . . . Rin? Am I in trouble?

      Erin tried not to laugh but she couldn’t help it.

      It was stupid, I know. But that dumb light was driving us nuts, and we took back the lift yesterday. We would’ve had to wait until Monday to rent it again, plus that would’ve cost another hundred bucks at least, not to mention all the time it would’ve taken to get the trailer set up and to go back and get it and—

      Chris.

      What.

      You were hanging upside down by your knees from a rafter.

      But I had the rope around me. I couldn’t have fallen.

      How did you get up there in the first place?

      Throwing the rope up was the hardest part. You should’ve seen us. We were cracking up.

      Erin imagined it and wanted to smile, yet she kept her face firm.

      You should still be taking it easy, and you should still be wearing your collar. You should not be climbing ropes to hang upside down from rafters.

      Chris let out a long breath of disgust. Rinny, I am over wearing that stupid collar. I’m okay.

      Well. Erin let out her own deep breath. I guess you proved that. If you can crawl up a rope and hang by your knees just to change a lightbulb, then far be it from me to worry about the ruptured muscles in your neck.

      I’m healed, Rinny.

      So I see.

      I’m good as new.

      And crazy as ever.

      Chris smiled.

      Erin pushed her hands deep into her jacket pockets and kicked a twig off the sidewalk.

      You didn’t answer my question.

      She met Chris’s gaze.

      Am I in trouble? With Sonya?

      Nah. I think she’ll get over it.

      She looked really mad.

      Not mad. Just . . . confused.

      Chris’s dark brown eyes widened. Confused?

      Erin nodded. Yep.

      Confused about what?

      About you, silly.

      Chris looked away as she said, Great.

      They stood in silence for a while. Erin watched two chickadees chase each other through the limbs of a bare oak. She couldn’t wait for spring, for the buds to form, for the daffodils, the lilacs, the tulips . . . for her life to settle back down into some form of normalcy, back into her usual happy routine. How had things gotten so out of hand lately? A faint breath of laughter spurted out her lips. She covered it by clearing her throat.

      Out of hand. Chris’s way of saying insane. The night she smashed two dresser drawers against the wall of her room. Erin rushing to catch a flight to Colorado when she had no idea what waited for her once she arrived. Out of hand. Insane. And yet . . .

      Her life would never again be the same. And Chris’s life, forever changed. All the insanity. Worth it in every way. Thank You, Lord, whispered up from Erin’s soul. Thank You so much for leading us to this place. This moment.

      And yet . . .

      She turned to look at Chris. Are you about done working for today? Have you had lunch yet?

      Well, um . . . yeah, we’re almost done. The response came slowly, as if Chris chose her words carefully, as if she wasn’t exactly telling the truth. We were thinking about putting another coat of paint in the boys’ bathroom. But maybe that can wait. I guess.

      Can you stop and take a break for lunch?

      I’m not sure . . . what Isaiah has planned.

      Chris’s dark eyes skipped back and forth, up and down, never settling on Erin’s face. For spite, Erin moved closer and peered in one of the gym’s glass doors. Isaiah sat on a pile of boxes, eating a sandwich. Erin grinned at Chris. I’d say he has lunch planned.

      Chris barely laughed.

      Okay. Look. If you still have work to do, fine. If you’re hungry, why don’t you come home with me and get some lunch. Then you can come back. I know Isaiah won’t mind. Although I’m sure you’ve found him to be the strictest of taskmasters.

      Now Chris laughed aloud. Strict? Come on, Rinny. Isaiah’s a sweetheart. Reminds me so much of Raymond. Makes me miss Raymond.

      Me too. He should come here.

      Who? Raymond?

      Yeah. We could sure use him. It’d be fun to have him around.

      He wouldn’t like living in a city.

      Erin’s heart clenched. She forced in her next breath. What’s not to like?

      Chris only smiled. A pressed, fake smile that lasted but a second. Maybe two.

      Irritation swept through Erin’s belly. So are you coming for lunch or what? She threw in a goofy grin. We may have some leftover pep’roni pizza.

      Chris’s face softened. No, I want chicken! And her dark eyes shone. Before turning cloudy. Um . . . Rin? Is, um . . . is Scott home?

      Erin’s heart again clenched. And the way her stomach felt now, she wasn’t sure she even wanted to eat. No. He’s out running errands. She knew those were the words Chris hoped to hear. I don’t figure him back until later. Around three.

      Um, okay. But let me go finish up first—put my stuff away. I’ll meet you at your place in about a half hour. Is that okay?

      Erin smiled. Sure. I’ll be there.

      Okay. See you in a little bit. Chris turned, pulled open one of the doors, and headed back into the brightly lit gym.

      Erin watched for a second, watched the laid-back strides of a woman who had become closer than a sister to her. Of a woman who absolutely, positively drove her crazy.

      Please help her, Lord. Help her find her way here. Help her, dear Lord, to . . . She hated even thinking about it. Even the slightest possibility of it. Oh, please help her, dear Lord. Don’t let her leave. Please help her . . . to stay.

      She turned and started a slow, solemn trek toward home.

      3

      FIRST THE CHUNK OF CHICKEN. Then the chunk of cheese. The fork his wife wielded bore all the signs of a lethal weapon in the hands of a crazed murderer.

      Don’t play with your food, Amanda, eat it. Benny, drink your milk.

      His wife directed the words toward their two precious grandchildren, yet Benjamin Connelly immediately picked up his glass of milk and swallowed a long drink.

      I’m finished, Grammy, his four-year-old grandson said. Can I be es-cused?

      Eat the rest of your apple.

      And the boy complied. As did his grandfather.

      Another chunk of chicken speared with that fork, with all the vigor of a caveman spearing a mastodon. Ben quietly cleared his throat. And dared speak. Sonya? Sweetheart?

      Yes, Benjamin?

      What’s—pardon the pun—eating at you?

      What? Her eyes flashed annoyance.

      Pappy, I’m finished now. ’Kay?

      Take care of your plate please.

      ’Kay.

      He watched both children carry their plates, silverware, and glasses to the kitchen, then stand on tiptoes to put them on the counter. Amanda returned to plant a sloppy thank-you kiss on her grandmother’s cheek that her grandmother happily returned.

      The sight about burst Ben’s heart.

      Go on over to the church, Sonya told Amanda. I’ll be there rightly so.

      Okay, Amanda said. Come on, Benny. Bye, Pappy!

      Bye, Spoofer. Bye, Tiger!

      Little Benny’s mighty roar carried back to Big Benny, who only shook his head and laughed. He popped a slice of apple into his mouth and glanced up at his wife. Her face bore a tender smile. Ben saw so much of himself there, in her beautiful pale green eyes.

      You get enough? she asked.

      He swallowed. Yep.

      You still want to know what’s eating at me?

      Yep.

      Sonya took a deep breath. Well, just a few minutes ago, when I went to the gym to get Amanda, I saw Christina hanging upside down by her knees from one of the ceiling rafters. Now, you know I’m terrible at judging distances, but I’m sure she was at least a good thirty feet up. She said she was changing a lightbulb. A lightbulb, Benjamin! With Isaiah standing right there. He was holding the rope she used to climb up there! What do you think of that?

      Ben didn’t know what to think. He knew he didn’t want to laugh—knew this was a predicament of a most serious nature—yet, the more he thought about it . . .

      What if she would have fallen, Benjamin? She would have died!

      He wiped his mouth with a napkin to hide his smile. She wouldn’t have fallen.

      Sonya jerked back in her chair, her eyes bulging. How do you know that?

      I just know.

      She should not have been up there. After all she’s been through.

      Her words were true. Ben folded the napkin and placed it next to his plate. I’m sure she must have felt it was necessary to do it. She wouldn’t have done it without a good reason. Still . . . I’m sure Isaiah must have tried to talk her out of it.

      Well, obviously, he didn’t try hard enough.

      He must have trusted her.

      He doesn’t even know her.

      Do any of us?

      That froze Sonya for a second.

      Sweetheart, we have to trust her. To let her be who she is. Ben ran his finger down the droplets of water that had formed on the outside of his glass of milk. If we try to change who she is, she’ll . . . leave.

      I don’t want her to leave.

      I know you don’t. But you have to realize how hard it is for her to be here. She wants to stay, but is looking for any excuse to leave.

      She mustn’t leave, Benjamin. I feel it. She needs us.

      I agree. And, you know what else?

      What.

      Ben looked his wife in the eye. We need her.

      She let out a long, deep breath.

      You can trust her, Ben said softly. I do. Completely. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.

      All right. Well, then, fine. Sonya leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. But I guess, Benjamin, there’s one thing we’ll just have to make sure we do around here then.

      What’s that?

      Hide all the rope.

      3

      ONLY A BLOCK OR TWO. But at Erin’s present pace, the trip would take a full ten minutes, maybe even fifteen. A mosey. At best. And she liked it that way. Especially down her street. Kimberley Street.

      Past the Colby’s house, with its battered fence and neglected Christmas lights. Past Lenora McClare’s house, with her jungle of houseplants choking her front windows, and her cat, Fredericka, curled up against the glass watching, curious, as Erin sauntered by.

      She knew every house on her stretch of Kimberley Street. Knew most of her neighbors in the twenty-some blocks of northeast Portland, Oregon, she and her coworkers affectionately called Kimberley Square. Hundreds of people. Children, parents, grandparents, great-grandparents. Dogs, cats, ferrets, and various reptiles. An eclectic conglomeration of the world’s cultures neatly packaged in American pride and cohabitating peacefully in the City of Roses.

      So, then, yes. What was not to like?

      Yes, Chris was born and raised in Denver, Colorado. Yes, as of two weeks ago, she lived in a small log cabin in the middle of the majestic Rocky Mountains. Soaked in her own mineral hot springs. Breathed the freshest air in the world. Viewed the most picturesque of mountain vistas from her own front window.

      The more Erin thought about it, the more her stomach ached. She stopped to closely examine a strand of ivy snaking itself around a stalwart Douglas fir.

      The apartment above the clinic was certainly no log cabin. The plain bathtub could never take the place of a mineral hot-spring pool. Especially when it was raining.

      She carefully rubbed a green-striated ivy leaf between her fingers and drew in a deep breath.

      Smelled like car exhaust. Damp leaves. Heavy, moist air.

      Nothing like the crisp, pristine air she breathed standing outside Chris’s cabin that night. The night the setting sun hit her full in her face, yet only emitted a touch of warmth to her cheeks. Exactly four weeks ago. Almost to the minute.

      It didn’t seem possible . . . five years had passed since that horrible day at Dhahran’s airport. Leaving Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, for home. Desert Shield had become Desert Storm, and the storm had swept through Iraq with a force unrivaled in the modern era. Weeks of bombings and raids. An intense one-hundred-hour ground war. And then it was all over.

      The leaf of ivy was perfect—not a blemish, not a misplaced spot of green. Three, no four different shades of green flowing together, yet distinct.

      To see Chris again after all those years, to stand on her porch waiting for her to open the door, then when she did, that smile.

      To hear Chris’s drunken laughter, her anguished sobs, to see such rage in her eyes, then such joy.

      Too much. Erin closed her eyes and whispered the Name that soothed her soul. A prayer. Worship. In its purest form.

      She let go of the ivy leaf, opened her eyes, then turned and continued her aimless trek down Kimberley Street toward home.

      Home. Yes. This place, in only a few short years, had become her home. Yes, Chris had her Rocky Mountains, and Erin had Mount Shasta—the splendor of northern California. Home for her early years, junior high, high school; the place she and her two brothers loved to hunt and fish, rode all-terrain vehicles to hideaways only they knew about, played football and volleyball and ran track for Mountain Lakes High.

      Joe Junior, her older brother, still lived there, though Mickey—Mick as he preferred after taking off for army boot camp—avoided the place like a

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