Arizona Redemption

Arizona Redemption

Copyright 2015 SQ Eads

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

-the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!

Romans 10:12b-15 NIV

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 .by International Bible Society Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

The following is a work of fiction. References to real events, places, businesses and organizations are intended to add a sense of reality to this work. The Honorable, Mayor Charles E. (Chuck) Eads actually existed. Any resemblance to any other person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of 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

Chapter Eithteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About SQ Eads

Other books by SQ Eads

Connect with SQ Eads

Chapter One

Victoria Stilman skillfully steered the shiny, new SUV around yet another curve. She shifted into a lower gear as the grade of the narrow, mountainous road continued its steep decline. The thunderous roar of an oncoming truck overpowered the heavy pounding of quarter-sized raindrops against the windshield.

Oh, Tori, look. It's gorgeous. Tori's older sister, Bonnie, bounced and twisted like a three-year-old, exhibiting the most excitement she'd shown on the entire trip.

Bonnie, I can't look now. Her curt exclamation was in direct contrast to Bonnie's soft, awed tones, and her harsh words slipped from her mouth in perfect sync with the right-hand tires dropping off the scallop-edged pavement. Tori white-knuckled the steering wheel, gritting her teeth at the clunk and ping of rocks flying up against the undercarriage. Please, please don't chip the paint. Mumbling a few derogatory words about drivers who insisted on taking their half out of the middle, she carefully pulled back onto the road. Who says all the crazy drivers are in California? Someone shipped the worst of the worst to this little, nothing town in Arizona. I'd like to run them off this sorry excuse for a road.

As if determined to prove her criticism unjust, the road widened, its surface now glassy- smooth and even. It continued to curve more gently, winding through a canyon littered with houses of every size, shape and color imaginable.

Tori tapped the brakes of the heavy vehicle and traded her grimace for a grin as Bonnie's head swung from right to left – her pointer finger tracking her gaze – the occasional ooh and ah, accompaniment to her animation.

The buildings appeared haphazardly stacked one upon the other, reminding her of a child’s set of building blocks. Some looked as if they'd been chiseled from the gray stone itself, while others clung to patches of red dirt. Narrow, curving roads zigzagged and intersected, connecting the hodgepodge of buildings like the fancy stitching on a crazy quilt. Steps of stone and stairs of weathered wood added further texture to the living tapestry.

Tori? I'm praying we can stay here. It feels...nice. Bonnie's breathless words stabbed Tori like a knife blade.

Me, too, Tori, came the raspy comment from nine-year-old Carla in the back seat. A deep, wracking cough followed the brief statement.

Fingers of fear traced a path up Tori’s spine – again. Carla’s cough wasn’t improving and they had spent the last of their money on an emergency room visit and prescription medicine. So much for doctors and their guarantees. Bunch of quacks.

Trying not to sound as grumpy as she felt, she struggled to interject a note of gaiety in her voice. Hey, you two, we’ve just hit town. We don’t even know what the place is like, or if I'll be able to find work.

Okay, Tori…whatever you think. But I'll keep praying, said Bonnie.

Tori cringed. Bonnie never argued anymore, never insisted on her way, hardly ever really expressed an opinion. Tori almost wished she would. The two of them used to bicker. Bonnie, the oldest, wanted to be the boss, and Tori, the rebel, refused to take orders from anyone. However, since Bonnie had been assaulted, she'd withdrawn. She was like a piece of delicate crystal ready to shatter at the first hint of rough handling.

Tori tried to be gentle, but it was difficult. She was in charge now, making every decision, large and small, and surprise, surprise – she didn't find it as satisfying as she once thought it would be. The control she once coveted hung around her neck like a millstone. What she wouldn't give for just a wee bit of sass from her too-fragile, older sister.

Tori hated the fear and uncertainty that permeated her sister's voice. She hated herself for her part in thrusting more hurt and insecurity into the life of one who'd worn the cloak of those torments far too long. Bonnie deserved happiness, peace and security. And poor Carla. That little scrap of humanity didn’t even know what those words meant.

Tori determined anew to provide her sister and her ward with joy and hope, regardless of the cost to herself. Yeah, you did a great job the last time you tried to fix everything. That's why you're here. Why you're on the run.

Desperate to stop the piercing darts of accusation from penetrating the target around her heart, Tori eased to the curb and shut off the engine. The downpour has lessened. Maybe we can stretch our legs.

She infused her voice with all the confidence at her disposal as Bonnie and Carla fished under the seats for the shoes they’d kicked off after their last stop. We'll make it. We'll find a new life and be happy. I promise. We are setting out on a great adventure.

She reached for her sister's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Looking into Bonnie's blue eyes filled with trust, Tori found it hard to believe that the petite blond facing her was three years older than her own twenty-eight years. We're not really old – not exactly spring chicks either. The question is...what do we have to show for the years we've lived? If we were vehicles, they'd describe us as showing too much wear and tear, having been driven too hard, and involved in a few too many fender benders. So,if fate will give us a break this time, we'll prove we've still got plenty of good miles left in us.

The gentle rain stopped completely, like a giant hand turned off a faucet. They climbed from the vivid, canary-yellow Toyota Sequoia that Carla had dubbed Big Bird. As Tori carefully inspected its shiny finish for any damage, Bonnie and Carla found a shady refuge from the bright, May sun that burst through the fluffy, white clouds. Tori had never seen anything like it – drenching rain one minute and blinding sun the next. In San Diego the heat and moisture simply mixed together.

One final pass around the SUV and Tori was satisfied that the vehicle – their only asset – had sustained no chips or dents. She tugged her Arizona Diamondback baseball cap further down her forehead and leaned against the concrete wall next to Bonnie. They stood for several minutes in silence, taking in the three-dimensional tapestry before them. The mountain community was awash with color. Soft, earth tones were pierced and broken by lances and blobs of pastel color. Then a vivid splash of red, blue or green – even purple – that stood out in sharp contrast, would grab the eye.

What do you think, Bonnie? Is this an artist’s dream or his worst nightmare? Tori laughed.

I like that lavender one. Carla coughed. She couldn't string ten words together without falling victim to chest-rattling coughs. The little blond pointed out a small house tucked amongst several green trees. It reminds me of an Easter egg. (cough)

Tori’s companions continued to point out their favorites. Their soft conversation, the turquoise sky studded with white, fluffy clouds and the moist, warm air finally penetrated the tension holding Tori's body in its grip. Like gentle fingers untangling a skein of yarn, the knots of anger, guilt, fear, uncertainty and jaw-clenching determination slowly unraveled, leaving a thread of peace tickling her heart and mind. She desperately grasped at the tiny tendril of tranquility, aching for it to take hold and entwine her whole being in its protective net. It's been so long. Peace and tranquility haven't even been in my dictionary since – since forever. And certainly since I decided I could FIX everything so life would be great. Once I scratched my name on that piece of paper and said I do! things went straight to h--oops--downhill. She'd promised Bonnie she'd clean up her language – even in her thoughts.

Memories swamped her. Tears welled in her tired eyes, but with a determined effort she held back the overflow. I did care about you, Ricky, maybe not like I should have, but…I'm sorry. Probably, the only halfway smart thing I’ve done lately was to sneak out of the hospital, load Bonnie, Carla and all our meager possessions into the car and head east. Sucking in a deep breath, Tori reminded herself to stop thinking about the past, and concentrate on the future.

She swung her gaze to the left, skimming the hilltop where a white puff of cloud wrapped itself around a pale pink house as if to soothe and protect it from harm. Perhaps this small mountain town, uniquely beautiful, would provide sanctuary for her and her family. It was her job to care for Bonnie and Carla. Perhaps here they would find healing and rest – maybe even hope for the future.

****

M & M Construction. Lance Manning jerked the phone from his head as loud laughter crackled over the line and assaulted his eardrums like a gorilla playing the tympani.

I thought maybe Kate had come down with the croup when I heard that deep voice of yours.

Yeah, right. Lance chuckled. He dropped the receiver into place and switched on the speaker. It was easier on one’s hearing when talking to Chief of Police, Ron Kerwood. Too much time spent at the practice range without proper protective devices had significantly lessened Ron’s hearing. Hence, he assumed everyone in the world was half deaf, and he spoke at a glass-shattering volume.

Lance went back to doodling on the back of an old invoice. Just as a slashed Z had been the signature for the appearance of the legendary Zorro, so cartoons and caricatures scribbled on any blank surface were a sure sign that Lance had been there.

He felt rather ridiculous, sitting in the empty office yelling at the telephone but better that than to end up with damaged eardrums. Kate had to take Shelly to the doctor for her two-year-old check-up. Logan’s out loading sand. So, good old Uncle Lance gets to play secretary.

Another laugh thundered through the receiver and reverberated around the room.

Picturing his childhood friend in his customary pose – that of defying gravity by tilting his chair to a forty-five degree angle – Lance unconsciously sketched a giant of a man, his muscular bulk spilling forth over a tiny chair.

Hey, how’s the new chair holding up? asked Lance. He continued to fill in details in his drawing as he listened to Ron’s commentary on the super-sturdy office chair he’d recently received from the police department for fifteen years of dedicated service.

Lance's fingers flew and a shiny star took shape on the massive chest of his caricature. Then with a flourish, several bold black lines around the man's middle grew into a gun belt with an over-sized pistol, handcuffs, and various other paraphernalia. Lance cocked his head and added a few extra touches to his cartoon character.

So, what’s going down, Chief?

Oops, almost forgot. Actually one of your trucks might be going down.

Lance dropped his pen and snatched up the receiver. What do you mean, one of my trucks might be going down?

That young fellow you just hired has your new dump truck hanging ten off the embankment above Castle Rock.

Lance shoved away from the desk. Man, why didn’t you say so? Dropping the receiver into place, he didn’t wait for Ron to answer. He slipped mirrored sunglasses from his head to his nose, snatched a worn blue cap from a hook on the wall, and snugged it down over his unruly, blond hair.

Shooting out the door, he crashed toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder with his twin brother, Logan. It was a little like smashing into one's reflection in a mirror. Thick, blond hair bleached by the Arizona sun and struggling to escape the confines of blue ball caps, topped both six-foot-two frames. Sky blue eyes locked gazes as the brothers reached out muscular arms to steady one another. Denim jeans and work shirts covered broad shoulders and long legs, unwittingly enhancing the impression of casual strength and power.

Ted's in trouble with that delivery in Old Bisbee. Ron called and said something about his hanging ten over the embankment. You know Ron and his surfing terms. Anyway, I’ve got this horrible mental picture in my mind. I’m on my way to check it out. Pray!

He hopped into his blue Ford truck with the M&M Construction logo on the side, scattering gravel as he turned and headed toward the main road. Lance knew his telling Logan to pray was unnecessary. Logan took seriously God’s command to pray without ceasing and would simply add this situation to his ongoing communication with the Lord. His brother’s prayers on his behalf had been critical in getting him through the toughest of trials. Lord, help me to be more like Logan – on the inside. Lance thought about how truly identical he and Logan were physically, but he often found himself envying his brother’s steadfast faith. Help me turn to You first in every situation, and to keep the line open all the time. I still have a bad habit of depending on my own strength, leaning on the arm of the flesh, before coming to You. Teach me, Lord!

****

Tori, look! The timbre of Bonnie's voice shifting from awe to fearful uncertainty snatched Tori's attention.

Bonnie pointed down the road at a growing crowd of people.

Can you see what they're all gawking at? asked Tori.

Not really, but it must be trouble. As was her current habit when faced with difficulty, Bonnie threw up a protective wall, blocking out the potential trauma, and quickly switched to a more pleasant topic. I've been paying more attention to those three little kids playing in that huge ditch across the road. A smile colored Bonnie's voice now.

Tori turned her gaze to the three leaping, running, sliding munchkins. Their wild antics rivaled the action of any good swashbuckler. The would-be pirates were carting their box of captured treasure from their cardboard ship, which they'd left anchored in a large puddle. They were making their way to a small, dark hole in the hillside, probably intent upon burying their stolen goods.

Tori laughed at their imaginative play, then shifted her eyes once again to the still growing mass of people. Let's join the lookie-loos. Pulling her dark glasses from the brim of her hat and sliding them into place, Tori set out to find what was attracting so much attention.

Bonnie hesitated. Carla and I will stay here and watch the little pirates while you go look. Bonnie grasped Carla’s hand in hers as if to protect her from harm.

Tori knew that in Bonnie's mind a crowd usually meant trouble. She watched her sister's fierce protectiveness toward Carla replace her fear. Tori often teased her about her Mama Bear face. Defending Carla was the only thing that brought out the fight in Bonnie.

The two blonds snuggled closer, side by side. They were one, bonded more closely than many natural mothers and daughters.

When Tori had pulled a bloodied, seven-year-old Carla from the center of a gang beating two years ago and brought her home, she'd never