ROAD TO FORGIVENESS by Carol Cox

ROAD TO FORGIVENESS

Heartsong Presents
Barbour Publishing
HSB 632
ISBN: 1-59310-542-8
February 2005

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ROAD TO FORGIVENESS
by Carol Cox

Lonesome Valley, Arizona Territory
1898

From chapter two

Hallie drew her feet up onto the wooden seat and folded her arms atop her knees. Resting her chin on her arms, she stared out across the rolling valley.

Fawn-colored hills stretched out in a broad sweep to the mountains in the near distance, Mingus Mountain to the east, the Bradshaws to the south. Their solid bulk surrounded her valley like a pair of mighty arms, shielding the range her father had claimed as his own–the Broken Box Ranch, the only home she had ever known.

This land was a part of her, its texture intimately woven into the very fiber of her being. For as long as she could remember, she had watched its many moods unfold. And for as long as she could remember, its familiarity never failed to calm her, to fill her with a sense of peace and satisfaction.

Her land. Her home. And yet. . .

A vague longing surfaced, one that filled her consciousness more and more often of late. Why didn’t the majestic panorama provide the same satisfaction as before? What had changed? It couldn’t be her beloved mountains. Their solid bulk stood just as imposingly as it had for untold centuries. The foothills, the valley– all remained the same as they had always been. No, if there was a difference, it must be within her.

A soft sigh escaped her lips. “What’s the matter with me?”

A shadow fell across her lap and a voice grated near her ear. “Not a thing that I can see.”

Hallie started and whipped her head around to see who had invaded her private moment. All her peaceful feelings scattered to the winds like dandelion fluff at the sight of Pete Edwards, her father’s top hand, standing behind her. She fought to untangle her legs from her skirt and struggled to her feet.

Pete watched her with a slow smile that made her bring her hand to her neckline to make sure the buttons were fastened. He spread his legs wide apart in a bold stance and folded his beefy arms, obviously enjoying her discomfort. “Need a hand?”

“No, thank you.” Hallie looked at Pete with distaste. With his stocky build and self-assured air, he could almost pass for a younger version of her father. Their demeanor, though, could not have been more different. Her father’s expression often looked as if it had been carved from a block of granite, but Hallie never doubted the depth of his love for her. Pete, on the other hand, generally sported a smile, but it held all the warmth of a coyote’s grin when eyeing a cottontail.

Right now his smile set warning bells off inside her head. “Excuse me. I need to go inside now.” She angled to her left, intending to give Pete a wide berth.

He took a step to his right and blocked her way. “You don’t have to pretend to be coy, Hallie. I know you like me.”

Hallie caught herself in midstride and shifted to the right. Pete followed suit. “Darlin’, if you want to dance with me, just say the word.”

Hallie flushed and he let out a low rumble of a laugh. She felt the sting of tears.

Pete’s broad face split in one of his coyote smiles. “Face it, Hallie. You can’t get away from me unless I let you. You might as well give up and admit how you feel about me.”

I can’t tell you what I think of you, Pete Edwards. My mother raised me to be a lady. Hallie’s glance darted from Pete to the kitchen door. Even listening to her father and Edgar Wilson haranguing would be better than this. “Leave me alone, Pete.”

In answer, he spread his arms wide and took a step toward her. Like a cottontail evading a coyote, Hallie darted toward the left, then scurried to the right. The abrupt change in direction caught Pete off guard, and she slipped past him.

Her moccasins churned up puffs of dust as she raced toward the house. Behind her, Pete’s taunting voice rang clear: “You can run away this time, but there’ll be another. I know where to find you when I want you.”