Thirty-two-year-old Dakota Ryder quickly finished the
report he was reading and scrawled his signature across
the bottom. He leaned back in the dark brown leather
chair, grimacing as he heard it squeak. He needed to get
that oiled, he thought, but then immediately dismissed the
idea as yet another thing to do later, when he had more
time. He glanced at the clock over the sofa and sighed.
Pushing back from his mahogany desk, he grabbed up the
papers he'd just finished and stood. He was running late.
He strode across the deep, thick, mauve carpet, pausing
only to pull open the door before leaving his office. At
Sherry Anne's desk, his assistant, who was busily creating
next Sunday's bulletin on her computer, he hesitated.
Smiling at the middle-aged blonde, he dropped the reports
he'd signed into her in-box on the corner of her small
desk.
"Can you see that these get mailed to headquarters?" He
twisted his wrist to look at his watch, confirming that
the time was the same as the clock in his office. "I'm
going to be late for my meeting with the contractors."
Sherry Anne picked up the papers and checked the
address. "Sure thing. Jacob and Marlene called about their
counseling appointment. They want to change it to next
week."
"Fit them in." Looking again at his watch, he
muttered, "I'm going to be out the rest of the day. Lock
up when you leave."
"Sure thing, Pastor." Sherry Anne turned back to her
computer screen. "Don't forget your 9:00 a.m. meeting
tomorrow with Mr. Bennett. He wants to talk to you about
the finances."
Dakota groaned. "Thanks." Zachary Bennett and his wife,
Georgia, were huge contributors to the church — and
somehow they felt that gave them the right to tell Dakota
how to spend church money.
He headed through the foyer. The dark red carpet muffled
his footsteps as he passed between the two long middle
rows of white pews. The padded seats matched the red of
the carpet.
How many times had he looked out over the congregation who
filled these pews three times each week? He mentally
calculated as he hastened toward the back door and to his
appointment. Seven years, nearly three services every week…
too many to count.
He continued down the aisle, hearing the air-conditioning
turn on. Pausing by the thermostat, he clicked the switch
to off. The band had forgotten to turn it off after
practice earlier. He made a mental note to mention it to
them.
Life was too short, he thought, making a list of things he
needed to do. He never had enough hours in the day to get
things done. The church currently had no associate pastor,
so Dakota was trying to complete all of the pastoral jobs
himself. Except for the youth. They did have a great youth
pastor — who was still in his office working right now, as
a matter of fact.
Working.
Just like Dakota was working, even though he was leaving
the church. Just like he'd be working late into the night
on a load of reports he'd stashed in his car earlier.
Heading out to his little compact sedan, Dakota tried to
think of a time since returning from seminary that he
hadn't been busy working on one project or another. There
weren't many times, lately. At least he was busy doing
God's work, he thought as he pulled out his keys to unlock
the door.
But that didn't leave him time for anything else. Glancing
at his watch again, he noted he was going to be late-late-
late. He pulled out his cell phone as he unlocked the car,
and struggled to balance the phone against his shoulder.
"Call, Chandler Contracts," he spoke into the phone. The
sun was shining brightly today, even though it wasn't hot.
Summer was past and fall had finally arrived. The wind
whipped at his hair as he finally managed to get the lock
turned in the door. Ah, the wind. There was nary a day
without it on the plains of Texas.
The phone on the other end began to ring.
He slid into the silver Honda and slipped on the gray seat
belt.
He loved his hometown and all that went with it; the
weather was great, he knew everyone, it was small enough
to get anywhere pretty fast, but it was still big enough
to have most of the stores and businesses he might need —
like the contractors he was about to hire.
"Chandler Contractors. How may I direct your call?" The
deep baritone voice came across the line clearly.
Dakota started his car. "This is Dakota Ryder. I have an
appointment with Harry Chandler regarding an extension to
our church. I'm running about ten minutes behind. I need
you to let him know."
He could hear typing in the background and then, "Very
well. Thank you for letting us know, Pastor Ryder."
He shook his head with a slight smile, realizing the young
man on the other end of the phone must know him. "No
problem."
Clicking the phone off, he dropped it in the empty seat
next to him and then pushed the gearshift into Reverse
with one hand while twisting the wheel of the car with the
other.
Glancing over his shoulder as he backed out, he shook his
head. Life couldn't get any more hectic.
Chase Sandoval paused as he set the porcelain figurine
over the hearth of the fireplace.
They'd been back barely a week in Shenandoah, Texas, and
he had finally started unpacking things beyond the basics
they'd needed to survive.
This was why.
The porcelain figure was of a woman wearing a long dress.
Her long, wavy hair was pulled back with a blue bow. On
her lap sat a tiny child, and the mother stared down
lovingly at the child, her arms protecting it carefully.
He'd gotten the figurine for Ruthie when she'd found out
she was pregnant with their child.
With Sarah.
Sarah was eleven and his precious Ruthie was gone. Chase's
heart contracted and his hands shook. Cancer.
Chase and Sarah had watched Ruthie fade away before dying.
Why hadn't she gone for checkups more often? Why had she
ignored the signs? More important, why hadn't she told
them about her secret?
Angry at first, Chase had finally sunk into acceptance.
However, as acceptance had come he'd realized their house
in Fort Worth was too empty without her. His job, which
had kept him gone so much, now hindered his ability to
raise his daughter.
If he'd been around more, perhaps he would have noticed
the changes in his wife before it was too late.
But he hadn't and his wife was dead and his daughter was
on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent. She didn't
want to be around him or talk to him. She'd started
hanging out with some of the bad kids and running the
streets. He'd had to find some way to head it off, and
quick.
But how?
The house was too empty, his job hours were too long, and
his daughter was acting more like eighteen than eleven…
How he had wished he could capture his own childhood and
share it with her.
And that's when the idea had struck him.
It'd only taken a few weeks to get a reply back from the
local sheriff's office about jobs and then a few more
weeks to sell their house.
Then, he'd come back home, to Shenandoah. This was a place
where he could raise his daughter, a place to help her
find good influences for her life, a place to start over
and try to do things right this time. It was a place where
they could heal.
Without Ruthie.
Chase hugged the figurine to his chest, and then, with a
sigh, reluctantly released his grip on the tiny porcelain
figure as he tried to release past pain, setting it upon
the hearth just as he tried to set aside the grief and
leave it in the past.
The oak hearth was beautifully crafted, the intricate
designs made by loving hands. A mirror stretched above the
length of the hearth, reflecting Chase's own short, dark
brown hair and deep brown eyes. He looked a bit haggard —
he needed to step a bit closer to the razor that morning.
He turned his gaze from the mirror, glancing around the
room. The floors and ceiling beams were also made of wood
and shone as if freshly oiled. The walls were white and
the windows were tall and narrow, covered by curtains left
by the last owners, who'd said they fit these windows and
wouldn't go with their new house.
He appreciated their generous gift.
Still, at moments like this, Chase wondered why he'd
bothered with such an elaborate house. There was no one
here to care for it, no wife to see that those curtains
found matches in furniture or knickknacks.
But he knew.
It was because of Sarah that he'd bought the house. She
needed a home in a good neighborhood with good schools.
The people who had lived here before him had built a fort
out back and had a permanent swing set made of wood
cemented into the ground. There was a great climbing tree
with a picnic table under it. All were constructed with
good craftsmanship. He should know — in his spare time he
used to build things. He'd gotten some experience here in
Shenandoah, working for a carpenter. He loved building and
thought Sarah would love the sturdy, beautifully crafted
equipment out back, as well as the large spacious room and
the quiet small-town feel of Shenandoah.
It would be a place for Sarah.
Staring at the beautiful, though painful, reminder of his
beloved wife, Sarah's mother, he decided he'd done enough
unpacking for the day. He was going into town for lunch.
He and Sarah could unpack together later. Maybe they'd
order a pizza tonight and pop in a movie.
But being in this house, alone, with all of the memories —
Turning away, he headed to the door, scooping up his keys
on the way, and leaving the pain for later.
Carolyne Ryder sat in the old-fashioned, padded rocking
chair, holding her four-month-old grandson, Joshua. He'd
been fussy and unable to go to sleep, while his twin
sister, Julie, was resting like a little angel in the crib
across the room.
Joshua was asleep now, but Carolyne continued to rock back
and forth, back and forth, patting the child's back.
Her daughter, Susan, didn't really need her here. She'd
come to that conclusion about three weeks ago. She had a
live-in housekeeper who doubled as a nanny and who was
there to take care of the kids. Cokie did a great job.
Still, Susan and her husband, Johnny, had insisted that
Carolyne stay as long as she wanted. These were her first
grandchildren, Susan had only returned to work six weeks
ago, and the kids needed a grandmother there for a while
longer…
So Carolyne had stayed.
But she was restless. Montana was getting cold, a cold
Carolyne wasn't used to, and this just wasn't her home.