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  “I’m selling the house.”

  Ty kept his eyes on Camille. “George didn’t want his house sold.”

  A flicker of guilt crossed her face. “It’s my decision.”

  God sure did like His little surprises, didn’t He? “Don’t you think we should talk about this first?” Ty looked at Camille, waiting for an answer.

  The only answer he got was more irritation. “What is there to talk about?”

  “Funny thing, being co-owners of a ranch means we’re gonna have to talk to each other once in a while.”

  The blank look she gave him left a cold feeling on the back of his neck. Oh, no. Don’t tell me...

  Camille’s hands were back on her hips. “What did you mean by that? We’re not co-owners of anything. George left the house to me.”

  Great. Ty got to be the messenger, and messengers never had it easy. “And he left me the land.”

  Christine Raymond grew up eating Chicago-style pizza, sipping pumpkin-spice lattes and plotting her way to happily-ever-afters. Following years of copywriting and one or two or three jobs that involved food, she turned to her laptop and began writing those plots instead of just thinking about them. Christine shares her amazing home with her sweetheart of a husband and oddball cat, both of whom provide their ongoing support and encouragement.

  Books by Christine Raymond

  Love Inspired

  Finding Her Courage

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  FINDING HER COURAGE

  Christine Raymond

  For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.

  —Isaiah 41:13

  For my husband, Dan. Thank you for your unwavering support. Forever and always.

  And for Co-Coe. The cat who stole my heart and made life better. Miss you much.

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Courting His Amish Wife by Emma Miller

  Chapter One

  Camille Bellamy banged her open palm against the rusted window of her car, fighting to get it out of its locked upright position. The smudge-stained glass shook with a chuckle that irritated her almost as much as the twelve-hour drive turned three-day road trip when Buffy broke down in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa.

  If she lost this battle too, she was going to pull her car over to the side of the road, face the great Nebraska Sandhills and let them have it until her throat went hoarse. One battle per week was all she could take.

  The radio blurted something about Phoebe Saylor’s celebrity wedding, then started spitting static. She banged the window again.

  “Easy.” Nikki looked at her from the passenger seat, locked in a battle of her own. Long blond hair had somehow tangled with the ancient seat belts. It was a toss-up on who would win. “I don’t think they have subways out here. Buffy’s gonna have to make it the whole month.”

  Camille drew in a breath. “Sorry. I’m just anxious to get there.”

  “Why don’t we stop and rest?”

  “When we’re this close?” They were already three days late and counting.

  “George’s house isn’t going anywhere.”

  “That’s probably what Dorothy said before the tornado swooped in.”

  “That was Kansas. Different thing entirely.”

  Camille smiled, but they still weren’t stopping. It was her father-in-law’s house or bust. A familiar, unwelcome thought crept in. If Wesley... Fill in the blank. If Wesley were here, Buffy’s window would work. If Wesley were here, they’d have made it by now. If Wesley had never joined the air force...

  Stop. Don’t do that.

  Too late. Thoughts of Wesley could only be relieved by mountains of chocolate or Evie’s coffee-colored eyes, so much like his it was almost scary. She checked Evie in the rearview mirror. Her daughter was staring out the window.

  “You okay back there, sweetie?”

  Honey-colored curls bounced in her direction, and Evie’s eyes met hers in the mirror. They blinked, a thousand thoughts breathing life behind them. So much life, so much love, so much silence. Evie shrugged and resumed looking out the window.

  Camille’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. Nikki slipped one hand on Camille’s forearm and gave a gentle squeeze, then turned and faced the back seat, crossing her eyes and making noises like a walrus. Camille laughed. Evie didn’t even crack a smile. How did a six-year-old find the strength not to giggle?

  Nikki sighed. “I guess I’m not as funny as I think I am.” Camille loved her younger sister for trying though.

  The inside of the car was getting hot. She nudged the window’s down-button again, expecting nothing. A half-inch of space appeared, and Camille’s heart cried victory as the June breeze blew cool air into the stuffy car. It smelled like rain.

  Something clinked. Like a spoon banging against an empty soda can. Soft at first, then louder. Camille frowned and turned her eyes to the faded yellow line on the road, searching for the source.

  Nikki leaned forward in her seat. “What is that?”

  A blast of gray smoke poured out from under Buffy’s hood, covering the windshield and making it impossible to see anything beyond the dashboard. Camille slammed on the brakes, realized that was probably the exact wrong thing to do and eased off them so they didn’t go skidding.

  Nikki was breathing hard. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Please not the radiator again. She’d had to scrape the bottom of her piggy bank to pay for the last one, and she was all out of piggies. Patches of road peeked at her through the thick haze, and in one of them she saw a gas station up on the right.

  Camille pulled to a stop beside a rusty gas pump in a four-pump station. There was a tiny garage attached to it. What if the car explodes? Camille thanked her inner voice for that lovely, terrifying thought and suggested Nikki and Evie get out quickly.

  They slipped out and Camille urged her car away from the pump toward a small diner to the left of the station, but Buffy rejected her offer and stayed right where she was. Goodie. Camille wiped a strand of blond hair from her eyes, popped the hood and went to investigate.

  Nikki was holding Evie away from the smoke. Camille almost managed to get the hood open without burning herself. She had no idea what to do. White smoke meant Buffy needed a rest. Black smoke meant pull over now. But gray smoke was unknown territory.

  “Everything okay?” A man’s deep voice rolled toward her from the station’s doors, a cross between friendly neighbor and old-style crooner.

  Camille turned to look and her mind blanked. She’d never seen a real-life cowboy. Maybe once. But that was over six years ago. Most of the men in her life since then had worn military uniforms. Not quite the same thing. Dusty hair peeked out from under a Stetson hat, sending soft shadows across sun-kissed skin the color of dark sand.

  “Do you work here?”

  The man smiled, a crooked grin so Elvis-like she almost expected him to pull out a guitar. “No. But I know a thing or two about eng
ines.”

  She noticed Nikki applying two layers of bubblegum-pink lipstick and checking her reflection in the side mirror. Wasn’t twenty-six too old for boy crazy?

  “Can I take a look?” Broad shoulders rolled back under a blue chambray work shirt, and Camille couldn’t help the tiny flip her heart gave when he started forward.

  * * *

  Ty Spencer’s stomach had been growling for the last hour. Ten minutes ago he’d passed hungry and stumbled into starving. If he didn’t get home in the next fifteen minutes, he’d never get to eat before his one o’clock showed up. But his father had taught him better than to leave two women and a kid stranded at a gas station. Especially when one of the women had dimples the size of Texas.

  Just be fast.

  “We had our radiator replaced a few days ago, think that could be it?” The blonde with the dimples stared uncertainly at the engine.

  “Maybe.” He looked under the hood and found the problem. “It’s your hose. It’s busted.”

  “A hose?” Her right eyebrow arched, a perfect Mr. Spock.

  Cute. Definitely cute. But cute meant trouble. And he was avoiding trouble these days.

  “It’s an easy fix.” He gave her his best thousand-watt smile, generally reserved for bloggers or reporters asking about his veterans’ rehab ranch. “There’s no mechanic on right now, but I can make a call and get your car towed to one of the bigger places in town that are open Sundays. They should have you up and running pretty fast.”

  Dimples’s mouth fell open. “Towed?” The color in her face dropped two shades, and the woman lingering off to the side hurried over. Same blond hair, same blue eyes. Sisters. The kid was close, but different. Her brown eyes must’ve come from her father.

  The sister looked worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “We need a tow.”

  Even the kid looked worried now. The sister scrunched her face. “I’ve got my credit card. It’s not maxed out yet. I don’t think.” Tight money was one thing Ty could understand.

  Visions of a roast beef sandwich with hot mustard evaporated. “I know the station’s owner. I’m sure he’ll let me in the garage. I can grab a new hose and put it in for you right here.”

  The look on Dimples’s face was part desperation, part gratitude. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

  But the crinkle across her brow didn’t ease. “How much for the hose, do you think?”

  A hose at cost was fifteen bucks, maybe twenty. He had a couple of tens tucked in his wallet he could use. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” The word started as a squeak, then rose three octaves.

  Dimples’s sister pinched her arm. “Don’t mind her. We’re from the city. My sister’s naturally suspicious of anyone who smiles more than an hour a day. Offer to help someone for free and you’re probably on the FBI’s most-wanted list.”

  Dimples glared at her. “I don’t think you’re on the FBI’s most-wanted list.”

  Ty’s lips curved up. He glanced at the little girl. “Don’t worry, the only list I’m on is Santa’s nice list.”

  The kid blinked and said nothing.

  “She’s just shy.” Dimples ran a hand through the girl’s hair.

  “Sure. Lots of kids are, I guess.”

  An old Ford pickup pulled up to the pump next to theirs. Ty tried not to bite his tongue as Liam Kendrick stepped out. He was alone today. No Mia. No trouble. Not unless Ty caused it.

  For two seconds Ty thought about walking over there and telling Liam off. He knew the conversation by heart. He’d written it the day Mia left and had played it over and over in his head since then. Words like cheater and liar were peppered heavily throughout. He’d even managed to work in pettifogger. Ty’d had to look that one up. It meant a lawyer who uses unethical methods to get what he wants. Liam was no lawyer, but he’d certainly gotten what he wanted. Mia was his, and Ty was alone.

  But the kid was watching, and Ty wasn’t about to scare her just to let off some steam. He offered Liam a polite nod. Liam turned away.

  Clock. Ticking.

  Right. Liam wasn’t the problem right now. There was a new challenge—get home before the party showed up.

  “I’ll get that hose for you.” Ty went into the station, and when he came back out, Liam was gone. Good. He tossed a couple of candy bars into his truck and checked the message coming in from Dillon. Where are you?

  Ty returned his brother’s text. On my way. Get the plane ready.

  It took fifteen minutes to get the hose changed and test it out.

  He gave Dimples a warning. “It’s still pretty hot under the hood. I’d grab a bite at the diner next door and let her cool down for an hour or so. They have the best banana cream pie in Sweetheart, and it’s half-priced on Sundays.”

  The sister smiled at him. “Why don’t you join us? We’ll buy you a slice. As a thank-you.”

  It was tempting, especially when Dimples seconded the idea. “You should. We owe you that much at least.”

  When was the last time he’d had pie with a pretty girl? Not since Mia. And look how that had turned out. Better to avoid temptation.

  Dimples pushed a strand of hair out of her face, and a wedding ring caught his eye. How had he missed that? The kid was hanging off her now, and a lightbulb flashed on. She’s married. With a kid.

  A tiny flicker of disappointment rolled over him. “Thanks, but I’m already late.” The candy bars would have to do till dinner, but at least the three of them wouldn’t be stuck here all day.

  Dimples took her daughter’s hand. “Thanks for your help.”

  Ty smiled. “Sure thing. Enjoy your time in Sweetheart.”

  * * *

  Nikki held her phone toward the roof of the car, waving it around, trying to get her signal back. She looked at the screen. “Nothing.”

  Camille’s spine stiffened. “It’s around here somewhere.” She slowed Buffy down as they came to a side road. A sign out front read Buggeroo Ranch.

  “We passed that already,” said Nikki. “Twice.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “With a name like Buggeroo?”

  Camille arched one eyebrow. “Maybe the next one.” A soft breeze blew a handful of dust into her car and she pushed the up button on her window. It didn’t budge.

  “We should’ve asked that guy for directions,” said Nikki. “And his name.”

  Camille looked at her. “What for?”

  “He was cute.”

  “So?”

  “Seriously? I have to explain cute?” Nikki shook her head and made tsking sounds.

  “We’re not staying in Sweetheart forever.”

  “Yeah, but you’re allowed to date.”

  She shot Nikki a warning look, letting her know she was about to cross a serious line. “I’m not here to date. We’re selling the house and paying off the b-a-n-k.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure Evie can spell bank.” But she must’ve taken the hint because she stopped talking and started waving her phone again. At least they wouldn’t starve on their search. That really had been the best banana cream pie ever.

  “That was it.” Nikki’s back went straight as her head swiveled to the right and she pointed one finger toward a stretch of road they’d just passed.

  Buffy’s brakes squeaked as Camille turned her head. “What? Where? I didn’t see anything.”

  “That sign back there said Sweet Dreams Ranch.”

  “What sign?”

  “Just turn around.”

  Camille did an about-face and this time caught the weathered sign with a red arrow pointing down a dirt road. She turned the corner. Tires crunched over the gravel. Everywhere around her was mixed-grass prairie stretched over what looked like miles of sand dunes.


  They passed a tree with spiky branches and a thick trunk that looked older than the Earth. Wesley had pointed it out to her the one time she’d visited, right after they were married. He’d said his great-great-grandfather planted that tree.

  There was a bend in the road ahead, curving up a gently sloping hill that made Buffy sputter. A house came into view, and Nikki’s mouth dropped open. Evie pressed her face against the back window, and Camille leaned forward in her seat.

  “That’s not it,” said Nikki. “It can’t be. That’s a mansion.”

  It wasn’t a mansion, but it might as well have been compared to the bread box they were coming from. Five bedrooms, one for each of them plus extra. Two full bathrooms. A kitchen she could cook a Thanksgiving feast in, if she ever learned how to cook.

  Nikki gave a low whistle. “The pictures didn’t do this place justice. Are you sure you want to sell?”

  Camille gave her sister a practiced mom look. Don’t press it.

  Nikki shrugged. “I had to ask.”

  George had taken such good care of the place it could have passed for new instead of rounding up its hundredth anniversary. They pulled up to a patch of greenish-sandy grass that was all the rage out here and got out just in time for Buffy’s engine to let out a final wheeze. She’d be okay again in the morning, but this was her nap time.

  Another ranch stood in the distance, maybe a quarter mile down the road. They had a pretty clear view of it from here even with the trees. Before he died, George had always spoken very highly of his neighbors. It was another good sign, just like the impending rain.

  “Keys?” Nikki held her hands out, and Camille tossed them to her. A friendly rabbit hopped over to say hello. It wiggled its nose at them. Evie turned away and went up the porch steps.

  Nothing changes, does it? Thanks, God, big help You are. At least they’d have a few weeks of fresh air.

  Nikki had the keys in the door. “The first showing’s at eleven tomorrow, and I can’t reschedule. So just shove things into closets and spread blankets over anything dusty. I’m up for—”