Irene Brand - Song of Her Heart

Mason had envisioned Norah as a woman in her sixties who would provide a grandmotherly model for the children in the therapeutic program.

But Norah wasn’t grandmotherly. He could hardly believe she was forty-two. Her straight, silvery-gray hair was arranged over her forehead in a wispy mist, then flowed in soft layers to the base of her neck. Her bright, clear blue eyes were highlighted by long black lashes that contrasted with her ivory skin.

Mason had been lonely since his father’s death, but he hadn’t understood how lonely until Norah had entered his home. Yearnings that Mason thought he’d stifled forever suddenly seemed important again….

Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984, she’s published twenty-four contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles with publishers such as Zondervan, Thomas Nelson, Barbour, Kregel and Steeple Hill. She started writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.

Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to forty-nine of the United States, Hawaii excepted, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I call to remembrance my song in the night:

I commune with mine own heart:

and my spirit made diligent search.

—Psalms 77:6

Thanks to Myra Johnson for sharing information

about her work with SIRE,

Houston’s Therapeutic Equestrian Center.

And to Charles and Elaine Rawson for sharing

expertise on how to prepare for an ox roast.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Norah Williamson picked up speed on the unpaved road, topped a small hill and hit the brakes with such force that the seat belt clamped her body in an unyielding grip. She panicked momentarily, finding it hard to breathe.

Blocking the roadway was the most intimidating animal she’d ever seen in her life—an enormous white-faced red bull with white patches on his chest, flanks and lower legs. Curled forward around his face were two ominous-looking horns. To Norah, the animal appeared to be gigantic as an elephant, although when she recovered from her initial shock, she realized he wasn’t really that big.

Her brother’s accusation flashed through Norah’s mind. When Sam had learned that she’d put the family home in Springfield, Missouri, on the market and was going to take a job on a ranch in northern Nebraska, he’d said, with biting sarcasm, “You’re nothing but a foolish old maid, searching for a dream that vanished twenty-five years ago.”

Norah wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive Sam for that remark, nor did she remind him that he was one of the reasons she’d lost her dream. But now, stranded in the middle of a sea of grassland, her way obstructed by a Hereford bull, she conceded that Sam’s assessment might very well describe her situation.

After leisurely driving for two hours through Nebraska’s Sand Hills, enjoying the spring flowers that dotted the fields of waving grass, pausing often to watch white-tailed deer bounding across the prairie, Norah had become a bit concerned when she realized that darkness was approaching. She’d started wondering how long it had been since she’d seen another car or even a driveway into a ranch. She’d noticed several towns of black-tailed prairie dogs, hundreds of birds on the roadside lakes and herds of white-faced cattle, but no signs of human habitation. This rangeland was overwhelming to a woman who’d lived all of her forty-two years in a city.

Her concern had lightened when she’d seen a mailbox beside the road and a sign indicating that the Flying K ranch, her destination, was three miles away. But right now she was stranded in the middle of nowhere because of this bull.

Knowing she couldn’t spend the night in a standoff with the animal, she blew the horn. He shook his head, bellowed and moved forward menacingly, shoving his huge head and shoulders over the hood of her small car. Eyeball to eyeball with the beast, she raced the engine, backed up quickly and started to pass on the right side. But instead of going forward, the car slid sideways into a deep ditch, startling a grouse from her nest in a clump of grass.

The bull ambled to the side of the road and peered down at her. Norah cowered, body trembling, expecting him to attack the car at any moment. If he did, her ten-year-old compact vehicle wouldn’t provide much protection. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on the steering wheel.

“God,” Norah prayed aloud, “what am I going to do? In spite of my family’s displeasure with me, I’m convinced it’s Your will for me to take this job. I need help.”

The car was slanted at a forty-five-degree angle, and the left wheels of the vehicle were suspended several inches above the ground. She shut off the car’s engine, resigned to spend the night in this position if she had to.

Opening the window a sliver, Norah detected the sound of an approaching vehicle, and saw dual head-lights bounding up and down across the prairie. A red pickup ground to a halt, and a large, blackwhiskered man, garbed in jeans, brown jacket, boots and a wide-brimmed hat, jumped from the truck and swatted the bull across the rear. The bull ambled to one side as the man slid down the incline toward her.

An honest-to-goodness cowboy had come to the rescue!

He bent over and peered in the window. “Ma’am, are you hurt?” he asked in a deep voice that sounded as if it came from the bottom of a well.

Relieved to know that help had come, laughing and crying at the same time, Norah gulped. “I don’t think so.”

When he stood, he towered over the car, and all Norah could see of her rescuer was a broad chest encased in a vivid blue shirt. The stranger quickly surveyed the situation and asked, “What happened?”

“That bull was in the middle of the road, and when I tried to drive around him, my car slid into the ditch.”

“I’ll have you out of there in a few minutes.”

His deep, matter-of-fact voice encouraged Norah. She knew she was in safe hands, but she still didn’t trust the bull.

“I’m not getting out of this car as long as that animal is here. I’m afraid of him.”

The man peered in the window again, and his eyes widened in surprise. Although it was dusky, Norah could see that his eyes were almost as dark as his whiskers. “Afraid of Buster? He’s gentle as a lamb.”

“Ha!” she said derisively. “He shook his head and glowered at me through the windshield.”

“Just Buster’s way of welcoming you to the Flying K ranch. If you’d waited a few minutes, he’d have moved aside.”

The stranger pulled the door open and gave Norah a strong hand to hold as she unsteadily climbed out of the car and up the steep, slippery bank.

“Then I have arrived at the Flying K ranch?”

He leaned forward and peered at Norah’s face. “You headin’ for the Flying K? I supposed you’d taken a wrong turn. What’d you say your name was?”

“I didn’t say, but it’s Norah Williamson.”

The man shoved back his hat, revealing a broad forehead. A bewildered grin spread across his face, and he reached out his hand. “Well! Welcome to the Flying K ranch, Norah. I’m Mason King. Somehow I was expecting an older woman.”

With those black whiskers covering three-fourths of his face, it was hard to tell how old Mason was, but the part of his face she could see was unwrinkled, his body was firm and agile and he walked with a youthful tread. She hadn’t thought much about Mason’s age, but it was obvious he was in his prime.

“I guess we didn’t get around to exchanging ages in our e-mails,” Norah said. “I’m forty-two.”

“Then I’m three years ahead of you.” He turned toward the ditch. “I’ll soon have your car out of there. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“I don’t seem to be. The car slid slowly down the hill.”

“It’s been raining off and on for a week, and the ground is soaked. Most times you wouldn’t have had any trouble.”

From his truck bed littered with a conglomeration of ranch equipment, including rope, nail kegs, wire and shovels, Mason pulled out a long chain. He attached it to her car, then fastened the chain to a hook on the back of his truck.

“Stand aside now, and I’ll get your car out on the road again. There doesn’t seem to be much damage.”

While the pickup slowly lifted the car from the ditch, Norah kept a wary eye on Buster, now grazing contentedly in the knee-high grass beside the road. Buster glanced in her direction occasionally and let out a throaty bellow. The noise irritated her. After all, he was the reason for her misfortune, and he needn’t gloat over it.

Mason circled the car, kicking at the tires and peering underneath. She couldn’t tell if the car was damaged, because the whole right side was covered with mud where it had landed against the bank.

Agitated, Norah looked out into the darkness settling around them. She’d wrecked her car and was at the mercy of this stranger. Why had she made the decision to come to this remote place?

“There’s a dent in one fender, but it’ll run all right,” Mason said. “It’s too late to settle you at the Bar 8 ranch tonight, so I reckon you’ll have to bunk at the Flying K. Are you okay to drive to the ranch? It’s only another mile.”

Still preoccupied with her awkward situation, Norah mumbled, “I’ll be all right if I don’t encounter another bull.”

Mason answered with a pleasant laugh, and he opened the door for her. “You’ll get used to cattle after you’ve been here a few weeks.” He closed her door and got into his truck, motioning for her to follow him.

Fearing the darkness around her, Norah’s hands gripped the steering wheel. The only light she could see came from the truck in front of her, and the blackness of the night in these unfamiliar surroundings intimidated her. After a short drive, Mason turned toward several buildings illuminated by security lights. He jumped from the truck and waved Norah to a parking space beside him.

“I’m not fixed for company,” he explained as he opened the car door, “but we can manage tonight. Wait until I get a light turned on in the house, and then I’ll help you carry in what you need for overnight.”

“Do you live here alone?” Norah asked, hoping the agitation she felt didn’t register in her voice.