Elizabeth White - On Wings Of Deliverance

The very idea made Owen’s blood pressure rise.

Bernadette patted his hand. “You’re such a gentleman, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ve traveled to other foreign countries alone, my Spanish is fluent and I’m familiar with the culture. I’ll really be safer without–”

“No, you would not be safer without me!” Owen protested. “Let’s have this out once and for all. You claim to be so good at interpreting men. Did you not see the way that federale was looking at you?” He leaned in, nose to nose. “You. Are. Stuck. With. Me. Period.”

THE TEXAS GATEKEEPERS:

Protecting the borders…and the women they love

ELIZABETH WHITE

A native Mississippian, Elizabeth White now lives on the Alabama Gulf Coast with her minister husband, two teenagers and a Boston terrier named Angel. Beth plays flute and pennywhistle in church orchestra, teaches second-grade Sunday school, and—as an occasional diversion from writing—paints portraits in chalk pastel. Creating stories of faith, in which a man and woman fall in love with each other and Jesus, is her passion and source of personal spiritual growth. She is always thrilled to hear from readers c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY, 10279 or on the Web at www.elizabethwhite.net.

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me; He delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.

—Psalms 34:4–5

To Mary Ann,

who has prayed faithfully for this story.

I would like to express my gratitude to fellow author Jane Meyers Perrine, who translated my Spanish when she had her own stories to write. ¡Gracias!

Appreciation also goes to Karen M. Wise, whose entertaining and often funny Internet journal of her bus adventure through central Mexico enriched my story with details. Great pictures!

Thanks to my children who put up with me during marathon writing sessions. And to my husband, who came through with great ideas and encouragement when I needed it—all I can say is I love you!

Dear Reader,

Writing Bernadette and Owen’s love story has been a soul journey for me. Over the years I have counseled so many Christian women who struggle with issues of shame and condemnation—remnants of an old life before Christ came in. Words never seem to come to me in the right way when I listen to such heartaches, doubts and fears. My natural response is to write a story to illustrate how God deals with our stumbles.

Bernadette is a character who has begged me to complete her story for years. She was outwardly strong and full of faith, but full of inner feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness. The process of creating for her a hero whom God would use to heal those doubts was eminently satisfying. Owen is to me a picture of God’s agape unconditional love.

The Bible, of course, is full of word pictures of lives transformed by grace. Rahab. Mary Magdalene. The Samaritan woman at the well. It’s amazing how we can know “in our heads” that Jesus washes us clean when we come to Him—and then still act in fear. I hope you’ll go to the Bible to reread these wonderful stories, and discover anew the hope available in Jesus!

Blessings,

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 EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

Yucatán Peninsula, Mexico

“So there I am, all fat, dumb and happy—” Owen Carmichael ducked under the Cessna to check the propeller mechanism “—when my bird’s engine goes out and I see the ground coming at me like a pie in the face.”

Kyle Garrett, the fifteen-year-old missionary kid helping Owen with preflight inspection, gently set down the sand crab he’d been playing with. “So what’d you do?” His freckled face was alive with curiosity.

“About fifty feet off the ground, I pull the nose up real quick, like you rein in a horse. Hand me that wrench, would you?” Owen gestured toward the tool chest sitting on the sand near the boy’s feet. “Then I adjust in the opposite direction so the tail won’t slam into the ground. The wind creates enough lift on the blades to slow the landing.”

“Man, that’s so cool that you can fly a chopper and a plane.” Kyle squatted under the wing to watch Owen work. “I’m gonna take flying lessons when I go back to the States for college.”

“Tell you what, next trip down here I’ll take you up for a lesson.” Deep under the belly of the plane, Owen squinted into the bright sunlight that flooded the beach, which also functioned as a makeshift airstrip.

From Owen’s perspective, the kid didn’t have much to complain about. The Gulf of Mexico lay just twenty yards away, and the ocean spray left a pleasant salty taste on his lips. He wished he had a few more days to spend here before heading back to the south Texas desert.

Unfortunately, his vacation time was up. As a United States Border Patrol agent/BORSTAR specialist, he’d been uniquely qualified to make this supply run down to the coast of the peninsula for Mission Aviation Fellowship. He was glad to do it, not least because of the excuse to check up on Bernadette Malone. Benny had been here for a month as a hurricane-relief volunteer, and he’d missed her—more than he would admit to anyone but himself.

“Hey, Owen?” Kyle’s voice cracked on the upswing. “Hasn’t Benny been driving my dad’s old Jeep?”

Owen turned his head, leaning down to keep from putting a dent in his forehead. All he could see were Kyle’s bare knobby knees and the waves breaking on the beach. “Yeah, why?”

“I think that’s her, coming in from the village.”

Owen yanked a bolt. “Guess she wanted to say goodbye one more time.” Ha, wishful thinking. Benny’s goodbye to him this morning in the cafeteria had been sleepy—cranky to the point of hostility. She was not a morning person.

“She must be in an awful hurry. I’ve never seen her do more than thirty, and she’s spitting sand, driving like a maniac.” Kyle crab-walked out from under the wing.

Owen pushed clear of the plane and stood up, sliding his shades onto his face. “Wow. Look at her go.” The Jeep dodged in a zigzag pattern worthy of a stunt driver in an action film. Bernadette was the most cautious woman he knew. What would make her drive like this?

The Jeep skidded to a halt on the inland side of the beach, parallel to the plane’s takeoff path. Benny hopped out and tore across the sand, arms and legs pumping and her long, curly hair flying like a black flag.