Myra Johnson - The Rancher's Redemption

Watching him drive away, Erin sighed as she fingered the Zipp’s Hardware business card he’d given her after jotting his personal cell phone number on the back. She liked Kent Ritter. Liked him a lot. If a man as nice as Kent had come along before she’d met Payne, her life could have turned out a whole lot differently.

Maybe.

Or maybe not. Because she’d had a lot of growing up to do since then, and still had a ways to go. Kent’s words from earlier this afternoon played through her thoughts. You don’t have to apologize all the time. That was the people-pleaser side of her again, making her think the only way to be liked or accepted—or loved —was to continually put others’ needs before her own.

But wasn’t that biblical? Paul wrote in Romans that Christians mustn’t think more highly of themselves than they ought, being kind to one another and putting others first. Jesus Himself said, But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.

Instinctively, Erin’s hand went to her cheek. She could still feel the sting of the last time Payne had slapped her. Her breath quickened. Her heart slammed against her breastbone.

Never again.

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