Renee Ryan - Heartland Wedding

Dressed in his fancy clothes, Pete Benjamin looked big and masculine and so very, very handsome. A tower of strength encased in wool and crisp linen.

In that moment Rebecca knew that with Pete she would be safe. Safe from gossip. Safe from men like the Tully brothers. Safe. Always safe.

It wasn’t the same as love, or even affection, but she knew it could be worse. Much worse.

He sank to one knee.

Taking her free hand in his, Pete pressed a soft kiss to the knuckles. “Rebecca.” He looked up into her eyes. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

AFTER THE STORM: THE FOUNDING YEARS

A tornado can’t tear apart the fabric of faith and love in a frontier Kansas town.

High Plains Bride—

Valerie Hansen, January 2010

Heartland Wedding—

Renee Ryan, February 2010

Kansas Courtship—

Victoria Bylin, March 2010

grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.

Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling agency and a cosmetic conglomerate. She moved on to teach high school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of characters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career. She lives with her husband, two children and one ornery cat in Nebraska.

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Special thanks and acknowledgment to Renee Ryan for her contribution to the AFTER THE STORM: THE FOUNDING YEARS miniseries.

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.

—Romans 8:28

To Valerie Hansen and Victoria Bylin, two of the hardest-working writers I know. Your talent inspires me and your kindness humbles me. God bless you both!

Prologue

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

Chapter Nineteen

Discussion Questions

High Plains, Kansas, June 1860

A burst of wind whipped the doorknob from Rebecca Gundersen’s fingers. Hail pelted her face, leaving behind a nasty sting. The storm was coming in too fast. The town wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t prepared. But before Rebecca took cover, she had to find Edward and make sure he was safe.

She couldn’t lose her brother in this storm. Not so soon after her parents had died.

Forcing back her panic, she sprinted down the boardinghouse steps and ran straight into the growling wind. There was an oppressive stench of rotting earth and grass, an unmistakable warning that a deadly tornado loomed in the distance.

Rebecca shoved her hair back from her face. Too afraid of losing Edward to think of her own safety, she forced her feet to move faster. She knew her brother could take care of himself. He was a grown man. But knowing something wasn’t the same as believing it. She had to make sure he took cover.

Heart pounding in time with her steps, she cast a quick glance to her left. A shelf of ominous clouds cut a sharp line of black against the pale blue sky.

There was still time to find Edward. If she hurried.

She was not alone on the street, though the thought gave her no comfort. Caught in their own fear, people of all ages and sizes rushed past her, scrambling for home. Three horses galloped by, their high-pitched whinnies echoing the panic they held in their eyes.

Navigating the labyrinth of activity, Rebecca dashed around the mercantile. She cast another glance to the sky. The rapidly approaching clouds had taken on a sickly, greenish tint.

Oh, Lord, please, I beg You. Do not take Edward away from me. He’s all I have left.

As if to mock her prayer, black clouds swallowed the last patch of sunlight.

She broke into a run across the expanse of dirt and pebbles behind the mercantile building. Debris and sand stung her exposed skin while the raging wind pulled and pushed at her, tossing her around like a child’s doll. Thankfully, she had in sight the livery stable where her brother lived and worked.

Five more steps and she was there.

“Edward!” she shouted into the wind.

No answer.

She ran to the opposite end of the stable, only to discover the doors flung wide open. Not a man or horse in sight.

“Edward?” Panic made her Norwegian accent heavier than usual. “Are you in there?”

Still no answer.

Could he be in the blacksmith shop? She took a step forward, but a gust of wind shoved her back. She missed her footing, twisted in midair and landed on her hands and knees.

“Edward,” she whimpered, loss of hope making her voice crack.

Gritting her teeth, she wobbled to a standing position. One step. Two. A hand clamped around her arm and pulled her backward, away from the stable.

“No.” She fought against the steely grip. “Please. I need to get to my brother.”

“You need to get below ground.”

Instead of calming her, the sound of the gravelly voice, so strong and masculine and unmistakably not Edward, shot a wave of pure terror through her.

“I have to find my brother. He might not realize the danger. He—”

“There’s no time.”

She looked to the heavens. The swirling clouds were better organized now, twisting in a powerful circular motion. She clawed at the hand still holding her arm. “Let me go.”

“Rebecca, you’ll do Edward no good if you panic.”

The use of her name, rather than the words spoken, had her turning her head toward the insistent voice. Her gaze connected with the intense, deep brown eyes of Pete Benjamin. Her stomach folded inside itself. She’d never seen such raw emotion in the reserved blacksmith before. Fear, impatience—both were glaring back at her.

“Pete.” She had to shout over the wind. “Help me find him.”

“No time. We have to take cover.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he forced her away from the stable, step by step. Not roughly, but with firm, insistent movements.

As if to punctuate his urgency, the rain let loose. The wind turned deafening, the sound as loud as if they were standing in the path of an incoming freight train.

The door to the blacksmith shop flung open. The clank of tools slamming into the walls could be heard over the wind. Rationally, she knew she had to get out of the storm, but she couldn’t move.