Brenda Novak - Sanctuary

“Hope came here asking for a job, Parker, and I gave her one. Okay?” Lydia raised her brows. “We owe her that much, don’t you think?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We might owe her,” he said. “But I’m pretty sure we can’t afford to give her anything.”

“You’re overreacting, Parker. She’s only going to work here. That doesn’t mean anything. We don’t even know how long she’s going to stay.”

“It means I’ll have to see her every day.”

“So will I.”

“She could destroy The Birth Place—destroy you.”

“I know.”

“She could take Dalton away from me,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

“She’s not going to take Dalton away. She doesn’t suspect anything. She just needs a break.”

“You’re a fool,” he said angrily, and walked out.

Lydia stared after him. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

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Dear Reader,

The comment I received repeatedly from people who read this book when it was only in manuscript form was that it’s “compelling.” I hope that’s true, because as I wrote it, the characters seemed to come to life, and the choices they made truly moved me. They prompted me to take a closer look at issues that have always intrigued me—what makes some of us do the things we do, believe what we do, accept or reject what others tell us is “right”? I don’t pretend to have the answers to those questions. But I certainly enjoyed watching Hope draw her own conclusions.

The research for this story took me to Hillsdale and Colorado City, a small community straddling the Utah/Colorado border and inhabited by polygamists. Yes, as hard as it is to believe, they still exist. Many of them live there, in rambling houses that are purposely left unfinished. The only grocery store is a co-op, to discourage trade with outsiders. There is one gas station and a sprinkling of businesses. The people are unique, and I think visiting there added color to my story.

It was a pleasure to be able to work with such talented authors as the five who have written the rest of the books in THE BIRTH PLACE series—Darlene Graham, Roxanne Rustand, C.J. Carmichael, Kathleen O’Brien and Marisa Carroll. I hope you’ll have the opportunity to enjoy their books, too.

I’d love to hear what you think of Sanctuary or any of my other work. Please feel free to contact me at P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611. Or simply log on to my Web site at www.brendanovak.com to leave me an e-mail, check out my news and appearances page, win some great prizes or learn about my upcoming releases.

Best wishes,

Brenda Novak

To Thad, the youngest in the family

and a little boy who’s larger than life. Thad, you might be

only six, but you already possess the heart of a lion.

The way you deal with the difficulties you face each day

leaves me shaking my head in wonder and admiration. You

go, sweetheart—nothing can ever stop a man with courage

like yours. If you forget everything I’ve ever taught you,

remember this: my love is everlasting.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The Birth Place

Enchantment, New Mexico

June, 1993

LYDIA KANE had keen, shrewd eyes. Hope Tanner stared into them, drawing strength from the older woman as another pain racked her. The contractions were coming close together now—and hard, much harder than before. Her legs shook in reaction, whether from pain or fear, she didn’t know. She didn’t feel as though she knew much about anything. She was barely seventeen.

“That’s it,” Lydia said from the foot of the bed. “You’re getting there now. Just relax, honey, and breathe.”

“I want to push,” Hope panted. Though the baby wasn’t overdue, Hope was more than anxious to be finished with the pregnancy. Lydia had put some sort of hormonal cream inside her—on what she called a cervix. The older woman said it would send her into labor. But the baby was proving stubborn. The pains had started, on and off, at sundown, and only now, when it was nearly four o’clock in the morning, were they getting serious.

More of God’s punishment, Hope decided. She’d run away from the Brethren, refused to do what her father said was God’s will, and this was the price she had to pay.

“Don’t push yet,” Lydia said firmly. “You’re not fully dilated, and we don’t want you to tear. Try to rest while I see what that last contraction did.”

Hope stared at the ceiling as Lydia checked the baby’s progress. She was tired of all the poking and prodding, but she would never say so. Lydia might think her ungrateful. After being alone for most of her pregnancy, wandering aimlessly from town to town, Hope wasn’t about to do anything to anger the one person who’d taken her in. Lydia was so decisive, so strong. As much as Hope loved and admired her, she feared her a little, too. Lydia owned the birth center and had to be sixty years old. But she wasn’t a soft, sweet grandmotherly type, certainly nothing like Hope’s own patient mother. Tall and angular, with steel-gray eyes and hair, Lydia often spoke sharply, seemed to know everything in the world and had the ability to make other people—and apparently even events—bend to her will. She took command like Hope’s father, which was an amazing concept. Hope hadn’t known women could possess so much power.

“Is everything okay?” Hope asked, weak, shaky, exhausted.

“Everything’s fine.” As Lydia helped her to a few more ice chips, the pendant she always wore—a mother cradling an infant—swayed with her movements and caught Hope’s attention. Hope had long coveted that pendant. She craved the nurturing and love it symbolized. But she knew she’d never experience holding her own child so close. Not this child, anyway.

After mopping Hope’s forehead, Lydia went back to massaging one of her feet. Lydia claimed that pressing on certain points in the foot could ease pain—she called it reflexology—but if reflexology was helping, Hope certainly couldn’t tell. To her, its only value seemed to be in providing a slight distraction.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Lydia assured her, but she kept glancing at the clock as though she was late for something and as eager for the baby to be born as Hope. “I’d transfer you to the hospital if I was the least bit worried,” she continued in the same authoritative voice. “This is dragging on, I know. But the baby’s heartbeat is strong and steady and you’re progressing. First babies often take a while.”