Linda Goodnight - Home to Crossroads Ranch

So it was a cheap shot. Rainy had no remorse. She was accustomed to pushing when it came to getting things for foster children.

Nate leaned back in his chair, staring at her with exasperation. “You don’t give up, do you?”

A tiny smile tickled Rainy’s lips. “Never. Not when it comes to my kids.”

The cowboy across from her raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, they can come to my ranch.”

He was ready to cut and run like a wild horse. Better grab the opportunity while it was knocking.

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Winner of the 2007 RITA ®Award for excellence in inspirational fiction, Linda Goodnight has also won the Booksellers’ Best, ACFW Book of the Year, and a Reviewers’ Choice Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. Linda has appeared on the Christian bestseller list and her romance novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Active in orphan ministry, this former nurse and teacher enjoys writing fiction that carries a message of hope and light in a sometimes dark world. She and husband Gene live in Oklahoma. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God; not of works, lest any man should boast.

—Ephesians 2:8–9

In memory of my brother-in-law, Bill,

who loved kids better than anyone and who always

carried a pocketful of quarters or Tootsie Rolls to

“magically” pull from behind their ears. The world

is a sadder place without your booming laugh, your

boundless love and generosity, and your pure joy

in living for Christ. As you would always say in

parting, until we meet again, “Be cheerful.”

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

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Nate Del Rio heard screams the minute he stepped out of his Super Crew Cab and started up the flower-lined sidewalk leading to Rainy Jernagen’s house. He double-checked the address scribbled on the back of a bill for horse feed. Sure enough, this was the place.

Adjusting his Stetson against a gust of March wind, he rang the doorbell expecting the noise to subside. It didn’t.

Somewhere inside the modest, tidy-looking brick house at least two kids were screaming their heads off in what sounded to his experienced ears like fits of temper. A television blasted out Saturday-morning cartoons.

He punched the doorbell again. Instead of the expected ding-dong, a raucous alternative Christian rock band added a few more decibels to the noise level.

Nate shifted the toolbox to his opposite hand and considered running for his life while he had the chance.

Too late. The bright red door whipped open. Nate’s mouth fell open with it.

When the men’s ministry coordinator from Bible Fellowship had called him, he’d somehow gotten the impression that he was coming to help a little old schoolteacher. In his mind, that meant the kind who only drove to school and church and had a big, fat cat.

Not so. The woman standing before him with taffy-blond hair sprouting out from a disheveled ponytail couldn’t possibly be any older than his thirty-one years. A big blotch of something purple stained the front of her white sweatshirt, and she was barefoot. Plus, she had a crying baby on each hip and a little red-haired girl hanging on one leg, bawling like a sick calf. And there wasn’t a cat in sight.

What had he gotten himself into?

“May I help you?” she asked over the racket. Her blue-gray eyes were a little too unfocused and bewildered for his comfort.

Raising his voice, he asked, “Are you Ms. Jernagen?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “I’m Rainy Jernagen. And you are…?”

“Nate Del Rio.”

She blinked, uncomprehending, all the while jiggling both babies up and down. One grabbed a hunk of her hair. She flinched, her head angling to one side, as she said, still cautiously, “Okaaay.”

Nate reached out and untwined the baby’s sticky fingers.

A relieved smile rewarded him. “Thanks. Is there something I can help you with?”

He hefted the red toolbox to chest level so she could see it. “From the Handyman Ministry. Jack Martin called. Said you had a washer problem.”

Understanding dawned. “Oh my goodness. Yes. I’m so sorry. You aren’t what I expected. Please forgive me.”

She wasn’t what he expected, either. Not in the least. Young and with a houseful of kids. He suppressed a shiver. Kids, even grown ones, could drive a person to distraction. He should know. His adult sister and brother were, at this moment, making his life as miserable as possible. The worst part was they did it all the time. Only this morning his sister Janine had finally packed up and gone back to Sal, giving Nate a few days’ reprieve.

“Come in, come in,” the woman was saying. “It’s been a crazy morning, what with the babies showing up at 3 a.m. and Katie having a sick stomach. Then while I was doing the laundry, the washing machine went crazy. Water everywhere.” She jerked her chin toward the inside of the house. “You’re truly a godsend.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, but he’d signed up for his church’s ministry to help single women and the elderly with those pesky little handyman chores like oil changes and leaky faucets. Most of his visits had been to older ladies who plied him with sweet tea and jars of homemade jam and talked about the good old days while he replaced a fuse or unstopped the sink. And their houses had been quiet. Real quiet.

Rainy Jernagen stepped back, motioning him in, and Nate very cautiously entered a room that should have had flashing red lights and a Danger Zone sign.

Toys littered the living room like it was Christmas morning. An overturned cereal bowl flowed milk onto a coffee table. Next to a playpen crowding one wall, a green package belched out disposable diapers. Similarly, baby clothes were strewn, along with a couple of kids, on the couch and floor. In a word, the place was a wreck.

“The washer is back this way behind the kitchen. Watch your step. It’s slippery.”

More than slippery. Nate kicked his way through the living room and the kitchen area. Though the kitchen actually appeared much tidier than the rest, he still caught the slow seepage of water coming from somewhere beyond the wall. The shine of liquid glistening on beige tile led them straight to the utility room.