Jillian Hart - Heaven Knows

John resisted the urge to reach out and brush away the lines of worry from her brow with the pad of his thumb. He knew what it was like to be afraid. To hurt. To want peace. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

“I can’t ask that of you. I’m not even sure I should be here. You’re not my keeper.”

“Someone has to be.” John offered her the cookie bowl. “Just think of me and my family as your temporary guardian angels. We’ll watch over you.”

“A girl can’t have too many angels looking out for her.” Alexandra bit into an iced cookie and let the sweetness melt on her tongue. She thought of her self-esteem, still tender, and tried to put aside the bad memories. She was strong enough to make a new life. With the Lord watching over her and a few extra guardian angels, she couldn’t go wrong.

John’s gaze met hers, full of promise, as unyielding as the strongest steel. “You’re safe with me. You can count on it.”

makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.

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Dear friends, since God so loved us,

we also ought to love one another.

—1 John 4:11

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

The warmth of the early-spring sun felt like a promise. Alexandra Sims shut the door of her ancient VW, careful of the loose window, and stared at the little town. She could see all of it from where she stood, with shops on one side of the road. On the other, railroad tracks paralleled the town, and beyond, new green fields shimmered.

She’d grown up in a town like this one along the coast of Washington State. So small, her high school graduating class had been thirty-eight. Maybe because of bad memories, she didn’t like small towns much. They’d never brought her luck.

But today she felt luck was in the air, and that made her step lighter as she strolled along the cement sidewalk. She’d pulled off the interstate to fill her gas tank and, since she was here, maybe she’d stop to eat lunch and do a little shopping. This was as good of a place as any.

This little town of Manhattan was truly no different from the other small Montana towns she’d passed through since recently she’d thrown what little she needed into her car and fled in the dark of the night.

Few of the buildings were new, many dating from the fifties or earlier when agriculture belonged to the family farmer and not huge corporations. The people who lived here took pride in their town—the streets were clean, the sidewalks swept and not a speck of litter could be found anywhere.

Sparkling store windows tossed her reflection back at her as she halted beneath a blue-striped awning. Corey’s Hardware, the sign proclaimed in bright blue paint.

She pushed her sunglasses onto the crown of her head and stepped through the doorway. A bell jangled overhead.

“Hello, there,” called a polite male voice the instant her sneakers hit the tile floor. “What can I do for you?”

Whoever belonged to that molasses-rich voice wasn’t in sight. Head-high shelves of merchandise blocked the way.

“Where are your ropes?” she called out.

“To your right, all the way against the wall.” A handsome athlete of a man came into view behind the long, old-fashioned wooden counter.

She caught a glimpse of dark black hair tumbling over a high intelligent forehead. Brooding hazel eyes, a sharp straight blade of a nose and a strong jaw that looked about as soft as granite. Definitely a remote, unreachable type.

She retreated to the far wall, where everything from braided hemp to thin nylon rope could be found. Lucky thing, because she found exactly what she needed. What she didn’t find was something to cut it with.

“How much do you need?” he asked in that voice that could melt chocolate.

“Three yards.”

He was at her side, taller than she’d first thought. He was well over six feet, and while he wasn’t lean, he wasn’t heavily muscled, either. He didn’t have much to say, which was fine with her. Really nice and handsome men made her nervous and tongue-tied. Probably because she wasn’t used to them—and great guys had always seemed out of her reach.

As gallant as a knight of old, he measured the thin nylon cord for her, giving her an extra foot, before cutting the end neatly and looping it into a tidy coil for her. “Anything else?”

“That should do it.”

He was very efficient—she had to give him that.

“I’ll ring you up front.” All business, he hardly glanced at her as he tucked away the small pocketknife he’d used to cut the rope. “Let me guess. You’re going camping?”

“Something like that,” she hedged. “I had a tent disaster last night, so I need to repair the main nylon cord.”

“Been there.” He led the way down the aisle of kitchen cabinet handles in every size and color, his stride long and powerful. “Figured you for a tourist. This valley’s small enough that sooner or later, you meet everyone in it.”

She’d grown up in a town like that, but she kept the information to herself. Her past was behind her and she intended to keep it that way. “This part of the country is beautiful.”

“Have you been down to Yellowstone?” He was only making polite conversation as he punched buttons on the cash register.

“Not yet.”

“The campsites aren’t booked up this time of year, so you don’t need reservations.” He slipped the rope into a small blue plastic bag. “That will be two seventy-one. If you have your tent in your car, you can bring it in and I’ll repair it for you. Free of charge. Company policy.”

His offer surprised her. She stopped digging through her purse for exact change to stare at him. A familiar panic clamped around her chest. Patrick was hundreds of miles away and he had no idea where she was, but this is how he’d affected her. Even a store clerk’s courtesy frightened her, when there was no reason for it.

The phone rang, and the clerk answered it. “Corey’s Hardware. John, here.” He spoke in the same friendly voice to whomever was on the other end of the phone.

John, huh? He looked like a John. Dependable, practical, rock solid.

There was no danger here. She had to remember that not every man was like Patrick. She knew it—now, if only her heart would remember it, she’d be fine.

Alexandra relaxed and bent to dig a penny from the bottom of her coin purse.

“Well, now, washers are tricky things, Mrs. Fletcher,” John drawled, tucking the receiver against his shoulder. “Maybe I ought to come by this afternoon and put in the right size for you, free of charge, except for the washer, of course. That’d be the best way to get the job done right.”