Pamela Nissen - Rocky Mountain Homecoming

Ivy worked her gaze from his head all the way down to his toes and then back again in a slow and silent perusal. “Is it you?”

He stared at her, struggling to find his voice.

“Yes,” he managed to force out. “It’s me.”

“What a surprise,” she breathed, swiping a muddy hand across the front of her lavender-colored skirt. Her long eyelashes whispered down over those eyes of hers. “I barely recognized you. It’s been—”

“S-s-six years.” He cleared his throat, and his stomach convulsed at the way he could’ve rattled off the months, the days … maybe the hours since he’d last seen her.

But he was more disgusted with the way the one syllable had suddenly become three.

The sound of his broken speech raked over his hearing like a hundred pricking barbs. Surely it was a mishap. A blunder. There was no way, after all of the labor, sweat and fortitude he’d poured into overcoming his stutter that it’d descend on him again.

No way.

Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed Rocky Mountain Homecoming. Seeing my characters through to the end of a book is always gratifying, but throughout the writing of these pages, I felt particularly connected to both Zach and Ivy, and was delighted to write them to freedom.

Liberty is one of the sweetest gifts we will ever embrace. Finding freedom from deep-seated wounds that have held our hearts and minds hostage can profoundly affect our lives—it can change the course of our thoughts, our actions, our hopes and our prayers. That kind of freedom can lead us down paths we never thought possible.

A friend of mine once said that success is merely a series of diminishing failures. How very true. Zach and Ivy’s stories are woven together by their courage and tenacity to face their past and overcome. Ultimately they learn from their mistakes, and instead of allowing discouragement to make them bitter, it makes them better. This is my hope for me and for you.

Thank you for following the Drake brothers and their stories. Please watch for the next series based on the Lockhart family. I would love to hear from you. You can reach me at www.pamelanissen.com.

With love and deep appreciation,

Pamela Nissen

Rocky Mountain Homecoming

Pamela Nissen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For my loving son, Noel Kas Nissen

~A young man beyond his time

in wisdom and understanding~

Thanks go to my husband, Bill: for loving me

and giving me the freedom to create.

To my son, Elias: for being a whimsical source

of joy in my life. To my daughter, Mary Anna:

for overcoming and loving life. To my

critique group, Jacquie, Diane and Roxanne:

for your sincere dedication and cherished friendship.

To my wonderful friends and family:

for your profound influence in my life.

And to my dad: for carrying on where Mom left off.

It was for freedom that Christ set us free;

therefore keep standing firm and

do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery.

—Galatians 5:1

“Make way! Big load comin’ through,” Pete O’Leary, the local grave digger, announced as he plastered his tall lanky form against a row of mercantile shelves. “Zach, you must be half ox, with the way you’re lugging those heavy crates.”

“Ahh … they’re not all that heavy. I’ll be fine.” Adjusting his grip on the two jam-packed crates, the ranch foreman ducked under a display of bridles that had been hung like moss from a tree.

“I think Conroy here’s scairt of ya, Zach.” Pete dragged his pet ferret, its long-whiskered nose twitching, from his shoulder and held out the critter to Zach. “Feel how the little guy’s jest shakin’ up a storm.”

Pausing, Zach eyed the lanky critter, a purchase Pete had made from a traveling salesman a year ago. The cute weasel-like animal was Pete’s constant companion, except at church, which Pete had often mourned, saying that attending might do the ferret’s thieving soul some good. Zach was pretty sure that if he didn’t take the time to alleviate Conroy’s apparent fear, he’d wound Pete’s feelings.

Easing the crates to the floor, he took the ferret from Pete, chuckling at the way the animal draped over his arms like a wet cloth, peering up at him with those mischievous marble-like eyes of his. “Well, aren’t you a cute little guy,” Zach said, if for no other reason than to placate Pete. “See, I’m as harmless as a newborn pup. I wouldn’t hurt a soul.”

“I don’ know ‘bout that,” Pete contradicted. Blowing out a big breath, he stirred up tiny particles of dust on a nearby shelf that sashayed on his hot air to some other shelf. “Conroy and me … we wouldn’t want to cross you—that’s for sure.”

“I’m slow to rile,” Zach reasoned, recognizing that with the long hours of hard physical labor he worked on the Harris ranch, he’d come by his size honestly. “But when it comes to defending what’s right and looking out for loved ones, I don’t back down.” Zach wore the trait proudly.

“Yer jest like yer brothers,” Pete stated with a tight wink. “Every last one of you Drake boys is cut’a the same sturdy, God-fearin’ cloth.”

“I count myself a blessed man to have them.”

His brothers meant the world to him. He’d do anything to help them out, and they’d do the same—that is, if he let them.

Zach swallowed a generous gulp of pride as he recalled just how often his brothers had said that he needed to stop taking on the world by himself. And more than anything … that he needed to find his way to trusting God again instead of trying to be the Almighty for himself.

He was trying. He’d even felt God’s gentle tugging, but time and again, it seemed Zach was better off carving out his own path. He had too much to prove after living in his brothers’ long successful shadows. Now, he was determined to forge his own way in life. Or die trying.

The rhythmic jangling sound of a wagon rolling down the street filtered into his hearing like some patent reminder to get a move on. The way his boss, Mr. Harris, had seemed under the weather recently, Zach had stepped up his duties a notch.

“I’ve got to get going, Pete.” He returned Conroy to Pete’s arms and hefted the crates again. “See you around.”

“See ya later, Zach,” Pete said, observing Zach as though he was carrying a big old pine tree down the aisle.

Craning his neck around the bulky load, Zach headed toward the door, the bolts of colorful calico to his right. Turning, he nudged the unlatched door with his backside. When it stuck, he gave it a hard shove.

“Get off!” a female voice yelped from the mercantile platform outside.

He whipped his head around just in time to see a flourish of hands flailing, skirts ruffling and wings flapping.