Debra Clopton - No Place Like Home

“You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

The silent “Duh!” at the end of Cassie’s question hung in the air between them.

“Not a clue.” But she was curious. Extremely curious.

Cassie dug in her back pocket and pulled out a bundle of newspaper clippings and waved them. Neatly cut and folded in a half-inch-thick bundle, the clippings were very organized.

“This is Mule Hollow, Texas. The tiny town way out here in the middle of nowhere that advertised for women who want to get married, move there and live happily ever after.”

Oh, brother. Dottie had heard it all now. “You’re saying they, this town, is advertising for women to come marry the local men.”

“Yes. Are you deaf? It’s all right here in Molly Popp’s column.” She waved the clippings.

“Who is Molly Popp?”

“Molly Popp?” Another duh. “She writes this really cool article every week about what’s happening in Mule Hollow. Everybody’s following the stories. Where have you been? The moon?”

If she only knew, Dottie thought. “Let’s just say I haven’t had much time for reading. Who would think up something so outlandish? Are you sure it’s a real story and not some promotional gimmick made up to hook readers?”

“Oh, it’s real. And I’m going there to change my life.”

Now, that was something Dottie could connect with. “And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to find me a husband.”

“You can’t just go into a town and pick a husband out like he was a shirt waiting to be bought off the rack.”

“Says who? You should read these articles.” Another wave of newspaper clippings. “These are nice guys. Guys who know how to treat a woman and want to get married. And stay married.”

Dottie could not believe her ears. But obviously Cassie was determined to do this, this…harebrained thing, so what exactly did that mean? She took a breath.

Okay, Lord, what’s the plan?

She knew the answer before she asked the question. She’d committed to the task the minute she pulled onto the shoulder, actually the minute she prayed that morning for the Lord to use her today. Her granddad always said, never ask the Lord to put someone in your path unless you mean business. The good Lord would take you up on the offer every time…

But taking a detour? Going to some really weird little town out in the middle of nowhere—a town that advertised for wives! Now, that just wasn’t a blip on her screen of possible scenarios.

However, even being alive, sitting here being allowed the opportunity to even consider such a scenario was a gift…

She’d missed three months of her life lying in a hospital bed on the verge of death. Three months. She closed her eyes, willed away the panic that still sought to overpower her just thinking about the dark hours that led up to her stay in that hospital bed—as always thoughts of that time practically caused her to hyperventilate. She willed away the visible signs of her ordeal, calling on the Lord, as always, for help. This was no time to scare her passenger.

It was true, she had much to overcome. But she had more to celebrate. God had saved her! He’d performed nothing less than a miracle in keeping her alive through the hurricane that had devastated her home and tried to destroy her life. After a person spent almost three days trapped in a dark hole crushed beneath her home, her life seeping away with every moment that passed, there was nothing less she could do than try and repay God’s faithfulness.

The payment for that debt waited for her in California. She was needed there in a desperate way—Cassie Bates, with her weird agenda, hadn’t been in the equation. And yet, God had crossed their paths. Cassie needed a friend. Someone to watch over her, to get her to a safe place and to make certain that she was going to be all right.

How could Dottie pass her by? God had sent a special task force of heroes to dig her from the cold, wet depths of a lonely would-be grave. He’d put her in their path and now He’d put Cassie in her path. She had to accept the call.

It might still be California or bust, but she could take a little detour. Anticipation rippled through her. God worked in mysterious ways…

“So,” she said, drawing Cassie’s bright gaze. “Exactly how do we get to this Mule Hollow?”

Sheriff Brady Cannon stood inside Pete’s Feed and Seed looking out the window at Mule Hollow’s deserted street and the late-afternoon shadows creeping across the blacktop. The bedraggled motor home that turned the corner onto Main Street almost caused him to choke on a sunflower seed.

The thing was about twenty years old, its front grille warped, giving an impression of a crooked grin as it carried its cargo. Cargo was tied down at precariously odd angles on top of the comical-looking thing. There was white wicker furniture and other stuff he couldn’t quite make out bulging from the roof in wild disarray. A mental picture of a cartoon character moving cross-country sprang to mind.

Watching the funny-looking RV amble along he was a little surprised to see a vendor this early. The first annual Mule Hollow Trade Days event didn’t start for four days yet. Which meant his headaches wouldn’t start for four short days either, days he wasn’t taking for granted. Early birds weren’t exactly his idea of a good thing.

When the pitiful RV suddenly wheezed and smoke erupted from under the hood, it was as if the animation had come to life! “Oh boy, let the games begin,” he groaned.

Reacting on instinct, he tossed his handful of sunflower seeds into the garbage, grabbed Pete’s fire extinguisher from beside the counter and hit the door at a run.

Black smoke billowed from beneath the hood as he concentrated on the hot latch, coughing from the fumes as they engulfed him. When the latch finally gave and he lifted the reluctant hood, he was forced to jump back to avoid the shooting flames filling the compartment. Thankfully, Pete’s extinguisher was primed and ready and he had the fire out within seconds.

Not that it saved the motor—it was toast.

“Oh no!”

At the gasp, he spun around to find a thin woman with raven-black hair and pale hazel eyes. Stricken by the sight of the steaming engine she swayed—Brady dropped the extinguisher and grabbed her just as her legs buckled. He was struck by her lightness, again by her paleness as he swept her into his arms. By the way her delicate cheekbones were starkly pronounced by the thinness of her face. She didn’t look exactly well. As he studied her, her eyes fluttered, she bit her lip and he could almost see sheer willpower forcing her eyelids to remain open.

“Dottie, are you okay?” a teenage girl exclaimed, concern written all over her impish face as she danced from foot to foot.

“Fine. I’m fine,” she assured the girl.

Brady disagreed completely with her assessment of the situation. “Miss, you don’t look so good. I think—”

“I’m fine. Really, you can put me down now.”

The strength in her words and the determination he could see in her eyes had him doing as he was instructed. “It’s your call.” Carefully he set her on her feet, glad when she didn’t sway again. A bit of color crept into her cheeks, but she remained fairly pale, although he could see that there was a tinge of tan overlaying her paleness.

“I’m Dottie.” She extended her delicate hand and smiled engagingly. “Dottie Hart. I’m sorry for my…well, for that.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand as if shooing the episode away.

Obviously Dottie Hart did not enjoy being fragile. She looked embarrassed by the show of weakness.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “But I hate to tell you that your motor doesn’t look good.”