Jillian Hart - Almost Heaven

“So soft.” Love vibrated in her grandmother’s voice. “There’s nothing like a newborn life.”

“Nothing so precious,” Kendra agreed.

“There is one thing as precious. Love between a wife and her husband.”

“You had to go and ruin the moment, didn’t you?”

“I’m just getting my shots in while I can, dear. If you are lucky enough that true love finds you, my beautiful granddaughter, I hope you stop working at your business long enough to grab hold of what matters.”

The wisdom in her grandmother’s words left her shaky. Kendra didn’t doubt the wisdom. True love could exist.

But to her? Never. It was a fact. “Are we done talking about this now?”

“I suppose.” Gramma fell silent.

It was reassuring, watching over little Anna while she slept. She scrunched up her tiny rosebud mouth, looking even more adorable in her relaxed, peaceful slumber.

Faint noises from downstairs drifted along the hallway, Dad’s low voice and Mom’s gentle alto answering him. The clank of the oven door closing. The clink of silverware as someone was setting the table. The delicious aroma of the casserole Kendra had put in the oven. Mom must have taken it out to cool.

The sounds of family.

She did not take lightly this blessing the good Lord had given her. She had a big, loving extended family. She was thankful for them down to the depths of her soul.

There is one thing as precious. Love between a wife and her husband. Not for me, she told herself. Not ever.

Her life was enough. It was. She would not let her grandmother’s kindly-meant words hurt.

“Isn’t little Anna something?” Gramma sighed. “She looks like you did, you know. That little button nose. That round darling face. That’s what your little girl will look like one day.”

“Don’t, Gramma.” Gasping on pain, Kendra spun away, heading for the door.

“Honey, are you all right?”

“Sure.”

It was only a half fib. She intended to be fine. Tucking away the raw hurt, she kept on going. Gramma needed time alone with her new great-granddaughter, and there was the supper to see to. Kendra was the self-appointed cook for the night, and she wasn’t about to let someone else take over.

That’s the reason she told herself for hurrying from the room. It wasn’t because of the tears in her eyes. Of the sadness that haunted her through the days and into the nights of her solitary life.

Her cell buzzed in her back pocket. She wasn’t in the mood for personal calls, but she withdrew the small handset and glanced at the screen. With her business, she was always on call, emergencies happened.

She saw with relief that it wasn’t Colleen calling her from the riding stable. No, the name on the screen was Cameron Durango’s.

She almost sent the call onto her voice mail, but she remembered what Gramma had told her. His wife had died. How difficult that had to be, to lose so much.

That’s why he was calling. Why he’d helped her with the tire and took the time to talk to her in the hospital. He was looking to make a new life. To fill his empty time with new activities.

How could she not help him? She might never know the depth of what he’d lost when he buried his wife, but she understood heartache. She understood what a future with no love and no marriage looked like.

She answered the call. “Hi, Cameron. You must be pretty anxious to buy a horse.”

“I guess I am.” He had a good-hearted voice, kind and resonant. “You said to give you a jingle. That maybe you could find time for me to come over. Take a look around.”

“I’d be happy to help you out. I’ll be working all morning tomorrow, but I should have a little free time after noon.”

“How about one? Will that work?”

“One o’clock sounds fine. You know how to find me?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a sheriff if I didn’t.”

“Good.” The cool, polite tones had vanished from her alto voice, and she sounded friendly enough.

Cameron took that as an excellent sign. “I’ll be there. I sure appreciate this, Kendra.”

“No problem. Take care.”

“You, too.”

He hung up the phone, the silence of his small kitchen echoing around him. It had been a long time since he’d let hope into his heart.

How good it felt.

Kendra sliced open the fifty-pound grain sack with her grandfather’s Swiss Army knife, folded the blade away and tucked it safely into her jeans pocket. Sweat gathered along her forehead and trickled into her eyes.

She blinked against the sting, swiped her forehead with the back of her forearm and hefted the awkward sack onto her shoulder.

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