Reclaimed, p.1
Reclaimed, page 1
RECLAIMED
JENNIFER RODEWALD
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Rodewald
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0692517093
Reclaimed
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Rodewald
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0692517093
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles, without the prior written consent of the author.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
Cover Design by Jennifer Rodewald and
Roseanna White Designs, www.RoseannaWhiteDesigns.com
Cover photos from www.Shutterstock.com
Author Photo by Larisa O’Brien Photography
Published by Rooted Publishing
McCook, NE 69001
Opening quote taken from Morning and Evening by C. H. Spurgeon and revised by Alistair Begg, © 2003, from October 18. Used by permission of Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers, Wheaton, IL 60187, www.crossway.org.
Scripture quotations taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission.
For my Superman,
because you show me
A more excellent way.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
Dear Reader,
About the Author
RECLAIMED
CHAPTER ONE
“Starving souls live at a distance from the Mercy-seat and become like the parched fields in times of drought.”
~CH Spurgeon
Maybe today I will find peace.
Suzanna Wilton fingered the ring dangling from a chain around her neck. The metal pressed cold against her skin, and the bitter taste of resentment soured in her mouth.
Nope. Country life didn’t fix the heartache. Even after living in Rock Creek, Nebraska for four weeks, Suzanna couldn’t claim peace. But, then again, it’d been years since she’d lived with anything she could label as peace.
She stepped out of her front door onto the wood-planked porch, amazed to hear nothing but the gentle rustle of a hushed morning. Echoes of city life still reverberated in her mind—busy streets, sirens and the footfalls of hundreds of people as they passed below her third-floor balcony. Another life. One she did not intend to revisit.
A kitten bounded onto the porch and wove its velvety body around her ankles. Suzanna bent to lift the little tabby, tucking it under her chin to feel its silky coat against her skin. Beyond her front yard the pasture seemed to never end, and she drank in the view. Emerald waves rippled along the hills, which heaved and sighed to the horizon. Autumn-blazed treetops clustered on her left, protecting the spring-fed creek nestled in the small ravine.
All the harmony one could imagine, and yet she was, as ever, unsettled, dissatisfied. Restless.
The gravel road crackled as an engine rumbled from the south. No more than three vehicles passed the farmhouse on any given day, so it commanded Suzanna’s attention. A blue truck slowed as its nose peeked through the tree line, stirring behind it a brown cloud which billowed toward the far pasture.
Dust. She’d traded smog for dust. Even after a rain, the clay roads would suck the moisture in deep, leaving the surface dry and cracked. Within a day her Jeep Wrangler would be kicking up the dust.
Suzanna scowled as the vehicle turned into her dirt-packed driveway. Setting the kitten on the porch railing, she stepped down the porch stairs. The driver put his early nineties Ford in park and slid his Stetson over his cropped hair. Another middle-aged cowboy. She could guess what the stranger wanted as his booted feet touched the ground, so she couldn’t muster a friendly greeting.
“Miss Wilton?” He reached toward her as he strode away from his truck.
She dipped a curt nod while she gripped his hand, intending to send a message. Maybe she was a city girl on her own in the middle of nowhere, but she wasn’t an idiot.
“Paul Rustin,” he continued smoothly. “I’m your nearest neighbor to the south.”
Hmm. It’d been a month since she’d moved in. He just now decided to be neighborly? And they say small towns are so friendly. She’d met her city neighbors within twenty-four hours of moving. Must be a different standard ’round these here parts.
“So, you’re Mike’s daughter.”
Obviously. “The younger of two, yes.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man, a good neighbor. I feel bad that I missed his services. I’ve been away.”
A stale excuse. Away where? She’d learned quite a bit in the short time she’d been on the land. First rule: animals need daily care. Mr. Whatever-his-name-is was blowing dust in her face. She really hated dust.
“You doing okay out here on your own?”
Suzanna crossed her arms. “Managing, so far.”
“I imagine it’s quite a shock, with your dad passing and you suddenly moving. I thought I’d let you know I’m available if you need help.”
Uh-huh. Wait for it. “Sure.” Suzanna barely held her sarcasm. “Thanks.”
The cowboy kicked at the dirt beneath his boots, shoving his hands in his denim pockets. “Also wanted you to know if you need an out, I’m prepared to make you an offer on this place.”
And there it was. Get in line, buddy. She’d had enough. Tossing her shoulder-length hair, Suzanna pinned him with a glare.
“Why is it you cowboys see some city girl and assume she’s a sucker?”
The man drew back, his eyes growing round. “Excuse me?”
Shocking, isn’t it, cowboy? Yes, a city girl can have a backbone—and a brain. “Land’s not for sale, mister.” Suzanna bit off each word as she stepped into his space. “I’m fine. Thank you for the concern.”
He stared, his mouth sagging open. “Yes, ma’am.” Still looking dumbfounded, he tipped his hat and backed away. “You have a good day, Miss Wilton.”
“Oh yes,” she muttered under her breath, “you too.”
The truck growled to life, and her neighbor pulled out, returning the way he’d come. She had yet to meet a man on this pathetic dot of earth who didn’t offer an introduction only to present her a deal—one certainly tailored to benefit himself. Friendliness evidently came as a pretense in this small town.
Well, she had no intention of selling.
Wow. She was pricklier than a yucca plant.
Paul passed the tree line and floored the gas pedal. Irritation exploded inside his head. Where did she get off jabbing him with her spiny rudeness? Especially after he’d made it a priority to visit her first thing. Such a waste of time. He had nothing in his fridge worth chewing on, and catching up on business in town would take at least a week, but he’d deferred it all to say how’ do. What a rip.
And to think Andrea had told him he had a pretty, new neighbor. Apparently Dre hadn’t met the woman. His sister knew he wasn’t that desperate. Or stupid.
What was the bur with that girl, anyway? She hadn’t even smiled. Eyes cold enough to warrant a parka in August. He was a perfect stranger. Didn’t she know it was rude to treat another human being that way?
Okay, she’d lost her dad. Maybe that gave her a little latitude. A smidge. Anyway, he didn’t need to let it ruin his day. He had too much to do.
Nearing his home, Paul kept the pressure on the gas and bypassed his driveway. Two miles down the road, Dre would have some breakfast about ready by now. A full stomach, some laughs with the kids, and a mug of coffee with Tom should set his day straight. Miss Wilton could pickle away in her sourness. It didn’t make a whole lot of difference to him.
CHAPTER TWO
“So, you met her?” Andrea leaned against the table toward Paul, her tone too cheery for innocent curiosity.
“Yep.” Paul wiped his face with a napkin to mask his scowl.
Dre’s eyes gleamed as if fate had just taken a twist. “And?”
What was with her? She knew better than to poke at his singleness. Why did she suddenly think he needed a woman in his life?
“She tried to take my head off.”
Tom reste d against the back of his chair as a small chuckle escaped. “Heard she was a bit of a pickle.”
“You did?” Dre’s head whipped toward her husband. “Who told you that?”
“Chuck. He and Jim both had, shall we say, interesting conversations with her.”
Dre’s face puckered. “What reason did they have to meet her?”
“Business.”
Paul watched his sister as she challenged her husband with a look. She was as feisty as she was kind, and for some reason, she had his new neighbor’s back. What was that all about?
“Have you met her, Dre?” Paul asked.
Her expression relaxed. “No, not yet, but I saw her at Holeman’s. She stopped her shopping to help old Mrs. Blake with a ten-pound bag of flour, and when she was checking out, she bought a Coke and gave it to the clerk. Just because. Pickled people don’t do things like that.”
True. That was a bit mysterious. Paul tried to imagine the bitter Miss Wilton helping poor, arthritic Agnes Blake. He couldn’t picture her doing it with a smile. Actually, he couldn’t picture her stony face with a smile at all.
“Maybe she’s got a sore spot for men.” Tom got up, poured a fresh mug of coffee, and then slid onto the stool at the kitchen island. “Mike lived here for almost six years, but I’d never seen her around. You’d think his daughter would show up for a visit every now and again.”
A sore spot for men? Could be.
“Old Jerry Tripp was working the checkout that day.” Dre shook her head. “She was perfectly kind to him. Like I said, bought him a Coke and everything.”
Or not. Intriguing. But not enough for a return trip.
Dre planted her chin on her fist. “I’m gonna go say hey.”
Paul raised an eyebrow. “You are, huh?”
“Yep.” Dre nodded as she stood to clear the breakfast dishes. “’Bout time too. I’ll take some of my double chocolate chip cookies, and we’ll just see about this pickle rumor.”
Oh, Dre. Always on the lookout for wounded puppies and lost kittens. And vinegar-soaked spinsters.
Paul grunted. “Wear a helmet.”
Andrea spun from the dishwasher, scowling at him. Her hands came to her hips. “Kindness goes a long way. I won’t need it.”
Across the counter, Tom rolled his eyes and grinned all at once. Thirteen years and he obviously still adored her. It pleased Paul that his baby sister was well loved, but it also pricked a little jealousy way down deep. It seemed God had passed him over when it came to the two-by-two pairings.
Ugh. It was all right. He had a good life. Tom and Dre took him in as a part of their home whenever he was around. They were all the family he needed. He wouldn’t have this nip of melancholy if Andrea hadn’t unintentionally stirred up regret.
He was happy. And he had stuff to do. It was time to get after it.
Suzanna set a fresh pot of coffee to brew and stretched her fingers. Who knew typing could give you cramps? She’d met her entry quota for the day, but a new reservation request had blipped on the resort database, and she’d snagged it. Heaven knew she could use the bonus.
Rocking her head back and forth to work her neck muscles, she left the kitchen, heading for the makeshift office she’d erected in the front room. A white truck covered in a thin film of dirt rolled by the picture window. It turned in her drive, and Suzanna groaned. Two vultures in one day. She must have inherited the most sought-after two hundred acres in all of Cottonwood County.
Sighing, she pushed her loose hair off her face. She stepped out the front door prepared for another battle. Crisp fall air cooled her skin, sending a ripple of goose bumps down her arms.
The truck door swung open and a woman jumped out. She wore cowboy boots with faded jeans, and her long blonde hair fell in an attractive cascade down her back. Reaching into the cab, she emerged with a Saran Wrap-covered plate and a smile stretching across her face.
Could it be? An honest hello, a sincere welcome, rather than a “nice to meet you, now get out”? What took so long?
“Hey there.” The woman approached with easy confidence. “I’m long overdue. My name’s Andrea Kent. I live three miles down the road.”
Genuine friendliness gleamed from the woman’s blue eyes, melting Suzanna’s reservations.
A smile tickled the corners of her mouth, the first one in weeks. “Suzanna Wilton.” She met Andrea’s hand with a warm shake.
“Well, Suzanna, it’s real nice to meet you. I thought you might enjoy these.” Andrea handed Suzanna the plate. “I hide them from my kids so’s I can have me a chocolate fix whenever the need arises. Living out this far, a girl’s gotta stock up.”
A friend. Oh, please, let her be a real friend. It’d been so long since she’d had an honest friend.
Suzanna traced a cookie under the plastic wrap. “Rock Creek is a good drive from out here, isn’t it?”
Andrea plopped down on the front porch step as if she’d nothing better to do with her day. “You’ll get used to it. I do my best dreamin’ and schemin’ during that twenty-minute drive. It’s good for the soul. Just me, a good set of tires, and the radio. Oh, and my kids. But I’m pretty well practiced at tuning them out.”
Andrea’s easy chatter drifted over her chilled soul like a warm breeze. A sigh rolled off Suzanna’s muscles.
“I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.” She made a move toward the front door. “Would you like to come in?”
A laugh lit her face as Andrea bobbed her head. “I never turn down a cup of coffee.” She followed Suzanna through the door. “I haven’t been in this house since I was a girl. We used to come here to dig dandelions. Mrs. Hawkins would give us a nickel for every root, and then she’d make us fresh lemonade.”
Suzanna had a mug of coffee poured by the time Andrea finished. Settling at her small kitchen table, she marveled at their instant familiarity.
“Was that who my dad bought the property from?”
“Goodness no.” Andrea sipped her coffee. “Poor Mrs. Hawkins would have spit nails if she’d seen what had been done with her place. This was a feedlot when your dad bought it. Took only three years to ruin the land, and your dad spent almost six years reclaiming it.”
“I thought it looked different.” Suzanna passed cream to Andrea, who skipped the indulgence. “I came out right after Dad moved, and all I remember was mud. And stench. Dad talked a lot about planting, but I guess I didn’t understand.”
“Grass.” Andrea’s head bobbed once. “He planted grass. And replanted. He tested the soil, amended the dirt, and planted—for years.”
“Is it recovered?” Suzanna’s gaze drifted out the window. “The land, I mean? Did he do it?”
“He did it.” Approval rang through Andrea’s voice. “Reclaimed an acreage that had been written off as miserable. People couldn’t believe it when Mike bought this place. Said it was a fool’s dream. See that creek you have on the south side?” She nodded toward the tree line.
Suzanna dipped her chin.
“Water was turning up tainted downstream. The EPA was hunting to shut the feedlot down, so the owners put the property on the market. ’Course, everyone local knew about it, and they weren’t gonna touch it. Figured it was worthless dirt. Too valuable to abuse, too hard to reclaim. Useless.”
Suzanna frowned. “Did my dad know any of this?”
Andrea shrugged. “Not sure it woulda mattered. Seemed set on it. Jack, down at the Department of Natural Resources, he warned Mike about what it would take to sprout seed here. Mike just listened, thanked him politely, and got to work.”
Drawn to the view outside her window, Suzanna scanned her inheritance. Green pastures waved against the afternoon sun, tinted with the golden hues of fall. The ground looked virgin, full of potential.
Reborn and beautiful.
Her breath caught in her throat as the vista whispered a promise. Was that why Daddy had given her his property?
God takes the broken things, Suzie doll. He can do wonders with hearts that have nothing left. Tears stung her eyes as her dad’s voice rolled through her memory. Nothing left. At twenty-seven, that was exactly how Suzanna felt. Drained, used up, and broken.
