Song of Her Heart. Irene Brand

towered several inches over six feet. Obviously a powerful man, Mason was a product of the rangeland where he and his ancestors had battled the elements to make a home. His black whiskers and hair were tinged with gray, and his generous mouth and dark brown eyes were touched with humor. But in spite of his vigorous masculinity, she detected a hint of wistfulness in Mason’s gentle expression, as if he was searching for something that evaded him. He obviously was a successful rancher, but was he happy?

      Disgusted that she’d allowed thoughts of Mason to keep her awake, Norah flopped over on her side and hoped for sleep, but concern about the uncertainty of her future wouldn’t let her rest.

      She was committed to working for Mason during the summer, but what then? Knowing that she didn’t have enough education to become a missionary kept Norah wide-awake. She’d hoped to use the money from the sale of the family home to prepare for her lifelong dream of becoming a missionary. But was she too old to work on the overseas mission field? It would take several years to receive the education she needed for mission appointment, and by that time she’d be almost fifty years old. What could a woman in midlife do to make her life count?

      Hearing a soft knock on the door, Norah roused from her catnap.

      “Yes,” she answered sleepily.

      “I’m going to the barn,” Mason said. “I’ll be back in an hour, and we can have breakfast. But if you’re tired, go back to sleep.”

      “No, I’m ready to get up.”

      The room was cold, and after she heard Mason’s deliberate tread outside the window, Norah put on her robe and hustled into the bathroom across the hall. After a shower, she put on the extra change of clothes she’d packed in the small bag. A pair of jeans and a plaid, long-sleeved shirt seemed suitable attire for a ranch cook, she thought humorously as she walked toward the kitchen.

      From the many boxes of dry cereal on the table, she concluded Mason didn’t often have a hot breakfast. The refrigerator contained what she needed to prepare an omelette and mix a batch of bread. She put the biscuits in the oven, thinking she could warm them in the microwave if they baked before Mason finished his work. She found honey and oleo in the fridge and put them on the table, made a pot of coffee and prepared a pan for the omelette. Ready to finish breakfast when Mason came, Norah sat on a wide window seat to watch for him.

      Low rolling hills surrounded the Flying K ranch that was located in the Niobrara River Valley. A large red barn with a tall silo attached and several smaller buildings were near the house. A wide shelter belt of evergreens was positioned to protect the ranch headquarters from northwest winter winds. Sunlight was just beginning to illuminate the meadowy fields where a herd of cattle grazed, and Norah wondered if Buster was among them. In the light of day, her fear of the bull seemed a little foolish, but the sudden sight of him in the middle of the road had overwhelmed her.

      When Mason emerged from the barn, he was accompanied by two black Labrador dogs that frolicked at his heels all the way to the house. When Norah opened the door and said, “Good morning,” the dogs froze in place. Mason stooped to lay calming hands on their heads.

      “It’s okay,” he assured the animals. Smiling at Norah, he continued. “Around here, the dogs get their breakfast before I do.” He dipped some dry dog food from a container and filled a couple of bowls. He turned on a faucet and replenished the dogs’ water pans. Patting their heads again, he stepped inside and came to a standstill, almost as quickly as the dogs had done.

      “You’ve made breakfast!”

      “Why not? You need a sample of my cooking to see if I’m suited for the job. If not, you can hire someone else before the kids come to the ranch.”

      Smiling, he said, “If the food tastes as good as it smells, I won’t want to hire anyone else.”

      “Everything’s finished except the omelette. I’ll have it on the table by the time you’ve washed up.”

      “Even biscuits!” Mason marveled as he returned from the bathroom and pulled up to the table. “I make biscuits once in a while, but they don’t look like these.”

      Since he usually ate alone, Mason didn’t talk much while he ate three-fourths of the omelette, several biscuits and downed two cups of coffee. By the time only one biscuit was left on the plate, Norah didn’t need any more evidence that her cooking passed muster.

      When Mason leaned back from the table, with a satisfied smile on his face, Norah filled his coffee cup for the third time.

      “I’ve never eaten a better meal in my life,” Mason said. “Thanks, Norah. If the therapy program doesn’t improve the kids’ health, eating your meals is bound to be good for them. Thanks for coming to help.”

      A song rose in Norah’s heart at his praise. In spite of her efforts to please her family, she’d seldom had any thanks for what she’d done for them. Her father had paid her for taking care of the household, but it always rankled that her family had taken her work for granted.

      Unbidden, an old adage popped into Norah’s mind. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But why would she want to find her way into Mason’s heart? The goal she’d set for her life when she was a teenager couldn’t be realized on a Sand Hills ranch. And although she’d known Mason only a few hours, she couldn’t envision him in any other place except this setting.

      Mason interrupted her thoughts when he said, “I’ll take you to the Bar 8 ranch today so you can see where you’ll be spending the summer. The program doesn’t start for two weeks. You may not want to stay there all that time.”

      “How far away is the Bar 8 ranch?”

      “About ten miles.”

      “Anyone live closer than that?”

      “One of my employees and his wife live on the property as caretakers, three-quarters of a mile from the main house. I graze cattle and horses on the ranch, and we occasionally have rustlers, so I can’t leave the property unprotected.”

      Norah had always lived in a city and didn’t look forward to staying at the isolated Bar 8. But where else could she stay? There weren’t any motels close by, and she certainly couldn’t spend two weeks at the Flying K. This was one hurdle she hadn’t considered in her hasty decision to accept the job.

      “I’ll look around the Bar 8 before I decide where to stay. I’ll need to check out the kitchen facilities and start planning meals. The only time I’ve cooked for a large group has been on holidays. I’ll need to plan well in advance, so I’ll know what groceries to buy.”

      “Then you should drive your car to the Bar 8, in case you do want to move in today, and I’ll follow in the truck. Otherwise, we could have gone on horseback. There’s a nice trail between the two ranches, and I’d rather ride a horse than drive, but trucks are a lot faster.”

      Norah slanted her eyes toward him. She’d never ridden a horse, but she figured that was something she’d learn to do before the summer was over. Would she regret her hasty decision to take this job?

      Pulling his chair up to the table again, Mason reached for the last biscuit. “I might as well eat this. It looks lonesome on that plate all by itself.”

      The two-story frame white house at the Bar 8 ranch gleamed in the morning sun. As they stood in the yard, Mason explained, “This place was a horse ranch for years, and the house was built sometime before World War I when ranching was profitable. But after the original owners died, a man from Colorado bought the property and developed it into a vacation ranch for city people.”

      Norah followed Mason’s pointing hand as he said, “He turned the barn loft into dormitories and kept the ground floor as a meeting room and dance hall.”

      “Will these children be able to use second-floor facilities?”

      “No, but that motel-like building beside the barn has several rooms. The staff will use the barn loft for offices, the first floor as an inside riding arena, and the one-story