The Heart's Voice. Arlene James

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      “How’d you lose your hearing?”

      He nearly dropped. “How…?” He stared into her wide, clear green eyes, sucked in a breath and accepted that the secret was out. “Explosion, about thirteen months ago.”

      She shifted the baby on her hip. “About the same time CJ was born, then.”

      What a coincidence, he thought, looking at the baby. She’d been gaining something precious while he was losing his hearing, along with life as he’d known it, his career, the future he’d envisioned for himself.

      ARLENE JAMES,

      the author of over forty novels, now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her as she’s been at it since the eighth grade! Arlene reflects, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

      The Heart’s Voice

      Arlene James

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      So that you incline your ear to wisdom,

       and apply your heart to understanding.

      —Proverbs 2:2

      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

      Letter to Reader

      Chapter One

      “Here’s your chance.”

      Becca looked up from the shelf of canned goods she was stocking, glanced at her mother-in-law, Abby Kinder, and immediately turned her attention to the row of shopping carts parked along the front wall of the Kinder grocery store. Daniel Holden, tall and straight, tugged a cart free and aimed it toward the produce section. Becca felt a flutter of excitement inside her chest. With Easter just a week away, the time was right to begin repairs on her dilapidated ranch house. The weather was fine, she had managed to save a sum of money and it seemed that God had finally provided someone to do the work, at least according to the town scuttlebutt.

      “You just don’t expect the Marine Corps to turn out expert carpenters,” she commented quietly. “I mean, soldiers, of course, and maybe mechanics, computer techs, even desk clerks, but ‘carpenter’ just doesn’t seem to fit the mold.”

      Abby chuckled, swiping a feather duster over boxes of pasta dinners. “You’d be amazed at the kind of training the military offers. Cody considered signing up, you know.” She smiled wistfully, the pain of loss clouding her clear gray eyes even after these many months, but then she shook her silver head, the bun at the nape of her neck sliding from side to side, and her customary cheer reasserted itself. “His dad and I thought it was too dangerous, so then he goes out and takes up rodeo.” She waved the feather duster, as if to say no one could predict what life would hold. Becca knew exactly what she meant. After years on the rodeo circuit, Cody had been killed in his own backyard by a high-strung stud horse.

      Becca squeezed her mother-in-law’s hand and went back to emptying the box on the tiered flatbed cart at her side, giving Dan Holden time to finish his shopping. Resolutely putting thoughts of her late husband out of her mind, she concentrated on the proposition she meant to make the tall ex-marine with the carpenter’s skill.

      Every day she drove past the Holden house on her way to and from work. Empty for longer than she’d lived in the sleepy little town of Rain Dance, Oklahoma, the elegant place had gradually taken on an air of abandonment and decay, but over the past three or four months that Dan had lived there, the old-fashioned two-story prairie cottage had seemed to come alive and take back its dignity. Now it stood fit and neat, as straight and tall as its owner and occupant, who just might be the answer to Becca’s prayers.

      When Dan turned his shopping cart toward the single checkout stand, Becca quickly wiped her hands on her apron and moved behind the counter. As Dan placed the first items on the rubber mat, Becca gave him a bright smile.

      “How’re you keeping, Mr. Holden?”

      He nodded, but made no reply. She’d noticed that he was a quiet man, rarely speaking and often seeming shy, though with his looks she couldn’t imagine why. He’d pretty much kept to himself since returning to Rain Dance after an absence of some ten or twelve years, but Becca figured he’d just been busy with the house. She rang up the first items and bagged them, talking as she worked.

      “The word around town is that you’re something of a carpenter.”

      He made no comment, didn’t so much as look at her as he placed several cans on the counter. Becca licked her lips and took the plunge.

      “Fact is, I’m looking for someone to help me fix up my old house, Mr. Holden, and I was wondering if you might be interested in taking on the project?”

      It seemed a good idea. To her knowledge he didn’t have a job, not that there were many to be had in this part of south central Oklahoma. Most folks depended on ranching, farming and intermittent oil field work to keep afloat, or else they were pensioners making the most of their retirement income. Living was cheap, if limited, in Rain Dance, which boasted a population of some 500 residents within the narrow confines of its city limits and perhaps an equal number in the surrounding area.

      Without ever making eye contact, Dan Holden placed a carton of milk on the counter and reached back into his shopping cart for a box of cereal. She took his lack of reply as a good sign. At least he hadn’t refused her outright.

      “I’ve got a little money put aside,” she told him, “and you’ve done such a fine job on your place, I was thinking we could maybe help each other out.”

      He plunked down a jar of pickles and a squirt bottle of mustard. She reached for the mustard, judging it a perfect fit for the space left in the shopping bag that she