Reunited Hearts. Ruth Logan Herne

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      “You need help?”

      Oh, no.

      Alyssa stared up into Trent’s face. “No, I’m fine, actually. I was just…” She tried to pull herself up and out of the jungle gym tunnel, but her cuff was caught.

      Before Alyssa could protest, Trent caught her arms and pulled.

      “I wasn’t really stuck.” She nodded her daughter Cory’s way. “We were playing a game.”

      “But you were,” Cory protested. “You wescued her, mister.”

      He smiled. “You can call me Trent.”

      “And you can call me Cory. And now we can be fwiends.”

      A group of small children entered the playground from below. Cory turned, hopeful. Alyssa nodded their way. “Yes, go ahead.”

      Trent moved toward the slide. “It seems there’s only one way down. I’ll go first.”

      He slid down, then stood grinning from the ground below. “Your turn.”

      Was it the thought of her getting caught on the slide that sparked his grin or was he just trying to cajole a laugh out of her?

      As he did so long ago…

      RUTH LOGAN HERNE

      Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders, and the dirt…

      Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her website at www.ruthloganherne.com.

      Reunited Hearts

      Ruth Logan Herne

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have

       no compassion on the child she has borne? Though

       she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have

       engraved you on the palms of my hands.

      —Isaiah 49:15, 16

      This book is dedicated to my four boys,

       Matthew, Seth, Zach and Luke, four delights in my life

       whose antics and humor have kept me laughing, which

       is about the only thing that spared their lives some days.

       Thanks for the constant kudos, the love,

       the support and your belief in me. I’m so grateful.

      And to Jon, my erstwhile and kindly son-in-law,

       a gentle man in all respects. I love you guys.

      Acknowledgments

      First to Rene, Patty, Colleen, Rita, Andrea, Fran,

       Meaghan and Susan, who’ve steadfastly believed.

       To my buddy Kevin, who’s read them all

       and makes me feel good about myself. You guys rock!

       To the Song-Prayers, who’ve been wonderful supporters,

       first readers and have my back in times of trouble.

       I love you guys, prayer-warriors all. My day-care moms,

       such a great group of women. I love that you

       entrust your precious children to Baby: Survivor.

      To my family, who juggle their schedules to help mine.

       I could not ask for more, except maybe more chocolate.

       And a maid. A maid would be really nice.

       Thanks to Jason Sweeney for his advice on

       military contracts and contacts, and to

       Lieutenant Colonel Tim Hall from MIT for his advice

       on military education and command. Huge.

      Thanks to Cher Neidermeyer and Glenn Pierce of the

       Ronald McDonald House in Rochester, and a special

       thanks to Dr. Vermilion and Bernadette of the Golisano

       Children’s Hospital at Strong. Thank you for your time

       and expertise, helping me get it right. I’m very grateful.

      To Dave for sitting next to me in church, jumping in all

       over the place and pretending to love sandwiches, dust

       and clutter. Your gentle support is a true blessing.

      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

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Two words jerked Trent Michaels out of his comfort zone, tunneling him back a dozen years, pre-West Point, pre-deployment, a young man searching for answers. For hope.

      “Alyssa.