It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
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and her book: Claim (Homeward Trilogy #3)
David C. Cook (June 1, 2010)
About the Author:
Lisa T. Bergren is a best-selling author who offers a wide array of reading opportunities ranging from childrenâ€™s books (God Gave Us Love and God Found Us You) and womenâ€™s nonfiction (Life on Planet Mom) to suspense-filled intrigue (The Gifted Trilogy) and historical drama. With more than thirty titles among her published works and a deep faith that has weathered dramatic career and personal challenges, Bergren is excited to add the Homeward Trilogy to her resume as she follows Godâ€™s direction in her writing career. Bergren lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, with her husband Tim (a graphic design artist and musician) and their three children. (ISBN#9781434767066, 400pp, $14.99)
â€œKeep doing that youâ€™ll get yourself killed,â€ Nic said to the boy. Panting, Nic paused and wiped his forehead of sweat. For an hour now, as he moved sacks of grain from a wagon to a wheelbarrow and into the warehouse, heâ€™d glimpsed the boy daring fate as he ran across the busy street, narrowly escaping horse hooves and wagon wheels.
â€œWhereâ€™s your mother?â€
The brown-haired boy paused. â€œDonâ€™t have a mother.â€
â€œWell then, whereâ€™s your father?â€
The boy cast him an impish grin and shrugged one shoulder.
â€œIs he coming back soon?â€ Nic persisted.
â€œSoon enough. You wonâ€™t tell â€™im, will ya?â€
â€œTell him what?â€ Nic tossed back with a small smile. â€œLong as you stop doing whatever youâ€™re not supposed to be doing.â€
The boy wandered closer and climbed up to perch on the wagonâ€™s edge, watching Nic with eyes that were as dark as his hair. Nic relaxed a bit, relieved that the kid wasnâ€™t in imminent danger.
Nic hefted a sack onto his shoulder and carried it to the cart. It felt good to be working again. He liked this sort of heavy labor, the feel of muscles straining, the way he had to suck in his breath to heave a sack, then release it with a long whoosh. A full day of this sort of work allowed him to drop off into dreamless sleepâ€”something he hungered for more than anything else these days.
The boy was silent, but Nic could feel him staring, watching his every move like an artist studying a subject he was about to paint. â€œHowâ€™d you get so strong?â€ the boy said at last.
â€œAlways been pretty strong,â€ Nic said, pulling the next sack across the wooden planks of the wagon, positioning it. â€œHowâ€™d you get so fast?â€
â€œAlways been pretty fast,â€ said the boy, in the same measured tone Nic had used.
Nic smiled again, heaved the sack to his shoulder, hauled it five steps to the cart, and then dropped it.
â€œThis your job?â€ the boy asked.
â€œFor today,â€ Nic said.
Nic loaded another sack, and the boy was silent for a moment. â€œMy dadâ€™s looking for help. At our mine.â€
â€œHmm,â€ Nic said.
â€œNeeds a partner to help haul rock. Heâ€™s been asking around here for days.â€
â€œMiner, huh? I donâ€™t care much for mining.â€
â€œWhy not? You could be rich.â€
â€œMore miners turn out dead than rich.â€ He winced inwardly, as a shadow crossed the boyâ€™s face. Itâ€™d been a while since heâ€™d been around a kid this age. He was maybe ten or eleven max, all wiry muscle and sinew. Reminded him of a boy he knew in Brazil.
Nic carried the next sack over to the wagon, remembering the heat there, so different from what Coloradoâ€™s summer held. Here it was bone dry. He was sweating now, after the morningâ€™s work, but not a lot. In Brazil a man soaked his sheets as he slept.
â€œListen, kid,â€ he said, turning back around to the wagon, intending to apologize for upsetting him. But the boy was gone.
Nic sighed and set to finishing his work. As the sun climbed high in the sky, he paused to take a drink from his canteen and eat a hunk of bread and cheese, watching the busy street at the end of the alleyway. He wondered if heâ€™d see the boy again, back to his antics of racing teams of horses. The child was probably letting off steam, just as Nic had done all his lifeâ€”heâ€™d been about the childâ€™s age when heâ€™d first starting scrapping with others.
But that was in the past. Not since his voyage aboard the Mirabella had Nic indulged the need, succumbed to the desire to enter a fight. Several times now, heâ€™d had the opportunityâ€”and enough causeâ€”to take another man down. But he had walked away. He knew, deep down he knew, that if he was ever to face his sisters, Odessa and Moira, again, if he was to come to them and admit he was penniless, everything would somehow be all right if he was settled inside. If he could come to a place of peace within, the kind of peace Manuel had known. It was the kind of thing that allowed a man to stand up straight, shoulders back, the kind of thing that gave a manâ€™s gut peace. Regardless of what he accomplished, or had in the past. Thing was, he hadnâ€™t found that place of comfort inside, and he didnâ€™t want what Manuel tried to sell himâ€”God.
There had to be another way, another path. Something like this work. Hard manual labor. That might be what he needed most.
Nic heard a man calling, his voice a loud whisper, and his eyes narrowed as the man came limping around the corner, obviously in pain, his arm in a sling. â€œYou, there!â€ he called to Nic. â€œSeen a boy around? About yea big?â€ he said, gesturing to about chest height.
â€œYeah, he was here,â€ Nic called back. He set his canteen inside the empty wagon and walked to the end of the alleyway.
â€œWhereâ€™d he go?â€ the man said. Nic could see the same widowâ€™s peak in the manâ€™s brown hair that the boy had, the same curve of the eyes â€¦ the boyâ€™s father, clearly.
â€œNot sure. One minute he was watching me at work, the next he was gone.â€
â€œThatâ€™s my boy, all right.â€
â€œIâ€™ll help you find him.â€
The man glanced back at him and then gave him a small smile. He stuck out his good arm and offered his hand. â€œIâ€™d appreciate that. Nameâ€™s Vaughn. Peter Vaughn.â€
â€œDominic St. Clair,â€ he replied. â€œYou can call me Nic.â€
Peter smiled. His dimples were in the exact same spot as the boyâ€™s. â€œSure you can leave your work?â€
â€œIâ€™m nearly done. Letâ€™s find your boy.â€
â€œGo on,â€ Moiraâ€™s sister urged, gazing out the window. â€œHeâ€™s been waiting on you for a good bit now.â€
â€œI donâ€™t know what he sees in me,â€ Moira said, wrapping the veil around her head and across her shoulder again. It left most of her face visible but covered the burns at her neck, ear, and scalp. Did it cover them enough? She nervously patted it, making sure it was in place.
Odessa stepped away from washing dishes and joined her. â€œHe might wonder what you see in him. Do you know what his story is? He seems wary.â€ Their eyes met and Odessa backtracked. â€œDanielâ€™s a good man, Moira. I think highly of him. But Iâ€™d like to know what has burdened him so. Besides you.â€ She nudged her sister with her hip.
Moira wiped her hands on the dish towel and glanced out at him as he strode across the lawn with Bryce, Odessaâ€™s husband. He was striking in profile, reminding her of the statues of Greek gods the French favored in their lovely tailored gardens. Far too handsome for herâ€”since the fire, anyway. She shook her head a little.
Irritated at being caught in thought, Moira looked at Odessa again.
â€œTrust him, Moira. Heâ€™s a good man. I can sense it.â€
She nodded, but inwardly she sighed as she turned away and wrapped a scarf around her veiled head and shoulders. A good man. After Reid and Max and Gavinâ€”could she really trust her choice in men? Odessa was fortunate to have fallen for her husband, Bryce, a good man through and through. Moiraâ€™s experiences with men had been less than successful. What made Odessa think this one was trustworthy?
But as Daniel ducked his head through the door and inclined it to one side in silent invitation to walk with him, Moira thought about how he had physically saved her more than once. And how his gentle pursuit both bewildered and calmed her. Daniel had done nothing to deserve her suspicions.
She moved over to the door. He glanced at her, and she noticed how his thick lashes made his brown eyes more pronounced. He shuffled his feet as if he were nervous. â€œYou busy?â€ he asked.
â€œNo.â€ Moira felt a nervous tension tighten her stomach muscles.
â€œCan we, uh â€¦â€ His gaze shifted to Odessa, who quickly returned to her dishes. â€œGo for a walk?â€ he finally finished.
Moira smoothed her skirts and said, â€œIâ€™d like that.â€ Then, meeting her sisterâ€™s surreptitious gaze, she followed him outside. It was a lovely day on the Circle M. The horses pranced in the distance. She could see her brother-in-law riding out with Tabito, the ranchâ€™s foreman.
â€œSo, you wanted to talk,â€ she ventured.
â€œThereâ€™s not a day that goes by that I donâ€™t want to talk to you, Moira,â€ he said.
She looked up at him and then, when she saw the ardor in his gaze, she turned with a sigh.
â€œDonâ€™t look away,â€ he whispered gently, pulling her to face him. He reached to touch her veil, as if he longed to cradle her cheek instead.
â€œNo, Daniel, donâ€™t,â€ she said and ran a nervous hand over the cover. He was tall and broad, and she did not feel physically menacedâ€”it was her heart that threatened to pound directly out of her chest. Perhaps she wasnâ€™t ready for this â€¦ the intimacies that a courtship brought.
Sheâ€™d been dreaming about what it would be like to be kissed by him, held by him, but he never made such advances before. Never took the opportunity, leaving her to think that he was repulsed by her burns, her hair, singed to just a few inches long, her past relationship with Gavin, or her pregnancyâ€”despite what he claimed. Her hand moved to the gentle roundness of her belly, still small yet making itself more and more prominent each day. â€œI â€¦ Iâ€™m not even certain why you pursue me at all. Why you consider me worthy. â€
He seemed stunned by her words. â€œWorthy?â€ he breathed. He let out a hollow, breathy laugh and then looked to the sky, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head and then slowly brought his brown eyes down to meet hers again. â€œMoira,â€ he said, lifting a hand to cradle her cheek and jaw, this time without hesitation. She froze, wondering if he intended to kiss her at last. â€œI only hesitate because I am afraid,â€ he whispered.
â€œAfraid? You think I am not? I come to you scarred in so many ways, when you, you, Daniel, deserve perfection.â€¦â€
â€œNo,â€ he said, shaking his head too. â€œIt is I who carry the scars. You donâ€™t know me. You donâ€™t know who I am. Who I once was. What Iâ€™ve done â€¦â€
â€œSo tell me,â€ she pleaded. â€œTell me.â€
He stared at her a moment longer, as if wondering if she was ready, wondering if she could bear it, and Moiraâ€™s heart pounded again. Then, â€œNo. I canâ€™t,â€ he said with a small shake of his head. He sighed heavily and moved up the hill. â€œNot yet.â€
An hour after they began their search for Everett Vaughn, Peter sat down on the edge of the boardwalk and looked up to the sky. His face was a mask of pain. â€œThat boy was hard to track when I wasnâ€™t hurt.â€
â€œHeâ€™ll turn up,â€ Nic reassured.
Peter nodded and lifted his gaze to the street.
â€œWhat happened to you?â€ Nic said gently, sitting down beside the man. His eyes scanned the crowds for the boy even as he waited for Peterâ€™s response.
â€œCave-in, at my mine. Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™m here. Looking for a good man to partner with me. Iâ€™m onto a nice vein, but Iâ€™m livinâ€™ proof that a manâ€™s a fool to mine alone.â€ He looked at Nic and waited until he met his gaze. â€œYou lookinâ€™ for work?â€ He cocked his head to the side. â€œIâ€™m offering a handsome deal. Fifty fifty.â€
Nic let a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at the man, who had to be about his own age. There was an easy way about him that drew Nic, despite the pain evident in the lines of his face. â€œThat is a handsome offer.â€ He cocked his own head. â€œBut I donâ€™t see you doing half the work, laid up like you are.â€
â€œNo, not quite. But Iâ€™ve already put a lot of work into it in the past three years, and Iâ€™m still good for about a quarter of the labor. To say nothing of the fact that my nameâ€™s on the claim.â€
Nic paused, thinking about it, feeling drawn to help this man, but then shook his head. â€œIâ€™m not very fond of small dark spaces.â€
â€œSo â€¦ make it bigger. Light a lamp.â€
Nic shook his head, more firmly this time. â€œNo. Iâ€™d rather find another line of work.â€
Just then he spotted the boy, running the street again. â€œThere he is,â€ Nic said, nodding outward. The boyâ€™s father followed his gaze and with a grimace, rose to his feet. As they watched, the boy ran under a wagon that had temporarily pulled to a stop. Then he jumped up on the back of another, riding it for about twenty feet until he was passing by them. His face was a mask of elation.
â€œEverett! Ev! Come on over here!â€
Everettâ€™s eyes widened in surprise. He jumped down and ran over to them, causing a man on horseback to pull back hard on his reins and swear.
â€œSorry, friend,â€ Peter said, raising his good arm up to the rider. The horseman shook his head and then rode on.
Peter grabbed his sonâ€™s arm and, limping, hauled him over to the boardwalk. â€œIâ€™ve told you to stay out of the street.â€
â€œSo did I,â€ Nic said, meeting the boyâ€™s gaze. The child flushed red and glanced away.
â€œWeâ€™d best be on our way,â€ Peter said. â€œThanks for helpinâ€™ me find my boy.â€ He reached out a hand and Nic rose to shake it. Peter paused. â€œItâ€™s not often a man has a chance at entering a claim agreement once a miner has found a vein that is guaranteed to pay.â€
Nic hesitated as he dropped Peterâ€™s hand. â€œIâ€™ve narrowly escaped with my life on more than one occasion, friend. Iâ€™m aiming to look up my sisters, but not from a casket.â€
Peter lifted his chin, but his eyes betrayed his weariness and disappointment. What would it mean for him? For his boy, not to find a willing partner? Would they have to give up the mine just as they were finally on the edge of success? And what of the boyâ€™s mother? His unkempt, too-small clothes told him Everett had been without a mother for some time.
He hesitated again, feeling a pang of compassion for them both. â€œShould I change my mind â€¦ where would I find you?â€
A glimmer of hope entered Peterâ€™s eyes. â€œA couple miles out of St. Elmo. Just ask around for the Vaughn claim up in the Gulch and someoneâ€™ll point you in our direction.â€ He reached out a hand. â€œIâ€™d be much obliged, Nic. And Iâ€™m not half bad at cookinâ€™ either. Iâ€™d keep you in grub. Give it some thought. But donâ€™t be too put out if you get there, and Iâ€™ve found someone else.â€
â€œUnderstood,â€ Nic said with a smile. â€œSafe journey.â€
â€œAnd to you.â€ He turned away, tugging at his boyâ€™s shoulder, but the child looked back at Nic, all big pleading eyes.
Hurriedly, Nic walked away in the opposite direction. He fought the desire to turn and call out to them. Wasnâ€™t he looking for work? Something that would allow him to ride on to Bryce and Odessaâ€™s ranch without his tail tucked between his legs? The man had said the mine was sure to pay.â€¦ Iâ€™m onto a nice vein.â€¦
Was that a minerâ€™s optimism or the truth?
Not yet?â€ Moira sputtered, following him. She frowned in confusion. He had been coaxing her forward, outward, steadily healing her with his kind attentions these last two months. But now it was as if they were at some strange impasse. What was he talking about? What had happened to him?
She hurried forward and grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and turn again to face her. Her veil clung to her face in the early evening breeze. â€œDaniel.â€
He slowly lifted his dark eyes to meet hers.
â€œThis is about me, isnâ€™t it?â€ she asked. â€œYou attempt to spare my feelings but find me repulsive. I can hardly fault you, butâ€”â€
â€œNo,â€ he said, with another hollow laugh. â€œContrary to what you believe, Moira St. Clair, not everything boils down to you. You are braver than you think and more beautiful than you dare to believe. I believe weâ€™re destined to be together.â€
Moira held her breath. Then whatâ€”
â€œNo,â€ he went on. â€œThis is about something I need to resolve. Something that needs to be done, or at least settled in my mind, my heart, before I can properly court you.â€
â€œWhat? What is it, Daniel?â€ she tried once more.
He only looked at her helplessly, mouth half open, but mute.
She crossed her arms and turned her back to him, staring out across the pristine valley, the land of the Circle M. It hurt her that he felt he couldnâ€™t confide in her as she had with him. She stiffened when he laid his big hands on her shoulders. â€œI donâ€™t need to be rescued, Daniel,â€ she said in a monotone. â€œGod has seen me to this place, this time. Heâ€™ll see me through to the next â€¦ with or without you.â€
â€œYou donâ€™t understand.â€
â€œNo. I donâ€™t. Weâ€™ve been courting all summer, whether you realize it or not. And now you say that there is something else that needs to be resolved? You assume much, Daniel Adams. You think that Iâ€™ll wait forever?â€ She let out a scoffing laugh. â€œItâ€™s clear you do not fear that any other man might pursue me. Not that I blame you â€¦â€ She turned partly away and stared into the distance. â€œPlease. Donâ€™t let this linger on. I cannot bear it. Not if you do not intend to claim me as your own.â€
He was silent for a long minute. Oh, that he would but turn her and meet her lips at last â€¦
But he didnâ€™t. â€œWe both have a lot to think through, pray through, Moira,â€ he said quietly.
â€œYes, well, let me know when that is accomplished,â€ she said over her shoulder, walking away as fast as she could, lest he see the tears that were already rolling down her cheeks.
Â©2010 Cook Communications Ministries. Claim by Lisa Bergren. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.
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