His Healing Touch

His Healing Touch
Loree Lough

“You know, folks say

I’m a pretty good listener.”

Adam looked at her then and, tucking in one corner of his mouth, shook his head. “Seems you’re pretty good at lots of things.” Blue eyes blazing, lips trembling, he added, “Wonder how good you are at forgiveness.”

Forgiveness? What in the world could a man this good, this decent, have done to make him feel unworthy of forgiveness?

While she stood there, trying to decipher his comment, Adam grasped her upper arms. “How much do you know about me?” he demanded in a raspy voice.

Kasey had never seen a man more tortured, more troubled. She felt helpless, inept, unable to put a stop to his misery. And so she did what she’d always done in times of trouble, and turned to God.

Lord, she prayed, guide me. Help me know what Adam needs to hear right now….

LOREE LOUGH

A full-time writer for nearly fifteen years, Loree Lough has produced more than two thousand articles, dozens of short stories and novels for the young (and young at heart), and all have been published here and abroad. The author of thirty-seven award-winning romances, Loree also writes as Cara McCormack and Aleesha Carter.

A comedic teacher and conference speaker, Loree loves sharing in classrooms what she’s learned the hard way. The mother of two grown daughters lives in Maryland with her husband and a fourteen-year-old cat named Mouser (who, until this year—when she caught and killed her first mouse—had no idea what a rodent was).

His Healing Touch

Loree Lough

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy. The Lord is good to all: and His tender mercies are over all His works.

—Psalms 145:8-9

To my family…the heart of my stories…and my life!

Dear Reader,

Though Webster’s defines “guilty” as “the state of one who has committed a crime,” the word means different things to different people: blameworthy, sinful, wicked, offensive… The list can be long and unwieldy, indeed.

The most difficult guilt to bear isn’t the kind we assign to others, but that which we drape around ourselves…to protect others from our supposed corruptness, to protect us from dealing with their judgment.

Like Adam and Kasey in His Healing Touch, we’ve all done things we’re sorry for. But Adam and Kasey learned that together they had the strength to shed their guilt—forever—and that’s what I wish for you and me.

Next time guilt looms large in your life, try to see yourself through the eyes of God, for “great are His tender mercies” (Psalms—119:156) and “He delighteth in mercy” (Micah 7:18). I have faith I’ll be surprised and amazed at how swiftly my own guilty heart will turn!

If you enjoyed His Healing Touch, please drop me a note c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017. (I love hearing from my readers and try to answer every letter personally!)

All my best,

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Prologue

Halloween Night

Buddy’s instructions had been simple: Dress in black. Smuggle the assigned item out of the house. Meet at the graveyard, near the angel tombstone, eleven-thirty sharp….

It was eleven twenty-five, and Adam Thorne’s skin prickled with uneasiness as he walked along the eerielooking iron fence surrounding Crescent Lawn Memorial Gardens.

He didn’t like the way the moonlight, slanting down from above, turned tree branches into gnarled, witch-finger shadows. Didn’t like the way it glinted from the wide golden eyes of the owl, perched above his head, either. He couldn’t decide which caused the dread coiling around his spine…the winged hunter’s hollow hoot, or the dried leaves scuttling across the sidewalk like rodents fleeing the owl’s crooked beak.

The nippy October wind moaned. Dogs howled. Cats screamed. Sixteen-year-old Adam couldn’t have asked for a more perfect Halloween. So why did he have this…feeling?

Crouching, he slid between several missing spike-topped fence pickets. He hadn’t been here in years, but if he remembered right, the appointed meeting place was just on the other side of the caretaker’s toolshed.

Sure enough, like a tiny red beacon, the telltale glow of Buddy’s lit cigarette signaled him.

As Adam got closer to his buddies, a bigger-than-life marble angel came into view in the graveyard. In the bright silvery moonglow, it seemed that she stared…directly at him. Distracted by the creepy-crawly sensation, he tripped over a tree root, nearly dropping the basketball-size pumpkin Buddy had ordered him to bring.

“You’re such a klutz, Thorne,” Buddy taunted, grabbing the jack-o’-lantern and handing it to Luke.

The others watched as Luke jammed it onto the metal rod—his “assignment”—that served as the dummy’s neck. Travis brought the hay, and Wade, a faded plaid shirt and torn work pants. Good ole Buddy, never one to overlook a detail, added boots and a grease-stained fedora to the ensemble.

“Man,” Travis said, snickering, “he could make The Guinness Book of Records, he looks so real!”