Song of Her Heart

She hung her jacket on a clothing rack in the corner of the room and took a set of sheets, pillowcases and a blanket from the dresser. The linens felt cold and she laid them on the bed. She’d make the bed later.

A tantalizing scent of cooking beef welcomed her return to the kitchen. “Anything I can do to help?” she offered.

“It’s all ready,” Mason said. “I use the microwave a lot.” The two plates he placed on the wooden table held steaks and baked potatoes. He took a loaf of bread, a carton of butter and a deli container of coleslaw from the refrigerator.

“Think this is enough to hold you until morning?”

“More than enough.”

Mason pulled out a chair for Norah, sat opposite her and bowed his head. “God, thank You for giving Norah a safe journey. We ask Your guidance for this project we’re undertaking. Thanks for the food and bless it to our body’s use. Amen.”

Mason’s prayer, indicating a deep spiritual devotion, set Norah’s mind at ease about the propriety of spending the night in his home. She settled back to enjoy her meal.

“I don’t know why you advertised for a cook,” she said. “This food is delicious.”

“I can’t run a cattle ranch and cook for a bunch of kids. Besides, I’m a meat-and-potatoes guy. Anything else is beyond me. My friends Doug and Sheila Johnson live on my other ranch, and they invite me for a good meal about every week. I eat out whenever I go to town, but the rest of the time I just get by.”

After they’d eaten, refusing Norah’s offer of help, Mason efficiently cleared the table and put their dishes and utensils in the dishwasher.

“The days are still cool, so I like a fire in the evenings.” He turned the lounge chair to face the fireplace, placed another comfortable chair beside it for Norah and held a match to the stacked wood.

“Let’s sit and relax while we get acquainted.”

“That’s a good idea. I’m not an impulsive person, so I even surprised myself when I accepted this job without learning more about what I was getting into.”

Nodding, Mason answered, “I’m sometimes impulsive, too. For instance, I bought a dude ranch, the Bar 8, which adjoins my property, about four years ago. I operated it as a dude ranch for two summers, which was nothing but an aggravation to me. I couldn’t find good help, and I was spending time entertaining city people when I should have been taking care of my cattle.”

One of the logs crumbled and sparks wafted up the chimney. A puff of smoke fanned out into the room, and Mason rearranged the firewood with a poker.

“I’d already listed the property for sale,” Mason continued, “when Horses and Healing, a Christian group of therapists in Omaha, contacted me, asking to use the ranch for a pilot project in equine therapy for children with special needs. They offered a good rent for the summer months, and when I learned my only obligation was to provide horses and a cook for the riders and volunteers, I temporarily took the property off the market. When you answered my ad and said that you’d taken care of your handicapped brother, I figured you’d relate to the children and not find it difficult to work with them.”

“Because of my experience with Billy, I’m very interested in any program designed to make life better for children with special needs. I was at loose ends after my father and brother both died this past winter. When I saw your ad, I felt it was the place for me. I needed a job, and since I’d managed our home after my mother died twenty-five years ago, I felt I was qualified.”

“I’m sure you are, and it’ll be a pleasure to have you here,” Mason said. “If we can make a difference in the lives of a few children, it’ll be worth the work. And we’ll also be serving Jesus, for He said, ‘Whatever you’ve done for one of these little ones, you’ve done to me.”’

“I believe that, too. I’ve been thinking of the summer’s work as a ministry rather than a job.”

If it was too late to realize her goal of serving as an overseas missionary, would this short-term position, helping children with handicaps, compensate for her lost dream? Surely a few months away from familiar surroundings would be an opportunity to assess her future options and decide how to achieve reconciliation with her family.

Chapter Two

Although he’d had a long, hard day, Mason mused before the fire for more than an hour after Norah went to bed. The pleasant murmur of her velvet voice revolved over and over in his mind, a comforting sound that had wiggled its way into the loneliness of his heart. This was the first time a woman had spent the night in his home since his wife had died years ago, a few hours after she’d delivered their stillborn child.

Mason had longed for children, and the possibility of remarriage had often crossed his mind. He’d stopped mourning his young wife long ago, and he would have married if only he’d found a woman to spark his interest. For a few years, he’d considered getting married just so he could have a family, and he’d dated, but he couldn’t bring himself to propose to a woman he didn’t love.

Mason had believed it was important for him to marry because he was an only child and had no children. He often worried about what would happen to the Flying K after his death. He and his father had spent their lives building up this property, and he didn’t want the ranch to pass to someone he didn’t know.

But when he reached forty, Mason had decided that he’d passed the age when he could satisfactorily rear a child, and he’d put the idea of marriage on the back burner. But now Norah had come!

Was her arrival providential? He’d received six answers to his Internet ad, but none of the messages had seemed right until Norah had written. He took her message from his desk and read it again.

Mr. King,

Having cared for my father and siblings, including a disabled brother, for several years, I believe I qualify for the job you mentioned in your ad. I’ve never been employed outside the home, so I can’t supply work references. The pastor of my church can furnish a character recommendation.

She’d given the pastor’s name and e-mail address, but Mason hadn’t contacted the man. He and Norah had corresponded several times by e-mail, and he’d anticipated her arrival with pleasure. Mason had envisioned Norah as a woman in her sixties, who would provide a grandmotherly model for the children in the therapeutic program.

Norah didn’t impress him as the grandmotherly type. He could hardly believe she was forty-two years old. Her straight, silvery-gray hair—no doubt prematurely gray—was neatly arranged over her forehead in a wispy mist, then flowed neatly in soft layers to the base of her neck. Her bright, clear-blue eyes were highlighted by long, black lashes that created a startling contrast as they caressed her wellmodeled ivory face. She was of medium height with a winsome body.

Being a large man, Mason had never been attracted to petite, delicate women who looked like a strong prairie wind would blow them away. Norah Williamson filled the physical qualities he admired in a woman—although not obese, she carried enough flesh that a man could have an armful when he hugged her.

While they’d sat at the table visiting, and later relaxing by the fire, Mason realized that, for the first time, this house seemed like a home. His mother had died when Mason was a child, and he didn’t even remember her. During the year he’d been married, he and his wife had lived in a small house a few miles away. After her death, he’d moved in with his father. Mason had been lonely since his father’s death, but he hadn’t understood how lonely until Norah had entered his home. Yearnings that Mason thought he’d stifled forever suddenly seemed important again, and he stayed in his easy chair long after the embers of the fire had faded away.

The room was totally dark when Norah awakened, and she was terrified. Realization came quickly that she wasn’t in her bed at home, but on an isolated ranch in northern Nebraska. The awareness did nothing to calm her nerves. She hastily turned on the light that was hooked over the wooden headboard of the bed, and her racing heartbeat eased when the light chased the darkness away.

She lifted her watch from the bedside table. Four o’clock! After spending a restless night, Norah longed for daylight and the start of a new day. She’d still been awake when Mason had entered his bedroom across the hallway, and although she’d dozed several times, thoughts of Mason had been present in her mind all night.

Occupied as she’d been with caring for her family, Norah hadn’t made many male friends, so she was unprepared for her physical reaction to Mason’s rugged personality. His wide shoulders were slightly stooped, but his rangy body 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.”