Laurel forced a laugh. “Of course not. We’re perfectly safe.”

But considering the telephone call and the letter in her purse, Laurel hoped her optimistic words had disguised her inner turmoil from her daughter Debbie and from Michah.

“Cousin Kevin is a worrywart,” Debbie said. “We have nothing to fear from our neighbors, and travelers wouldn’t know there’s a house out here.”

“But you are isolated,” Michah insisted, “so please contact me if you need anything. I’ll be here almost every night.”

Michah’s eyes revealed a warm tenderness and concern that made Laurel’s heart beat faster. Knowing his strength and intelligence were at her beck and call gave her the assurance that she desperately needed.

Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984 she’s published thirty-two contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977 after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.

Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.

But the Lord is faithful, and He will strengthen and protect you from the evil one.

—II Thessalonians 3:3

To Carlene Thompson, a fellow writer and former student, whose fiction books have earned her a noteworthy reputation in the world of mystery and suspense.

And to Keith Biggs, also a former student, who contributes to my writing career by keeping my computers in working condition.

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

Letter to Reader

Persistent rain drummed a staccato rhythm on the tin roof of the back porch as Laurel Cooper leaned a ladder against the outside wall of her Tennessee antebellum home.

“There would have to be another downpour before that lazy contractor got here,” Laurel fumed. She tied her raincoat’s hood over her red hair and climbed the ladder. Laurel shook her fist at an offending eaves spout, which, rather than draining as it should, was spewing water into her favorite bed of hostas.

Laurel had learned to do a lot of things since she’d been the owner of Oaklawn, but this was the first time she’d tackled a leak in the middle of a thunderstorm. The raincoat provided some protection from the torrent as she took a hammer out of one of her pockets, stuck some nails in her mouth and leaned toward a metal strap that had broken and caused the gutter to separate. She scowled at several miniature ponds in her landscaping. With all of these delays, how could she possibly beautify Oaklawn in time for Debbie’s August wedding just three months from now?

Believing she was alone, Laurel almost fell off the ladder when a loud knock sounded at the nearby door. Recovering her balance, she peered through the screened back porch. Protected by a large umbrella, a man stood at the door.

“It’s high time you got here,” Laurel shouted above a roll of thunder. “I’ve been waiting two days for you to come and do what should have been done weeks ago.”

“I beg your pardon,” the man said.

“And so you should,” Laurel answered crossly. “My hostas are about ruined. Come and fix this leak.”