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Four
    Sondra arrived back at the house just in time to have the Battered Women’s Society take away a few pieces of the furniture. She and Kenny hadn’t started out with much, but her own things were due the next day. Miller would have been glad the things she didn’t need went to a good cause.
    She couldn’t believe how the place already felt like home. Cleaning each room, putting her things in the drawers, just angling a chair toward the window so it would catch the morning sun—each little thing made this her refuge, her haven.
    Never before had a place seemed so right, so welcoming. Even her apartment with Kenny didn’t feel this way. She’d barely gotten her meager belongings in the door the week they got back from their honeymoon, and they’d been so wrapped up in each other, she’d didn’t cull through everything until the last week before he died. Then she hated going home because it constantly reminded her of the emptiness in her heart.
    This was different. It was home—good, pure, safe—hopefully, forever.
    She put her Bible and the Bible study book she’d been working through on an end table and wrapped her arms about her ribs. Lord, thank You for providing this home for my baby and me. Grant me wisdom so I can keep it and use it to Your glory, I pray. And Father—about Dylan—help me deal with him.
    After doing some housekeeping, she drove into Lasso, stopped at the library, slipped in to see the doctor, and went through the grocery store. She located the community church and noticed Sunday morning worship started at half past eight.
    Weary beyond her tolerance, she went to bed early, then barely managed to wake up in time to let the movers bring in her things. They didn’t take long, but she directed them to place the furnishings exactly where she wanted them. Her tiny dinette set looked perky in the kitchen.
    This was to be her son’s home, and she wanted it perfect. Her child would never be passed around and suffer living without roots the way she had. He’d know the security of growing up in one house, loved. He’d have his very own bedroom, and he’d go to the same school year after year. It was a priceless gift, and Sondra could scarcely close her eyes at night, fearing she’d wake up and find it was all just a dream.
    The last couple of days stayed overcast, so she’d worn loose-fitting sweats. Since today’s forecast boasted sun, she put on lightweight jeans and teamed them with an oversized pink T-shirt. Feeling encouraged with her progress all around, she skipped down the steps and off to check in over at the stable. Nickels was saddling up a mare. “I’ll be in the coop,” she mentioned.
    He shot her an approving smile. “You’re not letting weeds grow ’round your feet, are you?”
    “Not at all. There’s too much to do!”
    He nodded sagely. “Yep. Always is.”
    Hens clucked a welcome to her, and Sondra stepped into the coop. Luna wasn’t here yet, but she wanted a chance to start in on the chores so she wouldn’t be relying on others. A short while later, feeling a presence, she looked up and gave her neighbor a nod. “Mr. Ward.”
    ❧
    Finding her pitching in at barely past daybreak settled well with Dylan. “Luna’s sick.”
    “That’s too bad. Does he need anything?” She stood up and wiped the back of her wrist across her forehead. With her other hand, she cupped a little chick to her breastbone as if she’d never held anything quite so precious.
    “You’re already busy enough. His wife is taking care of him.” Her concern threw him for a loop. Dylan liked seeing that she had some redeeming qualities. He silently reminded himself that she was a city-gal. A helpless one. The only real connection she claimed to the Curly Q was the chickens.
    Swiping the chick she held and giving it a gentle buff with his knuckles, he wondered aloud, “Just how often do you take these little critters into town?” He watched as she bent over and nabbed another