Seeds of Summer (27 page)

Tears filled Natalie's eyes as she came to the end of this journey, but the road she was about to embark upon held even more
possibilities—promises that left her breathless. After the corona'tion, she met Jared and her family at the back of the stage and gave them each a hug, ending in Jared's arms.

“So, what do you think, Natalie? Are you ready to get back to the real world?”

Natalie gazed up at the ceiling, remembering her dad and praying one day she'd see him again in heaven. She nodded and enclosed each of her loved ones in a huge embrace. “Oh yes, this time I'm ready.”

2 cups flour

3 tablespoons sugar

2 tablespoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon cinnamon

½ teaspoon ground cloves

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¼ teaspoon ground ginger

1 cup milk

¼ cup canola oil

2 eggs, beaten

1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 cup applesauce

In medium bowl, mix together flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices. Add milk, oil, eggs, and vanilla and mix together with a wooden spoon. Fold in applesauce. Batter will be lumpy. Heat griddle until hot. (To test, sprinkle water on griddle. If it sizzles, it's ready.) Pour pancake mix to desired size and turn when they bubble. Cook until both sides are golden brown. Makes 12 – 16 pancakes.

A
N EARLY MORNING FOG HUNG IN THE DEEP GULLY, THE AIR SO THICK
and still he heard every sound—the croak of a nearby bullfrog, the snap of a twig beneath his horse's feet, the beat of his own heart. As caretaker for the Marz Ranch, Ethan Walker took great pains to do a good job, and today that meant getting his count.

He'd searched the entire pasture and had come up short. One steer missing.

Not that his records always showed accuracy, but usually the figures had a way of righting themselves. A calf hidden in the brush one day would be with the rest of the herd the next, or maybe there had been a miscount. Lately, though, Ethan's numbers had been off more than he cared to admit. And that was no way for a pastureman to earn his boss's respect.

Ethan wove his way through the rocks and brambles but found no sign of the missing stray. With a disgruntled sigh, he slapped his gelding on the rump and rode Ben to the top of the next ridge. Up here, the rolling prairie stretched out before him. A dawning orange glow merged with the hazy blue sky and glistened against the dew
on the grass. After all these years, it never failed to take his breath away. He and his brother Tom had been cowboying the Flint Hills of Charris County Kansas ever since they were young bucks—and though the work was hard and the pay less than what most men considered decent, he couldn't imagine doing anything else. When the land is in your blood, those things don't matter—at least they didn't to Ethan.

He flicked his reins and headed for the next rise, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the outlaw steer so he could get back to the ranch and enjoy some breakfast. By now, Tom ought to be finished with his chores and cooking up a mess for them on the stove. He hoped so, anyway. His brother had never been one to rouse very easily from sleep unless painfully prodded, something Ethan neglected to do this morning. Listening to his stomach now, he wished he'd taken time for the extra motivation.

His mind on a plate of pancakes piled high, he trotted across the open valley and spooked up a bevy of quail hidden in the tall bluestem, their territory invaded. At the unexpected ruckus, Ben skittered sideways and it took a moment to settle him. In doing so, Ethan caught sight of the old stone cabin left here from the original homestead, a landmark he'd passed by hundreds of times.

This time his gut instinct drew him forward.

Never one to ignore a hunch, he nudged his horse up the hillside. Little more than sixteen by sixteen, the cabin's windows, doors, and roof lay open to the elements, but the structure still stood. For a short moment, Ethan imagined what it must have been like to stand on its threshold and view this scene every morning. Despite its meager beginning, it must have given one lucky man a great deal of satisfaction to have homesteaded this property and called it his own. Ethan dared not even hope for such pleasure, the dream too far from reality.

Then as though called out by the imagination, a Hereford steer
appeared at the open doorway, stretching his back like he'd been awakened from a restful night's sleep.

“I'll be darned, will you look at that?” With a pleased grin, Ethan pulled the small notebook from his shirt pocket and tallied the count. Then, clicking his tongue, he urged his horse forward to herd the steer back to the others.

One pasture accounted for. Time for breakfast.

H
ER LITTLE GIRL WAS GROWING UP.

Clara Lambert knelt beside her daughter on the front sidewalk of the elementary school and stared into her hazel brown eyes—light reflections of her own. She brushed a wispy curl from Sara's cheek. “Do you have everything in your backpack? Your tissues and milk money?”

Sara nodded, the absence of her top front teeth creating a gap'ing hole in her five-year-old smile—just another sign that time was rushing past. “Can you walk me to class?”

The familiar ache clenched inside Clara's chest—of wanting to please her children, no matter how small or great their request. “I'm sorry, honey, but I need to get to work so I can make my biscuits and pies. It'll be okay, though. Mrs. Alexander knows you're in her class, and Jeremy will make sure you get to the right room.”

Her eyes darted to her oldest son. “You heard that, didn't you, Jeremy?”

Jeremy pulled a banana from his backpack and began peeling the thick yellow skin. “Don't worry, sis. I'll take you where you need to go.”

“What about me?” Nathan scooted from the back seat of their gray Suburban and tucked his wrinkled shirt into his jeans. “I need help finding my room too.”

Jeremy took a bite of the banana and spoke with his mouth full. “You're in second grade. You don't need my help.”

“Jeremy…”

At Clara's rebuke, the boy frowned and gave a shrug. “Whatever. But it better not make me late for class.”

Clara swallowed her own disappointment, knowing her oldest son was growing up faster than most boys his age due to the load of responsibility she put on him. “Wait for your brother and sister after school too. Then you can all come by the café for a snack.” She offered Jeremy a smile, hoping the invitation might appease him as well as his increasing appetite.

“A piece of apple pie?” A broad grin replaced his earlier frown.

“Or maybe just an apple.” She caught Nathan by the belt loop as he headed for the playground. “Did you remember to pack your inhaler?”

Her seven-year-old nodded in assurance, but Clara always had to check—especially after last year's attack when Nathan's teacher had barely made it to the office in time for his medicine. After that, the superintendant agreed to let Nathan carry his inhaler with him to class, despite school policy.

Clara released her hold and watched as he raced to the nearby swing set, still amazed that he had an asthma problem. Needing to get on with the good-byes, she snatched a kiss from Sara's round cheek. “You have fun today, you hear?”

“I wish you could go with me, Mommy.” Her daughter wrapped her arms around Clara's neck, and Clara breathed in the warm scent of youth and baby shampoo, keenly aware of the fear vibrating in her little girl's chest. Fear of the big, unknown world. Oh, how well Clara knew that fear.

“You're going to have so much fun in kindergarten, and you can tell me all about it when you come by the café later. Every detail.” She squeezed Sara with reassurance, then gave her one last going over before Jeremy exchanged his banana peel for his sister's hand.

Clara watched as they rambled toward the front doors of the two-story school building. Seeing that they'd left without him, Nathan
hurried to catch up, hitching his bulging backpack onto his shoulder as he ran. Upon reaching them, he glanced behind and waved, his shoelaces flopping along untied and unattended. Clara raised her hand but held her admonishment. He would notice soon enough—and she was already late.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she climbed behind the steering wheel, wanting nothing more than to accompany her kids to class on their first day of school. Why did she always have to be the one to say no? The one who had to be responsible?

With a shake of her head, she turned the ignition and mumbled his name, knowing good and well why.

Because he wasn't.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Main Street, the tires thumping over the brick covered streets. Three years, and she still remembered the day he left as though it were yesterday. It seemed a lifetime.

Clara pushed her regrets down as far as they would go, where they wouldn't tempt her to worry about the kind of mom she'd become. Certainly not the mom she intended when she and Daniel first married, that was for sure. Oddly enough, the one thing that took her away from her kids was the one thing that consoled her and gave her purpose—and an income. Her work, or more specifically, the operation of a small-town cafe. Her café.

Deborah Vogts

She loves the land.

Mattie Evans grew up in the Flint Hills of Kansas. Although her family has lost their ranch, she still calls this land home. A skilled young veterinarian, she struggles to gain the confidence of the local ranchers. Fortunately, her best friend and staunchest supporter is John McCray, owner of the Lightning M Ranch. They both love the ranch and can't imagine living anywhere but in the Flint Hills.

He's haunted by it.

Gil McCray, John's estranged son, is a pro football player living in California. The ranch is where his mother died and where every aspect of the tallgrass prairie stirs unwanted memories of his older brother's fatal accident. Gil decides leaving the ranch is the best solution for his ailing father and his own ailing heart. But he doesn't count on falling in love.

Falling in love isn't an option. Or is it?

When Mattie is called in to save a horse injured in a terrible accident, she finds herself unwillingly tossed into the middle of a family conflict. Secret pain, secret passions, and secret agendas play out against the beautiful landscapes as love leads to some unexpected conclusions about forgiveness and renewal.

T
HERE IS SO MUCH THAT GOES INTO CREATING A BOOK OF FICTION—
endless hours of time, thought, research, and writing. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who helped with
Seeds of Summer:

To my Lord and Savior, for being with me each day of this journey and for guiding my steps. All praise and glory are yours.

To my devoted husband and daughters, for their love and support, and for their patience while I was on deadline.

To my agent, Rachelle Gardner, at WordServe Literary, thanks for answering all my questions and for being so terrific.

To my editing and marketing teams at Zondervan. Special thanks to Sue Brower, Becky Philpott, Karwyn Bursma, Robin Geelhoed, and Londa Alderink. Thanks for all your hard work and efforts to make the Seasons of the Tallgrass series the best it can be.

To my critique partners and friends, Beth Goddard and Christina Miller. It always helps to have an extra set of eyes. I value and cherish your wise input and your time. Also, I'd like to thank the many friends in ACFW and in my local writers group for their support and prayers—too many to name, but you know who you are! Special thanks to Tamera Alexander and my Kansas friends,
Deborah Raney, Kim Vogel Sawyer, and Judith Miller—I treasure your continued guidance.

To the many professionals who gave their time and help in the research of this story. To the ladies at Miss Rodeo America, for answering my long-winded questions and offering assistance—Raeana Wadhams, DeAnna Power, and especially, Miss Amy Wilson, Miss Rodeo America 2008, for allowing me to tag along on your incredible journey. To Pastor John Stubenrouch, for assisting me with pastoral questions. To attorneys Jeff Feuquay and Daryl Ahlquist for their help in understanding wills and estates. And to Mary and Rich Allen for sharing your knowledge of daily ranch life in the Flint Hills. Your input has been an invaluable resource.

Finally, my sincere thanks to friends and family, and to the many readers who have blessed me with their emails and letters of appreciation. I am amazed and honored that you take the time to write and share your lives with me. Is it a privilege to share my stories with you. May you cherish and fall in love with the Flint Hills of Kansas.

God's blessings to all of you,
Deborah Vogts