Casey Courtright crossed his arms and chewed the side of his cheek as he looked down at the sleeping newborns. They were in matching cradles in the middle of the sitting room. He felt a wash of tenderness as he watched those little chests rise and fall. He’d had the infants in his house for a week now, and they were growing fast—as was Casey’s attachment to them. When he’d agreed to be his cousin’s babies’ guardian, he’d never suspected to be called upon to take custody! A tragic house fire changed all that... But even with these precious additions to his household, he was pretty sure he could keep his life on track. He had plans—rather immediate ones, actually.

Casey shot the old ranch hand a grateful smile. “I appreciate the babysitting, Bert. My niece should be here to take over in an hour. I’ve got the bottles ready in the fridge. Diapers are here.” He nudged a box with his boot. “Wyatt there tends to wake up first. If you feed him real quick, you can be ready for when Will wakes up. It’s a handful with two.”

“Sir, I’ll be fine,” Bert replied, rubbing a hand over the coarse stubble on his chin. “My wife and I raised five of our own, and we’re on our eighth grandchild. Granted, twins’ll be a new one for me, but I’m pretty sure I can figure it out for an hour.”

“All right, then. Thanks. I’ll see you.”

If only Casey felt that sure of himself with those two babies. He glanced over his shoulder once more as he headed through the kitchen to the side door. He’d worked here at Vern Acres Ranch for the last fifteen years, ever since his father was forced to sell the family spread. There wasn’t much money left over from that sale after debts were paid, and Casey had gone looking for ranching work on someone else’s land. That brought him here—Vern Acres. Mr. Vern ran a tight ship, and Casey had climbed in the ranks, finally landing as ranch manager. It was a respected position, but Casey would never feel quite settled until he had his own land again.

Last Sunday in church, the pastor had talked about circling those Jericho walls. God said to march, and they just kept on marching—but seven days of circling those massive, impenetrable walls was a long time. Well, Casey had been circling these walls for fifteen years, looking for an opening, and just before those babies arrived, Casey had seen the cracks start.

Mr. Vern was selling the ranch, and Casey had a down payment saved up and had arranged for a mortgage just large enough to cover what this land was worth. Not a penny more, mind you, but Casey was a man of faith, and he didn’t think he’d need that extra penny. He’d been praying for this chance ever since the Courtright land went to Reed Land Holdings, and when he told his dad that he had a chance at getting this ranch, old Frank Courtright had added his prayers to the effort. This morning, Casey was going on up to the main house to tender his offer to Mr. Vern himself.

The drive from the manager’s house, where Casey lived, up to the main house took only about five minutes, and Casey’s truck bumped over the gravel road in a cheerful rhythm. Spring had come to this corner of Montana. Everything had sprouted—from the grass in the ditches lining to the road to the pasture, lush with tender new growth. Golden sunlight shone through the windshield and warmed up the cab.

This was it—this was the day! And the bright sunlight sparkling off the last of the morning frost on those long, nodding grasses felt like a gift from above. He’d tell the boys about this day when they were old enough to understand—the day the Courtrights got land again. He’d have a ranch to leave to those kids, and they’d be raised right with horseback riding, chores and a personal pride in the land under their feet. And if he could find the right woman, maybe he could even give them a mom.

Casey crested a hill, and the main house came into view. It was a low, wide ranch house with a porch that curved around the side. The backyard was fenced off, with a garden and a shade tree. And beyond the house in the distance, the snowcapped Rocky Mountains loomed in all their glory.

Casey pulled his truck up next to the boss’s and turned off the engine. He sat for a moment, raising his heart to his Maker.

Bless this, Lord, he prayed. This land would be the world to me, if You saw fit to give this Your blessing.

Then he pushed open the door and hopped out. No time like the present.

The side screen door was propped open with a brick, and Casey could hear the sound of voices as he approached. Mr. Vern’s laugh boomed out, and then Casey heard another laugh—softer, more musical. Was a woman in there?

Casey knocked on the door as a formality, then pushed it open as he always did and stepped inside. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmer light of the kitchen. Mr. Vern stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his belly sticking out in front of him. He had a bristling white mustache that covered his lips so that you never could be sure what that mouth was doing unless he was laughing out loud or bellowing an order across

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