The Heart of Grace. Линда ГуднайтЧитать онлайн книгу.
“What did you think of church?”
Larissa asked, expectantly.
“I thought you were the most beautiful woman there.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
They drove along in silence for a while. She thought Drew was asleep behind his sunglasses until out of the blue, he said, “I liked your church.”
Her mouth curved in a smile. “Does that mean you’ll go again some time?”
“Larissa.”
And just like that the sun went behind a cloud.
“I’ve always wanted you beside me at church. I loved having you there.”
She sounded pitiful, begging him.
Drew removed the sunglasses. “If it’s that important to you.”
Hope bloomed, sweet and lovely. God was at work. She had to keep believing.
LINDA GOODNIGHT
A romantic at heart, Linda Goodnight believes in the traditional values of family and home. Writing books enables her to share her belief that, with faith and perseverance, love can last forever and happy endings really are possible.
A native of Oklahoma, Linda lives in the country with her husband, Gene, and Mugsy, an adorably obnoxious rat terrier. She and Gene have a blended family of six grown children. An elementary school teacher, she is also a licensed nurse. When time permits, Linda loves to read, watch football and rodeo, and indulge in chocolate. She also enjoys taking long, calorie-burning walks in the nearby woods. Readers can write to her at [email protected], or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.
The Heart of Grace
Linda Goodnight
MILLS & BOON
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Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up.
—Psalms 71:20
To Gene, with all my love.
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Prologue
Drew Grace jerked away from the office door and whirled, poised to run. A social worker was in there. He knew what that meant. It meant trouble.
Heart pounding, he pushed at the teacher blocking his way. A pair of strong hands, those of the school counselor, Mr. James, caught his shoulders and forced him inside the long narrow office.
Fury ripped through Drew, hot and powerful. He doubled up his fist. He might be only seven but he was tough and he could fight. He wasn’t ever scared to fight no matter how big the other guy. Anybody that didn’t believe that could ask Timothy Wilson. Timothy was in fourth grade but Drew bloodied his nose and made him cry yesterday on the playground. Stupid idiot said Drew stunk. So maybe he did. Big deal. It wasn’t none of Timothy’s business anyway.
“Sit down, Drew,” Mr. James said. “We need to talk to you boys about something.”
Talk. Yeah, sure. Drew knew better. They weren’t going to talk. They were going to drag him and his brothers off to foster care again.
He wasn’t going. Foster parents never liked him. They were mean. They said he was a troublemaker.
Well, he didn’t like them either. If grown-ups would just leave them alone, they’d be okay. Or if Mama would come home. When she was in the chips she brought them presents. That’s what she said, in the chips.
His heart hurt a little to think of Mama. And that just made him madder. He slammed the clenched fist into the social worker’s gut and pushed past her. Mr. James grabbed him around the waist. Kicking, flailing with all his might, Drew growled like a mad dog as the counselor pushed him into a chair.
Drew gazed frantically around the room looking for escape. He had to get out of here.
His big brother Collin stood beside the counselor’s desk, face as cold and hard as ice, arms tight at his sides. Drew knew that look. Collin was mad and probably scared, too, though he always said he wasn’t.
His baby brother Ian sat in a chair at the end of the room. Silent tears made dirty streaks on his face. Poor little kid. He was always nice to everybody. He was still in pre-K so what did he know. Ian didn’t yet understand all the things that Drew and Collin did. Sometimes you couldn’t be nice.
Drew tried to take care of Ian ’cause he was so little. Well, Drew and Collin together. Collin always knew the best places to find food and stuff.
They had a hiding place, a good one. If he could just get out of here, he’d head there. Maybe the teachers would chase him and give Collin and Ian a chance to escape, too. He was fast. He could outrun them. Then he’d be the hero, and his brothers would give him the biggest share of food. They’d make a fire and build a fort. Just him and his brothers against the world. They could do it.
Sometimes Collin got them out of trouble. But not always. Drew knew he couldn’t count on anything when adults were involved. He and Ian and Collin could make it okay by themselves. They always had.
Drew knew how to make a fire. He liked fire. He liked to watch the flames lick up the side of paper and turn it bright orange. He liked the smell of matches.
Just then some nosy teacher walked by and stuck her fat head inside the office. Behind glasses, her eyes bugged out.
“Poor little things,” he heard her whisper right before the social worker shut the door in her face. “Living in that old burned-out trailer, that trashy mother gone half the time. No wonder they’re filthy.”
Drew exploded out of the chair and started toward the door. He’d make her pay for saying that.
But once again, Mr. James caught him. This time he wasn’t too gentle. He pushed Drew down into the plastic chair and held him there. Most times Drew liked Mr. James okay, but not today.
“Collin,”