The guests knew nothing about the shelter's precarious lack of funds. Years ago those who knew about the shelter kept it running with donations, but these days everyone had a hand out, and contributions had slowed to a trickle. Given the women's situations, most didn't have access to funds in hiding. Katie had never applied for state financial help; her establishment couldn't comply with government rules and regulations. Candlelight Shelter was an act of love, not a business. She took only special cases, ones that Amy recommended.
Katie figured she could hold out another month. One month. Like Clara's destiny, four weeks and the shelter's fate would be decided. If the money situation worsened, she'd have no choice but to close the facility and sell the property. Her heart ached at the thought of selling Grandpops's land, but sometimes life didn't offer many choices.
Was it possible that Clara, the coarse, ill-tempered woman who opposed almost everything, had the same dinosaurs bumping around in the pit of her stomach that Katie had right now? After all, the woman had been in the spotlight for years; now she cowered in a small corner of Wyoming, fearing the public's reaction to her plight, terrified of the very source that could send her back to fame and fortune.
The phone rang and Katie lifted the receiver, still thinking about Clara.
A raspy voice came over the line. “You're in the wrong business, lady.”
“What?”
“Someone's going to get hurt, sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.”
“Who is this?”
“A friend. Send those women back to their husbands and quit sticking your nose into everybody's business.”
Anger surged through her. “You listen to me â ”
“No, you
listen
to me. Heed this warning.” The anger spawn from the voice chilled her, though the late afternoon heat had turned vicious. “
Close
the shelter before you get hurt.”
“Listen â ”
The line went dead. Katie took a deep breath before hanging up the receiver.
Idiot.
She was surprised to see her hand tremble. Prank call? No, there had been too much venom in the voice. Someone . . . a man . . . didn't like her shelter, and wanted the facility closed.
Relax, Katie
.
He has a wife or girlfriend
here, or had sometime in the past.
Well, she wasn't closing the shelter. Had the call shaken her? Of course. She wasn't stupid â stubborn maybe, but not stupid. She couldn't tell Tottie or the women about the call; it would unnecessarily frighten them. This wasn't the first nor likely the last of these kinds of scare tactics. Suddenly Katie's skin crawled. She'd had similar calls, but not in many years.
Phone Ben
. No, she didn't want to involve him. Besides, he hadn't bothered to call about the horses.
The call was nothing. Prank. Forget it.
An alarm went off in her head.
Townsend
. Had he discovered Clara's location so soon?
Of course his sources would be unlimited. Campaign aides are notorious for providing information to the person with the deepest pockets.
No, she better call Ben and err on the safe side. She picked up the phone. Seconds later, she was dispatched through to the sheriff.
“Ben? Katie.”
“Hell freeze over?”
“Very funny. I just got a prank call, and I thought you need to know about it.”
His tone sobered. “Regarding the women?”
“In a way. Of course he didn't give his name, but a man's husky voice demanded that I close the shelter and mind my own business.”
“You didn't recognize the voice, anything about the caller?”
“Nothing. I'm sure it's a prank. I get them often, but I haven't had one in the past few months. My newest guest is high profile. It could be her abuser or one of his cronies.”
Ben didn't ask the new guest's name. She knew that he knew better. “I'll keep a closer eye on the shelter for the next couple of days. I wouldn't worry. There are all kinds of crackpots running loose.”
“Thanks.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Of course.”
“I hear the café has good chicken and dumplings on Saturday night. Care to join me?”
“Thank you, but I have a date, and I'm sure he'll be prompt to show up.”
“Ouch. Isn't that grudge getting a little heavy? It's been twelve years.”
“What, are you talking about the prom?” she teased, though the thought stung.
She hung up, her mind still on the prank call. She had to hope that if Neil Townsend was behind the prank call, he was just blowing smoke. Otherwise, the next month, the shelter was in for a bumpy ride.
A miracle occurred. Katie got the horses. Not through Ben, but through Warren's efforts. The original owner agreed to let Katie nurse the animals back to health before they were sent back to California.
She stepped from the shower and spent a few minutes combing conditioner through her hair before applying a light touch of makeup. House rule number four was that guests were to keep up appearances. She had found a volunteer to conduct Bible classes every other day, and in her spare time Katie was helping them brush up on computer skills. She hoped that by the time they were ready to leave, each one was mentally and spiritually stronger and had a chance at finding a good job.
The women were allowed to sleep in as long as they were at the table for breakfast at eight o'clock. She sniffed at the scent of frying bacon hanging in the air. Tottie was up and cooking. Katie was blessed to have her help with the shelter, but then Tottie had always been an important part of her life. She would be lost without the older woman's common-sense approach to everyday problems.
Katie glanced at the stack of envelopes she had tossed on the dresser last night, most of them bills. There had to be a way to get on top of her financial problems. A budget, maybe, something to keep track of income and outgo? Steady funding â but where would it come from? Katie didn't have a clue how to start. She sighed. So many things to think about and so little time to get things done.
A rattling, clanging racket sent her hurrying to the window. She lifted the curtain to see a truck with Warren Tate behind the wheel pulling a red stock trailer up her driveway. His farming skills weren't
rusty; he put the trailer in the right spot on the first try. Hard to believe a Wall Street honcho could be so proficient.
Giving herself a final inspection in the bathroom mirror, she smoothed her hair and assessed her jeans and the rose pink T-shirt. She didn't know why she should bother. It was just Warren, but now he was, well . . . different. Some smart female would snap him up. Somehow the thought dimmed her excitement, but only for a moment. Her horses were here!
She ran down the stairs and out onto the side porch. The sun was coming up, its late summer warmth spreading over the barnyard. A sleepy bird rustled in the branches of the old lilac bush. Katie approached the late model pickup, smiling as Warren shoved the transmission into park and got out of the truck.
“Morning.” He flashed a half-smile. “I didn't know if you'd be up this early.” He wore denims, weathered work gloves, and a blue-and-white checked shirt. The rolled-up sleeves revealed bronzed forearms with a dusting of dark hair, clearly stating that he was a working man.
Nope, nothing sissy about the nerd anymore.
Katie tried to imagine him in a three-piece business suit, carrying a leather briefcase, and to her surprise, she realized either image fit. She was going to have to ditch the
nerd
vision.
“Good morning. I see you brought my horses.”
He lifted his Stetson, running a hand through his still-damp hair. The gesture must be habit, she decided, because she'd noticed him doing it before.
“Yes, ma'am.” His eyes skimmed the trailer where the four surviving horses awaited a new home. “Where do you want them?”
“Put them in the barn. I want them close where I can doctor them for a while, give them time to get acquainted with the place before I turn them out.”
He opened the gate and urged the horses to unload. Katie watched through the gaps in the metal doors where she waited in case they made a bid for freedom. She needn't have worried, though. These horses weren't ready for normal activity. Two had a limp and all had lackluster coats. Every horse had various cuts from the trauma of being overturned in the trailer and the struggle to get out. It was a wonder they weren't all killed. Poor guys. They'd had a rough week.
Katie helped Warren settle the animals in separate stalls. Once they were shut inside, she filled buckets of fresh water, and he sat them inside each compartment. She paused, studying the old barn with its fragrance of hay, dust, and a hint of fall carried by the morning breeze. Of course now it smelled of horse, a comforting scent. Grandpops and Grandmoms had built the faded red structure together fifty-six years ago. Although the outside hadn't been painted in years, the building was sound and provided protection from cold winter winds. Right now, it offered shelter of another sort to four injured animals. Grandpops would have been proud.
Sweet Tea watched from her stall, ears pricked forward. She nickered softly trying to get Katie's attention. “What's the matter, old girl?”
Katie patted the horse's nose as Sweet Tea stretched her neck, sticking her head over the gate. “Don't you want company?”
Sweet Tea whickered softly and tossed her head. “Selfish.” Katie picked up a bucket, dropped in a scoop of oats, and extended the offering. There was plenty of grass in the pasture, and recent rains had greened them up. But Sweet Tea was a little territorial, even with the dogs and cats. Four strange horses probably put her nose out of joint.
Warren called. “She yours?”
“Sort of â actually, she belongs to the shelter. The women like to come out and tell her their problems, and believe me they have â ”
Her cell phone interrupted them.
“Yes? Oh . . . yes.” Katie glanced at Warren and then away. “Really? Oh my goodness, that's the second time I've done that. I'm sorry . . . Yes, sure . . . I'll get a check in the mail immediately, and I'll . . . Well, sure, I could run it by the office this afternoon. Right away; thanks for reminding me.”
She clicked off and without missing a beat continued the previous conversation. “ . . . real problems. Isn't it odd how some women continue to attract the wrong kind of man?” She picked up a pitchfork and tossed a flake of hay over the rail to Sweet Tea. “But then, I suppose you wouldn't know much about abusers. Your folks were good people.”
She hadn't meant to emphasize the difference in his background and hers, but facts were facts. Warren had been one of the lucky ones. Safe, steady home life with parents who loved and protected him. Not everyone had it that good.
She moved outside the barn to give the other horses hay, then returned. Warren leaned against a stall, watching her work. “I know people can be core rotten.”
Katie turned. “Core rotten? What an odd thing to say.”
He shrugged. “You know, people who are mean down to their very souls.”
She considered the observation and then shrugged. “I'm sure there are plenty of people like that, but I know a lot more core good ones. More good than bad, actually. I believe, when it comes right down to it, there's good and bad in everyone, and it only takes the right circumstances to bring out either trait.”
She felt strangely at ease confiding in this man. He'd grown up here and knew her past. Everyone in Little Bush knew her mother and fraternal grandmother were victims of abuse. Katie's mother had died at the hand of her father, and she could be bitter and unforgiving, but instead she felt a need to help the abused, do what she could to set them on a new road, free of fear and abuse.
Warren's expression softened as the tight lines around his mouth relaxed. “Why do you do it, Katie?”
She stopped to think for a minute, not bothering to pretend she didn't understand what he meant. His was a familiar question, one she often defended. “It's a way to give back, I guess. God's been good to me, and I want to pass it on.”
His eyes motioned toward the house where the women were. “Do you have much success?”
“Sometimes. I try to give them some tools to help them start over with a new life, and sometimes they do. But sometimes they go straight back to their abusers.” She thought of Meg and her abusive boyfriend. Scars dotted the young woman's back, but still she thought about going back, giving him one more chance.
He was really a great guy
, she would say.
When you knew
him.
Warren shook his head. “Why would they do that?”
“They all have a reason. Some have left children behind. Some have no job skills, no way to earn a living; they're scared of being on their own. Some don't believe they deserve any better. For the most part they're beaten down, their self-worth nonexistent. They're convinced that they can't get by without the man who kicks them around. And some of them have deep convictions about divorce. They believe divorce is sin, that what God has joined together no one should put asunder.”
“That is in the Bible,” Warren said.
“I know it is. But it's also in the Bible that husbands are supposed to love their wives just as Christ loved the church. If the men in these situations would do that, there wouldn't be a problem.”
She folded her arms on top of a stall, watching as Sweet Tea meandered over to check out a black-and-white tomcat cutting across the lot. “Some of the women go back, thinking they need to for the children's sake. I asked one woman why she was going back, and do you know what she told me? She said even an abusive father is better than no father at all.”
Warren pushed off the railing. “That's sick.”
“To you maybe, but you lived in the original Beaver Cleaver family. When you came home from school, supper was bubbling on the stove and bread rising on the kitchen counter. I never saw your parents when they weren't well groomed, and they were always in church on Sunday mornings.”