Home to Hope Mountain. Joan Kilby
A place called Hope
Hayley Sorenson uses horses to help people heal. But when neighbor Adam Banks asks for her expertise with his teenage daughter, she says no. How can she get involved when all she sees is their past? And the attraction Hayley feels for Adam makes her anything but objective!
Yet Adam isn’t deterred, and in getting to know the woman they call the horse whisperer, he realizes that she’s dealing with her own pain. As Hayley etches a place in Adam’s heart, all he wants is to give her the home she truly deserves.
Adam’s deep voice betrayed nothing but sincerity
So much generosity was overwhelming, especially in the face of her standoffishness. “It’s kind of you but I can’t accept.”
“Why not? Give me one good reason.”
Hayley’s hand hovered over the key in the ignition, itching to turn it. She didn’t have a good reason. But she had her pride. “You don’t even know me and you’re inviting me to live in your cottage.”
“Not knowing you is all the more reason to keep a close eye on the therapist who’s treating my daughter. What do you say? You’d, of course, be free to come and go, and do whatever you normally do.”
It was so tempting. Her garage would be cold and dark even with candles. But accepting would mean admitting she was a stone’s throw from being homeless. “No. Thank you, but no.”
“Why not? It makes sense. I have this big house and a cottage and you’re toughing it out in a garage.”
Ah, he felt guilty. Why should she care? His guilt wasn’t her problem.
Dear Reader,
In the summer of 2009, my home state of Victoria was caught in the grip of devastating bushfires known as Black Saturday. People not from Australia might think the term “bush” means small bushes, but it can also mean the forest. The toll from Black Saturday was horrendous: one hundred and seventy-three human lives were lost and over two thousand homes destroyed, plus countless livestock and wildlife.
Home to Hope Mountain isn’t about death and destruction, though. It’s about survival and recovery and the resilience of the human spirit. It’s about the ability of the land to regenerate. And about a small community that pulls together to put the tragic past behind them and rebuild their lives. It’s about the power of love to heal and to renew hope for the future.
Although I’ve drawn on stories of the bushfires, neither the town of Hope Mountain nor any characters or their experiences are based on real places or people.
The Horses For Hope program is real, however, and does amazing work for people suffering from a variety of mental health issues. It was this program and not the fires that was the inspiration for this book. I hope I’ve done the program, and the amazing bond between horses and humans, justice in my portrayal. I’ve taken liberties with the program’s method of funding for plot purposes. Any other inaccuracies are inadvertent.
Thanks to Colin Emonson for answering my many questions and explaining how the therapy works. For more information go to www.horsesforhope.org.au/.
I love to hear from readers. To drop me a line, or to find out more about my books, go to www.joankilby.com.
Warm regards,
Joan Kilby
Home to Hope Mountain
Joan Kilby
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When Joan Kilby isn’t writing her next Mills & Boon Superromance title, she loves to travel, often to Asia which is right on Australia’s doorstep, so to speak. Now that her three children are grown, she and her husband enjoy the role reversal of taking off and leaving the kids to take care of the house and pets.
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To the victims, human and animal, of bushfires.
To the brave firefighters and emergency workers who put their lives on the line in times of extreme danger.
And to the survivors who rebuild their lives with courage and hope.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
ADAM BANKS DROVE down his winding, rutted driveway while his fourteen-year-old daughter, Summer, nodded to music only she could hear through the earbuds dangling beneath her long red hair.
Sunlight filtered through the canopy of eucalyptus. Birds warbled and twittered above the smooth purr of his vintage Mercedes-Benz. The open window let in a cool breeze that held just a hint of spring.
When