Winter's End. Ruth Herne Logan
Marc knew what he was looking for. Had known it all along.
He needed someone who could handle the rigors of the North Country, who put common sense before fashion. When Marc got serious, he wanted someone at peace with the land, at home in his house.
A vision of Kayla’s coat hanging next to his zipped flannel had him squaring his shoulders.
He couldn’t deny the attraction. She invaded his thoughts despite his best efforts. With his father’s impending death, Kayla Doherty, R.N., was a wonderful asset. But that was it, he told himself firmly.
Thoughts of Kayla’s face came to mind. She was spunk and spice, tucked into one great package.
It was no good. They had nothing in common. She was free flight. He was tied to the land. She looked at the bright side of things, while he took careful measure.
There wasn’t much to keep a pretty thing like Kayla happy in the North Country. No cool designer shops, no trendy malls.
His heart hitched. Would she need all that if she had the right man? A husband to love and cherish her all the rest of her days?
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: “Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is.” With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders and the dirt….
Simply put, she’s learned that some things aren’t worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her Web site at www.ruthloganherne.com.
Winter’s End
Ruth Logan Herne
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
—Ecclesiastes 3:1
This book is dedicated to the Visiting Nurse Service of Rochester, New York, for their loving hospice care of my mother, Mary Logan Herne.
And to M. E. Logan Herne, from whence my talent came.
This one’s for you, Mom.
Acknowledgments:
Thank you to the Canton-Potsdam communities for sharing with a stranger, and a special nod to Canton-Potsdam Hospital for their care of my son, Seth. Their professionalism helped during a difficult time.
Sincere gratitude to Kathy Kennel for her guidance and equal thanks to Mary Connealy, dear friend and beef farmer, who advised proper terminology for Marc’s endeavors. All mistakes are mine.
I’m also grateful to the Seekers, our amazing writing group that does whatever proves necessary to help ensure the writing success of each member. You gals rock.
Special thanks to Sandra, Tina, Glynna and Janet and to Alice Clary and OKRWA, whose “Finally a Bride” contest put this manuscript on Melissa Endlich’s desk at Steeple Hill Books. Their contest got the ball rolling and I’m forever in their debt.
Thanks and love to my family for their never-ending support, belief and sacrifices. They’ve overlooked crowded shelves, messy bathrooms, refrigerator science projects and thick dust. Their joy when “The Call” came was heartfelt. I couldn’t ask for a better gift from God.
And warm thanks to my beloved pastor,
Father Frank Falletta. His counsel, advice and humor are a blessing.
And of course my heartfelt thanks to Melissa Endlich, my editor, who paid me the ultimate compliment when she said I made her cry. Her enthusiasm is positively contagious, and I am ever grateful for her strong vote of confidence.
Contents
Chapter One
He stood hard and unyielding, one arm stretched across the entry as if to block Kayla’s approach. Light spilled from the angled door of the old farmhouse, warming the mold-hashed porch with a splash of gold, backlighting his rugged frame.
Disadvantaged, Kayla stopped, wind-driven snow chilling her legs despite her well-fitted Ann Taylor pants. Note to self: If clients leave you in the snow, spend the bucks and buy some of those cute, girly,