Sleigh Bells for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

      This book is dedicated to my friends

      in the Fort Shaw Bible church, located in

      central Montana. They are making the

      long journey together, the bumps in the road

      and all. I wish them a Merry Christmas.

      Chapter One

      Wade Stone stopped his pickup at the edge of Dry Creek, Montana, and peered through the icy windshield. The December sky was dark, as much from the storm clouds as from the slowness of the dawn. He turned his headlights off and could still clearly see the small town. A few weathered buildings with chipped paint and sagging porches lined each side of what passed for a street. Most people would travel through Dry Creek and forget all about it by the time they reached the state line.

      But not Wade.

      Even though he had been gone for nine years, one look at this town reminded him of how much he missed it. He was weary of living out of motels and following the rodeo circuit. At twenty-six years old, he had yet to find a place that measured up to Dry Creek, and he was ready to settle down.

      He glanced over at his mother, sitting so still in the passenger side of the seat. It didn’t matter how he felt; he and his family were not welcome here. They couldn’t expect to come back and pretend the past was wiped clean just because his mother had served her jail time. In a place like this, people took murder seriously. They wouldn’t soon forget that she’d killed her husband.

      By now, his mother must realize her desire to come back wasn’t going to work. He should have said something earlier, but her request that he drive her to the café had caught him off guard. He’d only returned to the family ranch last night, and he hadn’t thought through some of these things. But now that he had, he’d just turn his pickup around and leave before anyone knew they had even been here.

      He was all set to do that when, out of the grayness of the dawn, a sudden flurry of hail came quick and hard. The tiny hailstones hit his windshield in a fast rhythm and, just when he became worried they’d actually do some damage, the storm stopped. Everything seemed strangely peaceful for a moment, and then a shaft of light came streaming right through the dark clouds.

      Wade heard an indrawn breath and looked over at his mother again.

      “That’s God’s message to me—that light in the darkness,” she said, turning to him with relief shining on her face. “I was right to come back. It’s a sign from Him.”

      Wade held his tongue. He didn’t begrudge his mother the faith she’d found in prison. After all, he knew people did what they had to do to survive in those kinds of places. He’d done some foolish things himself after her trial ended and he left the family ranch. He was seventeen and thought himself a man, but he bought his first packet of spearmint chewing gum just because the smell reminded him of that kiss he’d stolen from Amy Mitchell down the street from here. Sweet, golden-haired Amy. He’d never forget her.

      Just having the gum had given him comfort in those early days when he had been sleeping in his pickup and trying to find his place in the rodeo world. The smell made him dream of a better life, even if he knew he’d never live it. He supposed it was like that for his mother and her newfound faith.

      “It’s winter. There’s nothing unusual about this kind of day,” Wade finally pointed out, trying to keep his voice soft. He understood her hope. He still had a packet of that gum in his shirt pocket.

      The glow dimmed on his mother’s face. By now, covered by more gray clouds, the light was gone from the sky, too.

      “You think I’m wrong? To come back here?” she asked.

      “No, I just meant—” He scrambled to find words to explain his unease and then couldn’t bring himself to speak them. He might not share her faith, but his mother had suffered enough. “It doesn’t need to mean anything. That’s all.”

      Strands of white hair ran through his mother’s formerly all-black mane, and her nose had the slight hook inherited from her Cherokee grandfather. Wade didn’t need to look any closer to see she was fragile. She might be only forty-five years old, but unless she smiled, she could pass for sixty. He wondered if she’d gotten her full hour of exercise each day when she’d been away.

      She searched his eyes for a moment. “Is that why your brothers aren’t here?”

      “Did