will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
The air stilled in his lungs. God’s Word, so warm and familiar, drifted in his mind like a soft, calming breeze that gentled his soul. His breathing slowed and his runaway pulse returned to a normal rhythm. He drew in a deep breath and sat back on his heels, eyes still closed. “Thank you, Lord, for your peace, your strength. You have never failed me, not once. Please help me to never fail you.”
Something wet and akin to sandpaper slurped across his cheek, and Brady opened his eyes. A sleepy Miss Hercules, still damp from her bath, delivered another soggy kiss. The smell of wet dog rose to his nostrils, a timely reminder of God’s intervention in his life. He lassoed the sheepdog around the neck and smiled, planting a kiss of his own on the tip of her cold, wet nose. “You smell to high heaven, you know that, girl? But since it’s ‘high heaven’ that sent Cluny and you, I guess I won’t complain.”
Miss Hercules grunted and plopped on the floor with a loud thump, finally slumping against the sofa to sleep. Brady carefully stepped over the bulk of her body and crawled onto the sofa with a tired groan, having little choice but to follow her lead.
The obnoxious thumping in his brain reminded him of hangovers from rowdier days. Bam, bam, bam —like someone pounding his skull with a padded two-by-four. Brady tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great. It was all he could do to lift himself from the makeshift pillow beneath his throbbing head.
Bam, bam, bam . Woof, woof, woof. Brady moaned and flailed a hand over the side of the couch in an effort to calm Miss Hercules, who staggered up, as sleep-drugged as he. “Lie down, girl, and go back to sleep. I can’t move yet.” With a sleepy growl, Miss Hercules plunked against the couch, jarring Brady’s senses.
Brady massaged his eyelids, crusty with sleep, until he was able to peel them open. He blinked several times before he realized the noisy pounding had come from his front door rather than his head. With a painful grunt, he tried to rise from the couch, only to stumble over Miss Hercules, who had wasted no time rejoining the ranks of the dead.
Boom, boom, boom! The knocks were more insistent now, and Brady stubbed his toe as he scrambled for the door. A swear word he hadn’t uttered in years leapt from his lips, causing heat to shoot up the back of his neck. Breathing hard, he unflipped the lock and hurled the door wide, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“Sweet mother of Job, is this what you look like every morning?”
Brady blinked. The motion produced a nagging ache between his eyes. “Charity. What the devil are you doing here?”
“Well, nice to see you too.” She maneuvered her stomach to saunter into his flat, then took off her coat and tossed it on a hook by the door. She flashed a smile so bright, it hurt his eyes.
He massaged his temple with his fingers. “Sorry, I have the most awful headache.”
“Mmmm . . . restless night?”
He eyed her through narrowed lids and flipped the door closed. “Very.”
Miss Hercules chose that moment to rise from the dead and amble over. She sniffed the calf-length hem of Charity’s blue cotton shift. Charity spun around with a startled squeak, lurching a protective hand over her stomach.
“Dear Lord, it’s a horse!” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Oh my, and it smells like one too.”
Brady’s laugh was followed by a moan. He kneaded the bridge of his nose as he shuffled back to the sofa. “Her name is Miss Hercules, and she belongs to a friend of mine.” He sat on the edge of the seat. “What are you doing here?”
She patted Miss Hercules on the head, then smelled her hand and scowled. “Oooo . . . mind if I wash my hands?”
He nodded toward the bathroom down the hall, then sank back with a yawn.
She returned a few
The air stilled in his lungs. God’s Word, so warm and familiar, drifted in his mind like a soft, calming breeze that gentled his soul. His breathing slowed and his runaway pulse returned to a normal rhythm. He drew in a deep breath and sat back on his heels, eyes still closed. “Thank you, Lord, for your peace, your strength. You have never failed me, not once. Please help me to never fail you.”
Something wet and akin to sandpaper slurped across his cheek, and Brady opened his eyes. A sleepy Miss Hercules, still damp from her bath, delivered another soggy kiss. The smell of wet dog rose to his nostrils, a timely reminder of God’s intervention in his life. He lassoed the sheepdog around the neck and smiled, planting a kiss of his own on the tip of her cold, wet nose. “You smell to high heaven, you know that, girl? But since it’s ‘high heaven’ that sent Cluny and you, I guess I won’t complain.”
Miss Hercules grunted and plopped on the floor with a loud thump, finally slumping against the sofa to sleep. Brady carefully stepped over the bulk of her body and crawled onto the sofa with a tired groan, having little choice but to follow her lead.
The obnoxious thumping in his brain reminded him of hangovers from rowdier days. Bam, bam, bam —like someone pounding his skull with a padded two-by-four. Brady tried to open his eyes, but the effort was too great. It was all he could do to lift himself from the makeshift pillow beneath his throbbing head.
Bam, bam, bam . Woof, woof, woof. Brady moaned and flailed a hand over the side of the couch in an effort to calm Miss Hercules, who staggered up, as sleep-drugged as he. “Lie down, girl, and go back to sleep. I can’t move yet.” With a sleepy growl, Miss Hercules plunked against the couch, jarring Brady’s senses.
Brady massaged his eyelids, crusty with sleep, until he was able to peel them open. He blinked several times before he realized the noisy pounding had come from his front door rather than his head. With a painful grunt, he tried to rise from the couch, only to stumble over Miss Hercules, who had wasted no time rejoining the ranks of the dead.
Boom, boom, boom! The knocks were more insistent now, and Brady stubbed his toe as he scrambled for the door. A swear word he hadn’t uttered in years leapt from his lips, causing heat to shoot up the back of his neck. Breathing hard, he unflipped the lock and hurled the door wide, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“Sweet mother of Job, is this what you look like every morning?”
Brady blinked. The motion produced a nagging ache between his eyes. “Charity. What the devil are you doing here?”
“Well, nice to see you too.” She maneuvered her stomach to saunter into his flat, then took off her coat and tossed it on a hook by the door. She flashed a smile so bright, it hurt his eyes.
He massaged his temple with his fingers. “Sorry, I have the most awful headache.”
“Mmmm . . . restless night?”
He eyed her through narrowed lids and flipped the door closed. “Very.”
Miss Hercules chose that moment to rise from the dead and amble over. She sniffed the calf-length hem of Charity’s blue cotton shift. Charity spun around with a startled squeak, lurching a protective hand over her stomach.
“Dear Lord, it’s a horse!” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Oh my, and it smells like one too.”
Brady’s laugh was followed by a moan. He kneaded the bridge of his nose as he shuffled back to the sofa. “Her name is Miss Hercules, and she belongs to a friend of mine.” He sat on the edge of the seat. “What are you doing here?”
She patted Miss Hercules on the head, then smelled her hand and scowled. “Oooo . . . mind if I wash my hands?”
He nodded toward the bathroom down the hall, then sank back with a yawn.
She returned a few
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