Safely Home by Ruth Logan Herne

to take charge and move on, and that’s a skill to be proud of these days. We don’t need reality TV or Hollywood personality-style counseling. We’ve done it all ourselves, and that’s something to write home about.”
    “You’re right, of course. And cute. And smart, although on my end I’ve gotta hand some major league credit to God. I stumbled into him when I was on a real bent for revenge and retribution. He managed to save me from being a total jerk. And just so you know, my mother and brother are quite grateful.”
    “Conversion of the heart.” She appraised him openly, skeptical. “Do tell.”
    “Heart and soul, very Scrooge-like, ” he admitted. “Or maybe the Grinch would be a better analogy. Anyway, it saved me a lot of stupid, old angst.”
    His words trickled into her heart.
    Her relationship with her father dogged her. Old anger over years lost, time gone, feeling abandoned by someone who should love her most. In their case, the man who should love all four children the most. Instead they’d had to deal with three years of alcoholic depression, three years she could never get back. “So. Was it simple? This conversion of yours? You know, lightning bolts, crashes of thunder, instant understanding of the powers that be?”
    He stopped. Studied her. Then the tiny muscle on the left side of his jaw tweaked slightly. “Naw. I just hated the face I saw in the mirror and knew the only person who could change that was me. So I did. But God helped. We’ve been on a first-name basis ever since.”
    He didn’t pros elytize. If he had, she’d have turned him off quicker than a sprinkler in a rainstorm.
    He offered the statement with a casual ease she envied and respected. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been spontaneous and heartfelt. Alex’s simple declaration said more than years of ignored catechism. He spoke to her heart, as if expecting her to understand. She didn’t. Never had. But a tiny part of her longed to do just that.
    “Are you going to Audra’s often?”
    A change of subject. A good turn. “I’m going to try to get there twice a day when I don’t have P.T. Ginny and Mary Jenks are planning to come and do their knitting in the living room.”
    “Your grandmother hates knitting.”
    Cress grinned. “She does, but she’ll deal with it to have their company. And who knows? Maybe they’ll get her to pick up a crochet hook or a needle before they’re done.”
    “Powers of persuasion at work. How’s your lasagna?”
    “The best I’ve ever had,” she confessed. “Alex, thank you for suggesting this. It’s been,” she glanced around the small restaurant and smiled softly. “Real nice.”
    “I concur. The setting, the food and the company.” He raised a glass of sweet tea in her honor. He’d taken her lead. When she refused the waitress’s offer of wine, he’d done the same. Was that because of her? Or because of his family history? She wasn’t sure, but she appreciated the gesture. “To new times, second chances and moving on.”
    Moving on? To where and what?
    She had no idea, but right now the animosity she’d piled up against Alex Westmore seemed to dissipate daily. Was that good? Bad? Stupid? She wasn’t sure, but today? Tonight? It felt good and for the moment she was going to roll with that.

 
     
    Chapter Eight
     
     
    Cress crossed Audra’s dew-soaked pasture, pretending she was on a mission to the barn. The rain had stopped late-evening, and the overnight temps had fallen sharply. Not quite to frost levels, but cold enough to foretell the change of seasons. She stopped, mid-field, letting her gaze wander, careful not to make eye contact with the shy horse.
    The mares padded to her side, looking for handouts. Cress didn’t disappoint them. Crooning, she reassured the girls, heightening her voice just enough for the gelding to hear from his position near the fence. He perked one ear, took a tentative step forward, then skittered back, nostrils