Some days I think the best part of my life is behind me. Times spent with my folks on the farm. Those were good memories. I havent been that happy again, Brody said. But I hope that I will. One day.
Me, too, Michelle murmured softly.
Amazing that this perfect stranger understood. That they had this in common. The knot of emotion swelled until her throat ached and her eyes burned. It was grieving, she knew, for the better times in her life. Pastor Bill had told her that the best was still ahead of her. To have faith.
Is that the way Brody felt? Did he look around at other people who were starting their lives together and see their happiness? Did he long to be part of that warm, loving world of family and commitment the way she did? Did he feel so lonely some nights it hurt to turn the lights out and hear the echoes in the room?
Maybe Pastor Bill was right. Maybe life was like a hymn with many verses, but the songs melody remained a familiar pattern. One that God had written for each person singularly. And maybe she was starting the second verse of hers.
JILLIAN HART
makes her home in Washington State, where she has lived most of her life. When Jillian is not hard at work on her next story, she loves to read, go to lunch with her friends and spend quiet evenings with her family.
Heart and Soul
Jillian Hart
www.millsandboon.co.uk
And the most important piece of clothing
you must wear is love. Love is what
binds us together in perfect harmony.
Colossians 3:14
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Senior Special Agent In Charge Gabe Brody shucked off his motorcycle helmet, still straddling the idling Ducati M900. He waited on the graveled turnout along the country road while the cell phone connected. The hot Montana sun felt good, and so did the chance to rest. His first time on a motorcycle in years and his thighs and back muscles hurt immensely.
He prided himself on being the best agent in his division, but the truth was that the hours spent in the gym couldnt prepare a man for the rigors of a mission.
Even if that mission involved riding a powerful motorcycle in the middle of a summer afternoon with heaven spread out all around him. He breathed in the fresh air that was sweetened with the scent of seeding grass and wildflowers from the surrounding fields.
Not much different from the kind of place where hed been as a boy. The countryside was peaceful and he didnt mind looking at it while he waited to be connected with his commander. Finally, he heard his direct supervisor bark out his usual gruff salutation.
Agent Brody here, sir. Im on assignment in Montana and good to go.
Watch your back, agent. Captain Daggers was an old-time agent who believed in a job done right. And whod seen too much in his years at the Bureau. The Intel weve got says this McKaslin fellow is a wild card. We cant predict what hes gonna do. You keep your head low. I dont want to lose my best agent.
Dont worry, sir. Im cautious. He patted his revolver tucked in its holster against his left side and ended the call.
He was ready to make his move. His first objective was to make contact with McKaslin. Brody figured that with heaven on his side, hed soon have enough evidence for a team to move in on an arrest warrant.
Please, Father, let this mission be a safe one, fast and clean. It was his last assignment for the Bureau. He wanted a textbook case, a solid evidentiary trail and an arrest without incident, as he was known for. Hed built the last ten years of his reputation on working hard and smart, and he wanted to leave the same way. Without a single blot on his record.
What could go wrong in paradise? Brody breathed in the fresh country air, once again taking in the scenery that spread out before him in rich fertile rolling hills. The beauty of it was deceptive. As if injustice never happened here. As if criminal activity could not exist where the wide ribbon of river sparkled a brilliant and perfect blue.
Mountains jabbed upward, rimming the broad valley spread out before him. Larks sang, a few cottonwoods rustled lazily in the breeze and the hum of tractors in a distant field sparked a memory of his childhood.
Hed been a farm boy in the quiet hills of West Virginia. A lonely childhood and a hardworking one, and sometimes he missed it and his parents who had passed on when hed turned twelve. When his happy country life had come to an abrupt end.
Enough of that. Brody shut off the sadness inside with a shake of his head. He yanked on his helmet and drew down his shades. What sense was there in looking back?
Life was in the here and now, hed learned that the hard way. Now was the only thing that mattered. Hed leave the worry over tomorrow to God, and make the most of what he had today.
And today he needed to get rolling. His stomach rumbled something fiercehed skipped lunch again. A sign of too much on his mind.
Hed find a room, grab a bite, right after he made a pass through the McKaslin property. Get a feel for the lay of the land and what hed be up against.
The swish of an approaching vehicle on the two-lane road was a surprise. Hed been sitting on the pullout of a dirt driveway for eight minuteshe checked his watchand no one had passed by. Until now. Was it too much to hope that it was Mick McKaslin speeding along in his truck?
Brody took one look at the ten-year-old Ford Ranger that had seen better days judging by the crinkled front bumper, the rust spot in the center of the hood and the cracked windshield. Nope, he didnt recognize the vehicle from the workup in his file. It wasnt Micks truck.
He waited until the vehicle whipped by before he revved the Ducatis sweet engine, released the clutch and cut out of the gravel with enough spin to spit rocks in his wake.
He hadnt been on a bike since the counterfeiting bike gang down in Palm Springs five long years ago, and he felt rusty. He needed to practice, put the bike through its paces. Dust off his motorcycle skills so that when he drove up and asked old man McKaslin for a chance at a job, his cover would be flawless.
No one would see one of the top agents in his field, but a drifter on a bike who, like so many others across America, was looking for temporary work.
With the wind on his face and the sun on his back, Brody lost himself in the power and speed of the machine.
He intended to make this last case his best job. No matter what he faced.
Was it wrong to love shoes so much? Behind the wheel of her little blue pickup, Michelle McKaslin considered the three shopping bags crammed beside her on the bench seat. It was officially summer, so she needed the right shoes. The styles this summer were so cutestrappy flats and sassy mules and the softest suedes a girl just couldnt say no to.
Even if her credit card was significantly maxed.
Well, nothing good came without sacrifice. It was a tough job, but someone had to sacrifice themselves for fashion, right?
Her cell chirped out the melodious strains of Pachebels Canon in D. That was the song shed picked out for her trip down the aislenot that she was getting married any time soon, but a girl had to hope. Besides, how could she sit through two of her older sisters weddings and not imagine one of her own?
She dug in her purse with one hand, keeping a good hold of the wheel because shed already run into a fence post while shed been searching for her phone and had the dent to prove it. Shed learned her lesson. She kept her eyes on the road and on her mirror. There was a motorcycle buzzing up behind her. A bright red one. She didnt recognize the motorcycle or the broad-shouldered man whose face was masked by a matching red helmet. He wasnt anyone she knew, and she knew everybody. Thats what you got for growing up in a small farming town. It was just the way it worked.
So, who was this guy? Probably someone passing through. She saw it all the timedrifters, travelers, tourists, mostly tourists. This guy looked young and fit.
Hmm, it never hurt a girl to look. She found her phone, hit the button and held it to her ear. Hey, Jenna, talk to me.
Im dying and my shift isnt close to being over. Jenna, her best friend since the first grade, sounded absolutely bored.
Of course she was. What other way was there to be? They were living in the middle of nowhere. In the middle of rural Montana where growing grass was news. Where exciting headlines like the current price of hay, wheat, soybeans and potatoes dominated the radio stations airwaves and headlined the local paper.
Her life was so uneventful it was a miracle she didnt die of boredom. Her life was good and she was grateful, but a girl could use some excitement now and then.
Check this. Michelle leaned forward just enough to keep the biker in her side-view mirror.
Of course, he was passing her because she always drove the speed limit; one, she couldnt afford a ticket and two, she felt guilty breaking the law. Theres this really cute guy. At least, I think hes cute. Kinda hard to tell with the helmet. Hes passing on the straight stretch like right down from my driveway and
Hes not a gross scary guy, is he? Jenna was never too sure about men she didnt know.
With good reason, true. But this is a daydream, Jen. Weve got to make it good. Hes got these broad shoulders, strong arms, like hes in command of his bike.
In command of the road. Jenna sighed, picking up on the game theyd played since they were freshmen in high school. Hes a bounty hunter, wrongly accused. A good man, but hunted.
Thats an old TV show, Michelle reminded her, taking her attention completely off the road as the man and his bike swept past her window. She caught a good profile, a strong jaw and the sense of steady masculinity. How about a spy on the run, disenchanted?
Or how about a star hockey player. A man of faith, a man of integrity, taking a trip across the country looking for that piece missing from his life.
The love of his life, Michelle finished and they sighed together. It was a nice thought
Oh! No! She saw the tan streak emerge from the tall grass along the side of the road. A deer and a fawn dashed onto the road and turned to stare at the oncoming bike and Michelles truck.
The phone crashed to the seat as Michelle hit the brakes and turned into the skid with both hands trying to figure out who was going to move firstthe biker or the deerand which way everyone was going to go.
A little help, please, Father, she prayed as time slowed down like a movie running too slow. Her vision narrowed. Only the road in front of her mattered. The biker had turned too fast, hit his brakes too hard and was going down. One strong leg shot out trying to break his fall, but all he was doing was wiping out right in front of her.
She aimed for the deep irrigation ditch, crossing the double yellow, bracing herself for the impact she knew was coming. She put both feet on the brake and prayed. The deer and fawn skipped safely off the road and disappeared into the field of growing alfalfa.
The man and bike fell in a graceful and final arc to the pavement and skidded. She heard the crash of metal and the revving engine rise and then cut off. Her feet on the brake didnt seem to do any good. She was skidding toward the deep ditch and a solid wood telephone pole on the other side of it.
Then, as if angels had reached down to stop her, the trucks brakes caught and the vehicle jerked to a stop.
Silence.
Thank you, Lord. Michelle tumbled back against her seat, grateful that her seat harness had secured her tight. The trucks engine coughed and died. In the space between one breath and another she saw the man on the ground. He was as motionless as a rag doll sprawled on the two-lane county road.
She grabbed her phone only to hear Jenna sobbing. Michelle? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Im calling the police
I need an ambulance, she said in a rush. Not for me. The motorcycle guy. Tell them to hurry.
She ripped off her seat belt, leaped from the truck and flew across the road. Dropped to her knees at the fallen mans side.
He was so still. All six feet of him. His black leather bomber jacket was ripped at the shoulder where blood streamed through a tear in the seam of his black T-shirt. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
Good. That meant he was alive. Thank God. She leaned over him, careful not to move him. Mister? Can you hear me?
Seraphim for the win came a muffled response from behind the shaded visor.
Seraphim? He was talking about angels? He must be at deaths door. Oh, please dont die on me, mister.
Mister, hold on. Help is coming. She lifted his visor with her fingertips. His eyes were closed, but those dark lashes were perfect half moons on the sun-browned perfection of his face. A proud nose, high cheekbones. No obvious signs of injury. Mister, do you know your name?
His eyelashes flickered, giving her a glimpse of dark brown eyes before those thick black lashes swept downward.
Where was the fire department? Michelle glanced up and down the road. Empty. There was no one! Even the deer had fled the scene and there was only her to help himlike she knew what to do!
He clearly needed help. A big drop of blood oozed from beneath the left side of his helmet, over his left brow. She yanked down the sleeve of her faded designer denim jacket that shed gotten on sale for an unbelievable one hundred and twenty dollars, and wiped away the trickling blood. Was it a head injury? What if he was suffering from head trauma? She was a faithful TV watcher of medical dramas, but what did she know about intracranial hemorrhaging?
He moaned, still unconscious, and moved into her touch as if he needed her comfort. Tenderness rolled through her. She watched a shock of his dark hair dance in the wind, brushing her knuckles. Her heart tugged at the brief connection. He dragged in a shaky sigh and his dark lashes fluttered again.
Please, Father, help him. He looked so vibrant and strong, so fit and healthy, like a mighty dream of a man whod fallen to the ground before her.
Except his skin was warm and he moaned again. He was no dream but a flesh-and-blood man.