Free Coming Home to Texas by Allie Pleiter

throws their hands up like it’s hopeless, but it’s not. I’ve seen God do some amazing things in the worst kids’ lives, Ellie. Tough guys everyone else would write off as good-for-nothings turned their lives around once they realized somebody actually cared about what happened to them.”
    â€œI could see where that would make a whole lot of difference.”
    â€œI’d get about one kid a year truly straightened out. And that would give me fuel to work on the other dozens who didn’t. You have to be stubborn in my line of work.”
    Ellie put the last of her blondie in her mouth. “I guess so,” she offered after she licked her fingers. “Derek used to say confidence was a chef’s best trait—to believe he was captain of the kitchen and master of the ingredients and all.” She rolled her eyes. “More like arrogance.”
    â€œHe sounds like a real piece of work.”
    Ellie spread her hands as if introducing the guy on stage. “Derek Harding, Atlanta cuisine’s rising star.” She dropped her hands.
    â€œHector.”
    She looked at him. “Hector who?”
    â€œHector Forrio was the name of the kid who shot me.” He hadn’t even told Don that.
    â€œDo you hate him? I hate Derek. I know I’m not supposed to hate him, and someday I’ll probably just ignore him—I don’t think the whole ‘let’s just be friends’ thing is going to work here—but what I feel right now is pretty close to hate. I’m not proud of that, but I don’t seem to be able to change it at the moment.” She picked up the empty wax-paper wrapper that had held her blondie. “Hate tends to leave a bitter aftertaste. I’m self-medicating it with Lolly’s blondies. I’m an ‘eat my feelings’ kind of gal.”
    He thought of the biscotti from the night of the traffic stop. “So I’m seeing.” He took another bite of blondie in solidarity with Ellie. “I suppose I hated Hector for a while. When my shoulder hurts or I see the scars in the mirror, something still burns in my gut. But mostly I view him as more of a signpost. An arrow pointing out of LA, if that makes any sense. If it wasn’t Hector, it would have been some other kid with some other name.” That wasn’t exactly true. Hector had been a special case. Nash’s extraordinary connection with the boy—the trust he thought he’d built between them—was what let the hurt run so deep. And while he didn’t drown his feelings in baked goods, he’d poured hundreds of dollars and hours into the car during his recovery. “I suppose you could say I’m a ‘drive my feelings’ kind of guy.”
    â€œHey, you do what it takes to handle the Hectors and Dereks of this world. But you could have worked on your car in LA. I still don’t get the move to someplace like here.”
    Nash sat back and leaned his elbows on the picnic table. “I needed somewhere far away and different. It could have been anywhere, really, but a friend knows Don’s son and heard he was looking for a younger deputy to bridge the gap for consistency when the new sheriff was elected. The new sheriff can either keep me or bring in his own deputy, and I’m fine with that. The short time frame suits me fine.” He managed a small laugh in spite of the serious conversation. “It’s not like I did research.”
    â€œSo you ended up here by accident?”
    He didn’t believe it was an accident, but he wasn’t at a place where he could confidently say God had led him to Martins Gap, either. “Wouldn’t Pastor Theo tell us to consider it providence?”
    â€œWell, I know a good Christian woman would say I trust God’s hand is at work in my failed engagement, but I’m afraid I’m not there yet.”
    Yes, it was smart to remember Ellie Buckton was a woman in the