Free Montana Hearts by Charlotte Carter Page B

“This can wait until tomorrow.”
    â€œNo, come on in.” He stretched and rolled his shoulders. “What’s up?”
    â€œI was checking Western Region Cattle Feeding on the internet. I think I’ve come up with enough material for you to make your case to the county.”
    â€œReally?” He sat forward, wide-awake now, and waved her into the room.
    Plugging her flash drive into his computer, she brought up the files she’d found, summarizing and explaining the importance of each discovery in terms of his case. He paid close attention, nodding often, and asking probing questions as they went along.
    When she’d finished, he stared at the computer screen and said, “You’re an amazing woman, Sarah. It would’ve taken me a hundred years to ferret out all this stuff.”
    She glowed in his praise. “Chalk it up to a misspent youth. I’ve always loved research.”
    He leaned back. “All I have to do is put this stuff together in a coherent way and arrange a hearing in front of the county planning department.”
    â€œI can help you with that, if you’d like.”
    His smile made her flush with pleasure. “I’d like.”
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    When Saturday night arrived, Sarah asked Kurt and his children about going to church the following day. The looks they had exchanged and Kurt’s comments spoke volumes about the distance they had put between themselves and the Lord since Zoe’s death.
    The next morning, Sarah got up early to make pancakes and sausages for the family, then dressed and headed into town by herself, heartsick that Kurt and his children had turned their backs on God.
    As she pulled into the parking lot of Good Shepherd Community Church, the bell in the steeple played a clarion call to worship. Slipping inside, she took a seat near the back and centered her thoughts and her emotions.
    The church was small, holding a maximum of a hundred and fifty worshippers seated on simple wooden pews, which were three-quarters full this morning. A pulpit made of oak stood at the front of the church. High windows marched the length of the sanctuary leading to a single stained glass window depicting the Crucifixion. Angled morning sun caught the glass, sending shards of rainbow color across the far wall.
    As the last notes of the clarion call ebbed, the congregation stood and the organist struck the opening notes of a familiar hymn. The minister, an older gentleman with silver hair and the whip-thin body of a distance runner, stepped out onto the stage and held up his hands to welcome the congregation.
    Peace and comfort washed over Sarah. She felt at home. As though worshipping in this sanctuary was where she belonged. Forever.
    Tears stung at the back of her eyes. She’d only be here for the summer.
    She chided herself for the maudlin thought. She’d never intended to stay forever. Seattle was her home.
    The preacher’s voice filled the sanctuary with hope and faith. The choir, though not large, echoed the joyous message. The congregation nodded their agreement and joined in singing hymns with enough enthusiasm that Sarah didn’t feel embarrassed to add her wobbly soprano voice to the mix.
    When the service ended, Sarah stood to exit the pew. The woman sitting in front of her turned to greet her.
    â€œHello, dear, you’re new here, aren’t you?” In her sixties, the stranger wore large glasses with blue-tinted rims that magnified her striking lavender eyes. She extended her hand. “I’m Alexis Hoffman, the pastor’s wife. Welcome to our little church.”
    â€œThank you.” Sarah introduced herself and said she was working for the Ryders.
    â€œThat dear man. His family has experienced a terrible loss. We pray, in time, his grief will not be so difficult to bear and he and his children will return to our little church, and to God.”
    â€œSo do I.”
    Together they edged out into the aisle,