The Glory- Prequel to The Glory Series

By JL Kelly

The Glory is a survivor story in a contemporary Christian romance series. A cowboy romance story about a professional bull rider and a lawyer. This inspirational romance series is a western romance about family, friendships of women, overcoming anxiety, PTSD, adversity and forgiveness involving a billionaire and a secret pregnancy.
The Glory Series Prequel is the story of Samantha Elroy. She was rescued. Survived what other girls did not and she doesn't like to talk about it. That was then. Now she is working as an attorney, helping victims of crimes find justice. She's satisfied, settled and safe. So getting swept off her feet by a danger junky cowboy is totally out of the question. Honey Cooper could give an engaged girl a panic attack with his swaggering, slow talking charm. Not to mention his probing questions. And she's done with all that. So why does she keep thinking of Him? And why does God keep arranging circumstances so they find themselves together?
In a world where fear is a sin that paralyzes and thanksgiving is faith's courage to trust beyond what can be seen, The Glory is the victory we realize when holiness comes to expression.
For the once afraid victim doing the hard work of turning evil's wounds into victory's scars.
For the dangerous who fearlessly pursue God’s purposed plan.
For the suffering who long to experience God working out for them a weight of glory amidst these light momentary afflictions.
The Glory is the transformation story of how God deposits something of His moral beauty and majesty into the soul of a believer and how this holiness comes to light through thanksgiving in the metamorphosis.
A parable of how God is the saints’ glory and so they are His.
The Glory is the journey of the worm, wrapped in the substantial weight of affliction and grappling with the paradoxes of faith to emerge from the cocoon of oppression the transformed butterfly.
The Glory is the prequel of The Glory Series.
Reviewers agree that J.L Kelly Christian Romance series stories are raw, real, sometimes intense and might not be for readers who are looking for the classic "sweet" Christian story where characters do everything right and the story world is heavenly. Unapologetically the author's style is to write it real—meaning closer to real life, tackling issues with universal importance in a God honoring way by telling the truth in love. JL Kelly's characters will never be perfect but they will proclaim to you the love, grace and mercy of a perfect God.
The Glory is a stand-alone western story about cowboys, professional bull riders, the PRCA and PBR and the Prequel of the Glory Series, a contemporary Christian Romance western book series. It is a Christian inspirational Romance that deals with overcoming anxiety, PTSD and adversity. A western romance story about a Professional Bull Rider and a romance book about a lawyer that involves an alpha male billionaire and smart submissive female with a happy ever after ending, HEA. The Glory is a Christian Mystery and a Cowboy Romance with a secret pregnancy and about a billionaire rancher and about a victim of rape who overcomes adversity and PTSD to heal and help others. This inspirational romance is about rodeo, family, friendships of women, mentoring of women, forgiveness, professional bull riding, PBR and PRCA, Belgian Malinois dogs, overcoming PTSD and panic attacks, God's healing, honoring God and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Kelly
• Release date: Apr 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780989774567

JL Kelly

J.L. Kelly is an American speaker, Bible teacher & author of Christian novels that combine compelling story worlds with unforgettable characters in tremendously moving novels. Her writing is dedicated to the Lord Jesus Christ in thanksgiving for the many relationships that have inspired, redeemed, sustained, challenged, encouraged and transformed the life God has invited her to humbly fulfill for His honor and glory. She believes words are powerful. “Writing is a great privilege and carries a responsibility with its creative expression. I pray for inspiration and the right amount of balance in creating deep and compelling characters in a story world that is authentic and yet hopeful. My books are founded on relationships—spiritual, friendships, and family and forged through the real and raw stories that take place as sinners are saved by grace and sanctified through the Word of truth.” J.L Kelly’s characters are connected from one book to the next. Ones you love will show up again in another story and like old friends, she hopes you're glad to see them. Ones you don't like might catch you judging them. Every good story needs an antagonist and we've all been that from time to time. We need grace for the proud and the hurting. She hopes you're open to changing your opinion of some of her 'bad guys' as they are transformed. We should never assume the arm of the Lord is too short to save any character. After all, we were all at one time that "character". Her mission is to share the Truth in love. Reviewers agree that J.L. Kelly books are sometimes intense and might not be for readers who are looking for the classic sweet Christian story where characters do everything right. Unapologetically her style is to write it real—meaning what real life looks like, tackling issues with universal importance in a God honoring way. Her characters will never be perfect but they will proclaim to you the love, grace and mercy of a perfect God.

Book preview

To You Love

Whose glory puts us prostrate

Whose grace lifts our faces up.

Whose love & forgiveness are so fierce in their display

You use us. Us. To glorify you.

How can we ever open our mouths to judge our brothers

Let us leave it to Your words

And may ours ever be grateful

JLK

For Julia W.F.

Who called me from the Austin airport with a Honey Cooper sighting

You met him first and knew Richard best

Sister-friend thanks for your early encouragement.

I love you.

Foreword

Glory is the extraordinary, mind-blowing weightiness of God’s presence as He brings to light or manifests all the goodness that He has and is. Glory is when holiness comes to expression. We see. God. I AM self identifies and shows us who He is.

Jesus said, Now the Son of Man is seen for who he is, and God seen for who he is in him. The moment God is seen in him, God’s glory will be on display. In glorifying him, he himself is glorified—glory all around!" John 13:31-32 (the Message)

God’s presence with His people is described as His Shekinah glory. In Exodus, God's visible presence dwells among His people and later it fills the tabernacle and temple. Glory is an indwelling satisfied fullness. Believers of Jesus Christ are given the gift of the indwelling presence of Holy Spirit to apply God’s glory to our lives.

We experience the definition of glory when Our lightness of affliction worketh out for us a weight of glory that exceeds beyond all imaginations the pressure of the affliction. (2 Cor 4)

We are transformed. Not only our thinking but our very countenance changes, God imparts something of the moral beauty and majesty which belong to Him to light our faces. Joy shines from our soul.

And from our spirit, man’s noblest part made in the image of our Creator God, where that deposit of glory rest, our soul’s interpreter speaks using man’s tongue. The glory of man above all created, uses words to speak praises to glorify God. Man’s highest glory found in his lowest posture laying crowns at Glory’s pierced feet.

For Jesus Christ is worthy to receive all glory and honor and power. (Rev 4)

Read John 17 and be humbled even more. Christ's prays for those who believe in Him to not only see His glory but to be protected, unified, sanctified and glorified. Believer, Jesus wants you. You are the Father's gift to Christ. You, blessed believer who is loved and valued, are given the same glory.

And as God is the saints’ glory so they are His.

This story was written twenty-five years ago but its message is timeless. JL K

The kingdom of God is like an absent lover…

My absent lover sends forth his fragrance over me.

My beloved is to me like a bag of myrrh

that lies between my breasts.

Song of Solomon 1:12-13

Chapter One

May 1991

We were blind to His glory. It was working right here. In us and before us and we just could not see how Spirit slowly sanctified until glory burst forth in a transforming hallelujah.

Richard de la Bouvier had prayed for this day. And instead of a praise chorus, it came like a battle hymn. They were back at square one. Against a relentless enemy.

Fear, it was a sin that paralyzed. Flight or fight often collided into a panic that was immobilizing. He watched its avalanche once again overcome Samantha Elroy. She stood frozen, looking past him to the swarm of people buzzing around the Austin airport. Her hand finding the fine lawn of his custom shirt, falling down the sleeve to take his hand. Her cool fingers gripped, her chest taking the express elevator up, up, up and holding penthouse high to cling to breath.

Panic. When it attacked a person, it compressed the lungs like an accordion and he cued her, Breathe.

She obeyed with that helpless little gasp, still looking too far ahead.

Samantha. Her eyes were liquid gold and that rare color was like a shimmering orbit around a black hole that drew you in. The damsel in distress signal any honorable man would see and step up to rescue. Be, he reminded her, here, in the moment.

She was shaking her head. Wide eyed and opened mouthed. Her exhale coinciding too quickly with her inhale. Her face had gone pale. Her body stiff and sticky as super glue as it clung to what she knew was safe. He smiled to cover his concern and began to pray.

Lord, help me be strong. Here, now, please, strengthen me, so I can decrease and You can increase. We know what she’s been through…

For a moment, he remembered. Her beauty unrecognizable. Her naked body emaciated, bloody, so afflicted and yet the terror on her face transformed to hope as she gave that first hoarse scream. It was just a word, and help had screeched high then bubbled out, through cracked lips, as those eyes, those rare golden eyes, wild with shock like a wounded animal, had caught sight of him and she’d held out a hand.

Richard stopped rehearsing the memory and prayed to cast it away.

By your grace she survived, but the scars remain. As do Yours, Lord Jesus. The evidence of your overwhelming suffering and overcoming victory. Evils wounds that became victory’s scars.

This is Glory.

He took her hand, brushed his thumb against the scar at her wrist.

You set the captive free. We are free, Lord. Help us believe…

Gently Richard reminded her, You are racing ahead.

He understood the many triggers to her PTSD from his master's in social work, a second degree in psychology had schooled him in the complex deeper subconscious. It was his third in theology that had completed the trinity of understanding enough to teach him he couldn't help anyone, really. But. God. Jesus always could. And He was with him, here, to help her, again.

Be here. In this moment.

I can’t be… without you, Richard. Her voice was a whisper but within it fear screamed.

He only looked deeper into her golden eyes. God is with you. His presence your peace. So you can, be. His hands soothed, coaxed her to step away. If she clung too long he would give in, go and protect. Breathe. He helped her get started with his own deep breath. It’s a beautiful day to travel, yes? Give yourself a moment to be grateful. Start with creation. Use your senses.

It still sounded so strange, to think gratitude is what overcame fear. Most thought it was faith. And its action courage. But in each moment, it was deciding to obey Christ’s command. To reject trouble, accept shalom, and welcome the will of God with an attitude of gratitude that made all the difference in overcoming anxiety.

He knew Samantha understood what he meant. They both knew all the physiology behind fear and its autonomic response. How the profoundly complex organ of her brain, with more than 100 billion nerve cells, compromised an intricate network of communication that was even now splitting routes to take a long high road and a shorter low road with incoming information.

From the nearby stimulus, the short road had initiated the fear response with a release of chemicals that in turn issued a physical reaction in preparation for flight or fight or freeze in her body. All the while, the thoughtful longer high road was considering all the options as it prepared to make a summation on the present moment.

Biologically, her senses were relaying information to the thalamus that sent the input to the sensory cortex where it determined a possible interpretation and passed it to the hippocampus to establish context. In a split second her internal computer was asking, Have I seen this particular stimulus before and if so, what did it mean? And the hippocampus made a determination and messaged the amygdala that there was either danger or no danger which would in turn told the hypothalamus to shut off the flight or fight or freeze response or engage it fully.

All this sensory data was shooting down the shorter low road and up the longer high road at the same time but there was that horrid moment or two of pure panic before the high road reached its final mental conclusion and gave its report for action.

The moment of panic was passing.

She was laboring to take the deep breaths through her nose and long exhales through her mouth in the aftershock of the panic attack. I’m just not ready. She stiffened, fighting to relax. I need you, Richard.

No, you need only Christ. His French accent was thick when he spoke firmly.

And a Glock 21, she muttered. That would definitely calm me down.

You don’t need a gun. He glanced at her luggage then felt the small of her back. Or a knife, Swiss or otherwise. You’re not packing anything, are you? I’d hate to see you arrested— He took her dainty chin in his sculpted hand and looked deep into her eyes then whispered his nick name for her with an inquisitive tone, Bella?"

His eyes searched hers as his hand slipped inside her jacket, boldly checking for metal against softness. Discreetly and quickly his hand traced her sides, swept her lower back, her thigh for the knife, then fisted his own hips. Let me see your ankles.

They were clean. He nodded and smiled like a proud Papa.

She looked away and scowled. Doesn’t the government know criminals aren’t the only ones that need weapons… so do their victims. She exhaled, then begged with those rare golden eyes. Richard, I’ve got nothing but Nick.

The word brought the Belgian Malinoisto to attention—the guard dog alert and ready. There was loyalty in the Shepherd’s eyes. He would give all for her, just her. Her hand praised his high head, fingers burying deep into the thick pelt at his neck, pleasuring him as she took comfort in his presence.

Leave Nick with me, he suggested.

Richard, her fingers clung to the dog. I’m not ready to be defenseless.

You’re hardly that. He chuckled, knowing her lean body could fight a man twice her size with her knowledge of self-defense. You need no weapon to protect yourself except the Word of God.

She gave her nervous laugh and teased, I know your business, Comte de la Bouvier the Twelfth. Growth! She waved the air dramatically.

And I know you—

Far too well. She bit her lip and looked away, confessing. I’ve got that tiny pearl handled knife in my makeup kit.

Richard moaned.

It looks like a nail file.

It is no nail file, he hissed.

I had to, she leaned against him, clinging. I don’t think I can do this. Please, come. Please. When he forced her away she begged, I need you! Not new memories.

Fear extinction works.

Um.

Creating new memories overrides the fear memory triggered by old conditioning. You need to keep focusing on exposure and stop trying to figure out why you are scared. You are thinking too much. Freezing up, which is hiding and hiding means secrecy and secrecy feeds shame and shame feeds the fear and the blaming and the disconnection. You need connection. Time with your sisters and new friends, new memories. And stop anticipating, you’re feeding the uncertainty factor, aboding the joy in the moment. You know where you are going and who is going to be there. Your sisters will help you. Use your self-talk and take each step in succession. God is always with you and I’m a phone call away when you want to tell me about the glory of your day. The corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly. She frowned at the look that said, ‘Go, blossom, I believe in you, believe in yourself.’

I hate this.

It’s growth, stretch yourself. Flirt, he challenged. Practice flirting. Abide in the moment and you might find yourself kissing someone.

She raised her left hand and wiggled her fingers. I’m engaged. To you.

That heirloom is no longer needed for protection. Give it here. He held out his hand. And the truth will set you free. You will be single, available.

We’ve not freed you, from your little problem yet. Her chin went up, those glorious golden eyes narrowing as she slowly lifted a sculpted brow. "Have we?"

We have only one problem. You do not need that ring anymore.

"Yes, we do and I promised to help you with your father." She’d intertwined their hands, squeezed.

You don’t owe me anything, Samantha. His words were soft and serious.

I owe you everything. There was silence and a stubborn stand off as they looked at each other.

Then he told her. Someone is waiting for you out there. I’ve seen.

What? She blinked, fear filling her gaze instantly.

He saw visions. A dream that repeated itself three times. He couldn’t explain the mystery of it or the interpretation. What he was given was a conclusive simple message. He needed no one to believe him or even agree. God had proven Himself in the fulfillment of what he revealed. God was about to introduce someone to her. She would have a daughter. Her gift would be music. And this child was going to be very important to the kingdom. He’d prepared Richard. Now he prepared her.

Stay in the moment. It is where you are to be, Samantha.

I’m not ready for that moment, Richard.

How do you know? When you keep me and this, he flicked the ring, frowned at its existence, Ever surrounding you? Richard took a breath, regained his infamous patience. His eyes were bright; they spoke to her soul. Butterfly, you must fly now alone and leave the cocoon. There is someone waiting to see the glory of you, he stated. You don’t need a weapon, a dog, or a ring. There’s love for you and in its joy, praise will do its final work, you will feel safe in the hope of your future.

I feel safe with you, she countered. Your love.

My love has prepared you for true love. Yes?

This is true love.

He pinched that adorable dip in her chin. This is philo. A great love between friends.

Agape love, she argued.

He sighed, Try some eros. Flirt. Connect. Kiss.

Richard. I love you.

They were looking into each other’s eyes. She was clinging to his hand. Now her voice was firm but full of love. A celibate life suits me fine.

Even celibate, I am…, he shook his head. And you are not.

I’m not anything, she whispered it as she kissed him. On the mouth. A friendly kiss they’d shared a thousand times before.

You must become who He created you to be, Samantha. You will be everything. To him. He held her face as he spoke prophetically. Together, glory, yes? Alive with the light of life and the fullness of God. He smiled. Painfully. Because he could see and what he saw could not be put into words. This was the beginning. And it was bittersweet. There were no words for what God had given them these seven years. It was glory also, what God had done in him and through him, how He had healed him as Richard helped heal her. And now he pulled away, checked his watch. Tis time, Bella.

Samantha gave the Belgian Malinoisto a final stroke then latched on its muzzle before motioning the dog into the carrier. She locked the door. Richard gave her back a long soothing stroke. He promised her, He'll be okay.

Here you go, Ma'am. The Skycap held out her claim check for the dog carrier.

She stared at it. I, ah—

He can stay, Richard said hopefully.

No.

He nodded and handed the Skycap a roll of bills, closing his hand over the man’s. She loves this dog. Take care with him, please.

The best care, Sir, he answered.

They watched Nick carried off to parts unknown. Richard’s arm was now around her, holding her in his gentle and perfect way. She stretched up and kissed him softly. I wish you'd come.

Richard squeezed her hand, smiled. I’m proud of you. Give my love to your sisters. Have faith in Him who is able to do exceeding more than we ask or imagine. He held his hands together, a sign he would be praying. And let joy and gratitude do its work in praise. It was his anthem of encouragement.

I'll bring you back something.

A smile with new memories. Richard explained he'd packed a new Nikon camera into her suitcase. Lots of pictures. And a glorious tan. He lifted a brow, smiled and urged her reluctance, No?

Samantha came into his arms, trembling but her hug was fierce. I love you, Richard.

He took the first step away. It was always the hardest in the letting go and he watched her breathe deep, start to fix her mind, prepare then she nodded. Waved as he prayed. Stepping back, putting some more space between them. Then more. Smiling. Nodding with assurance. Watching her walk toward her future into the Austin airport.

Chapter Two

The terminal was crowded with strangers. Samantha tried to keep her attention on the families, searching out the children within the masses of moving people. Her gaze darted ahead, her attention knowing what was behind. The exit, bathrooms, baggage claim, a dark hallway, a busy restaurant. The signed cued her to keep going for gates C20-C26. She stayed right to avoid the dark halls. She tensed when a businessman grazed her shoulder. She looked right through the blatant stare of a stringy haired blond. He was young and strong, muscles stretching a T-shirt with an attitude logo and checking her out. She down played her beauty, always. Neutered it by straightening curves into clean lines and naturalizing her face with nude colors. She didn’t make eye contact, focused ahead, striding on to her gate, finding a seat with her back to the wall to watch and wait.

She envied the freedom of the ignorant to relax in a place like this. There was a crowd of diversity and within it evil was here, somewhere, waiting for an opportunity. There was a flash of memory at the thought. A face, just a face, smiling with victory. It made her mind want to jump to more banished thoughts until she said a firm no.

When her flight was called out she quickly got in line and kept on going in the steps that must be taken, buckled in to the first-class bulkhead seat 2B before she could change her mind and flee.

She felt safe in her seat and took a breath, then another. As the panic faded annoyance came. She was ashamed at what she had just put Richard through again. Guilt descended with its accusations at her actions. Shame bowed her head as it called, ‘You are ridiculous, Samantha.’ She folded her hands, fear still keeping them icy cold, her thumb passing over the huge diamond on the engagement ring she wore. It was the last of her armor. She knew it and the inner voice of Holy Spirit called her now.

Put that away and be. Here with Me. Truth will set you free. Trust me, daughter.

She looked at her ring, turned the large diamond to her palm and fisted it. We can’t let go of this yet, God. I need him and Richard still needs me. She began to pray over that complicated situation, asking yet again for God to work in the heart of Richard’s father. To protect Richard. To strengthen them both against the temptations they faced. To keep Richard strong when he was alone. To help her do this huge small step. She sighed. Taking hold with both hands to the arms of her airline seat. Feeling joy bloom just a bit that she had made it this far. She was here. Alone. In her seat on the airplane about to take off.

You’re with me God. I’m ready. She asked for peace and courage and the strength to stay in the moment and not forebode joy with worry. She needed to keep taking the small steps of this very long journey. And with the Amen she expected to see God’s answer.

Disregarding the curious parade of diversity passing by and the flight attendant's request for a cool beverage, Samantha hauled out a law book and tried to put her mind on something else. Her eyes focused on the words but her thoughts kept trying to race ahead. Anticipating Florida, a place she’d never been, to be with many people she didn’t know. People would mean men, many men she didn’t know, nor cared to know. Every muscle tensed.

She really did not want to do this. She looked at the exit and thought of escaping, fisted the armrests to keep her seat. She would do this because of Stephanie. She’d said yes when her sister’s boyfriend had asked her to come. John Dake, the famous NFL quarterback, was in love with her sister and he invited Samantha and her adopted sister, Blair and her husband Layne, to come as a birthday surprise for Stephanie. They would be spending the week together until assorted NFL players showed up on the small Florida Island next weekend for John’s annual Memorial Day party.

Her sisters would be her only haven and they would be paired up with John and Layne. She would be alone. No, not alone. Her fingers found her cross and reassured herself, she would be okay. She knew Richard was right, it was time to take another step, face another fear. She breathed, rubbing her forehead with a shaky hand. This would be hard, grueling, but she was ready. She could do this. A step at a time, don’t think about next weekend just get through today, this flight. Be in the moment.

She engaged her senses. Felt the comfort of the first-class seat. Thank you, Father… I’m not cornered into a crowd in the back on a middle seat. I’m on the aisle. I’ve got room. And my law book. I love studying the law, God. Pursuing my purpose for justice. Learning how I can be affective to help other victims. This case, Trinton versus the State of Texas, she began to read… then she heard a song.

It’s a Bloody Mary Morning, darling left me without warning sometime in the night… so I’ll drowned my heart ache down in Florida with Jimmy Buffet and a cold Corona Light. Cause I lost another rodeo, wrecked a truck and oh, woe is me, there’s more bad luck to come cause any fool knows it comes in threes.

And she was smiling. With the rest of the first-class section as the cowboy continued entertaining himself with a country rap song Willie Nelson style. He had a nice voice and she was following along until the singing cowboy stepped within inches of her.

She looked up and took a descriptive inventory. Cowboy. Black hat. Crisp white shirt. Starched jeans. Six two. Blond hair, curling past the collar. Wide shoulders. Lean strong body holding about two hundred pounds of muscle. Lots of personality. A performer. Powerful, with that charismatic smile that's chewing on a… red drinking straw. Despite that odd addition, the combination was dangerous… Please-God-please-don’t-let-him-sit-by-me-in-2A… And she stopped. Breathing. All her senses converged into just sight. A flash of metal.

And a memory sprang like a trap.

She was paralyzed. Her brain was pulling out file cabinet drawers of recall, recounting what she knew about shiny metal objects—knives and spikes and barbed wire… Her lungs seized shut like an accordion, her diaphragm squeezing up to contract her windpipe. Sight, the only sense that was processing, keyed in on the gleaming polished silver. It was a… Huge. Oval. Western. Award. Belt Buckle… conclusion, nothing to be afraid of and she exhaled.

PRCA All Around was all she was able to read off the tooled silver before he moved and the light shining through the window hit the metal in a glare.

That is a belt buckle.

Inside her brain the long road of reason finally caught up with the short road’s triggered reaction. She was counting out the cadence of an inhale, breathed through the panic, refocused with the truth. It’s a belt buckle not a knife. He’s a singing cowboy, wearing a belt buckle as big as a turkey platter and chewing on a red drinking straw. Samantha regained control with her self-talk, uncurling the tension and taking a very controlled deep breath even as her hands clenched the arm rests so she wouldn't jump up and run.

Do you mind if I use some of your space up here, ma'am?

Hey, pretty girl! Can you help me?

Panic surged again with the direct question. High road and low road launching again at the courteous tone of the inquiry.

Ma’am?

She swallowed. Stuck. Just stuck. Paralyzed without a conclusion yet.

Excuse me, Miss? He touched her. Just a brush of his knee against her elbow because he was holding baggage and she flinched. Her gaze jolted up. He was staring. He was smiling then he wasn't smiling at all. The look on his face snapped her intelligence into control again.

Samantha! That is a singing cowboy wearing a turkey platter belt buckle not a sadistic serial killer rapist with a knife.

She forced her head into a stiff nodding action that told the universe, 'I'm okay'.

Alright. Alright. I hate to check my bags. The wait at the other end and all that nonsense. Pack light and carry your load. Course that’s harder for girls. Another smile. Blue eyes twinkling bright. My two sisters travel with a caravan of luggage. You?

Samantha gave another stiff nod and looked back at her law book, clutching it so her hands wouldn’t shake. Her senses firing on high alert to her surroundings. She knew his hands stayed above, where they had just closed the overhead compartment and he was leaning forward so passengers could pass by behind him. He lingered there, so close, too close, the tension building as she felt his gaze roaming over her from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

She knew when a man looked at her. Knew Richard was right when he tried to tell her that she could not camouflage everything. Her gold eyes were unusual and they attracted a study. Her thick hair might be straight and cut blunt at her shoulders but it was black as ink and silky smooth. The thickness had a way of moving. It danced and sang, Richard told her, the way her spirit longed to do again. She felt the stranger’s gaze sweep the clean simple lines of her clothing, searching for a curve in her thin neutered figure, drifting down the soft denim hues of her black slacks till he finally reached the square toed European loafers.

She’d been holding her breath and when the jet’s engines started up and sang, her gaze jerked to the window. They would be closing the door, any moment, and she'd be trapped. You should get up. Run. Get off. Now. He’s looking at you… And she was losing air, her brain buzzing from the loss of fuel. She pulled the air in through her nose, keeping her lips pinned together, knowing the sounds she could make in moments of pure panic. Please-move. Please God, please, please, please, make him move. Then she heard Richard's voice, his teaching that circumstances were not what she was to focus on but she must turn her thoughts to Christ. God your sovereign strong. In control. And you love me…

Ma’am? The cowboy's voice had changed. From song to serious. Fun-loving carefree to thoughtful caretaker. Are you okay?

They closed the door. She could hear the thick beats of her heart and the chaos of conversation around them as late passengers hurried to file in, still forcing him to stand still as they passed behind him. She exhaled as she told herself he was being polite, letting people pass, not caging her in to grab her.

My sister Dee gets nervous flying. Opportunity for faith my father says. God has us all. Even here.

She looked up. Into eyes like a hot Texas sky, wide open for her to view. A steel blue so clear and deep she could see to his soul. He was concerned, for her. Genuinely concerned.

I’m praying He does. She nodded.

Then trust that He heard you. His gaze brushed her cross then caressed over her eyes again. His handsome face wore a soft smile. His right cheek had a small wrinkle where she felt sure a dimple would eventually show if he smiled. As if he read her mind, he obliged her. Dimples. He had the look of an angel but the outside didn’t matter, evil could be beautiful.

The blond flight attendant brought his drink. I thought you might like a Bloody Mary. I'm Susan if you need anything.

Thanks, Miss Susan. He finally moved away and sat in the seat across the aisle from her in 2C. Another flight attendant joined the first in front of the cowboy. He spoke so sweetly southern it made Samantha listen to the song though she tuned out the words and began to read the law book again as she tried to calm herself.

The three were chatting away as a third approached telling them to prepare for takeoff.

He glanced at her. She felt it. And his concern as they took off, and the plane left the pavement for the sky. The motion smooth and quick. She closed her eyes. Holding tight to the chair arms. There was no turning back now. She was going to Florida. Alone. She prayed. Then put her attention back on her law book while the two blondes buzzed around seat 2C like two bees around a flower. He was grinning at one as she bent down to serve him the mid-morning airline snack. He whispered something in her ear and she giggled. Samantha looked up, his eyes were waiting.

Can I buy you a free drink? the cowboy teased. His dimple was there with the smile. The Bloody Mary is good.

No, thanks. She looked over the top of her glasses at him.

I like your glasses. He drew the words out southern slow, studying her eyes, chewing on that red drinking straw, then glancing over her face. They bring out the green in your eyes.

Only Richard saw green in her eyes.

What are you reading? the cowboy asked tossing that short red drinking straw to the other corner of his mouth.

Trinton versus the State of Texas. It’s a best seller, have you read it? She asked flatly as she tried to keep her eyes off that red straw and his lips.

Lawyer, huh?

No.

No? Then why would a lady want to read Trinton versus the State of Texas?

I'm a law student. Third year.

His head tilted and he flicked the red straw from one corner of his mouth to the other and gave her another one of those dimple producing smiles. Alright. Alright.

Samantha just looked at him. All right, all right? What did he mean by that? And the tone, so curious and investigating. Next thing he’ll ask is where you live. Then he’ll know where you go to school. Then he could find you…

She looked down. She had to stop this, now. Let him flirt with the blondes. He was too much for her. She wasn't ready for this. Wasn’t ready to respond to a man on any level past family affection.

First in your class, I bet.

Excuse me? She was thinking too much. Foreboding joy in this moment. She looked at him again. His eyes were sparkling, his head cocked to the side as he studied her.

First in your class, at law school, right?

Oh. No. Third, she answered.

You’ll be first by graduation. He winked.

Don’t smile.

But he did, the dimple winking, his eyes sparkling like clear water. He had beautiful eyes… peaceful, safe.

You don’t know that! You can’t trust anyone. Especially yourself, remember what you did.

Hey, pretty girl! Can you help me?

She saw another pair of eyes. Heard his voice inside her. It called out the fear and flight. She panicked. Stood. Ran.

Escape—it had always been the safe answer—and the only place for escape on this confined aircraft besides jumping ship was the restroom. She locked herself inside it.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Stop this. Right now. She was gasping, her heart racing, panic rising with her pulse as the plane seemed to buck below her with its own crisis. She just held onto the sink. She could care less about flying or the million germs she could be picking up on her hands. She had real things to panic over, like the haunting voice that could be resurrected in her head, the lies it was telling her to believe. Breathe, she demanded and did. Slowly, calculating, calming, listing what she was grateful for in this moment, the life skills that could help her right now, that God was always with her and His love would never be separated from her, that this airplane had a restroom and she could stand right here alone and deal with this attack, overcome it in God's power or at least stand in it until it passed. Breathe, or I’m going to force you to take a pill. And she was thankful for the medication, the many doctors who had helped her, the legal team, her family. She prayed out the praises, braced against the sink. The floor rolling a bit with the pitch and sway of external turbulence even as inside she wrestled with horrible upheaval in herself. She talked to herself in the mirror about what was reality, she accepted it and chose to live in the truth of the moment. Prayed. God’s own words more powerful than any of her own. Then putting her gratitude to work she turned the knob with courage… and stepped right into him.

He took her in hand.

She gasped.

Then the plane sank. Tossed. Lurched.

The cowboy steadied her. His shoulder to the wall. His hand fixed to her waist. His gaze held her securely with compassion even as it swept her eyes for answers. She realized as the turbulence hit that he’d come to make sure she was okay because he assumed she was a nervous flyer and she’d seen him go wide-eyed for a moment when she lurched up out of her airline seat to flee.

The plane rose. Pitched. Bucked.

They were flung left. Her back to the wall. His body pressed to hers. His hands keeping her steady, secure. She was drowning in this turbulent sea and he was like a buoy, balanced and anchored down, moving with the motions instead of fighting them. She gasped with a chorus of other passengers making dramatic noises as the plane sank down intensely.

I’ve got you. The air just got rough. Hold on and I’ll get you back to your seat.

The plane vibrated like it traveled over a gravel road then dropped again. He held her close and she screamed, not because of what was going on around them but because of what was going on inside her. This was torture. Him. Touching her, holding her, pinning her. She cried out. And that only brought his body closer, bracing them in the tight space, his stance positioned to protect them both. His balance stellar.

Then it was over.

She could hear the chaos of passengers resettling. Feel the heat from his body this close. She saw his eyes—soft and mysteriously safe. She felt his body—strong and holding her. She was cornered. Caught. He saw the panic, answered with concern.

Look at me. Don’t think about the plane. Were his words. His hand stroking her, thinking he calmed her but it only stirred up the terror. Breath, before I have to give you mouth to mouth.

She heard the words, watched him speak them, with a teasing tone that detonated the attack but her senses were focused on his mouth, and she whimpered. That short red drinking straw that rested in the corner of his lips shifted sides and his sudden smile snapped her eyes back to his own.

You’re chewing on a straw, she stated the obvious and it sounded so ridiculous.

Yes, Ma’am. Freud would say I'm orally fixated.

The red stir totally disappeared inside his mouth when the plane lurched again then dipped. She sucked in the scream as they were suddenly so close their eyelashes could play patty cake. He continued their conversation as the wall and his chest turned her into a sandwich. Thinking he was distracting her from her fear he said, Anything I'm curious about goes in my mouth.

His gaze lowered to her lips and the air between them thinned away to nothing. If she but breathed, they would kiss. The plane dropped just as she said, Oh, God. Her left hand covered her lips protectively and a shattering of refracted stars bounced off the diamond and all around them as the plane leveled out at last.

He blinked, his gaze focused on her engagement ring. Like a flicked light switch, the electricity of attraction was gone. His eyes faded to a calm gray and he stepped back, gave her room even as he took her hand.

We’re steady now. He ushered her to her seat, got her belted in. You’re okay, he stated in a fatherly no-nonsense tone. Take some deep breaths. He gave a nod as she did, his touch slowly withdrawn until he saw that she breathed deeply again.

Then the bathroom door closed behind him and she exhaled, closed her eyes and kept them closed until they landed as she prayed.

Chapter Three

There were some glorious things in this world that could stir a man's soul to a praise of hallelujah. They usually involved the culmination of several parts being perfectly put together. A fall day when the humidity hid and the wide blue Texas sky allowed just a few clouds to applaud the perfect horseback riding weather. Laughter that hurts your cheeks and waters your eyes when you've an occasion to fellowship with close friends. An eight second ride on a rank bull in perfect sync. And, an exceptionally beautiful woman.

She was the type that was too much to take in from a glance. You wanted to take your time and study her. Nevertheless, all too quickly his time was up and Honey Cooper watched the woman unfastened her seat belt and put the law book back into her carry-on. She was out of her seat and off the plane before he had time to uncross his boots. He got up, a sudden need to chase her down gut strong.

The flight attendant stepped in the aisle. Thanks for flying with us, she said as she slipped a piece of paper in his hands. I’m here until three o’clock tomorrow.

He smiled politely and retrieved his carry-on. Several first-class passengers had passed him and the urgency to track the law student was his burning focus.

Mr. Cooper, another blonde had her hand on his shoulder, pulling him into the galley. Thanks for flying with us. She smiled, pressing close. We’re here until tomorrow. The Double Tree, she purred and handed him a napkin. Call me.

He nodded and turned down the jet way.

Not so fast, cowboy! The third blonde grabbed his arm just as he tried to exit the plane. Thanks for flying with us. She cuddled close to his side as the plane continued to empty out. Honey tuned out the itinerary for her short stay in Fort Myers as he watched his chance to find the golden-eyed woman fade away with the departing crowd.

Lord Almighty, she’s got me stirred up. Worried. Protective. Competitive. Maybe she’s meeting her fiancé in the terminal and Honey felt a rivalry stirring over the concern. She shouldn’t be alone. A woman that beautiful with a body with such contrasts. Long and lean shifting into sharp edges then sweet curves. He’d never seen eyes that color gold, or hair like inky black silk. He heard music when it moved. Swish. Over small shoulders a man could cup in a hand, take and guide. And he’d done that, his arm circling to draw her body into the fit of his. Those sweet secret curves drawn into his strength of protection when that plane had bucked like a Brahma bull. And there were other places he wanted to take in hand. She had a dimple in her small chin and he wanted to press his thumb there, lift her face up and tilt it aside. Nuzzle that tiny mole by her right ear as he whispered how pretty she was, whispered poetry and words that wooed a woman to lean in closer. Yes, he wanted her closer. After that dance in the galley by the bathroom. He wanted to make suggestions that had those perfect white teeth gnaw the left corner of her full lower lip like when she concentrated on the law. He’d watched her think, he could actually see her mind go ‘click’ when she got it, then she bounced her pen and her teeth released those beautiful lips with a little smile. He wanted her to smile at him. Lean against his body again, have her breath caress his neck in laughter instead of fear.

He frowned. She was a tiny thing. She’d drank a diet soda and picked over the