The Road to Love Read Online Free Page A

cinnamon-colored hair blew across her cheek and she flicked it aside. Nice to see a woman who still knew how to laugh. He’d seen far too many all shriveled up inside and out, worn down from fighting the elements, trying to cope with disappointment after disappointment and a mountain of work that never went away. Well, maybe he could do something to ease this woman’s work and repay her for her kindness of two days ago. He bent over the hood of the truck and studied the motor. Sure could use a good cleaning. He checked the carburetor. The choke was closed. No wonder it wouldn’t run. “You got a piece of hay wire?”
    â€œHay wire? You’re going to fix my truck with hay wire?”
    â€œMa’am, ain’t nothing you can’t fix with hay wire and bubble gum.”
    She made that snorting sound of laughter again. “Sorry, I have no bubble gum but I’ll get you some wire.”
    She sauntered away to the barn, chuckling and murmuring about the miracle of wire and gum.
    He was glad to brighten someone’s day. As he waited, he scraped dirt and bug guts off the radiator and tightened the spark plugs.
    Her quiet chuckle heralded her return, the sound like the first rays of a summer day—warm, promising good things to fill the ensuing hours.
    He quieted his soul with the words of scripture: He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city . He sought for the reference. Knew it was Proverbs but the sound of the woman at his elbow made him momentarily forget the exact location. He kept his attention on the motor until he brought his thoughts under submission. Proverbs sixteen, verse thirty-two. Only when he had it correct did he straighten.
    â€œThis do?” Her voice bubbled with amusement as she handed him a coil of wire.
    â€œJust the thing.” He bent off a piece and wired the choke open. “That should do the trick.”
    He cranked the motor over several times and it kicked to life.
    Remembering her skyward pleas, grateful for divine assistance, he stood back, glanced up to heaven and nodded to thank God for His help.
    Mrs. Bradshaw clapped. “Guess I just needed a prayer partner. And someone who understands motors. Can you show me what you did?”
    â€œIt’s nothing. Just the miracle of hay wire.” Side by side, they bent over the motor and he explained the workings of the carburetor and the function of the choke.
    â€œGot it.” She straightened and turned to lean on the fender that hinted at once being gray. Now it was mostly patchy black and rusty. “Trouble is, now I know that, it will be something else that goes wrong.”
    â€œSomeone once told me, if you’re not learning and growing, you’re withering.”
    She chortled. “No doubt about it then. I’m growing.” She grew quiet as she looked across the fields. “Though it seems my farm is withering.”
    â€œYour husband off working somewhere?”
    She didn’t answer.
    Caution. That was good. Didn’t pay to trust too quickly. He dusted his hands. “Brought you a gift.” He retrieved it from beside the truck.
    â€œA gift? Why?”
    â€œTo say thanks.”
    She took the shelf and examined it, ran her fingers over the words he’d cut into the front of the shelf. The Lord is my helper . “It’s beautiful.”
    He heard the shimmer in her voice and lowered his gaze, tried not to let the tightness in his throat make itself known.
    She cleared her throat and continued. “I’ll hang it next to the door. But it’s me who owes you thanks for getting the truck running. I have to get to town today and didn’t know how I was going to make it there and do my errands before the children are out of school.”
    He’d made shelves such as that on two previous occasions. Once when a kind family had provided shelter from a raging snowstorm.
    Another