Home to Heal

  It took losing his sight to find his way home.

  When his world goes dark,

  she’s there to help...

  Widower and single dad Dr. Zac Calhoun thinks he can handle anything life throws at him...until an incident at his mission leaves him blind and reeling. But when nurse Abby Armstrong steps in to help Zac and his twin girls at the family’s ranch, he feels less lost and alone. With Abby by his side, can Zac find hope again?

  “You’re going to insist I dance, aren’t you?”

  Zac sounded grumpy.

  “Uh-huh. Just like the rest of us, Doc. Come on. I want to try. It will be easy for you because you’ve probably line danced a hundred times before.”

  “Never blind,” he assured her drily.

  “First time for both of us, then.” Abby couldn’t explain why she was so excited when the music stopped and folks waited for the next tune from the little band on the stage. “Explain line dancing to me, please?”

  “You’ve been watching.” Zac shrugged. “And I heard your toes tapping. Line dancing is just people standing in lines, doing the same steps together. Follow everyone else and you’ll get it.”

  “Not much help, are you?” She reached for his hand, thinking she’d guide him. Zac started laughing. “What?”

  “No touching in line dancing, at least as we do it here. You’ll just have to endure me stomping on your toes. When I do, remember that you’re the one who insisted I do this.”

  Lois Richer loves traveling, swimming and quilting, but mostly she loves writing stories that show God’s boundless love for His precious children. As she says, “His love never changes or gives up. It’s always waiting for me. My stories feature imperfect characters learning that love doesn’t mean attaining perfection. Love is about keeping on keeping on.” You can contact Lois via email, loisricher@gmail.com, or on Facebook (loisricherauthor).

  Books by Lois Richer

  Love Inspired

  The Calhoun Cowboys

  Hoping for a Father

  Home to Heal

  Rocky Mountain Haven

  Meant-to-Be Baby

  Mistletoe Twins

  Rocky Mountain Daddy

  Rocky Mountain Memories

  Wranglers Ranch

  The Rancher’s Family Wish

  Her Christmas Family Wish

  The Cowboy’s Easter Family Wish

  The Twins’ Family Wish

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  HOME TO HEAL

  Lois Richer

  Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.

  —Ephesians 3:20

  This book is dedicated to the selfless missionaries at home and around the world who serve by spreading God’s love. May God reward you richly.

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from A Father’s Promise by Mindy Obenhaus

  Chapter One

  “Daddy!”

  “Daddy!”

  The double echoes of his four-year-old daughters ringing through New York’s JFK airport came as music to Zac Calhoun’s ears. Though the bandages on his eyes prevented him from seeing his beloved girls, his heart sang with joy.

  How could a mere three weeks of separation feel like a year?

  One afternoon Zac had waved the twins off to a friend’s sleepover. Less than an hour later, rebels had attacked his Mali mission compound, tossing explosive devices that blew apart buildings and filled the air with cinders and shrapnel. He’d watched with horror as friends and coworkers fell before his eyes until a blast directly in front of him had ripped apart the hospital. Oxygen tanks exploded, knocking him backward and directing fiery debris right at him, scorching his face and stabbing his eyes, blinding him with excruciating pain. Mercifully, something had struck his head, knocking him out. He’d woken in the hospital to learn that his life’s work was gone and he was unable to see. Worst of all, he’d feared for his daughters’ safety.

  “Daddy, we missed you!” Chubby arms now encircled Zac’s neck as two wiggling little girls jumped into his lap and dragged his head down for soft kisses against his cheek.

  “I missed you, too, my darlings.” Zac clutched them close, inhaling their sweet fragrance, reveling in the velvet brush of their lips against his skin. “Missed you so much. Are you all right, my sweethearts?”

  “Of course we are, Daddy.” That was Zoe, always direct. “Abby looked after us.”

  “Yeah, Abby looked after us.” Never to be outdone by her twin, even if she only repeated her sister’s words, Mia hugged him again. Then he felt her lean back, probably to study him. “Abby said your eyes got hurted, Daddy.”

  “Yes, they did. But they’re getting better.” At least that was Zac’s hope. Though the pain was mostly gone, the horror lingered. He’d been serving God so why had He let this happen? He struggled to his feet, loath to release his precious twin cargo.

  He finally set the girls down because he wanted to meet the amazing woman who had taken in his daughters. In the hospital, Zac had heard numerous tales lauding Abigail Armstrong’s reputation and the orphanage where she cared for displaced children as if they were her own.

  But Abby had done so much more. Since Zac couldn’t see to travel and feared leading the rebels to the twins, Abby had arranged travel documents for the girls. She hadn’t, however, been able to sidestep a government order that the girls must travel directly to New York to meet their father and so she had arranged to bring them here herself. Zac wanted to be certain this lady heard his heartfelt gratitude for her unselfishness.

  “Where is your Abby?”

  “I’m here.” The melodic voice was calm, quiet, with just a hint of amusement coloring it. “Abigail Armstrong. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Calhoun.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. How can I ever thank you enough for taking care of my daughters?” Zac had the sense that this woman was tall, probably up to his shoulders. The hand that slid into his outstretched one felt soft yet strong as she gave him a firm, welcoming handshake. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully express my gratitude, Miss Armstrong.”

  “It’s Mrs., but call me Abby, and there’s no need to thank me.” Funny how he missed the warmth of her hand when she withdrew it. “Having the twins was a pleasure—girls, careful,” she said when one of the twins bumped into him. “Are you all right, Doctor?”

  “It’s tough to get a grip on the whole balance thing when I can’t see. Sometimes I wobble,” Zac admitted, feeling awkward yet grateful for her steadying touch on his arm. “And no, I’m not all right. But I will be,” he affirmed stoutly, unwilling to voice the gut-wrenching fear that he’d lost his eyesight forever. “Especially now that I have my girls back.”

  “John Lawannie had a difficult time getting them to me, but he prevailed.” The sympathy in her voice forced his next question.

  “How difficult?” Zac feared the answer.

  “He was attacked before he collected the twins. After he arrived at my home, he collapsed.” She sounded sad. “A friend of mine, a doctor, came to examine him and ar
ranged for his care.” Her voice dropped, probably so the twins wouldn’t hear. “I checked on John before we flew out. He was in a coma. The prognosis isn’t good. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you for helping him.” John’s hurt because of me, because I wouldn’t leave the mission when he told me to. “Did you know John previously?”

  “Oh, yes. As a police officer he’d visited my orphanage in a search for a missing child.” She changed the subject. “The twins are delighted to be reunited with you, Dr. Calhoun.”

  “Call me Zac,” he insisted.

  “Okay.” After a slight hesitation she added, “It would be nice to sit and get acquainted, Zac, but it took so long for us to get through security that I’m afraid our flight to Montana is now ready to board. We must go. Girls, pick up your backpacks.”

  Zac heard the sound of scurrying feet as his daughters obeyed. Clearly Abigail Armstrong was in control. Good that someone was because he certainly wasn’t. He couldn’t see an inch in front of him with these bandages.

  Maybe I won’t be able to see without them, either?

  He pushed back the dark thoughts as Abby’s words sunk in.

  “Wait a minute. Our flight? Where’s Arthur?” Zac twisted his head, trying to discern some sound to indicate that the emissary from the mission’s society who’d funded his work and accompanied him to New York was standing nearby. “Arthur?” A lack of response and the inability to see why roused disquiet in him. “There was a man here...”

  “Arthur Strong. Yes, I met him a moment ago. He received an urgent text while the girls were hugging you. I said I’d tell you he had to leave.” Abigail didn’t sound worried by that, but Zac was.

  “Leave?” Zac swallowed. “But—?”

  “Arthur found a seat on a flight back to Africa, which is fantastic because he hopes to retrieve his own family. They were in an accident the day he left,” Abby explained, adding in a soft, sad tone, “Poor worried fellow.”

  “So you’re coming with us to Montana?” Zac asked, half bemused, half relieved.

  “And to your ranch. I hope that’s all right.” Abby sounded as if she feared he’d reject her help. Fat chance.

  “I can’t imagine how this impacts your plans, but we are very happy to have you. Do you know Montana?” he asked curiously.

  “Not at all. I’ve lived in Africa for many years. Moving to America will be a good change for me,” Abby said without the slightest hesitation. “I agreed to accompany you and the girls to your family’s ranch and see you settled in. Then I’ll figure out my future.”

  “Oh.” Zac wasn’t sure what to say. He was grateful that someone would help them, but his eyes would need rinsing soon...

  “Don’t worry.” The sound of a smile was back in her voice. “I’m a nurse, Dr. Calhoun. I can manage your treatment.”

  “It’s Zac,” he repeated, and then nodded. “Thank you. Again.”

  “No problem. I’ve allowed a couple of months to get you all settled. By then I’m sure you’ll be well and I’ll get on with rebuilding my life.” She paused, then her voice altered, became more urgent. “You may ask me all the questions you like later, Dr.—er, Zac. But we must board now or wait until tomorrow for the next direct flight. You do want to get home?”

  Hanging Hearts Ranch hadn’t been his home for many years and Zac didn’t have his own home anymore. It had been destroyed. Returning to the ranch with his girls—that sounded pretty good right now.

  “Let’s go.” He’d no sooner said it than her fingers curled into his elbow, guiding him with just a few words of instruction to the girls to walk in front, hand in hand.

  Zac found the going easy thanks to Abby’s quiet commentary as she accompanied him and the twins through check-in and then along the jetway. They were a few steps inside the aircraft when she stopped him by putting his hand on a chair arm.

  “You can sit here,” she said. “It’s tucked in so no one will bump you. Mia will sit beside you. All right?”

  “First class,” he mused as he sank into the wide, supple leather seat. “Missionaries don’t usually travel first class.”

  “I felt you and your daughters required the extra room and a bit of luxury after traveling for so long,” Abigail explained, though she didn’t mention how she’d managed to acquire the prized seats. She directed the twins where to sit but they immediately objected.

  “I wanna sit by Zoe,” Mia insisted. “We’re makin’ pictures about the mission for Grandpa and Grandma.”

  Abby waited for Zac’s agreement before settling the girls in their places across the aisle and repeating instructions she’d obviously given before. Finally she sat down next to Zac.

  “It’s snowing outside. In March,” she added, surprise in her words.

  “Happens sometimes,” Zac assured her. “You don’t remember the unpredictability of winter in North America?”

  “I guess not. Seeing snow makes me feel chilly,” Abby mused. He heard the zip of a garment. “I don’t think it will delay our takeoff though. Are you warm enough?”

  “I’d like my sweater—oh, no. I forgot my carry-on.” Zac began unbuckling his seat belt. “I’ll have to go back—”

  “I brought it.” Abby set his hand on the handle of his battered case. As he dug through it for his sweater she said, “I’ll see if the girls would like their jackets.”

  She returned a few minutes later, seating herself quickly as other passengers began to board.

  “First-class seats are expensive,” he worried out loud, suddenly wishing he hadn’t left all the travel arrangements to someone else. He couldn’t afford—

  “Don’t worry,” Abby reassured him. “Someone donated these for you and your daughters. Be at rest.”

  Be at rest? Zac almost laughed.

  Burning ash and bits of shrapnel meant he couldn’t see a thing now, and in fact might never regain his eyesight. He was returning to his adopted family, at their ranch, as a widower, with his ministry destroyed and no clue about what his future held. Worse, he hadn’t kept his promise to Maria to make their mission, their dream, something to be envied and modeled around the world. He’d lost it all.

  How could he possibly be at rest?

  “You seem upset. Are you in pain?” Abby paused. Zac had a sense she was checking her watch. “I was told you wouldn’t need the eye wash treatment for another hour, but given all the time changes, perhaps that was incorrect?”

  “No, that sounds about right.” With no way to tell time, he had to trust that Abby’s instructions were correct. “No pain. I’m just restless, I guess,” Zac added when she seemed to be waiting for a response. “Tell me about yourself. You lived in Africa for how long?”

  “Since I was thirteen. Half my life.” Abby sounded surprised by that. “My parents were missionaries.”

  “Thirteen. Tough age to be uprooted,” Zac mused.

  “Very,” she admitted, though he heard a smile in her voice. “I was furious with them for about a week. Until I saw my first lion in the wild.”

  “Game changer.” Zac chuckled. “What was your parents’ ministry?”

  “My dad was a doctor, like you. He’s the reason I trained as a nurse.” Her voice grew more introspective. “My mom was a physiotherapist, but her real love was children. I think she always hoped she’d have a bunch but—” Abby’s shoulder brushed his, probably in a shrug. “It never happened. So she devoted herself to me and every needy kid she came across.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve caused you to rehash sad memories,” Zac said.

  “They’re not sad,” Abby said, a smile in her tone. “I often remember Mom’s laugh, a lot more since Mia and Zoe came to stay. They have the same from-the-belly kind of bubbling laugh that sweeps you right into whatever they’re enjoying.”

  “Do you see your parents often?” As soon as he asked, Zac knew it was a mista
ke. She stiffened. There was a pregnant pause, closely followed by a swift hiss of air. “I’m sorry—”

  “Mom and Dad died three years ago.” The words seemed to spill out of Abby. “It was a difficult time.”

  “I’m sure,” he agreed, thinking that was an understatement. “Did you come back home then?”

  “To the US? No,” Abby said quickly. She must have shaken her head because a swath of silky hair brushed his neck, filling his nostrils with a light floral scent that made Zac think of mountain wildflowers and warm summer afternoons on the ranch.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Africa was my home,” she said. “There was nothing and no one for me in America. Mom and Dad were only children. Their parents were gone before they left this country.”

  “I was told you run an orphanage.” He liked talking to Abby. She didn’t flirt with him or gush about the twins, both of which he’d endured after Maria died.

  “Ran. It wasn’t really an orphanage,” Abby demurred. “Just a safe place for children to stay for a while. I loved being able to feed and clothe them, to help them find new perspectives, often after life-shattering experiences.”

  “Which mission supports your work?” Zac asked. When there was no answer, he grimaced in self-reproach. “Sorry, that’s nosy. Forget I asked.”

  “It’s okay. I, um, wasn’t supported by a mission.” Abby’s voice changed, seemed to harden as she added, “I—we—I guess people would say that my husband was my only supporter.”

  “Was?” Zac couldn’t have stopped himself from asking if he’d wanted to and he didn’t want to. His curiosity about this quiet, competent lady grew stronger with every minute, which was odd because curiosity about a woman hadn’t occurred once in the two and a half years since Maria had passed away.

  “Ken, my husband, died two years ago. He was a pilot. His plane crashed. Our son, Levi, died with him. I came out of it with just a few bruises.” The words seemed to spurt out in short, staccato sentences in a flat, unemotional manner. Because she’d steeled herself against the pain?