A Gift to Cherish (Road to Refuge Book 2) by Victoria Bylin

Author:Victoria Bylin [Bylin, Victoria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Don’t long for “the good old days.” This is not wise.

Ecclesiastes 7:10 (NLT)

Friday afternoons were often a lonely time for Joan, and this one troubled her more than most. Seated at her desk with Sadie dozing at her feet, she tried to concentrate on the next chapter of the ranch history book, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the three hundred emails flooding her inbox.

News of the giveaway had gone viral, and as she’d feared, pleas for help were unrelenting. The number of them depressed her. It also made her angry, though she wasn’t quite sure who to be angry with. Society in general for failing to care for the poor? Individuals for making poor choices? At God for giving human beings free will and the ability to choose badly—with her own bad choices at the top of that list?

Yet her choices—both good and bad—served a purpose. If she hadn’t failed herself so profoundly, she wouldn’t be a Christian today. Giving away her home wasn’t an act of madness like some people thought. It was a gift of her heart in response to the ultimate gift from the ultimate Giver.

Good grief. Now she sounded like Billy Graham.

Sadie sat up and stared, her dark eyes shiny and her tongue lolling to the side of her gray muzzle. Joan rubbed the dog’s big head in both hands, commiserated with her about growing old, and wished she could turn back time to when Sadie romped in the grass.

“Now I’m being maudlin,” she complained to her dog. “Let’s chase away this bad mood with a snack.”

Sadie’s ears pricked up at the word. In a blink the dog was on her feet and swishing her tail. Joan led the way into the hall and Sadie followed, her nails clicking on the hardwood floor. Those nails needed trimming, so Joan approached Daisy’s office, intending to ask her to schedule a vet appointment.

“I will not go nuts! I will not go nuts!” Daisy’s muttering spilled through the open door.

Worried, Joan peered into the workspace cluttered with paper, Post-it Notes, purple pens, and photographs of the ranch, both new and old, spread across the side credenza. Daisy was seated at her desk but facing the window instead of the monitor. With her back to the door and earbuds in place, she was pulling her short hair out to the side, her fingers knotted so tight they glistened white.

“I will not go nuts!” she muttered again.

“Daisy?” Joan rapped on the doorjamb. “What’s wrong?”

Spinning around, Daisy shook out the earbuds. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I was just—just—”

“Having a moment?”

“Yes.”

“I know you’ve been working hard on the giveaway and the book. Do we need to make some adjustments? I don’t want you pulling your hair out—figuratively or literally.”

Daisy finger-combed the blond strands back into place. “It’s not the job. I love working here.”

“Then what is it?”

The poor girl looked like she’d swallowed a bullfrog. “It’s just—just life.”

Joan had been around enough young women to know that life’s complications, especially ones that caused exasperated hair-pulling, usually involved men.

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