The Wonder of Your Love - By Beth Wiseman Page 0,99
that divided their property. She stifled a smile. This woman really was a cowgirl.
“Know anything about snakes?” Darlene stepped onto the front porch, sidestepping a loose board. The porch was next on their list of things to repair on her grandparents’ old homestead.
“What?” The woman turned around as she held a hand underneath the rim of her hat, blocking the afternoon sun.
“I have a snake in my bedroom.” Darlene shrugged. “Just wondering if you had any—any experience with something like that.” She padded down two porch steps in her socks. “I’m not sure I got your name, earlier?”
“Layla.” She gave a quick wave before she turned to leave again. Darlene sighed. Clearly the woman wasn’t interested in being friends. Or helping with the snake. Darlene watched her walk to her horse and put a foot in the stirrup. Then she twisted her body to face Darlene. “What kind of snake?”
Feeling hopeful, Darlene edged down another step. “A big, black one.”
Layla put her foot back down on the ground, then walked across the grass toward the porch. Darlene couldn’t believe how graceful the tall blonde was, how out of sync her beauty seemed to be with what she was wearing.
“Only thing you really have to worry about around here are copperheads.” She tipped back the rim on her straw hat. “Was it a copperhead?”
At five foot two, Darlene felt instantly inferior to this tall, gorgeous, horse-riding, snake-slaying blonde. She wasn’t about to tell her she didn’t know one snake from the other. “I don’t think so.”
“All I’ve got is a .22 with me.” Layla pointed back to her horse where Darlene saw a long gun in a holster. A surreal feeling washed over her. She recalled their previous home—and life—in Houston, and a woman with a gun on a horse wasn’t a sight they would’ve seen. “A .22 will blow a hole through your floor. Do you have a pellet gun?” Layla stopped in front of Darlene on the steps. Darlene was pretty sure that was all they had—Chad’s BB gun.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Five minutes later, Darlene pushed open her bedroom door and watched Layla walk into the room. The bed was piled with clean folded clothes. At least it was made up. The vacuum was in the middle of the room instead of in the downstairs closet under the stairs. It wasn’t how she wanted a neighbor to see her bedroom, but it could have been worse.
Layla got down on her knees and looked under the bed. Darlene stayed in the doorway and did a mental scan of what was under there. Boxes of photos, a flowery hatbox that had belonged to her grandmother, and an old red suitcase stuffed with baby keepsakes from when the kids were young—and a lot of dust.
“There he is.” Layla leaned her chest to the floor and positioned Chad’s BB gun. Darlene braced herself, then squeezed her eyes closed as two pops from the gun echoed from underneath her bed. A moment later, Layla drug the snake out with the tip of the gun. “Just a chicken snake.”
Darlene stepped out of the room, giving Layla plenty of room to haul the snake outside. Big, black, ugly. And now dead. Blood dripped across the newly polished hardwood floors all the way to the front door. Layla carried the snake to the fence and laid it across the timber with its yellow underside up.
“Belly up should bring rain.” Layla was up on her horse in a flash. “Maybe tell your husband that I’m patching the fence up, but he really needs some new cross planks.”
“I will. And thank you so much for killing that snake. Do you and your husband want to come for dinner tonight? I’d like to do something for you.”
“I’m not married. And I can’t come to dinner tonight. Thanks, though.” She gave the horse a little kick in the flank, then rode across the pasture. Darlene had wondered who lived in the farmhouse up on the hill. Her youngest daughter called it the mansion on the hill. In comparison to their rundown farmhouse, Darlene supposed it was a mansion. Both homes were probably built in the late 1800s, but Layla’s house was completely restored with yellow paint and white trim. A white picket fence surrounded the yard, and toward the back of a property, a bright red barn lit up the hayfield not far from a good-sized pond. And there were lots of cows. If the wind was blowing just right, sometimes Darlene could hear faint music coming from the house.
She was hoping maybe she could be friends with Layla. The woman was intriguing for sure. And Darlene could use a friend. She had met a few people since they’d lived here, but not any she felt she could be friends with.
She clearly had nothing in common with the woman. But just the same, she was going to pay her a visit tomorrow. Maybe take her a basket of baked goodies to say thank you.
About the Author
BETH WISEMAN IS HAILED AS A top voice in Amish fiction. She is the author of numerous bestsellers, including the Daughters of the Promise series and the Land of Canaan series. She and her family live in Texas.
Visit BethWiseman.com
Table of Contents
Glossary
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Acknowledgments
Reading Group Guide
Amish Recipes
About the Author
Table of Contents
Glossary
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Acknowledgments
Reading Group Guide
Amish Recipes
About the Author