Sarah My Beloved (Little Hickman Creek Series #2) (45 page)

After Sarah snuggled into Rocky's side, he put an arm
around her and set to massaging little circles into the curve of
her shoulder. "Rachel just announced she wants her old room
back," he stated matter-of-factly, shoving off with his foot again. The trusty old swing swayed, whining and screeching with each
lift. Without missing a beat, he added, "She seems to think you
and I could take the new room, Seth could have the one you've
been sleeping in, and she could have her old room."

Sarah's eyes darted upward with the assertion and he
smiled down at her. "It's a pretty good idea, don't you think?"

As if realizing the adults needed their privacy, Rachel
wiggled her way off the swing. "I'm gonna go see what Seth's
doin' with them kittens." At the bottom step, she paused and
turned.

"I'd rather live with you guys," she announced with matter-
offact clarity.

"Well, I'm glad that's settled," he remarked, watching her
set off at a run, her calf-length dress blowing in the breeze, her
blond braids bouncing off her back. He beamed with pleasure,
then tipped his face close to nuzzle his whiskered jaw against
Sarah's cheek. Her flowery scent had his mind wandering in
several different directions. "You know I love you, don't you,
Sarah?" he whispered, his voice suddenly gone hoarse.

"Did you know I love you back?" she queried.

He turned her chin with his finger and grinned, suddenly
overcome with tenderness. "I was hoping."

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her waiting lips,
devouring her softness, sealing their newfound love. After
several moments, she pushed away and angled her eyes at
him. "I've been thinking that I might like to have a baby," she
announced.

He felt the beginnings of a silly grin. "Hm," he said, chuckling low and fondling a piece of her hair. "So much for our
marriage in name only."

orn and raised in western Michigan,
4 Sharlene MacLaren attended Spring
Arbor University. Upon graduating with an
education degree, she traveled internationally for a year with a small singing ensemble,
then came home and married one of her childhood friends.
Together they raised two lovely daughters. Now happily retired
after teaching elementary school for thirty-one years, "Shar"
enjoys reading, writing, singing in the church choir and worship teams, traveling, and spending time with her husband,
children, and precious grandson.

A Christian for over forty years and a lover of the English language, Shar has always enjoyed dabbling in writingpoetry, fiction, various essays-and freelancing for periodicals
and newspapers. Her favorite genre, however, has always been
romance. She remembers well the short stories she wrote in
high school and watching them circulate from girl to girl
during government and civics classes. "Psst," someone would
whisper from two rows over, and always with the teacher's back
to the class, "pass me the next page."

Shar is a regular speaker for her local MOPS (Mothers of
Preschoolers) organization, is involved in KIDS' HOPE USA, a
mentoring program for at-risk children, counsels young women
in the Apples of Gold program, and is active in two weekly
Bible studies. She and her husband, Cecil, live in Spring Lake,
Michigan, with Dakota, their lovable collie, and Mocha, their
lazy fat cat.

The acclaimed Through Every Storm was Shar's first novel to
be published by Whitaker House. Loving Liza Jane and Sarah,
My Beloved are the first two books in the Little Hickman Creek
trilogy.

You can e-mail Shar at [email protected] or visit her
website at www.sharlenemaclaren.com.

An Excerpt from Sharlene MacLaren's next novel,

-C5,WA,,"j 4~~M/M_a

Third in the Little Hickman Creek Series

July 4, 1896

-'mma Browning's boot heels clicked out a rhythm on the wooden
-sidewalk as she strode purposefully toward home. She'd just spotted Ezra, her galoot of a father, staggering in her direction, and if she
didn't get out of sight soon, he'd be sure to make a fool of her-again!

Emma halted when she heard a commotion up the street. Everyone's gazes alighted on the staggering, heavyset man, dirty trousers
sagging below his protruding belly, one suspender keeping them from
sliding to the ground, a bottle of booze swinging from one hand. Singing at the top of his lungs, he slurred each word so terribly that no one
this side of the Tennessee-Kentucky border would have been able to
decipher a single phrase.

Emma put a hand to her throat. It was what she'd feared. Disgust
and shame roiled in the pit of her stomach. How could Ezra Browning
keep doing this to her-mortifying her in plain daylight-especially
when it seemed the entire town had shown up for the holiday festivities. Someone ought to shoot the miserable, tanked-up, tangle-footed
jug head, she thought, then heave him facedown into Little Hickman
Creek's deepest waters. If she weren't afraid of the consequences, she'd
do it herself.

Hauling in a heavy dose of air, Emma mopped her damp forehead
with the back of her hand. "Guess I should get him off the street."

She knew what she'd like to do. "I'll stick him in that old tin tub
out back. He can lay there til he sobers up."

Emma looked up from her bread making. It was just past ninethirty. Her shoulders slumped as she heaved a sigh. Jon Atkins was
helping old Ezra out of the tin tub, and from the sound of things, her
father wasn't too happy for the help.

Why couldn't the reverend mind his own business?