“What is it that you hope for, Bowie?”

  You. A half dozen kids—bio, foster, adopted, he didn’t care.

  But Bowie said, “I have everything a man could want, except my own family, I suppose. Not that I’m complaining. My life is good. But I don’t want to be a bachelor forever.”

  The recent wedding and forever stuff had wiggled its way into his head.

  Sage nodded slowly, those Mountain Dew eyes still holding him. “I can see you married, with a family. You’re such a stable guy and great with kids. You’re the marrying kind, Bowie Trudeau.”

  His heart set up a thundering pace, squeezing with a hope he quickly repressed. “What about you, Sage? Can you see yourself married with kids? Are you the marrying kind?”

  She dropped her attention to the sprawling home he wanted to build someday, quiet for long, aching moments in which he wished he hadn’t asked.

  “Someday. Maybe. When I’m ready to grow roots. When the right man comes along.”

  And there he had his answer.

  Linda Goodnight, a New York Times bestselling author and winner of a RITA® Award in inspirational fiction, has appeared on the Christian bestseller list. Her novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Active in orphan ministry, Linda enjoys writing fiction that carries a message of hope in a sometimes dark world. She and her husband live in Oklahoma. Visit her website, lindagoodnight.com, for more information.

  Books by Linda Goodnight

  Love Inspired

  Sundown Valley

  To Protect His Children

  Keeping Them Safe

  The Buchanons

  Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

  The Christmas Family

  Lone Star Dad

  Lone Star Bachelor

  Whisper Falls

  Rancher’s Refuge

  Baby in His Arms

  Sugarplum Homecoming

  The Lawman’s Honor

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

  KEEPING THEM SAFE

  Linda Goodnight

  Remember ye not the former things, neither consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it?

  —Isaiah 43:18–19

  In memory of my son, Travis, and with gratitude to my Lord Jesus for the hope I have of one day spending forever with him…and Him…where time has no end and cancer is no more.

  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

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from A Foster Mother’s Promise by Ruth Logan Herne

  Chapter One

  She was pretty sure kidnapping was a federal offense. Or did that only count if the kids in question were strangers?

  This worry nagged Sage Walker something fierce the evening she drove into Sundown Valley, Oklahoma, the town she’d sworn never to see again. But anytime she said never, life would laugh out loud and then force her to do that very thing. She’d learned from experience that the world had a way of kicking you when you’re down.

  So here she was, back in the small Kiamichi Mountain town, hoping and praying that Ms. Bea would take them in for a few days until she could figure out where else to go.

  “Please understand,” she prayed under her breath.

  Considering her actions of the past couple of days, the good Lord probably wasn’t even listening.

  “What?” Ryder, her eight-year-old nephew, unsnapped his seatbelt for the tenth time and leaned between the seats. “What did you say?”

  “I was praying.”

  “Oh.”

  “Please sit back, Ryder. And buckle up.”

  He sat back, but Sage didn’t hear the buckle click. With a beleaguered sigh, she slowed the car, pulled into a convenience store driveway and stopped, turning her head to look into the back seat.

  Ryder’s eyes met hers. “Mama doesn’t make me.”

  Sage wasn’t opening that can of worms. His mama didn’t make him do a lot of things. Like go to school on a regular basis.

  “Put on your seat belt, please. I want you to be safe.”

  Paisley, the silent, big-eyed four-year-old watched the mental wrestling match with concern and clutched her scrap of a security blanket against her cheek in a death grip.

  Ryder glared, rebellious, for a full fifteen seconds before reaching for the belt. When the satisfactory snick sounded, Sage pulled back onto the road and aimed the car toward Main Street, hoping the bakery was still open. The kids hadn’t eaten, and if Ms. Bea was at the shop she’d fill them with leftovers.

  At least that’s what she would have done in years past. In Sage’s mind, Ms. Bea was not allowed to change, though it had been nearly thirteen years since their last face-to-face meeting. Shame would do that to a person.

  Sage squinted a doubtful eye at the clock on the Jeep’s dash. It was almost six, closing time at the Bea Sweet Bakery.

  She suffered a grinding twist of guilt that her phone calls to her former foster mom had become so sporadic that she knew next to nothing about Ms. Bea—or the Bea Sweet Bakery—anymore.

  She should have called before leaving Kansas City, but she’d been afraid to. Of what, exactly, she wasn’t sure, but she was taking no chances. Not with the kids in tow.

  They’d needed to get out of Missouri fast.

  Main Street came into sight. Though it was still light outside, darkness arrived early this time of year, and the streetlights had already come on. The diagonal parking spaces outside most businesses were empty. The stores were closed or in the process of locking up. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.

  Sundown Valley rolled up the streets early, so only convenience stores and a few eating places remained open past six. She wondered if the town was big enough yet for any big box stores? She hadn’t seen any driving in.

  Lights remained on at the bakery but the only vehicle parked outside was an oversize silver-and-black pickup, the kind of four-wheel drive vehicle driven by ranchers in the area. Those fortunate souls with a little jingle in their pockets.

  As she pulled in beside the truck, a well-built cowboy in crisp new blue jeans, gleamingly polished boots and a white dress shirt removed a tool belt and tossed it into the back. Though his shirt was tieless and unbuttoned at the top, he wasn’t exactly dressed to be a handyman.

  Unable to see his face, Sage didn’t know if she recognized Mr. Tool Belt, but he was taller than she was. In a town as small as Sundown Valley, not many were.

  Before she could stare at the cowboy another second, Ryder had his seat belt off, had unbuckled Paisley’s and was out of the car yanking on the glass entry into the bakery.

  The boy was like a caged pup and she couldn’t blame him. All those hours in a car had taken a toll on her. She was sure the kids were exhausted from the long drive and needed to stretch their legs.

  “I’m hungry.” Holding Paisley’s hand, Ryder barreled into the shop.

  Not knowing how the kids would behave, Sage dragged her attention from the stranger to her niece and nephew and hurried inside too.

  The smell hit her first. So familiar and fragrant, the sweet, yeasty scents she’d forever associate with home and love, though she’d only lived with Ms. Bea and Mr. Ron for four years.

  Ms. Bea exited the kitchen area, dish towel over one shoulder. She’d aged. The once spritely baker now shuffled like a woman with painful knees or feet. Those weren’t something a caller could see on a video chat, and, not surprisingly, Ms. Bea had never said a word.

  When Bea spotted Sage, she stopped, blinked twice, and then broke into a smile. “Sage, honey, is that you?”

  “It’s me, Ms. Bea.” To save the other woman from the effort of coming to her, Sage hurried behind the glass display counter for a welcome hug.

  The older woman’s plump, fleshy arms, warm as sunshine, enveloped her. When was the last time anyone had hugged her with real feeling? As if they actually cared for her?

  And wasn’t she being pitiful today?

  She, who’d made her own way most of her life, who’d battled back from the brink of destruction more than once, who knew how to stiffen her spine and get on with life, refused to feel sorry for herself. Most of her troubles were of her own making.

  Except for this time.

  She cleared her too-full throat and stepped back. “You still give the best hugs in the world.”

  “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you. Let me look at you.” Ms. Bea held her at arm’s length, this caring woman who was nearly a foot shorter and half a body wider gazed at her with genuine affection in lively brown eyes.

  Sage didn’t want Ms. Bea or anyone else to look too deeply. A lot of miles had passed and a lot of mistakes had been made since she’d last eaten in the Bea Sweet.

  “You’re still the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid
eyes on. After you left, Ron and I used to talk about that. You’d be a big success out there in the Big Apple with all your tall green-eyed beauty.”

  Another shot of guilt. “I should have been here when Mr. Ron passed. I’m sorry.”

  Bea waved a hand, though those sparkling brown eyes grew sad. “It was fast, honey. One minute my Ron was in the kitchen frying doughnuts and the next he was gone. That’s the way he wanted to go, doing what he loved most, and the good Lord saw fit to let him have his wish.”

  Still, she should have come. But again, shame had kept her away. Shame, no money and being in a place that would shock the godly, wholesome and decidedly old-fashioned Ms. Bea to the tips of her flour-coated fingers.

  “I hope you don’t mind the unannounced visit.”

  “Any way I can get a visit from you is fine with me.” Bea’s kind gaze moved to the children. “These little darlings must be Amy’s babies?”

  Ryder and Paisley stood in front of the display cases, faces pressed against the glass, expressions clearly stating their desire for every kind of sweet pastry in the building.

  “Yes.” Sage put a hand on each child’s shoulder. “This is Ryder and this is Paisley. Kids, this is Ms. Bea. She raised your mama and me.”

  Or tried to.

  Kids, as inclined to do, cast a quick look at the baker and returned to drooling over the day’s remaining pastries.

  Ms. Bea chuckled. “I think they’re hungry.” Taking control as she’d done with many foster children, including Sage and Amy, she guided the duo toward the back of the bakery. “You can choose anything you want after we get something nourishing in you.”

  Ms. Bea was still the same nurturing, motherly soul, and her kindness warmed a cold place in Sage’s middle. She’d been cold for days. Maybe here she could get warm again.

  She’d needed this. Needed the assurance that someone on this planet still cared.

  “Thank you, Ms. Bea,” she said as the kids and Bea disappeared into the back.

  She was about to follow when the bell over the door jingled and the tall cowboy entered.

  “Ms. Bea—” he started but the words died on his lips as his very dark brown gaze fell on her. Thick, spiky black lashes blinked at her. “Sage?”

  “Bowie? Bowie Trudeau?”

  “Long time,” he said, his voice velvety soft the way she remembered.

  No wonder he’d looked familiar. The oldest three Trudeau men were all taller than her, and Bowie was the tallest. He’d always been the quiet, steady Trudeau while the others had been rowdy and sometimes a little wild.

  Sweet memories unfurled beneath her breastbone. She wondered if Bowie was still everybody’s best friend? He’d been hers.

  Shifting on his expensive boots, a slight darkening on his already-dark cheekbones, Bowie asked, “You doing okay?”

  “Just dandy.” If you could call running from authorities dandy. But then she’d always been the rebel, and Bowie knew it as well as anyone. Or he had back in the day. Sweet, kindhearted Bowie. “You?”

  “Good. I’m looking for Ms. Bea.”

  Bowie had never been a big talker. Apparently, that hadn’t changed.

  Just then, Bea shuffled through the doorway leading from the back kitchen area.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” she said to Bowie. “Did you forget something?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got to run to the city in the morning, but I’ll stop by tomorrow evening and check that hot water heater again to be sure it’s still working properly.”

  Ms. Bea flapped a hand. “Now, don’t you give that another thought. It’s bad enough I dragged you away from Wade’s wedding. I imagine it was beautiful.”

  “Real pretty. Your cake was good too.” A dazzling grin accented the dimple in his chin. “I ate two pieces.”

  Ms. Bea’s wrinkles softened into a pleased smile. “I don’t make many wedding cakes anymore, but you Trudeau boys are special. You’d better hurry up and settle down yourself before I’m too old to bake yours.”

  Bowie’s grin just widened. He started out again, pausing only to touch the brim of his hat and say, “Nice to see you again, Sage.”

  Before she could ask about Wade’s wedding or any of the other Trudeaus, Bowie slipped out the door and ambled with long, easy strides to his truck.

  Sage realized, then, that she was staring and that the tall, shy boy she’d known in high school had grown into a gorgeous, kindhearted man who probably made a few hearts in this town flutter.

  And he wasn’t yet married.

  Interesting. Not for her, of course. They’d been buddies, nothing more, but Bowie was definitely a catch.

  What was wrong with the women of this town?

  * * *

  Sage Walker was back in Sundown Valley.

  Bowie aimed his truck toward home. It had been a long day, a good one filled with love and people and a beautiful wedding, but he was eager for some solitude in his workshop.

  Running into Sage Walker had shaken him. It had also shot a bolus of energy through his bloodstream stronger than a can of Red Bull.

  “Sage,” he murmured to the air freshener dangling from his rearview mirror, a joke from Wade’s new wife after he’d tracked cow manure into the bunkhouse where she’d lived for the last year. The freshener smelled like his favorite cologne so he’d left it hanging there.

  But it was Sage he was thinking about, not the air freshener. Somebody at his cousin’s wedding earlier today said they’d seen her at a gas station outside of town. After his initial shocked reaction, he considered it a case of mistaken identity.

  “What’s she doing in Sundown Valley after all these years?”

  Straight out of high school, she’d left to take the modeling world by storm. He’d looked online a few times in hopes of seeing her, but whatever she’d done in New York, she’d kept a low profile. Not that he was into social media all that much. He was too busy.

  Back in the day, she’d easily been the prettiest girl in Sundown Valley High School, especially to a shy, gangly teenage boy with a big crush.

  Now, her youthful beauty had blossomed and Sage was even more stunningly beautiful today than then, a beauty who nearly stole a man’s breath right out of his lungs. Tall, shapely and graceful with sleek black hair down her back, the palest green eyes on earth and a perfect face, she was an artist’s dream. He’d tried to paint her once, but his talent lay elsewhere. No one knew about the painting except him.

  Although he was no longer gangly or all that shy, he’d gone tongue-tied the minute he’d recognized her. He, a grown man of thirty-two, still let Sage Walker make his heart jump.

  She’d never known, of course, never had an inkling. He was her buddy, her best friend, her shoulder to cry on.

  But that was a long time ago.

  He was a man now and he knew better. Sage was a walk-away Joe. Or in her case, a runaway with a heart as restless as an Oklahoma wind.

  He liked people, enjoyed a date now and then, but putting his heart out there was not going to happen. At least, not with Sage.

  Though why he was even thinking this way bothered him.

  Turning off the highway leading out of town, he followed a gravel road that wound up and around a low mountain toward the sprawling ranch he owned with his cousins, Wade and Yates Trudeau. Except Yates, like Sage, had been gone for a long time. He hadn’t even bothered to attend his younger brother’s wedding.

  The neglect had hurt Wade, which in turn hurt Bowie. He’d do about anything for the men he considered brothers. Daily, he asked the Lord to mend the brokenness between Wade and Yates and to bring the oldest brother home to the Sundown. Like Wade, he shot off texts and made calls that invariably ended in voice mails, rarely connecting with the mysteriously absent Yates.

  Family troubles. Bowie hated them. Had his fill of them. Like Wade, he was helpless to change any of it. He hadn’t seen his own mother since she’d left him at a shelter in New Orleans at the age of ten.

  If not for the kind folks in that shelter, he’d never have ended up here on the Sundown.

  He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Today was a day of celebration. Wade had married a wonderful woman who loved his three babies and her new husband with a love that anyone could see if they had eyes. Bowie had no business digging up old, buried bones and getting melancholy.