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“I can’t hit Send.” Grayson leaned forward, his head in his hands. “What would I say?”
“Talk to her.”
“I can’t…”
God is good. His grace is sufficient.
Beth had been right. He hadn’t truly been trusting God. He’d been going through the motions. Trying, he’d say. But not doing. Not actively surrendering, praying, and trusting, despite believing that he’d been called to start this camp. That he could help kids like Eli, Mason, Chloe, and all the rest.
He’d been expecting God’s answers to his prayers to look like his own vision for his life.
The horizon, stitched to the sky by the ponderosa pine and mountain peaks, stretched wide and blue. The same horizon that used to bring him peace now left him restless and lost.
Grayson tugged off his leather gloves, grabbed his water bottle from the tailgate, and tipped his head back. Let the cold water scour his throat.
Everything in him knew he needed to be in Oregon.
“Seriously, I think you should call it a day. Rose would be more help than you. And she has arthritis in her hip.”
Ouch. Grayson held up a hand. “I’m good.”
“You aren’t one for lying.” Vincent set his gloves on the edge of the truck bed. “And you’re about as good at it as you are at playing poker.”
“That’s what I hear.” He set his water bottle back on the tailgate.
Trust Him.
“Give me a sec—I need to do something.”
Vincent laughed and shook his head.
Grayson grabbed his phone. Punched in Beth’s number.
She might say no. She could say yes. But he had to tell her what she meant to him. He had to ask.
Hit Send.
His pulse turned to humming static in his ears.
Ring… ring… ring…
Voice mail.
“No answer, huh?” Vincent asked. “That’s weird.”
“Why would that be weird?” Grayson shook away Vincent’s comment. She was probably busy at the camp. Heading out on a ride with Walter and a wild gang of kids eager for some miles on the trails.
He grabbed his gloves, walked back to the fence line, and lifted the post driver.
“We get pretty good reception on this acreage. Surprises me she didn’t answer.” Vincent shrugged. “Could be she left her phone at home.”
“Huh?” Grayson looked up from the post he’d set the driver down on and followed Vincent’s line of sight.
Rose’s old mare, Daisy—as arthritic as her human—lumbered toward them, and on her back, Beth.
He swiped his hand across his eyes. Looked again. Stared.
It was Beth. Beth, riding right toward him. His heart skittered and he let go of the driver, his feet cemented to the earth.
