Rachel Amos doesn’t understand her father at all. How could he bring Clint Hayes who burned Saved By Grace Christian Church into their home for six months? Sure, the guy didn’t mean to do it, and her dad’s a minister, but if he wanted to Hayes, why didn’t he go to the prison to do it? And no matter what her friend Christina says, she doesn’t watch Clint every moment they’re together.Excerpt:
As they turned onto the secondary road where the Amoses’ lived, a gust of wind buffeted Rachel’s small, green car‑ a cute little bug that Clint thought matched her personality. When she was being good, at least. “Hey, slow down,” he ordered. “It’s about to rain.”
“Oh, be quiet! I know how to drive.” Her sharp, snappy tone grated on Clint who stared out the window and pretended she wasn’t there.
A couple of minutes later the bottom fell out of the skies. Torrents of rain pelted the landscape and made seeing the road almost impossible. It was all the car’s windshield wipers could do to keep up. They rounded a blind curve in the road just as a big, dark shape stepped in front of them.
Rachel screamed and stomped down on her brakes to avoid hitting it. The car went into a skid and crashed against Ralph Hudson’s stone wall. As it came to a stop, one of Hudson’s cows placidly removed herself from the middle of the road and ambled away.
Clint thought he was okay because nothing hurt too much. He didn’t feel any blood dripping either. He opened his eyes and saw Rachel slumped over the steering wheel. Her head was bleeding. “Rachel! Rachel! Answer me! Are you okay?”
Rachel groaned and sat back. “My leg’s pinned. I can’t move it.”
Clint jumped out into the downpour and ran around to the driver’s side of the car, but the door had jammed. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t open it. He dashed back around to the passenger’s side and jerked the door open. “Give me your cell phone. We need help. I can’t open the door”
They had to have help—and soon. Another car could come around the curve and crash into them before it had time to stop.
"I have to go for help, Rachel. Hang in there.”
Rachel threw out her hand and grabbed his arm with surprising strength. “Oh, don’t leave me, Clint! I’m scared to be alone.”
Clint’s heart pounded when he noticed the coldness of her hand. What if she had an injury he couldn’t see and was going into shock?
“I have to get help. I can’t open the door to see how bad you’re hurt.”
Rachel started to cry, so Clint leaned across the seat and gave her a little hug. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”
The wind whistled past him when he stepped outside the car. His teeth started to chatter as more and more icy rain poured down the back of his neck. If only he had a cellphone!
Heedless of the icy wind and rain, he started jogging down the road. It was only about two and a half miles to the preacher’s house. He’d be there in no time. Running warmed him up as he settled into an easy rhythm that suited him. Pumped with adrenalin, he never felt the cut on his calf that tore a little more with every step he took.
He burst into the Amoses’ house twenty minutes later, bringing wind, leaves, and rain with him and tracking mud on Cynthia’s clean floor. Cynthia sat in the living room eating popcorn. When she saw him, she started to scream.
Reverend Amos charged out of his study. “What’s wrong?” He saw Clint, and his eyes opened wide. “Where’s Rachel? What’s wrong?”
“We had a wreck. A cow ran in front of us. Rachel’s pinned in the car a couple of miles away.”
Cynthia ran for the phone. “Go. I’ll call for help."
Reverend Amos grabbed his keys, and he and Clint raced for his car. They reached Rachel in a matter of minutes.
The car’s battery must have given up because the car sat in darkness. With shaking hands, Reverend Amos tossed his keys to Clint. “Park my car on the other side of this curve and put on the four‑way flasher. If someone comes around the curve they’ll crash into her.”
By the time Clint finished, an ambulance had arrived. Good. He had started to feel bad. His head kept wanting to spin around which made him so dizzy he could scarcely stand. And for some reason, his leg hurt like the devil. Oops. Probably shouldn’t think hurt like the devil. Maybe hurt like heck. No, like…crazy.
Crazy…had he been drinking…like crazy…Clint collapsed in the middle of the road, never even feeling it when his body hit the cold, wet pavement. He could faintly hear the voices around him, but he couldn’t respond.
“Over here,” Reverend Amos roared at the paramedics who came running when they heard the fear in his voice. One of the men whistled as he slit Clint’s pants leg. “Let’s get an IV in him quick.”