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carried it over to the tree. Layer by layer, they watered lightly and refilled the hole. When he was done, he ridged the dirt in a ring around the tree. “Now fill this ring and just let it soak in. You’ll probably need to do that every day.”
    He pulled off his work gloves, leaving her to it, and put the spade away. When he returned from the shed, he found her standing with an empty bucket, staring into space.
    “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “It’s just so peaceful out here. I wish some of my kids could experience life like this, even if only for a short time.”
    Then he said the stupidest, most idiotic words to ever cross his lips. “So why don’t you bring some of them out here?”
    She looked at him then. Really looked at him, her blue eyes wide and almost wondering. His groin throbbed a warning. Had he really just suggested she come back here?
    Man, he needed to finish up and get out of here now .

Chapter Three
    C liff left shortly after the tree was properly planted and watered. He’d even staked the slender trunk with bands in three directions so the wind wouldn’t tip it over, or make it grow crooked, at least for now.
    But then he was gone, and empty prairie winds blew around her. She stood looking toward the mountains, still dark green and gray in the early-afternoon sunlight, but soon the sun would sink behind them and the light would paint them purple.
    She couldn’t remember ever having felt so alone. Well, except for one night in Chicago, on a dark street when she had been attacked. She had felt alone in the world then, and it had seemed like forever before the cops had arrived. Someone in the poverty-stricken area had taken a huge risk calling them. She never knew who, and she didn’t want to because she feared for the caller.
    She had mostly gotten used to the conditions she worked in. When she wasn’t making home visits, she was working with various programs designed to keep youngsters busy and off the streets. She was used to hearing random gunfire, though, used to the screeching of tires as some gang blew by, showing off their disdain for traffic laws and any unfortunate person who might be trying to cross a street.
    Never alone, whether surrounded by good people or troublemakers. Except that one night. And now.
    After the attack, she’d been given a few weeks off and had come here to recover. The contrast had really struck her then, and it was striking her now.
    Except this time Martha wasn’t here to listen, to advise, to sympathize. Another thing struck her right then: for all the tea, sympathy and advice, Martha hadn’t even hinted that she should find a safer job. Not once.
    She lifted her eyes to the sky and asked, “What’s it all mean?”
    Of course there was no answer. She turned from the tree and stared at the house. She could stay here. Martha had left her more than enough money that if she was careful she needn’t ever work again.
    But that didn’t seem like something Martha would want for her, a dead-end existence without purpose. Martha had always been doing something for someone. A giver by nature.
    And a great example.
    So why don’t you bring some of them out here? Cliff’s question came back to her. Why not? She could imagine the red tape. Taking kids across state lines to spend a few weeks with her here? Not likely.
    It was all too easy to imagine the hoops, then the structure she’d have to build. She couldn’t do it alone. She’d need help with the kids, trained help. She’d need things for them to do. Would they stay in the house or should she build a bunkhouse?
    The next thing she knew, she was sitting in Martha’s rocker on the front porch, rocking steadily, staring out over wide-open spaces, feeling an oddly healing touch in the emptiness of the world around here.
    Those kids deserved a taste of this, she thought. An opportunity to live for a short while without the hunger and fear that filled their lives. To be able to fall asleep at night to