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Excerpt (Chapter 6):Jo turned back
from the corral fence at the livery and started back toward the Thorntons’
house. Her spirits and her steps were a little lighter than they had been
earlier. She’d been apprehensive about visiting the preacher and was shocked to
have received so much compassion from a man she’d expected to toss her out on
her ear.
Could Abigail be
right? She had found a clean and beautiful life. She had the love of a kind
man, a home to tend, and she didn’t seem to be carrying this heavy load Jo was
carrying. Could Jo shuck this burden and have a fresh start after all?
Wearing one of
Abigail’s dresses and the concealing hat and veil, she had the benefit of
blending into the crowd as she walked down the busy street. As much as she
hated the fussy frills of hats and bonnets, the anonymity it provided her here
had become a comfort since the attack.
Shouts of fire rang out, and a billow of black
smoke rose from a building down the street. Panic traveled between the citizens
of Cripple Creek like a lightning bolt through a herd of longhorn cattle. The
town had been rebuilt over the last year after nearly all of it had burned to
the ground. The threat of losing everything again caused chaos to break out in
the street.
A man brushed past
Jo as he ran down Bennet Avenue toward the firehouse. People poured out of the
businesses onto the boardwalks. The loud clanging of a bell and the thunder of
hooves had everyone on the crowded street scattering to clear a path for the
fire wagon.
A child’s cry rose
above the chaos and noise. A small boy, ripped away from his parents in the
press of people, stumbled into the road.
The fire wagon
barreled down the street, sliding around the corner with mud flying from an
erratically shaking wheel. Jo ran into the street to grab the child. The
rushing horses spooked and shied as Jo jumped in their path and yanked the boy
back before their hooves could trample him. She slipped in the mud and rolled,
clutching the boy to her. There was a loud crack as the axle snapped and the
large back wheel splashed into the muddy street.
Pulling the boy to
her, she looked wildly around for the person who should be responsible for him.
Surely there would be a panicked mother calling out for the boy, but the street
was in chaos. The high-strung horses were squealing and stamping as men ran to
assist the firemen with the wagon. Someone was shouting for water. With the
fire wagon disabled, the rescue of its water tank would be postponed.
The child wailed
and clutched Jo’s skirts, tears streaking down his muddy face. Where was his
mother?
Jo looked him over
to make sure he wasn’t injured and noticed a scrape down his chubby leg below
his short-pants. What should she do? The sheriff was directing people and
attempting to organize the pandemonium. She scooped the boy up into her arms
and made her way to him.
“Excuse me,
Sheriff?” Jo placed a tentative hand on the tall man’s arm. She had never met
him and was apprehensive about interrupting his concentration.
Glancing down at
her distractedly, he gave a short, “Yes,” in response.
“I can’t find this
boy’s mother—” Jo hesitated, knowing no respectable woman would approve of Jo
holding her child, much less being left responsible with him. “He’s hurt. I’m
going to take him to Doc Thornton’s and get him taken care of. If you find his
parents or anyone looking for him, will you please tell them where I’ve taken
him?”
The sheriff gave a
brief nod and went on pointing and shouting to other men.
Jo looked around
one more time. No one in sight looked like a distraught parent. The boy’s
frantic crying had calmed now to an exhausted, hiccupping sob, and he laid his
head on her chest as she walked to the Thorntons’ house down the side street.
Once inside, Jo
explained the situation to Abigail, who guided her to the examination room. Jo
gently attempted to pull the boy away from her to deposit him on the table, but
he clung tighter to her, burying his face in her neck. The gauzy veil attached
to her hat was soaked with his tears and pinned down under his weight. She
gently tried to peel his chubby fingers from her shirtfront, but it was no use.
“Sit down here,
Jo. We don’t need to frighten him any more than he already is.” Abigail
motioned Jo to a chair in the corner and left the room, presumably to find her
husband.
Jo sat down and
shifted the boy so John would have access to the abrasion on the child’s knee. She
leaned her head back against the cushion of the high-backed chair. The veil of
her hat was caught beneath the boy’s head as he pressed it into her chest, and
she gently shifted him, removing the hat and veil. He didn’t even look up but
snuggled back against her and slipped a thumb into his mouth. She wrapped an
arm around him and relished the heavy weight on her chest. Was Abigail right?
Was this a possibility in her future? The endearing attachment of the boy lit a
spark of hope deep within her.
Abigail’s voice
carried into the patient room from the front parlor.
“Yes, Mrs.
Johnson, little Robert is safe and sound. Come this way.”
Jo smiled for the
boy’s sake, but she was also reluctant to let go of the presence that warmed
her heart.
“Mama!” The boy
tearfully reached out, and Jo handed him over, smiling at the happy reunion.
“We didn’t even
know he’d slipped out.” The woman’s voice shook. “He was playing on the floor
by the door of our shop when people started shouting about a fire.” The woman’s
voice broke, and she squeezed her son tighter. “He must have slipped out behind
us when we stepped onto the porch—I—I didn’t even know he was gone at first.”
She buried her lips in the boy’s wispy blond hair and kissed the top of his
head.
Robert’s sniffling
eased, and he smiled and patted his mother’s own, tear-streaked face.
“I am so grateful
to you, Miss ….”
Jo cleared her
throat. She had only ever gone by “Copper Kate” in this town, but the Thorntons
and Pastor Walton were right. This could be her chance to move forward.
“Jo, Josephina
Bradford.” She stumbled over the introduction as she rose to her feet.
“My name’s
Johnson, ma’am. Martha Johnson.” Martha bobbed her head.
Martha looked up
to meet Jo’s eyes, and a momentary flash of shock crossed her face. Little
Robert’s calm demeanor split into a frightened wail. Heat flooded Jo’s neck as
realization struck her like a stab to her heart. Their reaction could only be
due to the sight of her scar.
It was a dreadful
sight, which was why she always wore the veil. How stupid had she been to take
it off when someone besides the Thorntons could see her?
“Excuse me.” Jo
turned and rushed down the hall to her room.
“Wait, Miss—” The
woman called behind her, but Jo shut herself in, locking the door.
About the Author:Jodi Basye pens authentic western romances full of heritage, heart-pounding adventure, and a little happily ever after.
She's a born and bred country girl with a western heritage and a love for stories that stay true to her cowgirl boots and ranching roots. She's been writing all hours of the night since I was sixteen years old. Old habits die hard.
Now, she's the blessed wife to a rugged mountain man, a homeschooling mama, and living my dream of writing books by my wood cook-stove in the wilds of Alaska.
Author Interview:
Q: What was the inspiration behind Redeeming the Prodigal?
Jodi: Jo’s story has been on my heart for many years. There was a time in my life where I felt like I’d gone too far and fallen from grace. I knew I couldn’t lose my salvation, but I wasn’t sure I could ever be used by God again. In Redeeming the Prodigal, I wanted to shine light into what might be a dark time for some readers and encourage them that His grace is sufficient for all of our sins—no matter how big or small.
Q: How long did it take you to write this novel?
Jodi: As this was my debut novel, I wanted to take my time and get it right. So, from start date to publish date, it was almost two years. Although, I also wrote two novellas during that time as well.
Q: Do you have a favorite quote from this novel?
Jodi: I would have such a hard time choosing. I think the quote that best captures Jo’s struggle to accept love is this: “She was damaged. Plain and Simple. It wasn’t fair to Gideon for her to clutter his life with her broken pieces.”
Q: What do you hope readers take away from Redeeming the Prodigal?
Jodi: Even when we feel we’ve fallen too far from God, He is always there. Even in the famine of our faith, He offers us the Bread of Life.
Q: Would you share something about yourself that most readers would not know?
Jodi: Although I live in Alaska now, I was raised a Colorado country girl. I spent more time riding horses than playing with dolls. So, the western themes in my books are very near to my heart.
Q: What are you reading now?
Jodi: Penelope’s Pursuit by Chautona Havig
Q: How many bookcases are in your home?
Jodi: Four (and that is not enough, there are boxes stacked in corners full of books as well.)
Q: What do you like to do when you are not writing?
Jodi: I love the adventure of living in Alaska. We live a very “outdoorsy” life with camping, hunting, fishing, foraging, and gardening. 
