Chapter 3

Though he was loathe to admit it,Brance was his father’s son—just as stubborn,just as proud.There were some in the district who might have liked to see him continue in his father’s ministry,but Brance already knew he would not join church as an adult.Religion—his father’s or anyone else’s—held no interest for him.

Behind him,the barn door creaked in the wind,and outside it began to rain again,a hard,driving downpour that lashed against the roof above.Wiping the sweat from his eyes,Brance squatted down to scrub the mud from the buggy’s wheels when he heard a low,rumbling growl.He glanced over his shoulder to find a sodden bobcat hunched in the doorway,at the very edge of the lantern’s light.Perhaps it had noticed the open door and sought shelterfrom the storm;perhaps the heady stench of wet horses had drawn it in.Whatever the reason,it wandered into the barn through the door Brance had left ajar and now stared at him,eyes like liquid gold in the flickering lamplight.