“I haven’t thanked you for rescuing me.”

      Vivian smiled at Billy, determined not to reveal any of her trepidation at his size and her vulnerability. “Thank you. You were an answer to a prayer.”

      He nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome. I’m sure t’was God that led me there. No other reason I should be where I could hear you.” He tipped his head toward the baby. “I guess rightly speaking, it was this wee thing I heard.”

      Suddenly, the windows rattled as the door behind her opened. A cold breeze blasted across the room. She cuddled Joshua to her chest, protecting him from the icy invasion.

      An older woman walked into the room, scrubbing her hands over her hair until it was a tangled mess. Vivian’s jaw dropped. She suddenly realized who they were.

      Mad Mrs. Black.

      And her son Big Billy.

      Everyone was terrified of the pair. Rumors said they’d turned wild after being captives of Indians for years. But despite the talk, could he be anything but a good man if he acknowledged God’s hand in rescuing her?

      LINDA FORD

      shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for, and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

      Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at [email protected] or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

      Dakota Child

      Linda Ford

      I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee.

      —Jeremiah 31:3

      To my grandson, Tyson. I’ve watched you grow

       and mature and my heart is filled with pride and joy. I love you and pray God will bless you all the days of your life.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Epilogue

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Quinten, North Dakota, 1890

      She was lost. The world had disappeared into swirling, biting snow. The rough ground beneath her feet convinced her she’d veered off the road. Her toe caught a lump and she staggered to keep her balance.

      Nineteen-year-old Vivian Halliday’s thoughts filled with a fury of denials. She couldn’t be lost. No one would realize her predicament. No one would look for her. No one knew where she was. Lord, God, help me.

      The same prayer she’d uttered so many times. Not for herself. She knew she didn’t deserve it. There were times she hadn’t listened to God or followed His voice as she ought. There were times she’d totally ignored Him and done her own thing. But she prayed for another and, lately, her prayer had grown more urgent. Today, however, her need was solid and desperate. The cold had already tightened her ribs to the point she could barely breathe, but thinking about how much she had to lose gave icy spears to the cold as it clawed into her lungs.

      Snow coated her cheeks and iced her lashes. The wind tore at her cloak. She pulled the heavy woolen material tighter, then bent her head low and turned her back to the storm, letting it push her. It mattered not where she went. One direction was the same as another in this white wilderness.

      “God, help me,” she called, but the wind whipped her words into silence. She stumbled. Righted herself. Swayed.

      A mewling sound came from inside her cloak.

      The tiny cry filled her with fresh determination and she lifted her head and peered into the white nothingness.

      She must escape this storm. She just had to keep moving and find shelter. Nothing must defeat her—not man, not beast, not beastly weather. Lord, God, in You I trust. Save me.

      Snow blasted around her. Dizziness swept over her until she felt like she rode the circling wind. She could no longer tell up from down and melted into the cold, snow-shrouded ground.

      The thin sound, from close to her heart, came again. All her pulses crashed against her skin like thunder. She would give her life to save the tiny life she sheltered.

      She shook the basket cradled beneath the meager protection of the cape, trying unsuccessfully to still the protesting sound. Was her precious bundle suffering from the cold? She dare not look and allow even a hint of the cold to enter the shelter under her cape.

      Suddenly, a huge shape darkened the snow to her left. She shrank back, her limbs brittle with fear. Was it a bear? A wandering, angry bull? She rocked harder. Hush. Hush.

      “Someone there?” the massive shape bellowed.

      Vivian sank back, trying to disappear into the snow. She crushed the basket closer and patted the sides.

      The bulky figure swept trunk-sized arms about, searching for the source of the sound that wouldn’t stop despite all Vivian’s desperate measures. The cold bit at her throat. The wind howled louder. She prayed it would drown the sound coming from beneath her cape.

      The creature—be it man or otherwise—encountered her shoulder with his great paw.

      She stiffened. Perhaps he’d think her a bush and move on.

      Fingers probed gently down her arm then up and across her back.

      She held her breath. Lord, God, save us. She wanted to be left alone to find her way to town and safety. Instead, she was swept into strong arms, the cloak tucked around her, her face pressed into a broad shoulder. Then with great strides the huge creature plowed into the storm.

      Protests formed but her lips refused to work, frozen with both cold and fear. One solitary thought remained in sharp focus—being captured by a wild man did not fit into her plans.

      The wind held less bite. The cold’s sting moderated. Must be the bulk of the man protecting her.

      The last remnant of warm blood jolted through her veins. She would not find protection in the arms of a stranger. She struggled to escape.

      “Settle down. I’ll get you to a warm, safe place.”

      The thought of warmth enticed. But safety? She might be safer in the storm. She opened her mouth to protest but the cold grabbed her throat. She couldn’t speak and her