Special thanks and acknowledgment to

       Kathryn Springer for her contribution to the

       After the Storm miniseries.

      Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope;

       because of the Lord’s great love we are not

       consumed, for his compassions never fail.

      They are new every morning.

      —Lamentations 3:21–23

      To Val, Annie, Brenda, Carolyne and Pat. It was an

       honor to be able to work with such gifted writers.

      Your cooperation, encouragement and prayer

       support over the course of the summer was a real

       blessing—and I love how we occasionally took

       “cyber-coffee breaks” together!

      Contents

      Prologue

      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

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Questions for Discussion

      Prologue

      July 11, 1:15 p.m.

      “One of the funnel clouds that touched down in the area yesterday and struck the small town of High Plains was determined to be a level F3. Already the Red Cross, local law enforcement agents and volunteers have banded together to begin cleanup—”

      Jesse Logan stabbed his finger against the power button of the radio. He didn’t need to hear a reporter condense the past twenty-four hours into a neat sound bite, or try to describe the damage a second funnel cloud had caused when it slashed across the prairie, directly toward the Circle L.

      Jesse had seen the devastation firsthand; he was standing in the middle of it.

      The kitchen lay in shambles around him. The twister had spared the outbuildings but clipped the side of the ranch house, taking out a section of the wall, while leaving his mother’s antique china cabinet in the corner of the room intact. Glass from the shattered window littered the floor, strewn among soggy tufts of insulation and chunks of sodden wallboard.

      Jesse picked up a piece of wood and was about to pitch it into the growing pile of debris when he realized it was one of the legs from the kitchen table.

      His fingers tightened around it, ignoring the splinters that bit into his skin.

      Yesterday morning he’d sat at the table, before going out to do his chores.

      And yesterday afternoon…

      A fresh wave of pain crashed over Jesse, making him wonder if he wasn’t still caught in the throes of a nightmare. Except his eyes weren’t closed.

      The crunch of tires against gravel momentarily broke through his turbulent thoughts. For a split second hope stirred inside his chest as he sent up a silent prayer that the car coming up the driveway would be a familiar one.

      It was.

      The hammer slipped out of Jesse’s hand and grazed a crease in the hardwood floor as the High Plains squad car stopped in front of the house. Colt Ridgeway’s tall frame unfolded from the passenger side.

      As the police chief approached, the stoic set of his jaw and the regret darkening his eyes told Jesse everything.

      No. No. No.

      “This is going to be hard for you to hear, Jesse.” His friend’s quiet words barely penetrated the rushing sound in Jesse’s head. “Late this morning…found Marie’s vehicle…tree fell on the driver’s side…”

      Like a child, Jesse wanted to press his hands against his ears and shut out the truth.

      Where are You, God? Are You even listening? How much more do You think one man can take?

      The silent cry burst out of a place deep inside him.

      Hadn’t he gone through enough?

      “Marie must have been trying to outrun the tornado,” Colt continued softly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jesse. Sorry for you…and your girls.”

      Jesse couldn’t answer. Couldn’t tell Colt the truth. Not yet. That his wife hadn’t been trying to outrun the tornado—she’d been running away. From him.

      When the driving rain had forced him to abandon his chores the day before, he found Marie’s note on the kitchen table. Next to it, the simple gold wedding band and diamond engagement ring he gave her the night he proposed. An heirloom that had been in the Logan family for generations.

      He’d had to read through his wife’s letter twice before the meaning sank in but the words had remained branded in his memory.

      Jesse,

      I