Called to Love

Called to Love

Arlene James

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright

Endpages

Chapter One

“I can’t believe it,” Cissy whispered, her pale green eyes wide as she lowered the letter she’d been reading.

Jeb Miller, the thirty-year-old pastor of Grasslands Christian Church—and her boss—laughed. His eyes danced behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses, his bright hair almost as shocking a shade of carrot-red as Cissy’s own.

“Believe it. They’ve offered you the position of director at the orphanage. I’m not sure why you’re surprised,” Jeb said. “I’ve sensed they were serious about you as a candidate for some time now.”

Cissy had been spending the majority of her summers at the orphanage since she’d first visited there on a mission trip when she’d been a freshman in college. She’d instantly known her calling was to work there. Now, at only twenty-six, she was being offered the job of director at the small orphanage and school just across the Texas border in Mexico. It was a dream come true, an answered prayer. And a problem.

“My mother is going to hit the roof.”

Sally Locke, a widow, would not meekly accept Cissy’s move to Mexico. Sally didn’t understand why her only child was not content to marry and have babies. She didn’t understand why anyone would want to move away from Grasslands, which was, admittedly, a perfectly nice little town about an hour southeast of Amarillo, Texas.

“She’ll come around,” Jeb assured Cissy. “They don’t expect you until June 1, so that gives us a month to prepare. Meanwhile, I’ll petition the church for financial help.”

The salary offered by the orphanage was a pittance, but then Cissy had known that securing extra funding would be a big part of her duties as director. She gulped, wondering if she was up to the job.

Sensing her anxiety, Jeb suggested they pray on it, and bowed his head.

Cissy gratefully let him lead her in prayer. Toward the end of the prayer, though, she heard the scuffing of boots on the floor outside the church office, alerting them to a visitor.

Looking up, Cissy saw a tall, handsome cowboy standing just outside the room, a battered hat—almost as black as his thick hair—in hand. His warm brown eyes slid right past Jeb to alight briefly on Cissy. She suddenly wished she’d confined her riotous curls in a bun. Thankfully, that dark gaze swung back to Jeb as he moved forward with an outstretched hand.

“You must be Gilbert Valenzuela, the handyman.”

“Yes, sir.” The two shook hands as the cowboy said, “Call me Gil.”

“Jeb Miller. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gil. You’ve come highly recommended by a number of our members. To hear them tell it, there’s nothing you can’t do.”

Valenzuela ducked his head. “More like I know how to do a lot of little stuff.”

“A jack-of-all-trades,” Jeb surmised, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “That’s what we need around here.” He made the belated introduction. “This is the church secretary, Cecelia Locke.”

“Cissy,” she corrected quietly.

“Perhaps I should say this is the former church secretary,” Jeb went on. “She hasn’t turned in her formal resignation yet, but she’s just been offered a job as the director of Angeles del Orfelinato de Dios.”

“The Angels of God Orphanage,” Valenzuela said, translating.

Cissy smiled. Maybe among his other duties Gil Valenzuela would be willing to help her practice her Spanish. A little thrill of excitement shot through her at the thought, but she instantly squelched it.

The very last thing she needed now was to get involved in any way with a man, especially one this attractive.

God had just shown her where her future lay, and she would be true to her calling, no matter what.

Chapter Two

Gil hung his elbows on the top plank of the sagging corral fence. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “I can train that filly, and I can straighten up this old fence, too, but you’ll have to be patient.”

“They keeping you busy out at the Colby Ranch?” Sally Locke asked idly, shading her hazel eyes against the afternoon sun.

Gil smiled. “Let’s just say I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

“Well, I hear you’re the best hand Belle Colby has, so we’ll work out something.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Gil said, turning his head as a little car puttered up to the end of the drive. Sally, too, looked in that direction and lifted a hand in greeting as the driver parked the coupe next to another battered compact. Gil blinked as the church secretary got out and started toward them.

“Good timing,” Sally called to the pretty redhead. “You need to meet this fellow. He’s going to be doing some work around here.” She glanced at Gil, saying, “My daughter, Cissy.”

“We’ve met,” Cissy said, as Gil faced her, doffing his hat. He couldn’t help a burst of pleasure at seeing her again.

“Miss Cecelia,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

Glancing at her mother, Cissy returned his smile with a frown. “Yes, it is.”

She quickly stepped back, preparing to leave—he couldn’t let her. Straightening, he blurted out, “Guess you’re excited about the job in Mexico.”

He knew instantly that he’d said the wrong thing. Cissy blanched, and Sally made a strangled sound, her freckled face suffused with bright, angry color that made the gray streaks in her reddish-brown hair stand out like tendrils of steam.

“Job?” she choked out. “In Mexico!”

Sighing, Cissy calmly said, “I was going to tell you tonight.”

Gil stumbled over an apology mixed with explanation. “I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I was at the church earlier, you see, and overheard the pastor talking with your daughter.”

“And when was this?” Sally demanded.

Cissy answered for him, “Tuesday.”

“Two days ago,” Sally pointed out bitterly.

Gil began his apology anew. “I’m sorry for—”

Sally spun abruptly toward the house. “I should see to dinner.” She stopped and turned back. “Perhaps you’ll join us, Mr. Valenzuela?”

Surprised, Gil stammered, “I—I wouldn’t want to impose.”

She headed toward the house again, barking, “Take care of it, Cissy.”

“Yes, Mama.” Cissy grimaced apologetically at him. She beseeched Gil in a quiet, husky voice, “Please stay. I would consider it a personal favor.”

How could he refuse? Even if he hadn’t caused the shapely little redhead trouble by speaking out of turn, he couldn’t resist the appeal in her pale, gray-green eyes. Gil nodded his acceptance of the dinner invitation, telling himself that the quickening of his heart owed less to a pretty face than a simple social obligation.

What point could there be in pursuing a woman who was on her way out of the country, after all? Not that he was in the market for romance. He had a ranch to buy. He’d been working his way toward that goal since the day he’d set foot in Grasslands. But one little dinner wouldn’t derail that.

Would it?

Chapter Three

“I think Grasslands is a wonderful place to live,” Sally Locke said from her chair at the table in her dated kitchen. “Don’t you agree, Gil?”

While he had wolfed down two huge helpings of a cheesy skillet dinner accompanied by a simple salad, Cissy had pushed her food around on her plate.

“I do.” Gil put down his fork to explain. “The winters are so hard back in South Dakota that when I was a boy, our winter coats had to be approved by the principal every fall. My first winter here, I made up my mind I was staying.”

“But Grasslands has cold weather,” Cissy insisted. “Why, it got down to eighteen degrees one night last winter.”

Gil laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the outer edges. “In the Dakotas, anything above zero is considered shirt-sleeve weather.”

“Oh, you’re teasing,” Cissy accused.

“Think so? Remind me to tell you about a real Dakota winter sometime.”

“Not much hope of that,” Sally muttered, swinging to her feet. “Chatting across international borders isn’t so easy.”

Gil rose when Sally did. She waved him back down into his chair.

“You keep my daughter company while I get a breath of fresh air,” she said. “Might be her last chance to talk to an eligible man. You are eligible, aren’t you, Gil?”

Cissy blushed as Gil murmured, “Suppose so.”

Tossing her wadded paper napkin onto the table, Sally strode for the back door. Gil slowly sank down onto his chair once more as the screen door slammed behind her.

“I’m sorry about that,” Cissy quietly offered. “Mama is obviously matchmaking in an attempt to keep me from going to Mexico.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Gil assured her. “My mama didn’t want me to leave South Dakota, either.”

“But here you are,” Cissy said.

“And here I’ll stay,” he contended. “I dreamed about Texas as a boy. My grandfather used to tell me stories of his time here. Made it sound as if Texas was the next thing to Heaven. When I started working with horses and decided I might try my hand at ranching someday, he set aside a little money in his will to get me started. I like to think he knows that I finally made it south of the Red River. I bet he’d have loved Grasslands.”

“I’m sure he would have,” Cissy assured him. “What’s not to love?”

“But you’re bent on leaving,” Gil remarked, “and you’re going to a foreign country.”

“Mexico is closer to Grasslands than South Dakota is,” Cissy pointed out.

“That’s true,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Still, it’s kind of dangerous, isn’t it?”

Cissy shrugged and picked up her plate. “I’ve never felt threatened at the orphanage.” She rose and nodded toward his plate. Instead of handing it over, he got up and carried it to the sink. She followed, saying, “I’ve spent summers at the orphanage for years now. It’s fairly isolated, and no one’s ever been anything but welcoming and kind to me there.”

“That’s good,” he said slowly, putting his plate down and turning his back to the counter to face her. “Don’t you want to get married, though? I mean, if the orphanage is as isolated as you say…”

Cissy stuck the stopper in the sink, saying carefully, “I’d like to get married, but my husband would have to feel called to the mission field just as I do.”

“So you’re saying that you’re called to mission work.”

She faced him. “I’m saying that I’m called to this particular mission, and I knew it the first time I set foot in the place when I was a freshman in college. I took part in a summer mission project to build a dorm there. Up to that point, boys and girls shared a single sleeping room. After it was built, they had some privacy and were much happier. By the time I left, I felt as if I was leaving home instead of going home. That sense grew every time I went back on another temporary mission. So I tailored my course work in college to prepare for the day when I could return permanently, and when the original director retired, I applied for the position. I was compelled to do so. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Gil said softly. “I am a Christian. I understand what it means to be called, to have that urge, hear that quiet, still voice that speaks without words. I felt that way when I arrived in Grasslands.”

Cissy held his gaze, feeling a flutter of something in her chest.

After a moment, he smiled and softly said, “I confess that I haven’t been in church regularly for a while. Maybe it’s time for that to change.”

Cissy told herself that the delight rising within her was strictly a spiritual matter. If something she had said led Gil—or anyone—into a closer relationship with Christ, then her joy would be complete.

So why, she wondered, did she fear that her pleasure might be much more personal than spiritual?

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