Page 1 of We Redeemed the Rain

PROLOGUE

Istepped up to the olive green door and dropped the bronze knocker against hot metal.Tap, tap, tap.

I shifted on my feet, a bit nervous. The weight of my body ground the soles of my boots into the cement stair. My heart had never felt so heavy. And that was saying something because life had been nothing but heavy. I attempted a deep breath as the Texas sun baked my back through navy blue fabric. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Every damn thing hurt.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

I closed my eyes as pain shuddered through my chest, and I remembered Miss Simone, walking the hallways of Burton Falls Middle School. Website said she left her school counselor role behind almost fifteen years ago in favor of getting her doctorate and starting a private practice. A shame, honestly, because she was good at drawing kids out of their hiding places.

I never got the chance to tell her my story, not the full version anyway.

When I huddled in a bean bag chair in her office all those years ago, she filled in the blanks—pieced together big conclusions from small clues. And I let her. Didn’t try to set her straight, defend my case, or put on a brave face. Even though I never disclosed the detailsof my story, she never pressured me to talk. She advocated for me despite my inhibitions. I owed her.

Scuffling sounds on the other side of the door made me blink hard and jerk my shoulders back. The door swung open and there she stood, a gentle white smile pulling dimples into dark cheeks.

She had to be in her fifties now.

One glance into her eyes reminded me why I’d loved her. The light still glowed within. Streaming out, sparkling—a fleck of compact sunshine in her smile.

“Samuel Taggart.”

“Miss Simone.”

She reached up her arms. “Come here, doll.”

The squeeze pulled the waiting tears from my eyes. As painful as my journey had been, I was able to look back and see the safe places. The heartbeats. The buoys that kept me amid the flood. Miss Simone was one of the more prominent among them.

She said over my shoulder, giving me a hearty clap on the back. “I don’t ever see old friends from Burton Falls these days.”

Friends—a flash of hope in my soul.

She pushed me back and looked me over, gaze snagging on my hat. “You’re a cowboy now?”

I nodded, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face even as I lifted a shoulder to swipe a tear off my cheek.

“Are you still at your grandparents’ ranch?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Moisture pooled beneath her own eyes, and she blinked it away. Flustered, she raised both hands in the air. “Where are my manners? I’m standing here gaping at how grown you are while you’re melting into a puddle on my stoop. Come in, darling. Come in!”

She held the door open for me. The AC cooled the sheen of sweat on my neck. The smell of burnt coffee and old books filled my senses. When she led me through her foyer and into her client room, I found out why. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered two walls, making the room feel cramped. An unblinking orange light indicated a hot burner. Coffee was probably hours old. A mahogany desk andmismatched coffee table crowded the tiny space. And a grandfather clock kept time in the corner.

I removed my hat and gripped the rim like a life preserver.

I was out of my element in every way.

“Make yourself comfortable.” She waved to the array of eclectic furniture. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got water, Coke, lemonade?”

Hell no. I will never drink a Coke again.

“Uh, water. Please.”

Absent-mindedly, I plopped onto a straw yellow couch, set my hat on the coffee table, and ran my hands through my hair. How was I going to get through this without falling apart? Where would I even start?

Honesty was my mountain.

A towering, crushing mountain with a high fatality rate. I had no tools to climb it, no way to scale its sides, no experience to fall back on.

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