Love Inspired January 2014(11)

                To prove that she’d made the right decision turning him away, she’d gone at her work with extra zeal...but the pleasure she’d felt had disappeared. Drat the man—he’d messed up her process.

                He’d had no right trying to take over her work. He was only being a good neighbor. The voice of reason she’d been steadily ignoring yesterday was louder this morning. Had she judged him wrong? She didn’t like this distrust that ruled her life these days.

                Sitting up, she had no control of the groan that escaped her grimacing lips. “Hot shower, really hot shower.” She eased off the bed and walked stiffly toward the bathroom.

                She’d wash the cobwebs out of her mind, the dust out of her hair and the pain out of her muscles. Then maybe she could figure out what she needed to do about the problems her good-looking neighbor was causing her.

                She’d told him she would think about his offer. But did she really want him here? And he’d already shown that he thought his way was the best way. Did she want to fight that? Because she wasn’t giving up control of anything.

                The niggling admission that she might be in over her head and needed help on this simmered in her thoughts. The realization that she was allowing distrust of men—all men—color her need for real help bothered her.

                Shower, now! She needed a clear head to sort this out.

                Twenty minutes later, feeling better, she padded down to the kitchen. The shower had helped her spirits, but she knew that today her back was going to give her fits if she did anything too strenuous. It needed a break. Her mind needed a break, too. She couldn’t shut it off....

                When a gal wasn’t quite five feet tall, she grew used to people assuming she was helpless because of her size. Too weak to swing a sledgehammer.

                It was maddening. More so now—since her husband’s betrayal had left her feeling so pathetically blind and weak-minded.

                Too weak to realize my husband was cheating on me.

                The humiliating thought slipped into her head like the goad of an enemy. Not the best way to start her day. She was going to miss not knocking out a wall—and the satisfaction it gave her.

                People’s lack of faith always made her all the more determined to do whatever it was they assumed she couldn’t do.

                Glancing down at her wrists, she could see the puckered skin peeking out from the edge of her long-sleeved T-shirt. She knew those scars looked twisted and savage as they covered her arm and much of her body beneath her clothing. The puckered burn scars on her neck itched, reminding her how close she’d come to having her face disfigured...reminding her of her blessings amid the tragedy that had become her life two years ago.

                She hadn’t felt blessed then, when she’d nearly died in the fire that had killed her husband.

                And learned the truth she hadn’t seen before.

                Reaching for the coffeepot, her fingers trembled. There had been days during the year she’d spent in the burn center that she’d wished she hadn’t survived. But it was the internal scars from Tim’s betrayal that were the worst.

                Those scars weren’t as easy to heal. But they made knocking walls out a piece of cake. She’d just overdone it. Easy to do when there was enough anger inside her 105-pound frame to knock walls down for years.

                Each swing made her feel stronger. She might have lost control of her life two years ago, but thanks to her dear uncle thinking about her in his will, she was here in Dew Drop, Texas, determined to regain control.