The Prodigal Comes Home by Kathryn Springer Page B

any mistakes in my sermon, she should let me know. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”
    He smiled to let Zoey know that he was teasing, but Rose was the one who responded.
    “You’re right. A person’s reputation is very important.”
    She was looking at Zoey when she said it.

Chapter Nine
    M att’s lungs were burning.
    He ignored the pain as he rounded the corner, feeling the muscles in his calves contract in protest. Ordinarily he ran five miles every other weekday, taking a circular route around the lake. This morning, he’d already put in six. On a Saturday.
    After he’d become a Christian, Matt had tried to pray in a quiet room because he thought it was the “right” way to connect with the Lord, but he had discovered that he felt closer to God while running down a quiet backwoods road. Over time, Matt’s prayers had begun to merge with the landscape. Familiar landmarks sparked a prayer for a specific person or situation.
    A fieldstone wall, constructed by early settlers, inspired a prayer for strength and endurance. The cluster of knee-high aspen trees that sprouted in the shade of a sugar maple, the mentoring ministry. A towering white pine, its bark scorched by lightning, reminded him to pray for those who were hurting.
    This morning his thoughts—and his prayers—centered around a certain woman with eyes that changed color like the surface of the lake and a husky laugh that lingered in his mind like a favorite song.
    Zoey was the reason he’d crawled out of bed at five o’clock and reached for his sweats.
    Matt skidded to a stop when he reached the place they’d met. An oil spot marked the spot where a rusty Jeep had been parked.
    Lord, I don’t know what’s going on with Zoey, but you do. Comfort her. Remind her that you love her.
    Matt’s eyes snapped open at the sound of an approaching car. He stepped onto the shoulder of the road, but instead of passing him, it cruised to a stop.
    Matt glanced over his shoulder and recognized the driver as the window of the squad car scrolled down.
    “Saturday morning?” Jake Sutton drawled. “What’s the occasion?”
    “Does everyone know my routine?” Matt complained.
    “I’m sure I saw it posted on the community calendar.”
    Matt chuckled. “Isn’t Saturday morning a change in your routine, too?”
    “I’m covering for Steve Patterson,” Jake explained. “His wife went into labor during the night.”
    “I thought in those types of situations, the police chief is supposed to call in one of his officers and go back to sleep.” It was a standing joke between the two men. What Matt liked to refer to as their “on call, 24/8” lives.
    “I don’t mind helping out for a few hours.” Jake’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I promised to be home by nine. With donuts.”
    Matt grinned. “You’re perpetuating the cliché, you know.”
    “They’re for Emma and Jeremy.” A half smile softened the stern line of Jake’s jaw.
    Matt felt an unexpected twinge of envy. The police chief, a former undercover drug officer, was known for being reserved. But when it came to his new family, his feelings were right there on the surface for everyone to see.
    Matt had performed the couple’s wedding ceremony in January. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the sanctuary when Jeremy Barlow, Emma’s eleven-year-old son from her first marriage, had walked his mother up the aisle.
    Matt stepped back. “In that case, I better let you get to work. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
    “Do you want a ride into town?”
    “That would be cheating.”
    “It would also be faster.”
    At the moment, faster looked good. Faster meant that he could stop by Liz’s house and beg a cup of coffee. And see Zoey again.
    “You talked me into it.” Matt jogged around to the passenger side of the squad car and got in.
    Jake gave him a sidelong glance. “That was easy.”
    “I have to stop by Liz’s and pick up my sermon notes for tomorrow.”
    “How is she