FBI Agent Carl Kincaid was doing his job when he saved a young girl's life. Her name was Miriam, and she was the would-be victim of a religious cult leader who doled out more than his share of abuse. Before being caught by authorities, the evangelist had tried shooting young Miriam; Kincaid jumped in the way of the bullet-which is how he ended his career and wound up in a hospital bed. Upon his recovery, Kincaid feels worthless. His career is over due to his serious injuries, and he is shipped to North Dakota to heal. He wouldn't mind riding off into the sunset for good, but there's still Miriam to care for. After he saved her life, Miriam's aunt told Kincaid the little girl was his responsibility-a responsibility he was happy to accept, if only to give the girl a chance at a happy life. Even so, abuse leaves many scars, inside and out, as Kincaid comes to learn for himself. He doesn't like North Dakota, so he slips further away from emotional rehabilitation. Now this grumpy ex-FBI agent must learn to cope with being a victim-as he finds ways to heal Miriam's psychological scars and give her a normal life. He begins to befriend the new people in his life, and together their strength may heal both his injuries and the heart of a broken young girl.

Coot and the Gophers

Sixth in the Prairie Preacher SeriesBy P. J. Hoge

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 P. J. Hoge
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-5427-5

Chapter One

Carl Kincaid turned over in his bed to try to find a more comfortable position. He looked over to his roommate, an old duffer in his mid-eighties also on oxygen. Carl thought to himself, 'There is enough oxygen in this room to blow the whole damned place to kingdom come. And that probably wouldn't be the worst idea any one ever had.'

He raised his hospital bed to he sit up and look out the window. He could see the first signs of morning caressing the prairies. It was quiet in the house and he could hear some overactive meadowlark singing its heart out.

It was a pretty place, if it wasn't where it was. From the bedroom window, he could look over the yard north of the house and toward the windbreak. The lilacs were finished blooming but the foliage was still deep green. He could just make out the edge of the road into the Schroeder farm and the corner where it attached to the main gravel road to Merton, North Dakota.

'How in the hell did I end up in the middle of this God forsaken country?' he wondered to himself. 'Sharing a room with an old guy who can't be happy about anything and living with people I only met a few weeks ago.' He actually knew how it happened, but it made no sense at all. In his whole life, he had never been so irrational.

He watched as the Schroeder's black and white dog Elmer ran off on the trail of some gopher. He ran over to the hole and started to dig furiously.

'Damned fool,' Kincaid thought, 'Like he really thinks he can dig him out! Not a chance in hell.'

Bert Ellison started to cough and almost lost his oxygen mask. Kincaid watched until the old man quit and he was sure that the mask was still on. Once the old man coughed so hard that Kincaid got himself over to his bed to replace the mask. Bert never woke up or if he did, chose not to acknowledge him.

Kincaid could get up and move around but was still very weak from his surgeries. The FBI agent had taken a bullet in the upper back/neck region that damaged an artery and some blood vessels. Of course, he was no spring chicken himself and had smoked for forty of his sixty-three years. That didn't help the situation.

Some violent psycho, scam-artist-turned-preacher who specialized in blackmail and extortion took a shot at him. Well, that wasn't really true. He tried to kill his own little girl who was just a toddler and Kincaid saw him point the gun at her. Without thinking, he threw himself on top of her like a Secret Service agent over a President and knocked her to the floor. Carl was about six feet tall and weighed about two hundred forty pounds. He could have killed the tiny malnourished thing if he landed wrong. The bullet traveled through him and landed in her hip. She ended up with a flesh wound, a hairline fracture of the hip and a lifelong fear of flying men, no doubt.

Kincaid twisted his pillow around, trying to find a way it was comfortable. Poor little kid. Usually in his work, he had little to do with the victims and rarely saw them for more than a second after the case closed. This case was not like that. In fact, nothing about this case was normal.

The case was brought to the FBI by a Boston Special Detective, Ian Harrington. There had been an apparent suicide who was buried in an indigent cemetery there. Simple enough, until a family member called and questioned the circumstances of the man's death. Before long, it turned into a multi-state fiasco with big money in off-shore accounts and unmarked graves in backyards. There was an old crazy evangelist and his son-in-law, a deranged tough guy with visions of grandeur named Ezekiel.

There were connections of this lunatic evangelist to Texas where Kincaid worked. So he was the lucky devil upon whose desk the case file finally landed. It also turned out to be his last case. Because of his injuries, he was unceremoniously retired from the FBI.

The case had also taken the career of Harrington, the young Boston detective in his early thirties. Kincaid wasn't a religious man, but he thanked God that it hadn't happened to him when he was as young as Harrington. It was bad enough at his age.

One of the crazy preacher's kids, Zach Jeffries had come down to Texas with Harrington. He was a pediatrician, probably a good calling for a petunia like him. He was a good enough sort, but was pretty soft by Kincaid's standards.

The psycho that shot Kincaid was married to Zach's lunatic sister. Naomi was a real piece of work to Kincaid's mind. She is the one who shot Harrington. The abused and neglected little girl, Miriam, was the daughter of Ezekiel and Naomi.

Kincaid woke up in the hospital after surgery in his bed trying to figure out what he was going to do with himself. If only he had his revolver, it would've been an easy decision. Who in the hell came down the hall? Petunia!

He had come to the hospital to see Miriam. He was going to take care of her since he was next of kin. Harrington was also in the same hospital. Harrington had become Zach's friend, so it was logical that he would see him.

Kincaid almost choked when he looked up and saw Zach peering at him from his bedside. "Petunia?"

"Yah, how yah doing?" Zach had asked, with a friendly smile.

That was just the beginning of the surprises that followed. Zach and his friends all came to visit and keep vigil with him as well as Harrington and Miriam. They were always there and watched over him like he had been a member of their family forever. He never saw the beat of it.

When Kincaid developed a bleeder in his lungs which required another surgery, he thought he was going to die. For the first time, he felt mortal and he didn't like it one damned bit. It wasn't a pleasant situation for a man who managed to keep his life small enough to easily control.

Carl had married when he was a young man. He loved his Cecelia. She was way out his league and he knew it. For some unknown reason, she loved him. They were very happy until the car wreck a year later that took her life. He never got over loving her. He knew he would never find another woman like her again, ever.

He threw himself into his work and the FBI eagerly used his time. The next thing he knew, the years had gone by. It was no longer that he would never find another Cecelia; hardly any woman would look at him twice. He never owned a home, drove a beat up old car, his immediate family had all passed away and all he had his demanding job. He thinning hair was almost white and he wore it in a short cut. His broad shoulders had migrated south and stopped above his waste. His brown eyes hid behind bifocals and his smile had long since disappeared, replaced by a sarcastic scoff.

He always laughed at people who had hobbies or interests; thinking it a waste of time. He had a big bank account and a few worn suits. Pretty pathetic, but none of that bothered him until he thought he was going to die.

Kincaid reached the lowest point in his life that day in that Louisiana hospital. He realized he had no one to leave anything to or even take care of his funeral arrangements. He didn't think it really mattered. Only a handful of loyal coworkers would even attend, if they weren't too busy.

Then the Petunia showed up. Zach teased him and cajoled him, but mostly treated him like a real friend. Having figured what kind of a guy he was, Kincaid thought he was about as honest as anyone...