Joey's Angel
A heart longing for warmth. A soul lost in the storm. A love too powerful to deny.
In the grip of a ruthless Minnesota snowstorm, Eve Engels stumbles through the cold, seeking shelter from more than just the weather. When she collapses in the warmth of a secluded cabin, she doesn’t expect to be found—let alone cherished.
Nine-year-old Joey Prescott sees only beauty and kindness in the mysterious woman asleep by the fire. “She looks like an angel, Pa,” he whispers. “Can we keep her?”
For Sam Prescott, a man carved by hardship and silence, the presence of this stranger awakens something long buried. Her touch, her laughter, her haunted eyes—Eve stirs a longing he thought he’d forgotten. But Sam carries a heavy truth: Joey is half Native, and the world has never been kind to families like theirs.
As passion simmers and barriers begin to fall, Eve must choose between running from her past…or embracing a future wrapped in a love as fierce and untamed as the blizzard that brought her to their door.
Will she stay—and become the angel they both need? Or will the cruel winds of the past steal her away once more?
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Release Date: November 11, 2025
Genre: Historical Romance
~ A PINK SATIN ROMANCE ~
Excerpt
Prologue
Early September 1866
Northern Minnesota
Joey Prescott licked his palm and pressed it against the stubborn cowlick that sprouted from his crown. He looked at his father's dark, wavy hair. “Wish my hair was like yours, Pa.” They rode side by side in the wagon toward the community building, which was currently being used as the church and temporary schoolhouse.
Sam Prescott studied his 10-year-old son. He favored his mother, no doubt about that. The straight black hair, the high, proud cheekbones and the regal nose. Pure Dakota—or Sioux, as the whites called them, a name they didn't like for it meant “enemy.”
Only Joey’s eyes gave him away. They were blue. “Blue as the waters of the north,” his mother, Laughing Eyes, used to say with affection.
Laughing eyes. Something hard and angry always pressed against Sam's heart when he thought about his wife. He felt responsible for her death, even though he could have done nothing to stop it.
He had been away fighting for the union when a few restless, hungry young Dakota Braves, out for revenge against the whites, sparked a bloody revolt that left many dead on both sides, including his wife.
Newspapers had called it the Great Sioux Uprising, slanting its views against the Indian, not allowing anyone to know the real reason behind the war. But Sam knew there had been hunger, anger and a feeling of betrayal among his wife's people. Even so, most of them had not wanted the confrontation.
When Sam had returned from the war between the states, the wife he reluctantly left behind, his sweet Laughing Eyes, was dead, killed by his own brother during the uprising. May have been an accident; Sam would never know for sure. But that hadn't prevented him from nearly beating his brother to death. His family had naturally taken his brother's side. They had never approved of his marriage to a “filthy squaw” and hadn't taken to Joey as grandparents should. The rift between Sam and his family had widened, and Sam had taken Joey and moved north. There had been nothing left for him but harsh memories in the southern Minnesota lands that had absorbed the blood of so many.
The trouble was, no matter where they went, prejudice against the Indian followed.
“I'm happy with the way you are, Joey,” Sam said. “Each time I look at you I'm reminded of your ma.”
Joey glanced at him. “Does it hurt when you think about her, Pa?”
Sam smoothed his hand over Joe's cowlick. “Not like it used to, son.” All he wanted on this earth was for Joey to be happy. That he was half Indian shouldn't matter. He was an innocent boy who didn't understand the slights and mockings of others. Speak of the devil, Clarence Nisbeth’s boy Ernest was kicking around a ball with another boy near the school building. He bullied Joey any time he saw him unless Sam was with him. Once Joey came home with a black eye.
Joey saw him but ignored him. “There's the building, Pa.”
Sam noted his son’s quiet enthusiasm, almost felt the intense excitement that coursed through Joey’s body. He hadn't dared approach the school board about allowing Joey to attend. He knew he had a better chance if Joey just showed up. He'd thought this was the first day of the new school year, but as he looked around, he began to wonder. Other than Ernest and his friend, there was no sign of other children. Everything was too quiet.
“So it is. Nervous?”
Joey nodded, his eyes riveted on the white clapboard building. “Some.”
Sam reined in the team. “Have a good day, Joey. See you this afternoon.”
Joey gazed at his father, his light eyes showing a hint of fear. “By, Pa.”
Giving him a reassuring smile, Sam handed him his lunch pail. “You'll do fine.” He watched his son walk stiffly to the building, climb the stairs and disappear inside. Maybe he should have accompanied him the first day.
Ernest swaggered up to Sam, that cruel smile on his lips. “Ain’t no school for him.”
Sam ignored the kid. Instead, he studied the building wishing he were a fly on the wall. Joey was tough. He could handle himself. But a part of him ached for his son, because he knew that all his life Joey would have to fight harder for his share of what the world had to offer. Then the door opened, and Joey stepped outside.
Sam and his son locked gazes briefly before Joey looked away. Sam saw the rejection stamped all over his son’s handsome face.
Slowly Joey descended the stairs and trudged toward the wagon. When he reached it, he stared again at his father, tears filling his eyes. “They didn't want me, Pa.”
* * *
Cora Nisbeth looked up from her knitting and studied the three men standing at the window, one of them her husband. They were foolishly staring after the half-breed child they'd just refused entrance to the school. She quietly clucked her tongue but forced herself to say nothing.
Her husband, Clarence, turned and shook his head. “It ain't right. If God wanted man to breed with the Indians, he'd have civilized them.” Cora glanced up at Henry and Oscar Hassler, two other members of the school board, and knew that they, like Clarence would never change their minds about the Indians. Every farmer for miles around had run-ins with them at one time or another. Prejudice ran deep.
“The boy was quiet and mannerly,” she said softly, “his father probably isn't a bad sort.”
Clarence pressed a pinch of snuff between his cheek and gum. “How would you know, woman? They live out there, every bit as antisocial as Torkelson and that breed squaw of his. They come into town and don't speak to a soul. Not a living soul.”
“Well, we haven't exactly made him feel welcome.” She glanced around her, remembering that just the day before, they'd all gathered in the building for the church service. It made her feel guilty at her unchristian like behavior toward the man and his half-breed son. Whether Sam Prescott had married an Indian woman or not shouldn't make a whit of difference. He was a human being, just the same, and God probably still loved him. The least they could do was act civilly toward him.
She'd thought of Eve, the young girl they had brought home from the orphanage four years ago, who was now the new teacher. Her teacher’s training had given her newfangled, outspoken, often outrageous ideas she’d hoped to implement in the classroom. “I have a feeling if Eve were here, you'd have a fight on your hands.”
“Lucky for her she wasn't,” Clarence said, turning a harsh eye on his wife. “And we don't need your two cents worth, Cora. You are not a member of this board. Eve Engles will do what she's told, if she wants to keep her job.”
Cora wasn't the least bit offended by her husband's blunt words. She merely sniffed at him and went back to her knitting.
The Hassler brothers, who owned land near the Nisbeths, exchanged glances but said nothing. Cora knew they agreed with her husband. They all had cause to be wary of the Indian. It was just that...well, she didn't feel that a child should be punished for the sins of his father.
Oscar Hassler held a newspaper he'd been reading earlier high in the air, as if it were some kind of divine torch. “I read it before, and I'll read it again.” He brought the paper down to eye level, pushed his glasses to the end of his nose and began. “The Indians, the Sioux and the Chippewas, are having a high old time again, killing each other at every opportunity. May that opportunity be every minute of every day. May they kill each other until the last savage is dead, and we’re rid of their dirty hides forever.”
Cora's fingers flew over her knitting; She could always knit like a house of fire when she was angry or upset. “Have you forgotten that little half-breed's father owns the land you want to build a new schoolhouse on?”
Clarence frowned at her; she knew that look. It said, “Wife, when will you learn to keep your mouth shut?” She pursed her lips and glanced away.
We'll find other land, then,” Clarence grumbled, turning again to the window.
She wanted to ask what harm it could possibly do to let the boy attend school. But she also understood her husband's reasons for not allowing it, and in some ways, she couldn't blame him. His only sister and her family had been killed by Indians. It would take a miracle to change his mind about any of them.