“And a part of yours.” Augusta sipped daintily from her wineglass and looked smug.
“I hope so,” I said. There’s no use lying to Augusta.
“Either way, Prentice Dobson, you’re going to be all right.” She reached across the small table and touched my cheek, and I knew what I’d suspected all evening. Augusta Goodnight wouldn’t be here in the morning.
Part of me wanted to cry like a child, to beg her not to leave me, but I was Joey’s mama now, or hoped to be, and I had a business to help run. I would be much too busy to cry.
Soon after, on a sunny April morning, I took Joey to that gentle walled hillside where his mother lay and found her resting place covered in a tangle of wildflowers as glorious as spring itself. The angel stone that marked her grave now wore an expression of someone who knew a pleasant secret, and I knew Augusta had been there. Just as she is there in the jump-up aroma of morning coffee, the smooth dark richness of chocolate, and all the music that makes my feet glad and my heart beat faster.
And when Queen Anne’s lace nods in the meadow and honeysuckle fills the air with its sweetness, she will be there as well.
Table of Contents
Cover
Halftitle
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine