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      Infinite thanks and love to Sandra K. Moore,

       Ann Peake and Sandy Thomas for teaching me

       the true meaning of conflict.

      To my guys, Doug, Jacob and Jeremy. Thanks for

       the underwear dance. I am so proud of you.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter One

      A soft purple glow drew Lindy Lewis Monroe from the solitude of the barn’s dark interior. She slipped outside the wide double doors and stopped suddenly, awestruck. Before her, dawn painted the East Tennessee sky with hope and renewal, a visible reminder that life goes on.

      Beautiful day for a funeral, huh, Pops?

      She had a ton of things to do before burying her grandfather this afternoon, yet she stood in the barnyard for several minutes, watching the sun break over the horizon, sharing a final sunrise with the one person who’d always been there for her.

      “Goodbye, Pops. I love you.” Her raspy voice gave testament to the buckets of tears she’d cried during the past few days.

      A chilly spring breeze drifted across the barnyard. Goose bumps spread over Lindy’s skin beneath her dew-dampened clothes. Her teeth chattered, disturbing the barnyard’s unusual tomblike silence.

      Quit standing around like a bump on a log, Lindy girl.

      Pops’s gentle reminder whispered through her brain, part memory, part wishful thinking.

      Heeding her grandfather’s advice, Lindy turned her back on the glorious sunrise and hotfooted it to the house. Thanks to mid-April’s near-freezing overnight temperatures, her damp jeans grew colder and stiffer with every step.

      The screen door squeaked as she entered the mudroom and toed off her boots, then quickly freed the button on her jeans, shimmying her lower half until the clingy, wet denim peeled from her hips.

      The damp tails of her oversize shirt slapped against her bare thighs, causing more gooseflesh. She removed Pops’s old red-and-black checkered work shirt and lifted it to her nose. His Old Spice scent still clung to the soft flannel. She hated the idea of laundering away that familiar smell.

      Burying her face in the fabric, she wiped away a tear and let the shirt fall to the floor. Cold air enveloped her arms. She shuddered. Her T-shirt, which she’d pulled on without a bra, offered little coverage. Or warmth.

      Leaving her wet clothes heaped on the floor, she stepped into the kitchen and paused for a heartbeat, letting the familiar warmth surround her, that blanket of welcome that engulfed her every time she stepped foot inside her childhood home. All her life, she’d dreamed of sharing that warmth with a family of her very own.

      Not all dreams come true. She’d taken her shot at happily-ever-after and lost everything: her husband, her baby, her heart. Never again would she trust her dreams to someone else.

      Don’t rehash the past. Focus on today. She inhaled deeply, a cleansing breath to wash away her maudlin thoughts. The welcome aroma of her favorite Colombian brew filled her senses.

      Should’ve known Alice would show up this morning.

      Alice Robertson had been friend, neighbor and part-time housekeeper to the Lewis family for more years than anyone cared to remember. Having her here, today of all days, felt right, Lindy thought, heading for the coffeepot. A mug prefilled with half-and-half waited on the countertop.

      Such a sweet woman. For the first time since leaving the hospital three nights ago, Lindy’s lips curled into a halfhearted smile. Wondering why Alice hadn’t stuck around for coffee, she turned away from the cabinet and came face-to-face with the past she’d just been trying to forget.

      Travis Monroe.

      Her breath backed up in her throat. She clamped her eyes shut, waited a long second, then slowly reopened them. He hadn’t moved a muscle.

      The man she hadn’t seen in almost a year leaned against the doorjamb, steaming cup in hand. His thick black hair was ruffled, no doubt from his own agitated fingers. Dark stubble covered his angled jaw. His Brooks Brothers suit was wrinkled. He looked haggard. And fantastic.

      His eyes, a sexy starburst of green and gold, were riveted to the thin cotton clinging to her breasts.

      Oh, great. Travis shows up unexpectedly, and I’m parading around the kitchen in my undies.

      Despite her near nakedness, Lindy refused to cross her arms in some virginal attempt to cover what he already had intimate knowledge of. “What are you doing here?”

      Her abruptness seemed to snap him out of his stunned stupor. His eyes lifted to her face. The desire and anger she saw there made her take a step backward.

      “What happened to your legendary Southern charm?”

      Her chin tilted up a notch. “Manners are for friends and invited guests. You are neither.”

      “No, I’m just your husband.” Travis pushed away from the doorway that separated the kitchen from the family room. His firm lips fell into a frown. She knew how warm and soft they’d feel pressed against her own.

      Don’t go there.

      “How’d you get in here?” Surely Alice hadn’t let Lindy’s estranged husband in and then left without warning her.

      “Your front door was unlocked.”

      Unlocked? She wrinkled her brow, momentarily puzzled until her brain connected all the dots. Pops had always taken care of locking up at night. Another sad twinge plucked her heart, but she determinedly tucked her grief deep inside. Later, when she was alone, she’d let it out and allow her tears to flow.

      Right now, she propped her hands on her hips, pretending she wore her favorite denim overalls rather than see-through cotton. “For the most part, the only doors we lock in Land’s Cross are on the henhouse. That’s generally the place we have problems with unwanted varmints.”

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