LITMIR.BIZ

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

       119 West 40th Street

       New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2010 by MRK Productions

       Fern Michaels is a registered trademark of First Draft, Inc.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      ISBN: 978-1-4201-2036-3

      For my friends, Bob and Sara Schwager

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Epilogue

      Chapter 1

      Even though every light in the old farmhouse was on, it did nothing to dispel the gloom that seemed to shroud the house and its two occupants. Fragrant peach candles flickered on the dinner table, the crystal sparkled, and the delectable meal on fragile bone china sat basically untouched. Outside, a summer rain pounded on the roof and battered the ancient smoky windows.

      “Myra, we need to talk,” Charles said quietly.

      “Hmmm, yes, I suppose we do. What would you like to talk about, Charles? It’s raining outside. I always hated thunder, but I hate lightning even more. But then, you already know that, so there’s no point in discussing it. Dinner is wonderful.”

      “How would you know? You haven’t touched a thing on your plate. Close your eyes, Myra, and tell me what’s on your plate.”

      “Roast beef,” Myra snapped irritably.

      “Wrong! It’s pork tenderloin. You’ve always loved pork tenderloin.”

      “I used to love a lot of things, Charles. I’m sorry. We should just have had sandwiches and soup, or even just the soup.”

      “You wouldn’t have eaten that, either,” Charles snapped in return.

      “What do you want me to say, Charles? I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just that…I miss my family. You know what else, Charles? I’m sorry we got those pardons. I was happy on the mountain with the girls. I cry every time I think of them. I would give anything to have yesterday back.”

      “That’s rather cavalier of you, Myra. The girls wanted their old lives back. They didn’t want that outlaw life anymore. They wanted to get married and have families. Surely you can’t fault them for that.”

      “Of course I don’t fault them for wanting their old lives back. I was speaking for myself. It’s been a year and a half, Charles! Do not, I repeat, do not tell me to get a hobby. I do not want a hobby.”

      “I never thought of knitting as a hobby, old girl. I’d love a hand-knitted sweater.”

      “Then go to town and buy one! I am too old to learn to knit, and I have arthritis in my fingers. Why are you deviling me like this?

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