CHAPTER ONE
Lia Stephanos gripped the wheel of her SUV as she left the city of Green’s Point proper and headed for the hills, literally. Five minutes later, at half past four in the afternoon on the second day of May, she negotiated the tight turn at Benders Fork and exhaled a long breath.
Today was a big day. This drive, one she wouldn’t soon forget.
The few times she’d traveled this road in the past year, she’d done so in the roomy confines of author Cara Bryan’s well-appointed “mommy van” or, more recently, in the passenger seat of her realtor’s luxury sedan. Somehow the beauty of the Texas countryside seemed much more appealing when the road led to the enjoyment of visiting good friend Cara and her family or the adventure of hunting for the perfect house.
Now that the road led home, well, the familiar butterflies rose. The choice had been made and the deal was final.
Final. Oh how I hate that word.
“Stop it,” she said aloud as she pried her fingers off the wheel to punch the button on her CD player. “You know the Lord led you to Green’s Point. You’re going to be happy here and that’s all there is to it.”
The soft strains of smooth jazz filled the car, and she reached to turn up the volume. As the music wound its way around her raw nerves and settled in her heart, Lia relaxed a notch and guided the vehicle past thickets of pine, lush fields and an empty fruit and vegetable stand.
Spring had touched this part of Texas with a brush of brilliant green. Soon there would be fresh produce and - most likely - good conversation with the farmer who grew them, a luxury unheard of in her former abode.
Honestly who wouldn’t be happy in Green’s Point, Texas? Between the quaint town nestled on the edge of Canyon Lake and the green hills where she’d found her dream hideaway, the area had much to offer. Oh yes, this was place was practically right out of an ad from a retirement brochure.
Retirement.
At the thought of her own forced exile Lia let out a long breath. Who would have thought she’d be a washed up senior editor before she turned forty? Well, not exactly washed up, but definitely forced to pull over while the rest of the publishing rat race skidded past with the next bestseller.
Too bad about that heart of yours.
She’d heard it first from the most respected and expensive cardiologist in Manhattan then again from her boss, the CEO of Winston Books. Along the way, the message came from others in phone calls and emails, and even the occasional cheery get-well card.
Just when she figured she’d heard the last comment about her faulty ventricle, she heard the same words from the guy who ran the newsstand on the corner by her third floor walk-up in Red Hook, Brooklyn. It seemed as though the only person other than Cara who didn’t think life as she knew it was over was Lia’s mother.
No, to the contrary, her dear mother had practically giggled at the thought of Lia turning in the key to her corner office at the largest publishing house in New York. Ever the Southern belle even though she’d dwelled in Manhattan’s Upper East Side since she married into Papa’s large Greek family four decades ago, Cordelia Stephanos never quite gave up the idea that women were for making dinner and grandbabies.
More important, Mama never lent any credence to a doctor’s diagnosis when the Lord had told her otherwise. And Mama claimed to have it on good authority that He still had many years of living planned for her only daughter.
One look at the white cottage by the lake and Mama pronounced it the perfect home for her grandbabies. A reminder that her only child was closer to menopause than the maternity ward had no effect.
A few moments later, Lia signaled to turn left at Barker Point then began the quarter mile bounce along a rutted road, gritting her teeth so as not to bite her tongue. Up ahead she caught sight of the dented blue mailbox on a peeled pine post, its
Lia Stephanos gripped the wheel of her SUV as she left the city of Green’s Point proper and headed for the hills, literally. Five minutes later, at half past four in the afternoon on the second day of May, she negotiated the tight turn at Benders Fork and exhaled a long breath.
Today was a big day. This drive, one she wouldn’t soon forget.
The few times she’d traveled this road in the past year, she’d done so in the roomy confines of author Cara Bryan’s well-appointed “mommy van” or, more recently, in the passenger seat of her realtor’s luxury sedan. Somehow the beauty of the Texas countryside seemed much more appealing when the road led to the enjoyment of visiting good friend Cara and her family or the adventure of hunting for the perfect house.
Now that the road led home, well, the familiar butterflies rose. The choice had been made and the deal was final.
Final. Oh how I hate that word.
“Stop it,” she said aloud as she pried her fingers off the wheel to punch the button on her CD player. “You know the Lord led you to Green’s Point. You’re going to be happy here and that’s all there is to it.”
The soft strains of smooth jazz filled the car, and she reached to turn up the volume. As the music wound its way around her raw nerves and settled in her heart, Lia relaxed a notch and guided the vehicle past thickets of pine, lush fields and an empty fruit and vegetable stand.
Spring had touched this part of Texas with a brush of brilliant green. Soon there would be fresh produce and - most likely - good conversation with the farmer who grew them, a luxury unheard of in her former abode.
Honestly who wouldn’t be happy in Green’s Point, Texas? Between the quaint town nestled on the edge of Canyon Lake and the green hills where she’d found her dream hideaway, the area had much to offer. Oh yes, this was place was practically right out of an ad from a retirement brochure.
Retirement.
At the thought of her own forced exile Lia let out a long breath. Who would have thought she’d be a washed up senior editor before she turned forty? Well, not exactly washed up, but definitely forced to pull over while the rest of the publishing rat race skidded past with the next bestseller.
Too bad about that heart of yours.
She’d heard it first from the most respected and expensive cardiologist in Manhattan then again from her boss, the CEO of Winston Books. Along the way, the message came from others in phone calls and emails, and even the occasional cheery get-well card.
Just when she figured she’d heard the last comment about her faulty ventricle, she heard the same words from the guy who ran the newsstand on the corner by her third floor walk-up in Red Hook, Brooklyn. It seemed as though the only person other than Cara who didn’t think life as she knew it was over was Lia’s mother.
No, to the contrary, her dear mother had practically giggled at the thought of Lia turning in the key to her corner office at the largest publishing house in New York. Ever the Southern belle even though she’d dwelled in Manhattan’s Upper East Side since she married into Papa’s large Greek family four decades ago, Cordelia Stephanos never quite gave up the idea that women were for making dinner and grandbabies.
More important, Mama never lent any credence to a doctor’s diagnosis when the Lord had told her otherwise. And Mama claimed to have it on good authority that He still had many years of living planned for her only daughter.
One look at the white cottage by the lake and Mama pronounced it the perfect home for her grandbabies. A reminder that her only child was closer to menopause than the maternity ward had no effect.
A few moments later, Lia signaled to turn left at Barker Point then began the quarter mile bounce along a rutted road, gritting her teeth so as not to bite her tongue. Up ahead she caught sight of the dented blue mailbox on a peeled pine post, its
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