red flag lying at half staff. Someone had stenciled a sailboat on either side, but only the barest outline of the vessel could be seen against the pitted rust marks and peeling paint.
Pulling up next to it, Lia climbed out to check her mail only to find the thing rusted shut. “One more item to add to the list,” she muttered as she returned to her SUV.
The infamous to-do list had grown to cover two sheets of notepaper in her ever present portfolio. With this addition and the one regarding the room for younger guests, a third page would probably have to be added.
Some of the items – like switching her cellular phone service to a local carrier and ordering checks with her new address – were low priority. Others, like finding help with her overgrown yard, establishing a new Internet connection, sending a change of address out to family and friends, and stocking her kitchen would come first.
Then there was the issue of the sagging front porch.
Lia brought the SUV to a stop in front of the house then eyed the angle of the boards on the eastern corner of the porch. Thank goodness Cara’s husband, Will, had already scheduled one of his construction crews to do the repair in a few weeks. In the meantime she’d just have to be careful when she replenished the hummingbird food in the feeder that hung from the eastern rafter.
Shouldering her overnight bag, Lia climbed from the SUV then cradled her portfolio and slammed the car door. The sound, echoing in the silence, was quickly followed by the rustling noise of several dozen birds evacuating the trees above her.
She inhaled deeply of the crisp, clean air and noted the distinct lack of bus fumes and cooking odors. “Lia, honey,” she said under her breath as she palmed her keys, “you’re definitely not in Brooklyn anymore.”
With a grin, Lia turned to cross the lawn – her lawn – and smiled. Where weeds now choked out any desirable foliage, soon she hoped to plant climbing roses and colorful perennials. In that shady spot under the trees, she planned a bed of hostas, ferns, and pink begonias. Out back, she hoped to have her own garden in the works come next spring.
All of this would have to wait until she completed the massive cleanup and painting job that would have to begin immediately. Her cardiologist would probably have a fit, but she intended to do the work herself. Paint and pine-scented cleaner would replace aerobics and walking in her exercise routine for the next few weeks, maybe months.
She cast a longing glance at the lake shimmering beneath startling blue skies in the distance and the narrow dirt road that led from her place to the small boat dock below. Perhaps she would find time to take a walk after all.
Later, she decided, after the house was aired out and her meager provisions unloaded. The moving van wouldn’t arrive with her things from Brooklyn for another three days, plenty of time to steal a moment or two for a stroll to the lake.
Not enough time though, to make a dent in the list she carried under her arm.
“It’s not perfect but it’s mine,” she said as she climbed the steps and fitted her key into the front lock.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben Corbin never did get over turning in his traveling shoes and hanging up his long haul trucker’s license. Like his opinions, however, Ben kept the truth to himself.
Buying his daddy’s bait shop so his mama wouldn’t have to run the place alone, now that’s something he could take pride in. After all, a man’s job was to see to his family. But with Mama gone six years now, he toyed with the idea of buying himself an RV and a new map that would take him out of Green’s Point, Texas for good.
Casting his line into the depths of Canyon Lake, Ben could care less whether he caught a fish or not. It was a beautiful May morning, and he had nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the hour before the bait shop opened with his buddy Mitch Tucker while Skipper, his year-old
Pulling up next to it, Lia climbed out to check her mail only to find the thing rusted shut. “One more item to add to the list,” she muttered as she returned to her SUV.
The infamous to-do list had grown to cover two sheets of notepaper in her ever present portfolio. With this addition and the one regarding the room for younger guests, a third page would probably have to be added.
Some of the items – like switching her cellular phone service to a local carrier and ordering checks with her new address – were low priority. Others, like finding help with her overgrown yard, establishing a new Internet connection, sending a change of address out to family and friends, and stocking her kitchen would come first.
Then there was the issue of the sagging front porch.
Lia brought the SUV to a stop in front of the house then eyed the angle of the boards on the eastern corner of the porch. Thank goodness Cara’s husband, Will, had already scheduled one of his construction crews to do the repair in a few weeks. In the meantime she’d just have to be careful when she replenished the hummingbird food in the feeder that hung from the eastern rafter.
Shouldering her overnight bag, Lia climbed from the SUV then cradled her portfolio and slammed the car door. The sound, echoing in the silence, was quickly followed by the rustling noise of several dozen birds evacuating the trees above her.
She inhaled deeply of the crisp, clean air and noted the distinct lack of bus fumes and cooking odors. “Lia, honey,” she said under her breath as she palmed her keys, “you’re definitely not in Brooklyn anymore.”
With a grin, Lia turned to cross the lawn – her lawn – and smiled. Where weeds now choked out any desirable foliage, soon she hoped to plant climbing roses and colorful perennials. In that shady spot under the trees, she planned a bed of hostas, ferns, and pink begonias. Out back, she hoped to have her own garden in the works come next spring.
All of this would have to wait until she completed the massive cleanup and painting job that would have to begin immediately. Her cardiologist would probably have a fit, but she intended to do the work herself. Paint and pine-scented cleaner would replace aerobics and walking in her exercise routine for the next few weeks, maybe months.
She cast a longing glance at the lake shimmering beneath startling blue skies in the distance and the narrow dirt road that led from her place to the small boat dock below. Perhaps she would find time to take a walk after all.
Later, she decided, after the house was aired out and her meager provisions unloaded. The moving van wouldn’t arrive with her things from Brooklyn for another three days, plenty of time to steal a moment or two for a stroll to the lake.
Not enough time though, to make a dent in the list she carried under her arm.
“It’s not perfect but it’s mine,” she said as she climbed the steps and fitted her key into the front lock.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben Corbin never did get over turning in his traveling shoes and hanging up his long haul trucker’s license. Like his opinions, however, Ben kept the truth to himself.
Buying his daddy’s bait shop so his mama wouldn’t have to run the place alone, now that’s something he could take pride in. After all, a man’s job was to see to his family. But with Mama gone six years now, he toyed with the idea of buying himself an RV and a new map that would take him out of Green’s Point, Texas for good.
Casting his line into the depths of Canyon Lake, Ben could care less whether he caught a fish or not. It was a beautiful May morning, and he had nothing to do but sit back and enjoy the hour before the bait shop opened with his buddy Mitch Tucker while Skipper, his year-old
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