inside.”
Meredith turned the key in the lock, then swung the wooden door open wide. Branna walked through first. Once inside the foyer, she scanned the living room with a fireplace. Natural light streamed through the large windows. A deep sigh of relief let go. Her body relaxed as though she’d been holding her breath all day. The house had definite possibilities.
She explored like a kid at Toys R Us for the first time. Details mattered. Crown molding. A master bedroom big enough to comfortably fit a queen-size bed, a dresser, a chaise, and a reading light. Granite countertops in the kitchen and bathrooms. Gas, stainless steel stove. A dining room with French doors that opened to a large screen porch, where she could curl up and read mosquito-free in evening’s dappled sunlight.
“The patio is brick. There are raised beds for vegetables and flowers. Do you have a green thumb?” Meredith asked.
“No. Not so much. However, I’m determined to learn.” At home, they had a fulltime gardener to make the scenery perfect. A formal garden in the front and back required expert care. A well-manicured landscape had proved to be an important detail to brides when selecting Fleur de Lis for their wedding location.
“The garage, it’s only one-car wide, but very deep, has a new opener. There’s not a lot of grass to mow, because of the raised beds. You’ll probably spend more time weeding than walking behind a mower,”
“I want another look from the front.”
Back outside, Branna walked down three brick steps to the sidewalk and scanned the tree-shaded neighborhood. Across the street, an older woman carrying a shopping bag with a crisp “L L” logo strolled by. In the distance, a scratchy bark from a little dog punctuated the quiet. A late-model black sedan with darkly tinted windows drove slowly past. Was it the one that stopped short of hitting them only minutes ago?
“Not much traffic on this street,” Branna said.
“It’s quiet. The price is right. What do you think?” Meredith asked.
“I’m not quite sure. Give me a few minutes to take it all in.”
“I’ll be in the backyard in the swing. Call when you have a decision.”
Branna strode to the street and turned back to look at the yard and house. Her gut said, “This is the one.” But signing on the dotted line? True commitment. Was she ready for that?
After six months of therapy to heal the gash in her self-esteem that Steven had carved, her confidence remained tenuous at best. Could she trust herself to make such a major decision? It wasn’t like cutting her hair. That would grow back.
Half panicked, she dug through her purse for her cell phone. Her cousin, Biloxi, would provide the perfect “atta-girl” support. As her hand grasped the small weighted phone, it vibrated. She jumped. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. A text message flashed on the screen.
I will find you. Steven.
She bobbled the phone and almost dropped it. With trembling fingers, she flipped to her cousin’s number and pressed the button.
“Hello?”
“Biloxi. Oh. My. God. Steven just texted me.”
“What? No!”
“I don’t know how he got my number.”
“What did he say? Are you going to tell your parents? Aunt Macy and Uncle Charles will want to know.”
As Branna considered the question, she looked down the street to the main road. The battered pickup, the one from the Victorian property, distracted her as it crossed her view. The odd sensation she’d experienced when she met the vehicle’s owner quivered in her chest.
It had to be the mixture of exhaustion, heat and humidity, right? This was Lakeview, not an episode of Doctor Who.
“Branna? Hello? Are you going to tell your mom?”
“Ah, sorry. Um, no.” She used to confide in her mother, but the mess with Steven had changed that. “No,” she said slowly. “Besides, I won’t give that man the satisfaction of knowing he caused any ripple in my life. I’m not going to bring it up with Momma.” She drew in a breath for fortification. “However, I am going to tell them that I bought a house.”
“Oh, Branna. Damn it. The family’s going to kill you for sure.”
Chapter 2
Standing beside his truck in his parents’ driveway after an afternoon in a hayfield, James Newbern clicked his cell phone closed. Dr. Brown had asked him to make time to show a new faculty member around. “Like a sponsor or a good-will ambassador. Miss Lind is close to your age. From Mississippi. I’m assigning a seasoned faculty member to each of