ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Award-winning, bestselling author Linda Warren has written twenty-one books for Harlequin Superromance and Harlequin American Romance. She grew up in the farming and ranching community of Smetana, Texas, the only girl in a family of boys. She loves to write about Texas, and from time to time scenes and characters from her childhood show up in her books. Linda lives in College Station, Texas, not far from her birthplace, with her husband, Billy, and a menagerie of wild animals, from Canada geese to bobcats. Visit her Web site at www.lindawarren.net.

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      A big thank-you to Beverly Straub for graciously answering my many questions about fashion and socialites.

      And a special thanks to Margie Lawson and her Deep Editing Techniques. I thoroughly enjoyed her workshop and getting to know her. Thank you, Margie, for opening my eyes to the power of words, the power of writing.

      Thanks to Dorothy Kissman and Phyllis Fletcher for once again kindly sharing information about their hometown, Austin, Texas.

      DEDICATION

      I dedicate this book to the community

       of Smetana, Texas, where I grew up and learned

       about small-town America and bonds and

       friendships that last a lifetime.

      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 Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      Sunday afternoons were made for love.

      The scent of lilacs, the taste of strawberry wine and Lori. Sweet Lorelei.

      His wife.

      A smile tugged at Sheriff Wyatt Carson’s mouth. But a second later his daydream was hijacked by the present, and gut-wrenching reality.

      Painful memories sliced into his heart. When they were teenagers, Lori would call and say, “It’s Sunday afternoon. Where are you?” It had been the same in college. “It’s Sunday. I’ll meet you in an hour.” When they both had gone into law enforcement and worked a beat in Austin, those afternoons had been their special time.

      But no more.

      His Lori died six years ago.

      The weight on his chest pressed down, feeling heavier than a two-thousand-pound bull. No air. No breath. Just pain.

      At last he inhaled and he welcomed the rush of air. Yet he cursed it, too. He needed the memories. They kept him going. They kept him strong. Though years had passed, Wyatt still took life one day at a time, but the pain never lessened. It only grew deeper.

      Blinking against the bright June sun, he slipped on his sunglasses and strolled to his patrol car at the courthouse. Now his Sunday afternoons were made for fishing—with his eight-year-old daughter, Jody. He’d moved from Austin to his small hometown to raise their child alone, in a safe environment. The way Lori would have wanted.

      With a sigh, Wyatt slid into his car. His daughter was waiting.

      Backing out, he waved at Delmar Ferguson, who owned the auto-parts store. Delmar was opening up for the afternoon trade.

      Horseshoe, Texas, was much the same as it had been when Wyatt was a kid. An old two-story limestone courthouse, yellowing and graying in spots from age, sat in the center of a town square that happened to be in the shape of a horseshoe. Gnarled oaks and blooming red crepe myrtles gave the old structure a touch of beauty.

      The weathered brick and mortar storefronts that surrounded the square were still the same, too. Some had been boarded up—the old furniture store, the fabric shop and the Perry Brothers’ Five and Dime. The casualties of a changing America.

      But new businesses had opened, including Miss Hattie’s Tea Room, Flo’s Antiques, Betty Jo’s Candle Shop and a dollar store. The old Wiznowski family bakery was still on the corner. For five generations it had kept going strong, and probably would for years to come.

      Horseshoe was the epitome of small-town America, its citizens upholding strong family values. It was a place where friendly neighbors helped each other. That had been the main reason Wyatt had chosen to come home—to heal while finding