Chapter 1

      The lilac bush seemed as if it was about to swallow up the front steps. Its untamed boughs drooping heavily with fragile, dew-laden lavender blossoms, it filled the cool Saturday morning air with a glorious, sweet scent.

      Dana Brantley, a lethal-looking pair of hedge clippers in her gloved hands, regarded the overgrown branches with dismay. Somewhere behind that bush was a small screened-in porch. With some strategic pruning, she could sit on that porch and watch storm clouds play tag down the Potomac River. She could watch silvery streaks of dawn shimmer on the smooth water. Those possibilities had been among the primary attractions of the house when she’d first seen it a few weeks earlier. Goodness knows, the place hadn’t had many other obvious assets.

      True, that enticing screened-in porch sagged; its weathered wooden planks had already been worn down by hundreds of sandy, bare feet. The yard was overgrown with weeds that reached as high as the few remaining upright boards in the picket fence. The cottage’s dulled yellow paint was peeling, and the shutters tilted precariously. The air inside the four cluttered rooms was musty from years of disuse. The stove was an unreliable relic from another era, the refrigerator door hung loosely on one rusty hinge and the plumbing sputtered and groaned like an aging malcontent.

      Despite all that, Dana had loved it on sight, with the same unreasoning affection that made one choose the sad-eyed runt in a litter of playful puppies. She especially liked the creaking wicker furniture with cushions covered in a fading flower print, the brass bed, even with its lumpy mattress, and the high-backed rocking chair on the front porch. After years of glass and chrome sterility, they were comfortable-looking in a delightfully shabby, well-used sort of way.

      The real estate agent had apologized profusely for the condition of the place, had even suggested that they move on to other, more modern alternatives, but Dana had been too absorbed by the endless possibilities to heed the woman’s urgings. Not only was the price right for her meager savings, but this was an abandoned house that could be slowly, lovingly restored and filled with light and sound. It would be a symbol of the life she was trying to put back together in a style far removed from that of her previous twenty-nine years. She knew it was a ridiculously sentimental attitude and she’d forced herself to act sensibly by making an absurdly low, very businesslike offer. To her amazement and deep-down delight it had been accepted with alacrity.

      Dana turned now, cast a lingering look at the white-capped waves on the gray-green river and lifted the hedge clippers. She took a determined step toward the lilac bush, then made the mistake of inhaling deeply. She closed her eyes and sighed blissfully, then shrugged in resignation. She couldn’t do it. She could not cut back one single branch. The pruning would simply have to wait until later, after the blooms faded.

      In the meantime, she’d continue using the back door. At least she could get onto the porch from inside the house and her view wasn’t entirely blocked. If she pulled the rocker to the far corner, she might be able to see a tiny sliver of the water and a glimpse of the Maryland shore on the opposite side. She’d probably catch a better breeze on the corner anyway, she thought optimistically. It was just one of the many small pleasures she had since leaving Manhattan and settling in Virginia.

      River Glen was a quiet, sleepy town of seven thousand nestled along the Potomac. She’d visited a lot of places during her search for a job, but this one had drawn her in some indefinable way. With its endless stretches of green lawns and its mix of unpretentious, pastel-painted summer cottages, impressive old brick Colonial homes and modern ranch-style architecture, it was the antithesis of New York’s intimidating mass of skyscrapers. It had a pace that soothed rather than grated and an atmosphere of unrelenting calm and continuity. The town, as much as the job offer, had convinced her this was exactly what she needed.

      Four weeks earlier Dana had moved into her ramshackle cottage and the next day she’d started her job as River Glen’s first librarian in five years. All in all, it had been a satisfying month with no regrets and no time for lingering memories.

      Already she’d painted the cottage a sparkling white, scrubbed the layers of grime from the windows, matched wits with the stove and the plumbing and replaced the mattress. When she tired of being confined to the house, she had cut the overgrown lawn, weeded the flower gardens and discovered beds of tulips and daffodils ready to burst forth with blossoms. She’d even put in a small tomato patch in the backyard.

      To her surprise, after a lifetime surrounded by concrete, she found that the scent of newly-turned earth, even the feel of the rich dirt clinging damply to her skin, had acted like a balm. Now, more than ever, she was glad she’d chosen springtime to settle here. All these growing things reminded her in a very graphic way of new beginnings.

      “Better be careful,” a low, distinctly sexy voice, laced with humor, warned from out of nowhere, startling Dana just as she reached out to pluck a lilac from the bush. She hadn’t heard footsteps. She certainly hadn’t heard a car drive up. On guard, she whirled around, the clippers held out protectively in front of her, and discovered a blue pickup at the edge of the lawn, its owner grinning at her from behind the wheel.

      “I heard that lilac bush ate the last owner,” he added very seriously.