A Long Walk Home. Diane Amos
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Every journey starts with a single step…
ANNIE: The dandelion. Strong and determined, this widow has recently been promoted to vice president of her bank, so her life should be on the upswing, right? If only she could break the news to her former mother-in-law that she’d found a new man in her life….
VIOLET: The rose. Delicate and conservative, this retired teacher shares a wonderful relationship with her daughter-in-law, so why can’t things just stay the same? But if her strong convictions frown upon Annie’s new direction, what do they say about the new addition to the family…?
SUMMER: The bad tomato. Dumped on the doorstep of her do-good aunt, just how did a blond, cherubic eight-year-old transform into a Goth teen with a crush on black eyeliner? Annie’s niece is three miles of bad road, but then again, she’s never had the support of a loving and committed family until now….
Will these three women be able to bridge the generational gap and find the way home together?
Diane Amos
lives with her husband, Dave, in a small town north of Portland, Maine. They have four grown children, a finicky Siamese named Sabrina and an energetic miniature dachshund named Molly. Diane is an established Maine artist. Her paintings are in private collections across the United States. She is a Golden Heart finalist and winner of the Maggie Award for Excellence. For more information about Diane and her books, check out her Web site at www.dianeamos.com.
A Long Walk Home
Diane Amos
MILLS & BOON
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Acknowledgments
Michelle Libby
Talented author and president of
the Maine chapter of RWA
Special thanks to:
Portland Police Officer Chuck Libby
for sharing information about
police procedure.
Any mistakes that I’ve made or liberties
that I’ve taken are completely my own.
Joyce Lamb
A talented author
critique partner
and
good friend
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 1
“W hat, no chocolate cake!” the three of us said in unison to the waiter who’d announced the unthinkable before handing us dessert menus and retreating to the kitchen.
Mallory turned to Carrie and me. “Life’s a bitch.”
Carrie nodded. “Which is why I’m glad to have you two as my good friends.”
I had to agree. My friends kept me grounded, and life…well, had been filled with the unexpected. I’d learned long ago that nothing was as it seemed. And I never took anything for granted.
I drank a sip of my martini, lifted my glass to theirs and said with much dignity, “Life’s a bi-otch.”
Carrie giggled. “Since when are you so polite?”
I took another small swallow. I rarely drank, and when I did, I got dizzy on the fumes. “As the new vice president of the loan department at Portland National Bank, I must conduct myself with decorum.”
Mallory raised her glass and announced, “In honor of Ms. Annie Jacobs, our hoity-toity pal and Madame Vice President, ‘life is a bitch’ will forever be banned from our vocabulary and from now on be referred to as LIB.”
Carrie’s forehead wrinkled. “Huh, shouldn’t that be LIAB?”
“I took a little artistic license and dropped the A. Besides, LIB sounds better.”
For a moment Carrie pondered what Mallory had said. “You’re right.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said as I polished off my martini, which had started out tasting like paint thinner—not that I knew that for a fact—and had improved with each swallow.
Our waiter, John, returned. He was tall, with a wiry build and dark hair. Thick eyelashes framed his sapphire-blue eyes.
Mallory smiled at the hunky guy who looked young enough to be her son—if she’d had a son. Neither of us had children, which suited us fine.
Children complicated matters.
They were messy.
And selfish.
Although I was happy with my life, something inside me stirred.
Disappointment?
Ridiculous.
I was thirty-seven—tick-tock—time had run out.
I’d gotten over the need to cradle a child in my arms. Plus, my chances of becoming a mother had died eighteen months ago along with Paul, my husband, the love of my life.
The man whom I’d thought could do no wrong.
But he’d betrayed me.
Mallory pointed a manicured finger at our waiter. “Since you don’t have double fudge chocolate cake, then I’ll have raspberry swirled chocolate cheesecake.”
He directed a killer grin at my friend.
I wasn’t surprised. At thirty-nine, Mallory Bourque was the total package, a blond male magnet with hazel eyes, big breasts, long legs and a great personality. If Mallory were a