Laura Abbot Read Online Free Page B

and a soft, worn T-shirt and climbed under the flowered comforter. Propping pillows behind her, she balanced the hardcover book that served as a writing desk on her knees and began a letter to her parents. If they had a computer, she could just email them, but her folks had no intention of breaking down and entering the 21st century. Doing so would compromise the simple lifestyle they cherished—one that had made her growing up so magical.
    She pictured her mother bent over the loom that occupied an entire corner of the living room, strands of colorful wool brightening the simple log interior of their home. In memory she smelled the pungent aroma of wood chips, sawdust and resin—byproducts of her father’s woodcarving and furniture-making. At college, Laurel was the only one she knew who had grown up without television and been homeschooled until high school. Although at times she’d felt deprived, more often she’d appreciated learning in her own backyard—exploring the spring woods in search of animal spoor, uncovering West Virginia history from country cemetery markers, keeping weather records using her own barometer, thermometer and rain gauge. And there had been so much more—singing, dancing, playing the dulcimer, candle-making, quilting.
    With a sigh, Laurel set aside her pen. Had she really been so naively happy? She shuddered, remembering how her life had changed after she had met and married Curt. A brilliant fellow graduate student, Curt was handsome, charming and…controlling. Laurel had only belatedly realized that he regarded her as a kind of project, ornamental, amusing, but not to be taken seriously. With an effort of will she banished her ex-husband from her mind—and that diminished self she was desperately trying to reconstruct. And she would, no matter what it took.
    She inhaled a deep breath and relaxed against the pillows. That was part of what had attracted her to Belleporte. Here she could rediscover the pure joy she’d felt for life before her disastrous marriage. Maybe she’d learn to trust again—even men. Her bitter experience had taught her one thing for sure. Carpe diem was more than an abstract philosophy; it was a way to leave the past behind and embrace life fully every single day. And that was exactly what she intended to do. Like acting on impulse and exploring Summer Haven. Like making an offer on the Mansfield property. And…like flirting with Ben Nolan.
    She smiled before turning back to her letter. Surely Ellen would have good news tomorrow.
    Laurel studied what she’d written so far—an account of her travels and the dead ends she’d faced. She wanted to tell her parents about Belleporte—the way it felt like home, the beauty of the beaches, the charm of the resort town itself—but raised on mountain superstitions, she wasn’t about to jinx the sale. Best not to mention anything until The Gift Horse was a done deal. Besides, regardless of their encouragement, she knew her parents would be disappointed she’d chosen Michigan over West Virginia.
    Chewing the tip of the pen, she pondered her ending for a moment, then began to write.
    I’m not giving up my dream, though. As you always told me, when you get discouraged, look for another bend in the trail, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Maybe I’ll have some news by the time I visit West Virginia in a couple of weeks. Till then, give the dogs hugs—and cross your fingers for me. Knock on wood, too, if you’d like.
    I love you,
Laurel

    A T TEN O’CLOCK the next morning Laurel stood in the foyer of Primrose House, gripping her phone, listening intently. Then, unbelievably, Ellen confirmed the sale. It took a minute for the news to sink in. The charming cottage on Shore Lane, right here in Belleporte, Michigan, was hers.
    She concentrated as Ellen recounted her conversation with the owners, who fortunately had given permission for Laurel to begin remodeling the upstairs apartment before the closing. When Ellen