Chapter ElevenThis is Anne,” she almost hadn’t answered her cell phone. She didn’t trust unlisted numbers. She hadn’t even known there was cell reception out here at Beau Ridge.
“Hold please.” And some thin thread of Southern politeness had her agreeing and in moments she was listening to Christmas carol hold music. She was sitting on top of her favorite horse, looking at the most beautiful vista in the entire Smokies: the forests behind her, the rolling foothills and the farm below, and in the distance the sun glinting off Boone Lake.
Christmas was only days away and she knew she was going to be a crashing bore on the family. She was past being able to help herself and her mother had merely patted her hand and promised, as she always did, that things just had a way of naturally turning
