Читать книгу Bride Wanted - Renee Andrews - Страница 9

Chapter One

“RuthEllen was talking today at her shop about the reason she believes you haven’t married, and I think she may have it figured right.” Jolaine Bowers peeked beneath the hood of her Camry so that Troy Lee had no choice but to look up and face his grandmother head-on. “Do you want to know what she said?” Her brows were raised and her eyes were so wide he could see white all the way around the blue.

“RuthEllen Riley? At the beauty shop?” Troy wondered how many Claremont ladies had been getting cut, permed or shampooed while RuthEllen chatted about his marital status. Then again, she probably wasn’t the only one discussing it if his grandmother had been there, too. “Y’all were talking about me? At the beauty shop? Just how many women were there?”

“The regulars. Maybe a few extra since everyone is getting their hair done before all of the Fourth of July activities this week.” His grandmother raised a shoulder. “And we always talk about you, dear. We talk about everyone we care about.”

He kept checking the engine on the car. “There’s something not quite right about that.”

Her mouth flattened. “We only talk about you because we’re worried. So, don’t you want to know what RuthEllen said?”

He momentarily stopped trying to determine why her car was making what she described as a “weird rattle-rumble kind of sound,” climbed out from under the hood and answered her with the only response she’d accept. “Sure, what did she say?”

She stepped away from the car, took a quick breath then spouted, “She said you’re a player.”

Not at all what Troy expected. “A player?”

His grandmother nodded, then converted the move into one of those subtle head shakes that said she couldn’t believe his sad state. “Yes, that’s what she said, and everyone in the shop agreed.”

It was all Troy could do not to laugh, but she looked so serious that he held it in check. “Does RuthEllen even know what a player is? And do you?”

She fished a bottle of water out of her purse, unscrewed the lid and took a long swallow. Then she twisted the top on and dropped it back in. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t know until the girls at the shop explained it, but from what they say, it’s a guy who, you know, acts like he is interested in a girl and then drops her like a hot potato.” She settled her purse strap on her shoulder. “That’s you.”

He grabbed a shop rag from his back pocket, wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to determine the best way to explain to his sweet grandmother the difference between being a player and being selective. “I’m not a player. I just don’t continue dating someone if I can’t see myself marrying her.”

“That’s what I told RuthEllen, but she said that’s called leading them on, and I’m thinking she might be right. Troy, you’ve dated nearly every girl in Claremont once. Sometimes twice, but mostly once. They get their hopes up, and then you’re gone.”

Troy winced at the truth of her statement. He’d realized the same thing recently, when it seemed every time he ran into a female in town he received the awkward “what went wrong?” stare.

She grabbed her water bottle again and tilted it toward his face. “See, you know it’s true. But I don’t think it’s that you’re trying to be a player. You’ve set the bar too high, with all of that letter writing you do and envisioning the woman you want to marry and all. That was supposed to get you started thinking about the kind of woman you want. It wasn’t supposed to exclude every girl from fitting the bill.”

“I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have even told you about those letters.” Troy had assumed his grandmother would instinctively understand the importance of those letters to his future bride. Now he wondered if every lady at the Cut and Curl knew about them. “You didn’t tell RuthEllen and the other ladies about them, did you?”

She blinked, twice. “No...why?”

“Because they’re private. I wrote them to one person, and she’s the only one I plan to share them with.” He paused. “Assuming I ever find her.” Troy’s first letter to his future bride had been written when he was twelve as an assignment at church camp. Most kids wrote the required letter and then let that be it, but he’d continued over the years. And as he wrote to her, he’d clearly defined the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

He just hadn’t found her yet.

“Well.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I didn’t tell the girls at the shop about your letters, dear.” She looked as though she wanted to say more, maybe ask if he’d reconsider letting her share the fact that he’d been writing for over a decade and a half to a wife he hadn’t met, but then she must have thought better of the idea and snapped her mouth shut.

“That’s good,” he said. “I appreciate you keeping that to yourself.”

“You’re probably right.” She fidgeted with the water bottle again. “I shouldn’t tell anyone about your love letters.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Right,” she whispered.

Troy had returned his attention to the engine but heard a hint of worry in her tone, so he looked back to his sweet grandmother, twisting the lid on and off the bottle. “Hey, it’s okay that y’all were talking about me at the shop. I understand that’s what ladies do, and I understand you do it because you care about me. I’d just rather the love-letter part stay out of any conversations, okay?”

She nodded and gave him a little smile. “Okay. Well, RuthEllen and the other ladies and I all decided what you need to do. You need to find someone who didn’t grow up in Claremont, someone who doesn’t know you’re a player.”

“I’m not a player.” Troy couldn’t hold back his grin now, finding a lot of humor in making the statement to his grandmother. And while he was supposed to be working, no less. Luckily Bo and Maura Taylor trusted him to get all of his work done at their filling station, and they also understood his grandmother’s need to visit him at his job place every now and again.

“Troy Alan Lee, this is not funny. You’re twenty-seven years old.”

His grin grew. He couldn’t help it. “You know, I’ve heard of guys who didn’t get married until they were in their forties.”

“Not in Claremont.” Her hands weren’t fidgeting now, and she uncapped her water bottle to take another swig.

He set his laugh free. “No, probably not in Claremont, but twenty-seven isn’t ancient. And just so you know, I have a date with a girl on Friday who I’m sure doesn’t see me as a player.”

She capped the bottle and tossed it back in her purse. “Really? Who is she?”

Troy could tell from the excitement in her tone that she’d probably make a beeline straight to RuthEllen’s shop when she left the filling station with the glorious news. “Don’t go getting too anxious. It’s a first date, but her name is Haley Calhoun. She moved here from Florida to take a veterinarian job with Doc Sheridan. He’s planning to retire in a few years and decided he needed an assistant, someone who could get familiar with all of the families and livestock and such in the area.”

A bright smile claimed his grandmother’s face. “That’s perfect! She isn’t from around here, so she won’t know about how you date and run. Maybe she’s the one meant to get your letters. You concentrate on making it to at least date number three, and I’ll make sure to tell all the girls at the beauty shop and in my quilting group not to say anything to her about you being a player.”

He knew better than to try to stop her, so he nodded. “You do that.” Then he opened the driver’s side door and climbed in. “I didn’t see anything under the hood that would cause that rattling you described. Let me drive it and see if I hear the noise, too.”

“Sounds good. I’ll go inside the store and visit with Maura. I’m so excited about your date with the Calhoun girl. I have a good feeling about this.” Grinning, she turned and headed toward the store connected to the garage.

He cranked the car and took it for a short drive away from the station. And while he drove, he thought about the fact that he was evidently now seen as a “player” around town. The absurdity of that was laughable. He wasn’t a player, but he had dated a lot of girls, most of them in town, he supposed. And he hadn’t gotten serious with any of them. He’d always thought God would make it clear when he met the right one, but maybe all of the letters he’d been writing had clouded his vision. He hadn’t given anyone a chance because he had his sights set on perfection. No one was perfect; Troy knew that. But he’d really thought he would know when he met the girl he’d been writing to all these years. He hadn’t considered the fact that it might take more than a date or two to determine whether he’d met “the one.”

God, help me out here. Part of me thinks my grandmother is right. I haven’t given anyone a chance. Help me to see clearly this time, Lord. And help me to know when I meet the right person, and to spend enough time with her to tell. I want to at least see what could happen with Haley. If You could somehow show me whether she’s the girl for me, I’d sure appreciate the help. In Jesus’s name, amen.

He pulled back into the station and heard the horrid rattle that his grandmother described. He’d heard it a few times throughout the short drive, and it hadn’t taken him long to pinpoint the source of the hideous noise. But he couldn’t miss the fun of showing her, so he waited for her to come outside to identify the problem. Maura Taylor walked alongside her as she neared the car.

“Well, did you hear it?” Jolaine asked.

“I did. And you’re right, it’s a horrible racket. I don’t know how you’ve put up with it.”

She nodded. “I know. It’s been driving me crazy for the past week. How bad is it? Do I need a new car, or is it something you can fix? Tell me it’s something you can fix.”

“Definitely something I can fix.” He climbed out, then squatted down by the driver’s seat. “And I can take care of it right now without a single tool.” Sliding his hand under the seat, he withdrew an empty water bottle, then another and another. He pulled six bottles out from under the seat, while Maura muffled her laughter with her hand over her mouth.

“Is that what was making the racket? Those bottles rolling under the seat? James would get on me big-time. Don’t tell your grandfather, Troy. I’ve been meaning to clean out the car.”

“I won’t tell him, but I’m not sure you’ll get so lucky with Mr. Taylor knowing.”

Her cheeks reddened as Bo Taylor neared the group and didn’t attempt to stifle his laughter. She pointed a finger at the man. “You keep quiet, Bo.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Maura promised.

“I think you’ll find your ride much more peaceful now.” Troy tossed the empty bottles in a nearby can.

“Thank you, Troy.” She kissed his cheek. “Anyway, I got to visit with you and let you know about what you need to do.”

“Yes, you did.” Troy knew she didn’t mean any harm, and he loved her dearly for her attempt to help his love life. Maybe she even steered him in the right direction. He had been a bit picky, and thanks to her visit, he’d made a conscious decision to rectify that soon, this Friday, in fact, with Haley Calhoun. One way or another, he’d make it to date number three.

* * *

Destiny Porter sat in her car and waited at the end of the line for gas, all the while watching the mechanic in the garage to the right of the filling station. He wore traditional blue coveralls, and she could tell he had thick, jet-black hair, broad shoulders and a lean waist, but that was it.

She’d left her apartment in Atlanta, packed her things for an indefinite stay and then driven 120 miles to Claremont, Alabama, to see the man and convince him to share his love letters with the world. And now he had his head tucked under the hood of a car.

“Come on, turn around.” Her plea was interrupted when an older version of Richard Gere tapped on her window. Destiny rolled it down. “Yes?”

“Ma’am, I can’t reach your tank unless you pull up to the pump.” He glanced over his shoulder to see what held her attention. The mechanic had finally come out from under the hood and had moved to a bevy of tools against the opposite side wall. “Aah, so you’re another of Troy’s admirers. I wonder if I shouldn’t start paying him some sort of commission for all of the extra customers I get.” The man chuckled then nodded toward the pump, still several feet away. “Why don’t you move forward a little so I can at least pump your gas while you’re doing a rather pitiful attempt at flirting long-distance?”

“Oh, I wasn’t, or, I didn’t mean to stare.”

He raised a dark gray brow.

Destiny felt her cheeks flame. “I’ve never even met the man.” And that was the truth. But she did know everything he wanted in a woman and how he’d treat the one who earned his love, which was why she’d made this trip. However, she wouldn’t share that with this man. She also wouldn’t share it with the mechanic, who apparently had lots of admirers around town.

He’d have plenty more if he let her publish those letters.

She decided she’d change the subject and attempt to save herself any further embarrassment while the man removed the nozzle and busied himself with his work. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a real full-service gas station.”

He nodded as he put gas in her red Beemer. “I suspected as much. You aren’t from around here.” He pointed a knowing finger toward Destiny’s face. “Claremont’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and I’m pretty sure if you were from around here, I’d have noticed.” He glanced toward the garage. “But it isn’t my attention you’re trying to get anyway, is it? Not that it’d matter. I’m happily taken.” He winked. “So, you just passing through or staying awhile?”

Destiny wished she could control her traitorous eyes, but the guy in the garage had finally faced her and she was, quite frankly, speechless.

The older man cleared his throat. “I’m Bo Taylor, by the way. The lady who just walked into the station is my wife, Maura. Assuming you’re listening to my rambling and all.”

Destiny blushed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so embarrassed. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t mean to...”

“Yeah, you do, but that’s okay. Every young lady from town comes here as often as possible.” Bo frowned as the nozzle clattered and the gas stopped pumping. “This isn’t full yet. Let me get her started back up.” He flipped the silver lever on the pump and the thing clicked to life again. “Tell you what, I’ll go get Troy and offer an introduction. The customer line is gone now anyway.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb him.”

The man nodded once as though the matter was decided, ignored Destiny’s protest and started toward the garage. And the gas, which was taking forever to pump, clicked to a near standstill when he walked away. Destiny didn’t even know the numbers could turn that slowly, but then again, all of the gas stations in Atlanta had digital displays. This one, like everything else she’d seen so far, seemed straight out of the 1950s. And since it continued turning slower than traffic on I-285 at rush hour, she barely had three gallons in the tank when Bo returned with tall, dark and mesmerizing Troy Lee by his side.

He was a good six-two, easy, the jet-black hair even darker shining in the sun. Destiny’s hands involuntarily tightened on the wheel, and she made her fingers relax so the blood could start flowing again. Did he really look this good, or was it the fact that she already knew so much about the man and the thoughts of his heart that made her feel as if she were going to pass out merely looking at him? The subscribers to her magazine would simply have to have a photo to accompany his love letters...once Destiny had the authority to put them in print. Which she’d have, one way or another, before next month’s issue. She had to; she’d already promised her advertisers.

“Troy, this is...” Bo Taylor waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Destiny,” she said. “Destiny Porter.”

“Nice to meet you.” He gave her an easy smile, and a deep dimple popped in place slightly beneath his left cheekbone. Somehow that single indention made him even more incredible.

“She’s from out of town, but I didn’t find out yet if she’s passing through or staying awhile.” He looked again to Destiny.

She really had to get a grip. “I’m from Atlanta. Staying awhile.”

Bo nodded. “Troy, my throat is parched. I thought that line of customers was never going to die down, but Ms. Destiny is the last one for now. Can you finish up here? I’m going to head on in and get a soda with Maura.”

“Sure.” Troy nodded at the man retreating to the station and didn’t seem to notice how guilty he looked as he left Destiny to deal with her unwanted attraction on her own. She did not need to be distracted by his looks. She simply needed his signature on a contract, a contract that would allow her to expose his innermost thoughts to the world.

Nervous, she looked away from the handsome country boy and spotted the latest copy of her magazine in the passenger’s seat, as well as a printout of the email that caused her to take this trip. And the love letters—this man’s love letters. She reached into the backseat, grabbed her gigantic purse and flung it over the evidence.

A deep clearing of his throat brought her attention back to the guy outside the car. “You okay?” He tilted his head with the question.

Destiny noticed he’d leaned against the pump and crossed his arms, which drew more attention to biceps that would put every guy in her Atlanta gym to shame. And she suspected from his letters that he wasn’t the kind of guy to hit a gym. He’d mentioned putting in a good, honest day’s work every day. She also knew that he’d support his wife’s choice if she wanted to work outside the home, but if she decided to be a stay-at-home mom, he’d support that just as much.

She knew so much about this guy, but he didn’t know the first thing about her. She’d have to change that, and she couldn’t waste time about it. Those letters could save her magazine. So she had to gain his trust and then get the rights to run them.

No sweat.

But she was sweating now, and she didn’t think it was necessarily due to the Alabama heat. Did all guys down here look like that?

Destiny saw that he still waited for her to answer his question. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just wanted to have my purse handy when it’s time to pay.” She shot a glance at the churning pump. “I’m guessing the customer lines have something to do with the speed of the pumps?”

He laughed, and the sound rippled over her skin like cocoa butter on a hot day at the beach. She’d have never thought a guy from a tiny town in Alabama could have this effect on her senses. Then again, she’d have never thought a guy from here would be as sensitive and heartfelt as the one standing beside her car.

But he didn’t know she knew about that. She snuck a glance at her passenger seat to make sure his letters were covered.

“So, you said you’re staying awhile. What are you planning to do in Claremont? We aren’t exactly the tourist capital of the world, other than the dude ranch and the fishing camp. But you don’t seem like the dude-ranch or fishing-camp type.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “No offense.”

“None taken.” She felt her heart rate slow and was glad she was becoming more at ease talking to the guy who’d so thoroughly, and unknowingly, touched her heart. “I’m staying a few weeks to write stories about life in a small Southern town.” That was true; she did plan to write about Claremont and about the couples she’d meet during her visit, as her magazine focused on love, but that wasn’t what brought her here.

Troy Lee did.

“Well, then, you’ve come to the right place. You don’t get much smaller than Claremont.” He sighed, a nearly inaudible sound, but one Destiny heard, since she hung on to every word. “But in my opinion, we’ve got everything anyone could need.”

And there it was, the sentimental side she’d sensed in his letters and the guy who’d treat a girl like pure gold. Destiny fought the urge to sigh right back. However, she’d dated quite a few guys who started out acting that way and then their true colors came shining through, thicker and darker than hard Georgia clay. She hadn’t met an honest, sincere one yet. But if Troy Lee’s letters to his future bride rang true, he could be the real deal. And the type her readers wanted to hear about.

She cleared her throat. “So, what does Claremont have, besides the dude ranch and the fishing camp?”

He grinned. “I was right. You aren’t the dude-ranch or fishing-camp kind of girl.”

She found it very easy to smile at Troy. “I’ll be honest. I’m afraid of horses, but truthfully, I’ve always wanted to learn how to fish.”

“Really, now? Well, I might be able to help you out.”

Destiny already knew that, of course, but she kept her poker face intact. “How could you do that?”

“It just so happens that I have a second job on the weekends running the fishing hole. It isn’t as organized and all as the new fish camp. The Cutter family owns that, and it’s more of a vacation spot. But my grandparents James and Jolaine Bowers own the fishing hole, and it’s the type of place to go if you want to have some quiet time for a day, relax outside, take in the scenery.”

“And catch some fish?”

His dimple popped back into place with his smile. “Yeah, that, too.”

“So you’ll be there this weekend?” Destiny was doing a little fishing right now, and she wasn’t all that discreet about it, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I will.” He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a leather wallet. “I think I have a couple of their cards left in here. I’ll get you one. It’ll have the address for you. We’re open pretty much from sunup till sundown, so you can come whenever you like.”

“I don’t need a reservation?”

Blue eyes glittered as he looked up from a forest of black lashes. “Nah, it’s not that kind of place.”

She watched his hands, covered in dirt and oil, thumb through the worn wallet, and she noticed a small emblem on one corner of the leather, a gold cross. The symbol reminded her of the main theme of his letters.

I want a bride who loves the Lord more than she loves me.

The statement had caught Destiny unaware, shocked her a little. She didn’t have that kind of faith, didn’t really understand it, but the guy wrote about it so much that she honestly believed he meant those words. And that intrigued her even more.

“I know I have them in here somewhere.”

As he searched for the card, Destiny took the chance to look at his face, and she realized with surprise that it was also fairly well covered with dirt and grime, and one thick smear of what she guessed to be oil across his forehead. Funny, she hadn’t even noticed it before. His features had apparently drawn her attention to the important things. Or maybe it was the words he’d written on those love letters that hid any imperfections.

“Here it is.” He withdrew the card and handed it to Destiny. “You’ll have to excuse the smudge.” He pointed to a black smear along the edge. “You can still read the important stuff. And there’s another business on the back.”

Destiny flipped the card and saw the contact information for the Bowers’ Sporting Goods Shop on the Claremont square.

“My grandparents thought it’d be smart to consolidate their two businesses on one card.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” She tucked the card inside her purse.

The gas pump made a loud racket as it screeched to a stop. “Looks like it’s done.” He moved the nozzle from the tank to the pump. “Took fifty-three dollars’ worth.”

She fished three twenties from her wallet and placed them in his palm.

“Hold on, I’ll get your change.” He turned and walked toward the station where Bo and Maura quickly jerked their attention from the gas pumps to something else at the counter.

Destiny’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the display, saw her managing editor’s name, then answered. “Everything okay with today’s blog?”

The magazine’s website ran an original blog post each day. Usually Destiny wrote the material, but Rita had taken on today’s so Destiny could get on the road sooner. Plus, since their entire staff consisted of merely the two of them, if Destiny didn’t do it, Rita did. Destiny may have footed the start-up expenses and therefore held the “owner” title, but Rita cared just as much about the magazine’s success. Hopefully, if Destiny could keep her advertisers and subscribers happy, she’d one day be able to pay her friend a salary worthy of her efforts.

“Of course, everything’s fine,” Rita said. “I told you I can handle things.”

Destiny grinned. “Okay, so why are you calling?”

“To find out if you met him yet, naturally. Have you? And does he look as good as he sounds on paper?”

“No, he looks better.”

“You don’t say? Well, maybe I should’ve been the one to volunteer for this road trip. Then again, it may be a moot point. His grandmother just called again to make sure we weren’t publishing his letters and also asked for us to return the originals.”

Destiny frowned. Troy’s grandmother had entered several of his love letters in the magazine’s first Love Letter Contest, and his had blown all of the other entries out of the water. Then, when they’d phoned the lady to let her know she’d won, she admitted she didn’t have her grandson’s permission to share them. Rita had offered to call and talk to Troy, but the woman had said she’d try to get his permission. When that didn’t happen quickly, Destiny decided to head to Alabama herself and request it personally. “Did she say anything else?”

“That Troy had told her specifically today that he didn’t want anyone but his future bride seeing those letters and that she wanted to make sure we gave the prize money to whoever came in second...and returned those letters. She said she wants to put them back where she found them before he realizes they’re missing.”

“None of those other letters even held a candle to his, Rita. You know that. And we promised our advertisers a sneak peek into the heart of a true Southern gentleman. Obviously, there aren’t that many of them left, and we’ve found a winner. I’m not giving up on getting his permission to publish them.”

Rita’s laugh echoed through the phone. “I thought you’d say that, but I figured you’d want to know what she said. We still need to mail those letters to her, you know.”

Destiny glanced at the letters that she’d read and reread continually ever since they’d arrived in their PO box. Funny, she felt almost territorial about them, as though they were written to her or something. But they weren’t, and his grandmother wanted to return them to where she had found them. “Okay. We’ll send them back,” she said regretfully.

Troy exited the station and started toward her car.

“Hey, he’s coming this way. Call you back later.” She hung up and tossed the cell back in her purse.

“Here you go.” He placed the bills in her hand, and the simple gesture sent a ripple of awareness up her arm. “So, did you have any other questions?”

“Other questions?” She folded the cash and placed it in the console. “Oh, yes, I do. I need to find the Claremont Bed and Breakfast. Could you tell me where it’s located?”

“Sure, you keep heading down Claremont-Stockville Road, the way you’re going, and you’ll run right into the town square. Head to the opposite side and take the road to Maple Street. It’s a block down on the left. It’s an antebellum plantation, white with double porches all the way around, one on the top floor and the other surrounding the bottom. You can’t miss it. Nice place. L. E. and Annette Tingle run it. They’re good folks. They’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks.” She didn’t make any effort to start the engine. She really didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t think of another reason to stay.

“But that wasn’t what I meant.” His relaxed and easy tone highlighted his contentment in his world, even if he hadn’t found the woman he’d written to for, oh, fifteen years.

“Wasn’t what you meant? What wasn’t what you meant?”

“I was asking if you have any other questions about small-town living. Maybe I could help you out, beyond just showing you how to fish this weekend. Assuming you visit the fishing hole.” He grinned. “Anyway, ask away. You’re our only customer for the time being. Might as well take advantage of a few minutes to ask small-town questions of the small-town guy.”

She racked her brain for every line of those beautifully written letters, and she suddenly knew exactly what to ask in her quest to begin winning Troy’s trust. “Just one more question, for now.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I’d love to attend a midweek worship. Can you tell me if there’s a church in town that I could visit tonight?” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d graced a church for a midweek service. In fact, she missed more Sundays than she attended, but she did find her way to church every now and again. And this morning, she’d even found her Bible and packed it for the trip because faith was important to Troy. So for now she’d find hers again, too. Never hurt to spend time in church; she just rarely found the time to make the effort. But she’d make it now.

He hesitated, then one corner of his mouth kicked up a notch, and that dimple made a reappearance. “Sure, Claremont Community Church has a midweek worship. And it’s pretty easy to find. There’s a sign for the church at the end of a road a little ways before you get to the square. You can’t miss it. Worship starts at seven.”

A little ways. The quaint term sounded adorable, especially when delivered with that deep drawl. Instead of asking him exactly how far that constituted, she said, “Sounds great.” She turned the key. “And will you be there?”

“I try to never miss.”

“Then I’ll see you there.” She gave him her best smile and a small wave, and then drove away from the guy she’d planned to meet ever since her magazine received that batch of letters from his grandmother last month. And she’d seen it in his eyes: her church question took him by pleasant surprise. Good. She wanted to convince him to trust her, be her friend and eventually agree to help save her magazine. Perhaps in the process, he’d get his own version of her magazine’s name.

Southern Love.