Lacy (The Doves of Primrose) Read Online Free PDF

her greatest fear. Well, Lacy was going to hell anyway, this couldn’t count against her too much, right?
    She watched Scarlett back out the door like she was going to the gallows and Lacy’s heart wrenched. When the door swung back it brought Kyle’s whiskey and cream voice with it. Lacy rushed to peek out the bottom of the round window. She had to get on her tip-toes to get it done.  She scanned the tables , quickly spotting Kyle; it wasn’t hard as he was the largest person in the room and had all the charisma of a magnet in a bucket full of nails.
    She couldn’t make out what he was saying to Scarlett while she served the salad but it had a strange effect on her friend. Sca rlett smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear and, without blushing, spoke to the man. Lacy gritted her teeth when he touched Scarlett’s hand.  Damn, he was good. Or perhaps… oh shit! Lacy darted away from the door, ripping her apron off as she ran past the butcher block table. She snatched up an apple and pushed the screen door open.
    Trying to catch her breath after she launched off the back step and praying Scarlett hadn’t seen her leaving the kitchen on her way back through the door , Lacy held her aching side. She should probably start exercising. She rolled her eyes, just add it to the list of things that won’t ever get done.
    The trees cast a dappled shadow over the deep green grass. Autumn in Nebraska was Lacy’s favorite time. It was the deep breath of life just before a season of rest. The first of September was thoroughly exhilarating, crisp air and the final fragrant blooms of the year. Now she just hoped it would stay nice so the high-paying guests could film their movie and make a ton at the box office.
    That was the goal. Lacy prayed it would happen, willed it to. Without a serious infusion of funds she and this place were sunk and she couldn’t live with that happening. She had to open her mouth to relax her tight, stress-locked jaw. If that stupid husband of hers hadn’t run off with every penny she had saved in the past eight years slaving away at The Curly Gates salon , clipping hair and listening to gossip while trying to transform thin hair into luscious locks per every customer’s request, she wouldn’t be tied up in knots every day trying to make this place cash flow.
    She vowed she would never do it again. She wouldn’t be at anyone’s beck and call after years of marriage to the world’s worst husband. Now here she was running one of the neediest businesses in the free world. A bed and breakfast screamed: “Yes, I want to be your slave! Your wish is my command!” But this place was hers, it was constant, it was home.
    A whiff of sweet hay greeted her halfway to the barn, soothing her nerves. Jimmy had dropped off a fresh delivery this morning as scheduled. At least he was trustworthy. Of course he’d probably try to screw her over on the bill now that he knew she was in charge instead of her mother, who opted to pay him with a different kind of screwing. Lacy was wondering when that particular family gene would begin to kick in for her.
    It had all started with her great- great-grandmother Emma turning this place into a “respectable rooming house” back in 1874 after her husband was shot and killed over a card game. The woman had never seen this part of the country or set foot in the house before she became a widow ten minutes after arriving in town. Their story was truly unbelievable; most people thought it was just a tale made up by the family to fill rooms with guests. But Lacy had read the diaries no one else knew existed. She had found them in one of the secret passages her great-great-grandfather built into the house, tucked in an old trunk beneath some moldy dresses. She knew that Emma Schuster was a survivor and had to do whatever it took to survive in an unforgiving time.
    Lacy reached out for the barn door, grasping the rough woo den handle.  Her heart lifted as it always did entering this