Potter Springs Read Online Free PDF

then.”
    “Yes.” Amanda refused to slump or cry under the weight of her mother’s resignation. It blanketed her, but she would not wrestle
     against it, knowing it would only tangle her further.
    She looked at her mother, and kept her expression clear.
I will not cry. I will not fall apart in this snooty uptown restaurant with unbelievably delicious quiche. I wonder if I could
     get another slice to go?
    “I never wanted you to repeat my mistakes.” Katy’s voice could barely be heard.
    “It’s not a mistake. I know what I’m doing.” Amanda watched the headless chickens spin, oil shining on their flanks. Twirling.
     Imprisoned for the delight of the feasting diners.
    “You don’t have to go through with it.” Katy leaned forward. “You know I’ll help you… whatever it takes.”
    “I know.” Amanda wiped a wayward tear. “But this is what I want. I want Mark. I want this baby.” She was off the silver spindle,
     ready to dance on her own, to break free and begin her own adventure. With Mark, her favorite person, at her side.
    “You’re sure?”
    “No question.” Perhaps she hadn’t started in the right order, according to some, but she’d landed the man of her dreams. And
     a baby too. Not too shabby for a rich girl from Houston, destined to serve on volunteer committees in the best panty hose.
    Katy nodded once. “Don’t tell your father. I’ll do it when the time is right.” She stamped out the cigarette butt with a final
     tap, signaling an end to that strain of conversation.
    She cradled Amanda’s cheek with a tobacco-scented hand. “It’s going to be okay, baby.”
    The tenderness in the endearment nearly slayed Amanda’s bravado, but she nodded and accepted the gesture.
    Katy Thompson shifted back and surveyed her daughter over an ivory coffee cup. “We’ve got a wedding to plan, little girl.”
     And with that announcement, she bestowed her first genuine smile of the morning.

CHAPTER 5

click
    T he dim atmosphere of St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church did nothing to quench the morning heat. Ancient air conditioners wheezed
     against Houston’s early-summer temperatures while the sanctuary, with its stone walls and intricate stained glass, registered
     a whopping ten degrees cooler than the humid ninety-eight outside.
    Mark stood at the front and smiled at the gathering assembly. He played host again today, but for an entirely different purpose.
     The warmth that radiated from his chest, under his arms and from his hairline didn’t reach his fingertips, cold as ice. He
     flexed them, willing the blood to ease their chill. Amanda would need a warm grasp after the gauntlet they faced this morning.
    The wedding. Hastily assembled by an undaunted Katy Thompson, full-throttle
Southern Living
style in a matter of weeks. Amazing.
    The house of worship was one of the oldest and most beautiful in Houston, with stone masonry, mahogany beams, glimmering chandeliers
     and commissioned artwork. Naturally, Amanda’s parents were lifetime members. Mark couldn’t imagine how Katy had wrangled a
     Saturday time spot in the middle of June. He didn’t want to know.
    Until yesterday, Mark had never stepped foot in a Presbyterian church and, judging from his mother’s sniffs of disapproval,
     Marianne Reynolds hadn’t either.
    “Where’s the baptismal?” she asked too loudly during the awkward rehearsal. Her question reverberated through the sanctuary.
    “They sprinkle, Mom,” he whispered to quiet her, wishing he’d never picked her up at the airport.
    “Oh!” The look of shock she gave the entire Thompson family suggested they might all be in danger of hellfire, not having
     their sins properly washed by a full-body dunking.
    Even now, the aisle marked the Red Sea division between the Baptists and the Presbyterians. Marianne sat in the front pew,
     encased in yellow, already dabbing her eyes. She liked to cry in church.
    He knew, without searching the remaining rows, that James Montclair