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  Books by Lin Stepp

  DOWN BY THE RIVER

  “A Smoky Mountain Gift” in WHEN THE SNOW FALLS

  MAKIN’ MIRACLES

  SAVING LAUREL SPRINGS

  WELCOME BACK

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Welcome Back

  A SMOKY MOUNTAIN NOVEL

  LIN STEPP

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Books by Lin Stepp

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  EPILOGUE

  A READING GROUP GUIDE

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  SAVING LAUREL SPRINGS

  Teaser chapter

  Copyright Page

  This book is dedicated to my church family and friends at St. Mark United Methodist Church, who have supported me, been excited with me, and encouraged me in my journey as a published author. Thanks especially to the St. Mark Book Club and the Rose Circle for their loving support . . . and to all in the church who came to my book launches, popped in at my signings, and shared my books with their friends far and wide. A special thank-you to former pastor Dave Graybeal and his wife, Tracey, and to current minister Kenny Faught and his wife, Chrissy—and to all on staff and in the congregation for always celebrating with me over each new book published.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Others help me to be all I can be.

  I have found such a wonderful publishing family at Kensington—and I am grateful to each one who works to prepare, produce, market, and promote my books.... Thanks to my great editor, Martin Biro, to production editor Paula Reedy, copy editor Christy Phillippe, publicist Jane Nutter, inventory manager Guy Chapman, and to all in marketing and sales who work so hard to take my books out to new readers. Special appreciation also to book cover art director Kristin Mills and artist and illustrator Judy York for the beautiful book covers on all my Smoky Mountain novels. They take my breath away. A special tribute, also, to Steven Zacharius, President and CEO at Kensington Publishing, New York, for heading this fine company with excellence and joy.

  At the home office, in Tennessee, thanks to my husband and business partner, J. L., who shares my journey—helping me promote my books, keep up with financial aspects, and travel the road with me to signings and events. I couldn’t be more blessed. Thanks also to my daughter, Kate, in North Carolina for sharing her graphics talents to help design my Web site and social media sites.

  Finally, behind it all—and really first above all—thanks to the Lord for His ever-present help, guidance, and inspiration in all I do.... In the words of Erma Bombeck, “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, I used everything You gave me.”

  CHAPTER 1

  With a scowl, J. T. stuffed a final sack of books into a corner of Lydia’s trunk, amid the growing mound of boxes and suitcases. “Mom, I think these are the last bags to load and I doubt we can cram any more in.”

  Offering him a smile, Lydia reached out to pat his arm, but J. T. shifted away. He stalked off toward the house, the sullen expression he’d worn all morning still set on his face. He and his brothers had shown up en masse this morning to help her pack, not one in a good mood.

  Tucking her laptop and printer-copier into the crowded backseat of her navy Mustang, Lydia turned to head back into the kitchen—only to find all three of her sons filling the small kitchen space, waiting for her and scowling. “What’s all this?” she asked, crossing her arms.

  “You don’t have to go, Mom.” Parker sent her a grief-stricken look. “We can unload all this stuff in a flash. You can still change your mind.”

  “We’ve talked this out several times, Parker.” Lydia sat down at the kitchen table, motioning for the boys to join her. She probably should have expected a final, frontal ambush after watching them exchange glances and frowns all morning.

  “But it still doesn’t make sense to us.” Parker’s twin, Billy Dale—preferably called Will now—leaned toward her, popping his knuckles as he always did when feeling upset or anxious.

  Lydia tried to think of what to say. “The new job back at Western Carolina University is a move up for me to director of career services, in a school I like. It’s the college where I got my undergrad and graduate degrees, held my first job as a student in career services, and where I first worked after graduation. I love Western—you know that. It’s like going home to me.”

  J. T. frowned. “That’s hardly the whole story, Mom. You’re going home to the farm, too.”

  Lydia stalled for an answer, getting up to pour herself a glass of water from the Brita in the refrigerator. “I am not going home to the farm.” She spoke each word slowly for emphasis as she sat back down. “I’m renting Hill House on the Upper Farm property.”

  “Same thing.” J. T. scowled.

  “It is not the same thing, J. T., and you know it.” Lydia glared at him. “You also know why I’m renting Hill House at this particular time. Rebecca said your father might sell it, that they’d experienced a lot of bills since Estelle died. The house has sat empty for over a year, and a developer who wants to purchase the land tendered a good offer.”

  “And why is that your responsibility?” J. T. popped out yet another sarcastic remark.

  She caught his eyes with hers. “Rebecca said Mary Beth was upset that the house and property might be sold. You know it would create a big gap in the property. She asked Rebecca to suggest I rent Hill House when she learned of my job offer at Western.”

  Lydia let her gaze sweep from one son to another. “Mary Beth is your sister. I have been here for the three of you all these years, but not there for her. She has never asked anything of me before this—not once since I left. I don’t feel I can say no.”

  J. T. shook his head. “Mom, Mary Beth has hardly spoken to you since you left ten years ago. Or to us. Remember? She was angry at all of us for leaving.”

  “I know that.” Lydia chewed on a nail. “I hope this might be my opportunity to mend fences with her. She is my only daughter.”

  “And we’re your sons.” Parker dropped his head into his hands, working hard to hold his emotions in check. “We love you, Mom. We don’t want you to go. What will we do here without you?”

  She reached over to tousle his hair. “You’ll move on with your life and career, marry your sweet fiancée, and soon make more beautiful grandchildren for me like J. T. and his wife have.”

  Parker looked around the small, cozy kitchen of their house. “It won’t be the same without you. I want you to stay. We all want you to stay.”

  “I know you do and I admit I feel torn—my boys here in Atlanta, but my girl, I’ve been estranged from all these years, and a new job opportunity back in North Carolina.” She studied the anxious faces of her sons. “Can’t you understand that I want some time to come to know Mary Beth now that she’s grown, to get to know her twin boys—my grandsons? They’re six years old and I’ve had no time with them.”

  Will scowled. “What you really mean is that it’s
safe to go back to Cunningham Farm now because ‘Ding Dong! The Witch is dead.’ ”

  “Billy Dale!” Lydia shook a finger at him. “That was a very crude and rude remark to make about your grandmother.”

  He slouched in his seat, unrepentant. “Why is that, Mom? Should we all pretend Grandmother Cunningham was a dear saint and a sweet person now that she’s dead? We all know better. She ran the four of us off the farm, remember? It’s why we’re here in Atlanta now.”

  “There were other reasons why I came to Atlanta and why you boys came with me.” Lydia straightened her shoulders. “Working at Georgia Tech on full-time staff paved the way for all three of you to get your educations tuition-free.”

  “Mom, we know that.” J. T. reached across the table to take her hand. “We’re grateful, too, for how you stood with us to help us have the opportunities and futures we wanted, rather than staying on the farm.”

  The twins added their hands over J. T.’s, bringing tears to Lydia’s eyes at their unexpected show of affection. “We just worry that you’ll be hurt again with Dad so nearby,” Billy Dale said.

  Lydia drew back her hand in surprise and crossed her arms defensively. “You talk like your father is some sort of monster. You know that’s not true. He deeply loved all of us. He was good to us.”

  “But not good enough.” Parker frowned. “He wouldn’t stand up for us against his mother.”

  “That would be a hard thing for any son to do.” She studied her nail, avoiding her son’s eyes. “Especially in your father’s situation, when your grandfather had died and left your grandmother—and the farm—in your father’s care.”

  J. T. made a fist. “He let her bully you and make you unhappy. Then when we grew old enough to want a life away from the farm, he let her go after us. She had a mean heart and a cutting tongue, Mom. You know it’s true.” He paused, trying to curb his anger. “She could make a victim bleed with her words and actions, and she enjoyed wielding her power doing it.”

  “Mary Beth was the only one she didn’t bully all the time except for Dad. Probably why Mary Beth decided to stay,” Parker added.

  “Estelle was a difficult woman.” Lydia could hardly deny it.

  A small silence filled the kitchen—each of them swamped with their own rush of negative memories.

  “Are you going to try to make up with Dad?” Parker asked, voicing the question none of the boys had asked before.

  Lydia smiled. “It isn’t as though your father and I had a specific quarrel, Parker, that needs ‘making up.’ I simply wanted different things than the farm could offer at the time.”

  “That’s not an answer to Parker’s question.” J. T. ran a hand through his dark red hair, so much like her own.

  Lydia tapped a nail on the table. “I’m not going back to the farm to resume a relationship with your father. We’ve been separated for ten years, J. T. A lot of time has gone by. We’ve both made different lives, grown apart, and become different people.”

  “But you haven’t divorced,” Billy Dale added. “And you’ve never dated much, if at all, in all the time you’ve been here.”

  “You know I’ve been busy raising you boys and working,” she answered, watching them raise their eyebrows and pass looks back and forth as soon as she said the words.

  Billy Dale grinned and shook his head. “Funny, we all managed to have our share of women over these years, some good ones, some real losers. We all worked, went to school, but still found time for a social life. We even managed to get married or engaged—J. T. married to Laura, me to Amelia, and Parker engaged to Marie.”

  “Yes, and I’m so pleased to have all three of you settled—”

  J. T. interrupted. “So now you can go back and see if there’s still something between you and Dad. That’s really it, isn’t it, Mom?”

  Lydia waited a moment to answer, getting up to put her glass in the sink. “I loved your father with all my heart at one time. In many ways I will always love him. But I’m not returning to reestablish a relationship with him, and I’m sure he’s not eager to renew a relationship with me.”

  “He’s never pushed for a divorce in all these years. Perhaps he does want to get back with you. If so, what will you do?” J. T. leaned forward as he posed his question, making Lydia uncomfortable.

  “I have no idea, and I think you boys are letting your imaginations get the best of you speculating in this way. Your father and I are two middle-aged people, after all.”

  Billy Dale laughed. “You’re not even fifty, Mom. You’re hardly dead and buried. People start whole new lives and enter passionate new relationships in their forties, fifties, and even afterward today.”

  Lydia blushed at her son’s candor. “Well, thank you for that sage advice,” she said, covering her embarrassment. “That certainly reassures me about my vitality and future opportunities.”

  “Just be careful, won’t you?” Parker gave her an appealing look. “We really don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  She looked at her sons in surprise. “You really think your father would intentionally hurt me?”

  “He did before.” J. T. spit out the words. “It’s not something we can easily forget.”

  “Listen. I’ve grown and matured a great deal from that young woman of thirty-eight who left the farm ten years ago. I’ve lived on my own, made my own way, and managed my own problems and affairs.” She pushed her thick hair behind her ear. “I think you can trust me to handle your father and anything else that life brings my way in North Carolina, don’t you?”

  Parker sighed. “No one is ever so wise that love can’t catch them unawares and toss them for a loop.”

  Billy Dale laughed, punching his brother in the arm. “Spoken like a man who’s just taken the big plunge and finally gotten engaged. There’s no escaping now, boy. Marie’s got you hooked and is reeling you in.”

  Good-natured teasing ensued then, lightening the moment, for which Lydia felt grateful. She stood up from the table, glancing at her watch. “I need to get on the road. I want to get to Maggie Valley by afternoon. It’s about four hours with stops.”

  She started out the back door, the boys trailing behind her, continuing to ask questions and showing their concern. Do you have your cell phone? Did you gas up yesterday so you won’t have to stop along the way? Did you put maps of Georgia and North Carolina in the glove compartment? As if she needed the latter to find her way along the familiar route.

  “I have everything I need, and I’ll be fine.” She smiled at them, taking in the rangy good looks of her young men one last time—J. T. tall, long-faced, muscular from his workouts in the gym, his hair wavy like hers with red glints highlighted in the sun, the twins nearly as tall, sturdy, broad-shouldered, nearly identical in appearance, with the dark, sable-brown hair and handsome features of the Cunningham men.

  She hugged them each before climbing into the car, knowing how much she would miss seeing them and being a vital part of their daily lives.

  “Hey, wait.” Billy Dale raised a hand as she put her key in the ignition. Sprinting to his truck, he reached in, retrieved a plastic bag, and brought it back to Lydia. “Here. Amelia finished this purse for you last night and told me to be sure and give it to you.” He pushed it through the car window. “She put snacks and stuff in it, too, in case you didn’t want to stop along the way.”

  Lydia glanced into the richly embroidered, velvet-brown purse to see pieces of fruit, snack bars, a package of almonds, and a bottle of water.

  She studied her son’s face a last time. “You tell Amelia thanks and that I absolutely love the purse she made. It’s beautiful. She knows so well what I like.”

  “Yeah.” He dropped his eyes. “She cried this morning when she gave it to me. She’s real torn up about you leaving.”

  Lydia blinked back her tears. “Me too.” She blew kisses and started the car, knowing if she didn’t leave soon she’d break down and cry, only making the parting harder.

  Waving a la
st good-bye, she backed out of the driveway of the little brick bungalow, giving a last look to the ivy creeping around the doorway and up the wall, finding it suddenly hard to say good-bye to the modest house she’d called home during her years in Atlanta. She drove through the quiet streets of Morningside, past Piedmont Park and the Atlanta Botanical Garden, and then onto the busy freeway rushing between the downtown suburban area to the west and Georgia Tech’s vast campus on the east.

  An hour outside of Atlanta traffic she let the tears out at last, knowing how much she’d miss seeing her boys every day, grieving that they felt upset with her over her decision to leave. However, as the miles slid by and the freeway began climbing into the mountains, Lydia began to look ahead with anticipation to her move. She’d cut off Interstate 85 onto Highway 441/23 earlier to journey over scenic rural roadways and stopped in colorful Sylva, North Carolina, at City Lights Café, for a quick lunch and to take a few minutes to run upstairs to check out the City Lights Bookstore. Now she turned off Highway 23 onto the Blue Ridge Parkway for the last lap of her journey.

  Lydia’s spirit finally grew peaceful on the quiet parkway. At Waterrock Knob she stopped her car to look out over the rolling Blue Ridge mountain ranges and felt a sudden clutch at her heart.

  This is home, she thought with a sigh. This beautiful part of the North Carolina mountains. I’ve never been a city girl at heart—I know that—and Atlanta, despite its cultural wonders and attractions, was only a stopover place for me. Here’s where I belong, where the air is crisp and clear and where the sweep of green forested hillsides fills the senses.

  Being in the mountains again helped Lydia feel more certain she’d made the right decision in coming back. She’d only be four hours from her boys in the city, after all. She could visit anytime she wanted.

  The elevation dropped away as Lydia headed down from the Blue Ridge Parkway at Soco Gap into Maggie Valley, the highway now winding in a long ribbon between the high ridges of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Great Smoky Mountains. She noticed a few changes as she drove downhill from the parkway and felt certain she’d see more in the commercial area of town later. Ten years was a long time and she hadn’t come back, even for a short visit, before now.