1-800-SUMMER

CHAPTER ONE

Belle Boots breathed in the comforting smell of hay and leather and peered around at her beloved stable—the weathered wooden planks, the plastic buckets of water, the wide mirror propped in the corner of the stall ...

And, most notably, at Jenkins—her sweet, colorful appaloosa—all one thousand pounds of quirky loyalty and claustrophobia.

"We're leaving, handsome." She fished in her pocket for a carrot. "Off we trot to greener pastures."

Jenkins whinnied and poked his nose through the stall, noisily accepting the carrot and ignoring her quip.

"Why is the pasture greener?" She rubbed his ears. "Because the new landlord of my sorry excuse for an apartment raised the rent." Which meant fewer than five weeks to find another place. She grabbed a water bucket and brush, scrubbing and refilling the bucket. "Maybe this is the ideal opportunity for us to return to Wilmington."

Another crunch of the carrot, and Jenkins pawed the stable floor.

"I can't play right now. I'm sorry. My therapy sessions begin in an hour."

In the past two years, she'd grown fond of the postcard-perfect community of Roses. In fact, she regarded Roses as her hometown.

She blew out a pensive sigh. Or did she?

Sometimes a person needed to leave a place to discover where home truly was. The sense of adventure that had surged through her when she had decided on Roses—the thrill of a different town and untried places—had worn thin. Despite her efforts to stay busy, Belle had never gotten over her loneliness since she had left Wilmington.

Perhaps she was simply homesick. She missed Aunt Lucinda, her mother's older sister and Belle's only living relative. Plus, she missed the ocean—the bracing waves, the salty air rushing across her face, and the sunbeams flashing off the water like silent jewels.

Jenkins stamped his hoof, bringing Belle back to the present.

"I only brought one carrot with me," she said. "I'll return later this afternoon with more."

In the pale-yellow light streaming through the slats, the echoes of a late May morning drifted, and promised a typical North Carolina day. Sunrises were cool and bearable before the humidity and oppressive heat kicked in.

After she mucked the stall and turned out Jenkins to the pasture, Belle's attentions swung back to her dilemma. Wilmington beckoned. Or perhaps Florida or California.

Only one thing was certain. She was moving. Somewhere.

She glanced at her watch. Swiftly, she washed up and sprinted to her pickup truck. In the tangle of the confusing morning, she'd lost track of time.

Her first equine therapy session was with Joseph, a dark-eyed boy whose lean legs raced so quickly he reminded her of a clockwork figure. His adoptive parents, Candee and Teddy, owned a large Victorian home on Thompson Lane and had built a riding ring on their acreage.

The second session was with Megan Bransfield, a chubby, pale girl who wore a bright pink patch over her right eye and rarely smiled.

How could she desert these precious children? Belle's sentiments wrestled between anguish and indecision. At the other side of the spectrum, anticipation welled.

The drive into Roses went slower than expected, which invariably happened whenever she was in a hurry. When she neared the Thompson Lane turn-off, she took in the scene in front of her—red, white, and blue balloons; the local marching band; and a banner stretching across the main street announcing the Memorial Day parade.