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Where Love Grows
Cynthia Reese
MILLS & BOON
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To the women who have made me who I am. I
treasure you all. And in memory of my Aunt Lou—
the inspiration for Mee-Maw.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Acknowledgment
I couldn’t have written this book without help from a great many people—too many local farmers in my area to name individually here, but thank you all. Thanks to Kenny Chesney for the music that helped inspire this story and helped motivate me when the going got tough. A big hug goes to my better half for putting up with life on hold while I was writing. Acknowledgments also go to my critique partners Tawna Fenske, Cindy Miles, Stephanie Bose and Nelsa Roberto, to my agent Miriam Kriss, and to my absolutely wonderful editor Laura Shin, whose revision suggestions really helped me turn the corner.
CHAPTER ONE
CRAIG ANDREWS WAS moving in for the kill.
He’d trapped Becca Reynolds as neatly as any hound would trap a rabbit.
She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. To reach for the tumbler of water in front of her would be a sign of weakness, wouldn’t it?
Yes. Better to have a mouth that felt as if a sandblaster had let loose in it than to have her actions prove it.
“Miss Reynolds…”
Andrews pivoted on his Testoni dress shoes and held up a single sheet of paper. The corners of his mouth lifted, but the expression bore about as much resemblance to a smile as a shark’s chompers did.
“You based your conclusions on weather patterns and the very scientific NASA photographs.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. It is my—”
But before Becca could explain how she knew the hailstorm had been nothing but cocktail ice and a few migrant workers beating plants down in the field, he held up one perfectly manicured hand.
Really. The fop spent more on his appearance than she and her father spent on their monthly office lease.
And now she was stuck on the stand, testifying in the first federal criminal-fraud case she’d investigated. The case was a slam dunk, or so she’d assured the feds and the insurance company who’d hired their firm.
It certainly didn’t feel like that now.
“You even went so far as to say there were no tomatoes planted—”
She gritted her teeth. “No. I said there weren’t as many tomatoes planted as Mr. Palmer said. His insurance claim forms indicated he had several hundred acres—”
“Yes, yes.” He waved away her answer. “How much do you know of the weather in this part of the state?”
“I’m a private investigator, Mr. Andrews. I’m not a meteorologist.”
“Ah, but you based your findings on meteorological evidence. So is it going to rain today, Miss Reynolds?”
With the prosecution’s objection offered and sustained, and the laughter in the courtroom finished, Andrews came back. “Were you aware, Miss Reynolds, that this part of the county had heavy spring rains?”
Her stomach clenched. “No. My…recollection of the rainfall levels indicated that they were a little above average but not inordinately heavy.”
“But if your recollection—” Andrews’s emphasis of the word dripped with sarcasm “—was faulty, would that impact your analysis?”
Becca swallowed hard again and this time succumbed to the call of the water on the witness stand. No way had she goofed those rainfall levels. She’d looked at them, standard procedure. She glanced at her father, the senior partner of Reynolds Agricultural Investigations. It was only after he glowered at her in a way that screamed “Don’t screw this up!” that she answered Andrews’s question.
“Possibly.
