Cynthia Thomason - A Boy To Remember

You can’t live a lie forever

One magical summer—that was all it took for Alexis Foster to fall deeply in love with Daniel Chandler. And then she gave him up to keep Daniel from sacrificing his own dreams. But the passionate bond they shared is rekindled when Alex returns to her family’s farm...with a powerful secret.

Daniel is Ohio’s youngest state senator, and his star is on the rise. He’s also discovering a kindred spirit in Alex’s seventeen-year-old daughter. Alex has to tell him the truth even though it risks his political future...and may cost her the two people she loves most.

Was he suggesting they take up where they left off eighteen years ago?

“Are you asking me on a date, Daniel?”

He grinned. “And if I were, what would you say?”

I would say that my racing heart couldn’t take an entire evening with you. She cleared her throat. “Considering the recent events in my life—” and a few significant ones from the past “—I’d have to say no.”

He leaned his forearm on the roof of her car. “Okay, then. I’m not asking you on a date. We’d just be two friends going out for the evening to catch up on lost time. What would you say to that? See if some of the magic still exists?”

Dear Reader,

Sisters. What a mountain of complexities in that one word. I suppose a sister can be a best friend one moment and a worst enemy the next. I lost my sister to disease many years ago when we were both still children. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always longed for that special family member and gal pal to see me through the tough spots.

And maybe that explains why this miniseries for Harlequin Heartwarming, The Daughters of Dancing Falls, is so dear to my heart. The settings for the love stories of these three sisters is northeast Ohio, where I grew up. Each story is as unique as the heroine, but all share one vital commonality. Alexis, Jude and Carrie wouldn’t have found their true loves without the love and support of the other two.

I hope you will enjoy this first story, A Boy to Remember, about Alexis, the oldest. Maybe you’ll finish reading the book and call your own sister just to say I love you.

I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at cynthoma@aol.com.

Sincerely,

Cynthia

A Boy to Remember

Cynthia Thomason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CYNTHIA THOMASON inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.

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To Amanda Sue Brackett, my sister,

and to all the sisters out there who mean so much to each of us.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

THE LUCKIEST GIRL in Ohio. How many times had Alexis Pope heard people refer to her this way? And today, driving through the lush, green pastureland that carpeted the mini ranches of Fox Creek, she could almost agree with them. Who wouldn’t feel lucky to be returning to this magical, beautiful place of grace and charm?

And yet, in truth, Alex had never really believed in luck. Yes, she was lucky enough to be raised by loving parents in this town, with its top schools and clubs. But for the most part, she had made her own destiny.

The high grades she’d achieved throughout her schooling were not handed out to a lucky student. She’d worked hard for every A. Luck hadn’t landed her in the National Honor Society. Luck hadn’t rewarded her with first chair in the high school orchestra. Years of violin study, cramped and callused fingers, had put her in that chair.

And luck hadn’t brought her back home today. No one would say “Oh, my, it’s Alexis Foster...what a lucky girl.” Especially not when they realized that she was only thirty-five years old and had recently buried her husband.

“It’s so pretty here, Mom,” her daughter said from the passenger seat. “I’m glad we came, but I hope we didn’t leave Chicago just for me. I hope you wanted to come, too.”

Those were the first words Lizzie had spoken in many miles. The silence had caused Alex to worry that her daughter, grieving over the loss of her father, would rather not have made this trip. She covered Lizzie’s hand with hers and smiled. “Of course I wanted to come, sweetheart. I think the change of scenery will do us both good. And you know how happy Grandpa will be to see you.”

“Auntie Jude will be here, won’t she?” Lizzie asked.

“You know your auntie Jude. She is as much a part of this acreage as the trees and the grass.”

“And Aunt Carrie?”

“The last I heard, Carrie was out west taking forestry classes. Unless she surprises us with a visit, I doubt we’ll see her.”

Dr. Martin Foster’s three daughters were as different as could be. But one thing they all had in common. Each of them knew she was loved by her generous and supportive father. Each one knew she could always come home.

Alex turned into the drive, which led to a tall iron gate with the words Dancing Falls stamped in gray steel across the rails. With a touch of whimsy, a metal medallion showing a frothy waterfall lent authenticity to the name her father had chosen for his patch of heaven.

“The gate is open,” she said. “Grandpa is expecting us.”

They drove a quarter mile under ancient oak and maple trees before the house came into view. As stately as ever, its white brick walls and ebony shutters gave a majestic feel to the Georgian structure. Alex pulled around the circular drive and turned off her engine. Martin Foster, looking young for his sixty-four years, was dressed in tan chinos, a light blue golf shirt and boat shoes, his thick gray hair catching an Ohio breeze. He came down the front steps before Alex had opened her car door.

“You made it,” he called, opening his arms to his daughter and granddaughter. He managed to fold them both into a hug at the same time. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I’m going to do my darndest to see that we make the most of this summer before Lizzie goes off to college.”