Heart of Grace (Return to Grace Trilogy #1) by Abigail Easton Page B

into his back pocket, and then
wrapped his arms around her.
“I saw Cole this morning. He mentioned you were back.
You look good, Angie.” Reed released her. “A fine woman
you’ve grown into. How are you?”
Angela laughed. “That’s a long story, I’m afraid.
“I’m up for hearing it.”
“I’m not up for telling it.” She smiled to soften the harsh
tone of her voice.
He nodded. “You were like that as a child, too, you know.
Always bent on living life all alone inside that head of yours.”
Angela scanned the arena again, needing to remove herself
from Reed’s studying eye. “This place hasn’t changed a bit. A
little more run down than I remember.”
“Part of her charm. Not as many folks come to see her as
they used to.”
She took step alongside him, the dirt soft beneath her
heels, and waited for the question she knew would come.
“So you’ve come back to claim this, have you?”
She smiled. If Reed was anything, he was predictable.
“There’s not much to claim,” she said.
Reed stopped and squinted. “Yeah, well, we’ve known that
for some time. She had a good run, though.”
“The drilling coalition wants the land.”
Reed stopped walking and his eyes went dark. “Henry’s
been selling off pieces of this land to those no-gooders for
years. If it weren’t for Cole buying up the last bit, we’d be
standing beneath an oil rig right now.”
“I’ve decided to sell my half to them. I’ve urged Cole to do
the same with his half.”
He looked at her the same way Cole had earlier.
“They’ll get it anyway,” she said. “You know that.”
“I’ll admit she’s got only a breath or two of life left in her.”
He took a strong breath let it out shakily. “But don’t sell it to
the coalition, Angie. Anybody but them.”
“They’re the only willing buyers. The place isn’t worth
anything to anyone else. Not even the land will draw another
buyer, since the coalition owns every parcel surrounding this
place.”
The arena was quiet now, but the steady din of a summer
crowd rang in her ears. She heard the laughter of children and
the snorts of bulls; the announcers’ voices echoing through
speakers hanging from the rafters.
And she saw herself: eight years old standing next to Reed
in the announcer’s stand, and then at sixteen, when Buddy
Harper tried to steal a kiss beneath the stands. She’d been more
interested in watching the action in the ring.
She thought of the moment when, years later in New York,
she had won her first account on her own, and how she’d
equated the victory to that of a bull rider’s. She had stood in
the conference room as a cowboy settles onto the beast’s back.
All she had to do was hang on through the terror, until she felt
the weight of the trophy in her hands.
After a while, the victories were more easily won, the gleam
of the trophy no longer a thrill.
She thought of Jeffrey’s disdain as he took away her
apartment; her sanctuary. It had been the last piece of the trophy
she still cherished.
Angela looked up at the rafters, its wood splintered and
the paint chipped. It reminded her of the first time she had met
Marco Salzman. Salzman and Sons Bakery had been on the
verge of bankruptcy; Marco hadn’t been able to afford even a
can of paint to fix the peeling sign out front. She had spent
days poring over his accounts, searching for ways to revive the
small business. Years later and thanks to Angela’s help, they
were still thriving, with a chain of stores in each of the five
boroughs and a few in New Jersey.
Angela felt Reed’s stare. She turned to him and realized
that as much as she had changed, a lot had remained the same
in Grace. She recalled her mother’s soothing voice: “ Just focus
on something that doesn’t move, something steady.”
“Maybe there’s another option.” She let the air out of her
lungs, the weight of this decision heavy on her heart. “I might
be able to find a way to get a few more breaths into her, make
her pretty