Her Very Own Family by Trish Milburn

refused to look at it, though, until she reached the mill, unloaded the supplies, poured herself a glass of lemonade and seated herself on the front porch.
    With a deep breath, she opened the paper and read the article by the light of the fading day. This time, she managed not to wheeze her way through the lead, though her chest felt tight by the time she was done. Not due to asthma this time, but from pure worry. Further interviews with unnamed sources had put investigators back on the trail.
    Who could they be after? Carol, her mom’s personal accountant? Adam, her longtime assistant? Someone else in the ministry? Audrey had a hard time picturing any of them dipping their hands in the cash-filled cookie jar, but then her mom had shocked her, hadn’t she? And if the investigators had invaded all of their lives like they had hers, how could any rock be left unturned? How could the investigators have missed anything?
    Her stomach churned at the idea that those investigators might show up here asking those same horrible questions all over again. What if they showed up when Nelson was here? Or Brady? She couldn’t stand thethought of having his initial suspicion of her vindicated, even if it had nothing to do with his dad.
    Willow Glen was a small town, and it wouldn’t take any time for word to spread. Her dream would be destroyed before she even finished the renovations. She glanced at her mother’s name, and not for the first time wondered why she hadn’t changed her own last name. It would put one more barrier between her and the life she wanted to leave behind. But every time she considered it, the change seemed too drastic. Not to mention it’d be a slap against the father she’d loved dearly but lost so young.
    She folded the paper and stared out toward the forest surrounding the mill, watched as butterflies flitted amongst the last rays of sun slanting through the trees. She’d never sat anywhere so peaceful, and she wished she could lock the rest of the world out of her little utopia. Well, except for Nelson and Brady.
    She closed her eyes and listened to the trickle of the creek to her left. It reminded her of that afternoon’s picnic on the banks of the Watauga River. She’d had a really nice time with Brady.
    If only things were different, she’d be more than interested in getting to know Brady Witt better. If only things were different.
     
    A FTER YET ANOTHER bad night of sleep, Audrey dragged herself out of bed as daylight was creeping into the clearing around the mill. It was one of those mornings when she wished she was a coffee drinker, when she couldn’t sleep but didn’t feel fully awake, either. Aftereating a banana and drinking a bottle of water, she pulled on a pair of her new gardening gloves and got to work putting the flowers she’d bought the day before in the ground. She alternated colors along the edges of the porch and down the side of the mill that would be most visible to guests. They looked wilted after a day spent in the backseat of her car, but some water, fresh soil and mountain air should revive them.
    She finished planting the last pot right as Nelson and Brady pulled up the lane. Even though she’d known it was likely them, she’d tensed when the sound of tires on gravel had first reached her. Visions of police cruisers or an FBI agent in an unmarked government sedan had tormented her during sleep, and it didn’t appear that those same images were going to leave her alone during her waking hours.
    Maybe she should call her attorney just to see if he’d heard anything, but that seemed like inviting in the bogeyman, so she scrapped the idea and decided to live with the uncertainty.
    “Girl, do you ever sleep?” Nelson asked as he walked toward the mill.
    “Sleep? Who needs sleep?”
    Nelson snorted and headed inside to get to work on the window next to the waterwheel. Audrey glanced over at Brady and found him watching her, concern etching his features.
    “You feeling