ifteen months later

IT SEEMED ONLY RIGHT that the first wedding at The Meadows in sixty-two years was Posey and Liam’s. The old mansion was still standing, oh, yes. And would continue to stand for a long, long time, if not forever.

On the first day of fall, Vivian Appleton died in her sleep at the age of 102. On the bureau across from her bed was the model Posey’d made, and it comforted her to know Vivian had had it close, that maybe The Meadows, even in miniature, had been the last thing Vivian had seen.

A month later, when Allan Linkletter asked her to come to his office for the reading of the will, she hoped it was because Viv had left her the model. It wasn’t worth anything much beyond its sentimental value.

She said hello to the Vultures, trying to be pleasant, despite the gleeful greed that glowed in their faces. “Took the old bag long enough,” muttered one of the nephews, and Posey stifled the urge to kick him in the nuts.

Allan wasted no time in getting down to business. When everyone was seated around the conference table, he read the preliminary legalese, and then paused and cleared his throat. The Vultures all leaned forward.

“‘To Cordelia Wilhelmina Osterhagen,’” Allan read, “‘I hereby give the land, buildings and their contents of The Meadows, my property located at 1100 Shady Brook Road, Bellsford, New Hampshire.’”

There’d been a moment of silence. Then chaos exploded, the four Vultures squawking, swearing, sobbing as Posey sat there, wide-eyed and stunned into silence. Eventually, Allan explained that the Vultures had no legal recourse at all. The will was iron-clad, witnessed, and Viv’s doctor had signed an affidavit that she’d been completely competent when she made the change. The Vultures didn’t have a talon to stand on.

Vivian had also left Posey a very brief note: You’ve been more family to me than those money-grubbing Vultures ever were. It was noticed.

That was all. But that was everything.

It took a while to process—Posey owned The Meadows, a huge Victorian mansion on ten acres of land. What to do with it was another question.

At first she’d done nothing—being with Liam was new enough, and gently trying to become part of Nicole’s life without causing the girl any undue stress. But Nicole had been very sweet…she seemed to view Posey almost as a big sister, and Posey was careful not to take sides when Liam and his daughter disagreed.

Liam’s worry about Nicole had lessened from DEFCON four down into normal overprotective father range. His obsession with door-locking dwindled to just one check, and while he still had a thing about hand washing, it was just enough for Posey to mock him for scrubbing in before meals. Then again, the guy was a mechanic, so she couldn’t really fault him there. And if he was still occasionally brooding and growly…hey. It had a certain hotness, and Posey was not objecting.

In the spring, though, Posey made the hard decision to sell the church, acknowledging that it needed more than she could give it, in both time and money. It was hard, especially leaving behind the bell, but a nice young couple had bought it and seemed quite gung-ho to fix it up the way it deserved. They’d also bought a dozen or so treasures from Irreplaceable Artifacts. She imagined they’d be back for more, in fact. Her perfect customers—taste and money.

So she’d moved to The Meadows—not to the mansion, but to the stone caretaker’s cottage, which she had always loved. The only downside…the cats hated it. Twice, they’d made the mile-long trek back to the church, Meatball in the lead, followed by Jellybean and Sagwa, Posey in hot, panicky pursuit. The third time, the owners suggested that they keep the faithless felines, who clearly were more attached to the place than to the person who’d fed them all those years. Then again, they’d come with the church. Posey dropped by about once a week to visit, and sure, they seemed happy enough to see her…as happy as cats got, that was.

But Shilo loved The Meadows, as he always had, and it always made Posey smile to see her giant dog galloping sloppily across the lawns, jowls flopping, as he came at her first whistle.

And in the mornings, as she sat with her coffee on the small balcony of the caretaker’s cottage, her hand on her dog’s big head, Posey could still hear the bell, and it never failed to make her smile.

The Meadows was going to be a banquet facility…weddings, anniversaries, stuff like that. Posey thought Vivian would approve of filling the old mansion with parties again. But though she now owned the estate, party planning really wasn’t her thing, and there was no way she was giving up Irreplaceable Artifacts. So she’d hired a person to get things going, a person who could handle both event planning and the catering end of things, a person who’d been looking for a slight change of career…and if that person was a pain in the butt sometimes, and if she tended to show off too much cleavage, that was probably okay. Gretchen had already managed to book six weddings for this summer alone. Seemed like her celebrity status was a good thing after all.

Gret was in the kitchen now, checking on the wedding food (some German, some other types, too). She’d dumped Dante almost as soon as they’d patched things up and was cutting a wide swath through the single men of New Hampshire.

At the moment, Posey was in her room, alone, though Stacia, Jon and Brie were due any second. In her hands was a note she’d received last month, something she’d taken out just because it seemed right to look at it again. In February, she’d decided to write to her birth mother, sending it through the attorney who handled the adoption. Nothing terribly emotional, just the facts. But she’d thanked Clarice for having her, and for giving her to Stacia and Max. She told her birth mother what a happy life she’d had, that she was a sister, and now an aunt, and that she’d be getting married soon to the man she’d loved her whole life. She’d signed it only “Cordelia.”

Clarice had written back through the attorney. I’m so, so glad to know these things, and I wish you every happiness in the world, Cordelia. Thank you for telling me.

And that was it. But again, it was everything.

Well. Time to get girlified. Posey put the note in her night-table drawer.

Today she was marrying Liam Declan Murphy. From today on, they’d be living together, sleeping in the same bed, waking up together every morning. His daughter loved her, he loved her, and it was so utterly wonderful that the very thought brought tears of happiness to her eyes.

In just a couple of hours, her parents would walk her down the aisle of St. Martin’s Church. Brianna was her maid of honor, and little Betty was the flower girl. Jon and Henry were ushers, as was James. And Nicole would stand up for Liam, which had made Posey burst into tears when they told her. Half the town would be there, everyone from Mac and Elise (who had moved in together), to the girls from the bakery, to her teammates on the softball team, to the Tates, even.

A knock came on the door. “Come on in, Ma,” Posey called.

It wasn’t Stacia. It was Liam, sticking his head in her room, and the sight of him—the black hair, those clear green eyes—still gave her a thrill. Her husband. In about a hundred and twenty minutes, her husband.

“Ditching me?” she asked, grinning.

“Hardly,” he said, giving her that sleepy, bedroom-eyed smile that never failed to get the girl parts yowling. “I brought you a present.”

“Is it food? I’m kind of hungry.”

“Gretchen told me you had five pancakes for breakfast,” he said, still not coming in.

“What’s your point, biker boy?”

“You won’t faint, that’s all I’m saying. Plus, I know you have an Almond Joy in that drawer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So, what’s my present?”

He opened the door fully. “Here.”

It was a cardboard box, the kind with holes in the side. The kind used to carry animals. As if on cue, a small, striped paw stuck out.

“It’s a kitten,” Liam said, opening the box and lifting the little thing out. “Since your other cats dumped you for the new people.”

“Oh, Liam,” Posey breathed. The cat was tiny, a gray tiger kitten. Shilo lumbered over and gave it a sniff, his tail wagging, and the kitten squeaked and batted the dog’s giant nose, earning a lick.

Liam set the little cat in her lap. Its fur was so soft and fluffy, and its eyes were wide and blue.

“It’s a boy,” he said, reaching up to tuck some hair behind Posey’s ear. “I thought we could call him Joe.”