Chapter Twenty-four
Mesquite Shores was especially pristine, the air for September turning surprisingly crisp. The light of day had changed, the afternoons were shorter, and that rare quality of light that Caroline loved so dearly would flood through the gallery windows by four o’clock. She was on her way to paint in the loft above when she stopped at one of the large shelves and bent over to rearrange some pottery displayed there. It was dusty, so she grabbed a cloth to wipe it clean. She didn’t like the appearance of neglect or age on any of her pieces; they were all too dear to her to be treated that way.
“Good afternoon,” she heard his voice behind her and jumped up turning around at the same time.
“Oh my!” she gasped, looking into Max’s clear dark eyes, no shadows there now, just s
