Wynne's POV:
Early summer in the south, the wind carried the soft, fresh scent of new grass and damp earth.
I had arrived at a quiet riverside town. There was no noise, no endless traffic here.
Paths paved with smooth stones ran between white-walled houses with dark tiled roofs, and a clear green river wound right through the heart of the place.
I pulled my suitcase straight to the house I had arranged to buy. We signed the papers, transferred ownership, and the payment was made in full.
When I saw my name clearly printed on the deed, Wynne Kincaid, I breathed a long, deep sigh, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
This little house with its own yard was truly mine. A large sweet oak tree was bursting with fresh green leaves.
Beneath it stood an old stone well, and beside
