Tiffany had been in too much of a state last night to do more than lock the chickens into the coop before going to bed. And she hadn’t read a word of her four-times-great-grandmother Lillian’s journal, something she typically did every night.
The wedding had slid into her veins and made her blood flow faster—or perhaps in tiny whirlpools. Natalya and Gina had looked so beautiful as they stood at the rose arbor, which the two grooms had somehow transported from Mrs. Winslow’s cloistered garden for the ceremony. So much joy and hope combined together.
Eagle Cove was no paradise, the Judge dealt with divorces as often as any judge did. But when it was special, there was no mistaking it, and last night had been doubly so.
She awoke with the first light of dawn filtering down from the circul
