Birthright Read Free

door behind her before letting the grin spread across her face. She strolled out, took a deep breath of thick summer air as she gazed up and down Woodsboro’s Main Street.
    She refrained from doing a happy dance—too undignified—but she nearly skipped down the sidewalk like a ten-year-old. This was her town now. Her community. Her home. And had been since she’d moved there from Baltimore two years before.
    It was a good town, steeped in tradition and history, fueled by gossip, protected from the urban sprawl by distance and the looming shadows of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
    Coming to Woodsboro had been a huge leap of faith for a born and bred city girl. But she couldn’t bear the memories in Baltimore after losing her husband. Steve’s death had flattened her. It had taken her nearly six months to find her feet again, to pull herself out of the sticky haze of grief and deal with life.
    And life demanded, Lana thought. She missed Steve. There was still a hole in her where he’d been. But she’d had to keep breathing, keep functioning. And there was Tyler. Her baby. Her boy. Her treasure.
    She couldn’t bring back his daddy, but she could give him the best childhood possible.
    He had room to run now, and a dog to run with. Neighbors and friends, and a mother who’d do whatever needed to be done to keep him safe and happy.
    She checked her watch as she walked. It was Ty’s day to go to his friend Brock’s after preschool. She’d give Brock’s mother, Jo, a call in an hour. Just to make sure everything was all right.
    She paused at the intersection, waited for the light. Traffic was slow, as traffic was meant to be in small towns.
    She didn’t look small-town. Her wardrobe had once been selected to suit the image of an up-and-coming lawyer in a major urban firm. She might have hung out her shingle in a little rural dot of less than four thousand people, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue to dress for success.
    She wore a summer blue suit in crisp linen. The classic tailoring complemented her delicate build and her own sense of tidiness. Her hair was a straight swing of sunny blond that brushed the jawline of a pretty, youthful face. She had round blue eyes that were often mistaken for guileless, a nose that tipped up at the end and a deeply curved mouth.
    She swung into Treasured Pages, beamed at the man behind the counter. And finally did her victory dance.
    Roger Grogan took off his reading glasses and raised his bushy silver eyebrows. He was a trim and vigorous seventy-five, and his face made Lana think of a canny leprechaun.
    He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, and his hair, a beautiful mix of silver and white, exploded in untamed tufts.
    â€œYou look pretty full of yourself.” His voice was gravel spilling down a steel chute. “Must’ve seen Ron Dolan.”
    â€œJust came from there.” She indulged herself with another spin before she leaned on the counter. “You should’ve come with me, Roger. Just to see his face.”
    â€œYou’re too hard on him.” Roger tapped a fingertip to Lana’s nose. “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”
    When Lana merely angled her head, stared blandly, Roger laughed. “Didn’t say I agreed with him. Boy’s got a hard head, just like his old man did. Doesn’t have the sense to see if a community’s this divided over something, you need to rethink.”
    â€œHe’ll be rethinking now,” Lana promised. “Testing and dating those bones is going to cause him some major delays. And if we’re lucky, they’re going to be old enough to draw a lot of attention—national attention—to the site. We can delay the development for months. Maybe years.”
    â€œHe’s as hardheaded as you. You’ve managed to hold him up for months already.”
    â€œHe says it’s progress,” she