With curiosity, she lifted the bouquet. The scent of lavender transported her instantly back fifteen years to summers at her grandmother’s cottage in Provo Canyon, to herb gardens and flower presses, and to Matt.

A rifle shot cracked through the quiet, the bullet slicing past Jed’s ear with a hiss like an angry rattler. He kicked Comet into a hard gallop...

With the last reserves of his strength, Bramble zipped beneath the shelter of the Queen Anne’s lace just as the rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour.

Still, the drought was testing even Amaryllis’s enduring confidence. She fluttered from bed to bed, watering with dewdrops gathered in acorn caps, whispering to the dry soil, encouraging earthworms to dig and aerate.

As they ascended the stairs, she whispered, “Maybe the lamplighter will make you an offer.” Eugenie stopped, turning wide-eyed.

One of those? You never raised a red tent.