Prodigal Daughter (Davis Landing, Book 5) (Love Inspired #372)

Prodigal Daughter (Davis Landing, Book 5) (Love Inspired #372)

The Davis Landing Observer Page 5 The Gossip Guru …hears Hamilton daughter Melissa, who'd disappeared not long after her father's first medical crisis, has finally come home—pregnant! This news certainly won't help her father, Wallace, as he once again recuperates in the hospital. Word is she's been staying at Hamilton Media attorney Richard McNeil's home, along with his sister, her husband and their kids. With all those people in the McNeil household, is there time for romance between prodigal Melissa and newly rededicated Christian heartthrob Richard? Keep checking Page 5 for updates! USA Today best-selling author Patricia Davids was born in Kansas. After forty years as an NICU nurse, Pat switched careers to become an inspirational writer. She now enjoys laid back life on a Kansas farm, spending time with her family and playing with her dog Sugar, who thinks fetch should be a twenty-four hour a day game. When not throwing a ball, Pat is happily dreaming up new stories where love and faith conquer all. Contact her at pat@patriciadavids.com. "Y'all be careful up there, sugar." The elderly woman's rich Tennessee drawl slid off each word the way warm honey slips off a spoon. Richard McNeil glanced down at his great-aunt. At eighty-eight, Lettie was still a spry lady who faced life with wit, humor and an abiding love for her family. Today, she wore her favorite pale blue cotton print dress and a thin blue sweater tied over her slightly stooped shoulders. Her snow-white hair was styled into old-fashioned waves, and she had a death grip on the side of the rickety folding ladder he stood on. "I'll be fine, Aunt Lettie, but maybe you should move away...just in case." She scurried to the other side of the camel back sofa with amazing speed for a woman her age. "If you fall, you're likely to lie on this floor until the cows come home 'cause there's no way I can be picking up a man your size." Richard replaced the burned-out light in the high ceiling fan and stepped down with a sigh of relief. He had lost a good twenty pounds after his doctor took him to task, but his six-foot-two-inch frame still carried plenty of muscle. The antique stepladder his great-aunt had pulled from the depths of her hall closet for the occasion had creaked and groaned, but held—this time. He would see that she had it replaced with a sturdy new one before the next bulb died. "And the Lord said, "Let there be light," and there was. Thank you, my boy. That surely will help these old eyes to see the Good Book again." "My pleasure, Aunt Lettie. Is there anything else I can do while I'm here?" He resisted the urge to glance at his watch. He enjoyed Wednesday afternoons with Aunt Lettie, but each time he came to visit, she would find excuse after excuse to keep him from leaving. She was lonely, he understood that. More than once over the years, he had tried to convince her to move into a retirement home where she would have the company of folks her own age. Lettie stubbornly refused to budge from the apartment over the shop in downtown Hickory Mills, Tennessee, that had once belonged to her and her husband. Their furniture store had long since closed and the space downstairs had been sold and converted into a shoe store, but Lettie wouldn't budge from her home. She always said that she had lived here for seventy years and the only way she was leaving was in a pine box. When it came to stubbornness, the good Lord had broken the mold after He fashioned Lettie Corbet McNeil. Glancing around, Richard had to admit her home was cozy. The high, molded plaster ceilings made the place feel spacious while the tall arched windows with white lace curtains let in plenty of sunshine. Their gleaming panes were reflected in the polished surface of the cherrywood sideboard with its brass candlesticks and artful arrangement of old china plates and figurines. All of her antique furnishings shone with loving care, from the gilt-and-black-lacquer Regency writing desk in the corner to the massive oak pedestal dinning table with its ball-and-claw feet. His great-aunt was, he realized, very like the things she owned—a beautifully preserved part of a bygone era. The tiny woman laid a hand on her cheek and tapped gently as she considered what needed repairs. "Let me see. The front door gets to squeaking something awful when the humidity is high." "I oiled it when I first came today." "Oh, that's right, you did. Well, I reckon that's all there is, but you don't have to run off, do you?" "I need to get back to the office." "Don't you work half days on Wednesday?" "Things have been a bit hectic lately. I have some paperwork to catch up on." "Your papa would be so proud to see you in that fancy place over in Davis Landing. You might have come from humble beginnings in Hickory Mills, but you've made your mark in the world. And that house of yours! My, my! It's big enough to hold a dozen young'uns." "It feels crowded these days." "How is your sister getting along? Such a sa