?贵州11选五5下载

Playing With Fire (Silver Dragons #1) Night World : Daughters of Darkness (Night World #2)

Maybe. But from the sounds of it, he too is looking to sleep in today, so…

Maddock owns four or five Holsteins; I’ve seen them in his field. He pulls on his coarse black wool jacket, steps out on the porch, and yanks down his broad-brimmed headpiece. You could ask the new vet; maybe he’d have some salve. He scratches his chin through his gray-speckled beard. He doesn’t live far. You can walk around Salt Lick Road to his farm on Titus Hollow or just hike over the top of Hope Ridge on the old Indian trail that goes through the woods. His place backs up to yours on the other side. Either way, you’d be there in an hour.Behind the weathered man, in the parlor, sitting by a kerosene lamp on a table, Mrs. Maddock, a pale woman with her silver-and-gold hair twisted up in a bun, sits knitting. She doesn’t get up or come to the door. I catch her eye and smile. She doesn’t smile back. There are books on shelves behind her and a display of framed needlework on the walls. Ordinarily, women in Appalachia would invite you in, but Mrs. Maddock, who looks, from her books and artwork, like an interesting person, must not approve of me, a woman without a man living alone just up the road. She turns her head and goes back to her knitting.

Stay with Me (Wait for You #3)

The hike over Hope Ridge, through a thick forest of stunted spruce growing out of flat sheets of granite, takes longer than I’d expected. Just when I decide that maybe I’m lost, I smell coal smoke and see, through the trees, a stone house with a white barn down in the hollow. The two-story dwelling, situated in a long narrow valley, appears to have been built a hundred years ago. Three horses graze in the pasture.It’s a picture-book place but so quiet that it occurs to me, for the first time, that I don’t know the veterinarian by sight or even his name, and the closer I get, the more I begin to fear that this trip may be wasted. He could be out on a call or, now that I think of it, probably has an office in Liberty or Delmont.A pileated woodpecker laughs from the top of a bare sycamore and I can hear a vehicle winding along Salt Lick, a pickup, maybe the mail carrier. As I work my way down the hill through the stubby yellow grass and outcroppings of rock, I sight a man dressed in coveralls, next to the barn, wearing black rubber boots and hammering on a piece of metal. Clang. Clang. Clang. He has a strong back; a tall fellow, maybe six feet, his light brown hair receding. Around forty, I think; I’d expected the vet to be someone much older.

God Emperor of Dune (Dune Chronicles #4)

A rock about the size of a cottontail rabbit catches under my foot and begins to roll downhill straight toward him. Look out! I yell.He steps aside and watches as it lands near his feet. Where’d you come from?

I’m sorry, I should have called out. My name is Patience Murphy. I’ve been using this name since Mrs. Kelly and I came to Union County, and by now it rolls off my tongue like honey.

I’m the midwife from over Hope Mountain. I’m not sure why I tell him I’m the midwife. Maybe I feel it gives me some kind of legitimacy. I have a cow with a red swollen teat, and Mr. Maddock, my neighbor, told me you might help.With that, I suddenly understood what he was telling me, and I glanced at the river, seeing nothing at all. My heart sank, and overwhelmed by a feeling of sudden helplessness, I found myself wondering whether the doctors had been right after all. Maybe he was delusional—or maybe tonight had been too much for him. When I opened my mouth to convince him to come back inside, however, the words seemed to lodge in my throat.

For in the rippling water beyond him, appearing as if from nowhere, she came gliding over the moonlit creek. In the wild, she looked majestic; her feathers were glowing almost silver, and I closed my eyes, hoping to clear the image from my mind. Yet when I opened them again, the swan was circling in front of us, and all at once, I began to smile. Noah was right. Though I didn’t know why or how it had come, I had no doubt whatsoever that it was her. It had to be. I’d seen the swan a hundred times, and even from a distance, I couldn’t help but notice the tiny black spot in the middle of her chest, directly above her heart.Standing on the porch, with autumn in full swing, I find the crispness of the evening air invigorating as I think back on the night of our wedding. I can still recall it in vivid detail, just as I can remember all that happened during the year of the forgotten anniversary.

Fallen (Blood & Roses #4)

It feels odd to know that it’s all behind me. The preparations had dominated my thoughts for so long and I’d visualized it so many times that I sometimes feel that I’ve lost contact with an old friend, someone with whom I’d grown very comfortable. Yet in the wake of those memories, I’ve come to realize that I now have the answer to the question that I’d been pondering when I first came out here.Yes, I decided, a man can truly change.

The events of the past year have taught me much about myself, and a few universal truths. I learned, for instance, that while wounds can be inflicted easily upon those we love, it’s often much more difficult to heal them. Yet the process of healing those wounds provided the richest experience of my life, leading me to believe that while I’ve often overestimated what I could accomplish in a day, I had underestimated what I could do in a year. But most of all, I learned that it’s possible for two people to fall in love all over again, even when there’s been a lifetime of disappointment between them.I’m not sure what to think about the swan and what I saw that night, and I must admit that being romantic still doesn’t come easily. It’s a daily struggle to reinvent myself, and part of me wonders whether it always will be. But so what? I hold tight to the lessons that Noah taught me about love and keeping it alive, and even if I never become a true romantic like Noah, it doesn’t mean that I’m ever going to stop trying.

The words were meant for no one—they simply spilled out as the realization sunk in. There was no hiding from the anguish crushing my chest, but it wasn’t for me or the love I believed I held for her. No, it was for our son, Oliver.There, perched on the edge of the bed, was the mirrored jewelry box that once housed the diamonds and pearls I’d showered her with. It was open and empty. I’d known what that meant the moment I’d walked into the room after returning home from work.

My disbelief was short-lived as I moved the box to the side table, my muscles already sore from tension, and sat on the bed with Oliver in my lap. He was so little—not even a year old, with only a few days left until his birthday—and already the one other person who was supposed to take care of him and love him as much as I did had let him down.He squirmed in my lap, raspy bubbles on his lips as he fought against my arms that held him close. I clung to him, not ready to let go. The fear of losing him settled over me, deepening the wound.

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