And Cowboy Makes Three. Deb Kastner

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       Chapter One

      Angelica May Carmichael had been duped.

      By her own grandmother.

      She looked around and sighed in exasperation. This wasn’t a picnic.

      Or rather, this wasn’t just a picnic, though there were brightly colored baskets covered in ribbons dotting the lawn all across the community green.

      Not a picnic. Picnics.

      And this wasn’t a quiet, personal outing with Granny’s best friend, Jo Spencer, as Angelica had been given to expect, either. Not that an outing with the boisterous old redhead who owned Cup O’ Jo’s Café could ever be labeled as quiet. That woman wouldn’t know quiet if it bit her on the nose.

      But a private picnic?

      Yeah, not so much.

      In hindsight, Angelica realized she should have gone with her gut feeling and headed straight to Granny’s ranch instead of stopping in at Cup O’ Jo’s to let Jo know she’d arrived safely. A phone call would have sufficed.

      But no. Jo had been adamant she come straight to the café, sounding a bit too enthusiastic about seeing her again. Everything about Jo Spencer was enthusiastic, but her suggestion had been overanimated even for Jo.

      She’d even anticipated Angelica’s hesitation, telling her to slip through the back door of the café. She’d assured her that she wouldn’t be seen by any customers, and that her nephew, Chance, the cook who would no doubt be in the kitchen, would keep their secret. He wasn’t much of talker, anyway.

      If only she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get into town and out again without being seen that she hadn’t recognized the signals, the internal alarms blaring in her head.

      Their meeting was only supposed to be her and Jo. Having been Granny’s best friend, Jo understood Angelica’s dilemma at returning to Serendipity at all—or at least Angelica had thought she had.

      “Oh, honey, welcome back,” Jo had said, hugging her so hard it pressed the breath right out of her lungs. “And let me see sweet Toby.”

      Jo had exclaimed over the newborn and then had handed her a letter written by her recently deceased granny, addressed with only Angelica’s first name and scribbled in Granny’s chicken-scratch handwriting.

      “Consider it a last request,” Jo had suggested.

       Directions?

      More like a cryptic note.

       Picnic With Jo.

      It was a strange thing to ask, but Angelica СКАЧАТЬ