Rochelle Alers

A Time To Keep


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       Re-read bestselling author Rochelle Alers’ amazing novel that illustrates the bonds of family and love.

      A change of scenery can often create an unexpected change of heart…

      Gwendolen Taylor, fed up with big city life, finds herself inheriting an antebellum estate in Bayou Teche. Little does she know that this legacy may lead to a love beyond her wildest hopes and dreams.

      Originally published in 2006.

       A Time to Keep

       Rochelle Alers

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CONTENTS

       COVER

       BACK COVER TEXT

       TITLE PAGE

       CHAPTER 6

       CHAPTER 7

       CHAPTER 8

       CHAPTER 9

       CHAPTER 10

       CHAPTER 11

       CHAPTER 12

       CHAPTER 13

       CHAPTER 14

       CHAPTER 15

       CHAPTER 16

       CHAPTER 17

       CHAPTER 18

       CHAPTER 19

       CHAPTER 20

       EPILOGUE

       COPYRIGHT

      The ring tone from Gwendolyn Taylor’s cell phone playing Beethoven’s Symphony no. 3 in E-flat major pulled her attention away from the panoramic landscape of Cajun country. She’d just passed a road sign that indicated she’d entered the town limits of Franklin, Louisiana.

      Looking at the caller ID on her cell, she pushed a button on the hands-free receiver. “Yes, Lauren.”

      “Are we there yet?” Laughter followed the childish query.

      Shaking her head and sucking her teeth, Gwen said loudly, “Girl, you need a job that takes you out of the house, because you’re beginning to sound like your kids.” Lauren, a literary researcher and her husband, bestselling author, Caleb Samuels, both worked from home.

      “Are you there yet?” Lauren repeated.

      She glanced at the GPS navigational screen. “Almost.”

      “How is Louisiana?”

      “It’s different from our neck of the woods.”

      Lauren’s soft laughter came through the speaker. “Don’t you mean my neck of the woods?”

      Gwen smiled. “My driver’s license still has a Boston address, my car a Massachusetts plate, and when I open my mouth and say pawk everyone will know that I will never be crowned Miss Sweet Tater Pone.”

      “You’re right about that,” Lauren agreed. “But you should know you’re much too mature for an insipid beauty contest.”

      Gwen’s delicate jaw dropped. “Mature? Speak for yourself, Mrs. Samuels. You’re the one with three children, and a possible fourth on the way.”

      “I told you before that Royce is going to be my last baby.”

      “You said that after you had Kayla.”

      “He just happened, cuz.”

      “Getting pregnant doesn’t just happen Lauren Taylor-Samuels. Didn’t you tell me that you wind up pregnant whenever you and Caleb take afternoon naps together?”

      “For your information, Miss Know-It-All, Cal and I no longer nap together in the afternoon.”

      “Are you saying you guys have given up knockin’ boots?”

      Lauren laughed again. “I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

      Gwen took another quick glance at the navigational screen. She was almost there. “You guys should have one more and make it an even four.”

      “I’ll have one more if you have one.”

      “Can’t, cuz. I don’t have a man.”

      “You don’t want a man, Gwen.”

      “Correction, Lauren. I don’t need a man.”

      “You’re going to need one to make a baby.”

      “Not if I go the test tube route.”

      “No! You can’t, Gwendolyn.”

      Lauren only called her by her full name whenever she was upset with something Gwen said or did. “I can and I will if I’m not married by the time I’m thirty-eight.”

      “You better start looking for a man now because you’ll be looking at thirty-eight in less than four years.”

      Slowing her late-model sedan, Gwen came to a complete stop at an intersection. Looking both ways she continued in a southwesterly direction. “So will you, Lauren Vernice Taylor-Samuels.” She and Lauren were first cousins, born weeks apart.

      “But, I’m the one with the husband and children.”

      “You don’t have to rub it in, Lauren.”

      “I’m not rubbing it in. You would’ve married years before me if you hadn’t broken off your engagement