There the cottage stood, looking just like a drawing in a fairy tale. One of Gerald’s uncles had built the cottage years before, designing it after the country farmhouse he had known as a boy in England. It was larger than most of the cottages in the area, with three bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs. With a pitched roof, bay window, and decorative half-timbering, it was as charming as she remembered it.
Bradford halted his horse beside Laura’s and reached up to help her dismount. As soon as his strong hands lowered her to the ground, she immediately walked up the path. He asked, “What’s the hurry?”
Laura replied tartly, “I’d like to get this over with so I can get on with our packing. We don’t want to impose on you any more than necessary.” She swung her long wavy hair over her shoulder and headed up the flagstone path to the cottage door. “It looks as though someone has been living here,” she noted, knocking on the arched wooden door.
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