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    A Mayhaw Christmas
    A Mayhaw Christmas
    A Mayhaw Christmas
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    A Mayhaw Christmas

    By Charlotte Boyett-Compo

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The Ultimate Gift

    Drew and Allison Dunne journeyed through hell to find one another but theirs was a love destined to be. Nothing...and no one could keep them apart. With the holiday season coming, the house they built together will become a true home when they receive the ultimate give of love.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBoroughs Publishing Group
    Release dateOct 28, 2015
    ISBN9781942886976
    A Mayhaw Christmas

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      Book preview

      A Mayhaw Christmas - Charlotte Boyett-Compo

      THE ULTIMATE GIFT

      Drew and Allison Dunne journeyed through hell to find one another, but nothing and no one could keep them apart. Theirs was a love destined to be. Now, with the coming holiday season, the house they built together will become a true home.

      PRAISE FOR UNDER THE MAYHAW TREE!

      Five Stars! The hero’s and heroine’s journeys are brilliant, and Boyett-Compo paces the action just enough to keep you on the edge of your seat and reading all night to find out what happens next.

      —Manic Readers Reviews

      Five Stars! I'm trying very hard to convey how amazing this book was, and I feel like I'm failing at it horribly. Truly this is a book that needs to be read…

      —Confessions Of A Y.A. & N.A. Book Addict

      Five Stars! "Heartrending and Inspirational. Under the Mayhaw Tree, a contemporary romantic suspense, Charlotte Boyett-Compo’s 100th published novel, is another tour de force by an artist who has perfected her craft over the years. I was totally and utterly gripped form start to finish, immersed in this tale containing love, passion and self-sacrifice, but also cruelty, abuse and revenge most foul."

      —A Reader's Review Blog

      Five Stars! I haven’t cheered on two people in a book as hard as I did Drew and Allison. I wanted their happily-ever-after more than they did at times, but they never gave up even when life was balancing on the edge and we were left wondering if finally evil had won. I highly recommend this book and will certainly seek more from this author.

      —Bare Naked Words Reviews

      A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS

      Charlotte Boyett-Compo

      www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

      PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

      A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS

      Copyright © 2015 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

      Smashwords Edition

      All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

      ISBN 978-1-942886-97-6

      Ebook formatting by Maureen Cutajar

      www.gopublished.com

      To Larry Powell

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      About the Author

      A MAYHAW CHRISTMAS

      Chapter One

      In the early morning April light, Drew Dunne sat on the back steps of the two-story redwood log cabin with a coffee mug clutched in both hands. The steam from the rich, black brew wafted in a curling stream above the rim to issue a delicious French vanilla aroma. He watched the peacocks strutting between his property and his cousin’s, the ducks waddling, a lone deer standing at the split-rail fence staring back at him.

      He smiled, flexed his shoulders in the fleece-lined denim jacket and took a sip of the scalding coffee.

      Unlike the deer, the peacocks and ducks were newcomers to the homestead but the birds had made themselves right at home—along with the three cats and all-legs puppy and the occasional possum that liked to annoy the cats.

      Drew had to wait until the small pond had been dug, the sides lined with river rock and the water filling it to the brim before he and Early and a few other intrepid souls—including a veterinarian from Dothan named Trip—had gone to the old place to corral the fowl. After numerous scraped knees, scratched arms and a few nasty pecks, the men had loaded the irate fowl into cages and brought them to their new roost.

      Something jumped in the pond and he swung his gaze to the spreading ripple. The pond had been stocked with catfish and brim but it would be a few months before he and Early could put worm to pole on their communal pond. But the jon boat floating gently at the dock had their names on it, and it sat there, its siren call beckoning to him.

      The puppy yipped at one of the cats and then yelped as the feline retaliated with a good swipe of its paw.

      Better leave her alone, Scout, he told the puppy. That girl has an attitude and she’s not afraid to use it.

      Flicking its tail, chin in the air, the cat padded regally to the raised garden bed then gracefully leapt onto the three-foot-high stacked railroad ties that rimmed the plot. His short legs couldn’t carry him into the jump so the puppy sat down by the creosote-soaked timber and stared at his foil—tail wagging, tongue lolling, whining to play.

      Sweeping his attention over the backyard where scuppernong bushes, fig trees, mimosa, and gardenia would be planted come spring, he sighed peacefully. Allison had put flags where the greenery was to go: pink for mimosa, purple for wisteria, white for gardenia. Lilac flags rippled in the light breeze to show where the fig trees would grow along with a few green flags for the scuppernongs. Two bright red flags marked the places where wild hog plum trees would be planted. Orange string for the trumpet vine laced around the split-rail fence on the top rail while yellow string for the banana vine wound its way across the lower. Curling around the uprights was a darker orange string for the honeysuckle.

      Smell-good plants, he said softly. That was what she called them.

      I want to put in a lot of pampas grass—both white and pale pink—and redtop. Lots and lots of redtop lining the gravel driveway. Along the walkway, I think blood grass instead of the traditional boxwood, she’d said, and there were flags for those, too. His beautiful wife with the mild case of OCD was leaving nothing to chance.

      The gazebo with its copper roof had been finished just the week before, but the four wicker swings that would hang from the rafters around the fire pit in the center of the gazebo floor had yet to come from the mail order place. He turned to look at the sweeping live oak tree where an oversized cedar swing hung from a sturdy branch.

      A swing where he had made love to his lady the evening before.

      Life was good, Drew thought.

      Very, very good.

      It hadn’t always been that way for him, he mused. There had been a time when just getting up in the morning was a chore. Taking a breath seemed to be a monumental achievement. Life had been against him for so long that he had almost reached the point where ending it was preferable than enduring another heartbreaking, soul-smothering day.

      But that was before Allison had brought her light into his world and shone it into every dark corner. She had not only brightened his life, she had pushed every

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