She knew nothing about general construction, but she had eyes, unless something in her brain had gone haywire in the long drive between Los Angeles and Dynamite Creek. 'A little?' Abby's skepticism showed in her voice. It just needs a little TLC,' Delia responded enthusiastically before leaving the car. Here wasn't exactly the picture perfect place she'd expected to find as she sat frozen inside the car. Frigid air blew through the interior, making Abby shiver inside her inadequate jacket and miss the warm Southern California weather. We're here.' Delia Wentworth, the receptionist from her late grandmother's attorney's office unbuckled her seat belt and opened the driver's side door. She should have guessed the house would be as welcoming as the people who once lived inside. The bare limbs of the tree standing guard by the long porch running along the front of the house looked more inviting than the empty windows that stared back at her. Puffy gray clouds threatened more snow in the sleepy town of Dynamite Creek in northern Arizona. If the outside reflected the inside, her vision of reopening the Bancroft Bed-and-Breakfast by the Founder's Day Festival the first weekend in May died a quick and painful death.ĭisappointment pooled around her shoulders and matched the dismal early March skies. Her stomach churned as her gaze flipped between the obviously outdated brochure in her cold hand and the three-story wooden structure to her right in need of a new paint job and some other cosmetic work. 'This is it?' Wide-eyed and a little confused, Abby Bancroft stared out the passenger side window of the Ford Escort parked in front of the large Victorian house. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.'-Luke 6:37 Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. 'Do not judge, and you will not be judged.

Home Sweet Home by Kim Watters