Chapters (51)
- Cover
- Praise for A Season for Second Chances
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
Inside the front door was a small hallway, with rooms going off left and right and a staircase in the middle. Isaac pulled off his boots and Nory bent down to undo her very muddy—and one and only pair—of stilettos; she smiled inwardly that she now had the excuse to downgrade to her more sensibly heeled Mary Jane shoes—of which she had two pairs—for the duration of the week.
As she shrugged out of Isaac’s thick coat, the warmth of the cozy cottage seemed to enliven the scent of cow pats clinging to her dress.
“Would you mind waiting in the hall while I get you some fresh clothes?” Isaac asked. “I don’t want to sound precious, but you kind of stink and I’d rather we kept it contained.”
“I think that is absolutely fair,” Nory replied.
From the room to her left there was a snuffling sound, and a long nose squeezed through the gap in the door and nudged it open. An elderly lurcher padded into the hall and proceeded to give Nory a good sniffing.
“Oh, hello. You’re lovely.” Nory cooed, despite the hound nosing around her bottom rather enthusiastically.
“Come on, Lettuce, leave our guest alone,” said Isaac. Lettuce looked up at Nory with big soft eyes before turning to follow her master through the door to the right.
Left alone in the hallway, Nory glanced around. Beneath her own powerful aroma, she could smell woodsmoke and oud. The uneven walls were roughly plastered and whitewashed. A barometer hung below a bookshelf. She checked his books—she always checked the books—a nature almanac, an encyclopedia of trees, and several pocket handbooks on foraging and woodland plants. Her bookish self approved.
Isaac came back into the hall with Lettuce at his side, holding a pair of tracksuit bottoms—she quietly gave thanks for the generous elastic waist—and an oversized hoody with a thick fleece lining.
“I’d offer you the use of my shower, but is that too weird? I don’t know. It’s too weird, right? I’m not sure what the etiquette is for dealing with women you’ve rescued from a wheelbarrow full of cow crap.” He said all this without giving her a chance to speak, and then seemed to have made his decision because he handed her the clothes and said, “I’ll just”—he pushed open the door to a small sitting room with a large fireplace and a fire crackling within it—“give you some privacy,” he said, going through the door and closing it.