Dark Angel (Casteel 2)

for us to enjoy.

Troy was the one who selected a sun-dappled

little mound under one of the most beautiful beech

trees I'd ever seen. Not so far away was a gurgling

stream of water, and birds darted between the gently

swaying branches above. The wonderful feel of the

summer day put songs in my heart and joy in my

every movement, as Troy knelt to spread the red-andwhite checkered tablecloth on the grass. Our two

horses were tethered not far away and contentedly

munched on whatever they could eat. I heard the hum

of honey bees, smelled the scent of clover, brushed tiny gnats from my face as I busied myself emptying the picnic basket. The sweetness of the day, the prettiness of the setting, lit up my eyes whenever I glanced at Troy, who couldn't move his fascinated gaze from whatever trivial move I made. I felt selfconscious as I shifted plates and plastic flatware around, and three times I moved the potato salad, the

fried chicken, the sandwiches.

When finally I had everything prettily arranged,

I sat back on my heels and smiled his way. "There,

doesn't it look pretty? But don't dig in until I say

grace, just like my granny used to say whenever Pa

wasn't at home." I felt so happy today that I just had to

thank someone.

He seemed bewitched. Dazed-looking, he

nodded, then inclined his head slightly while I said the

familiar words.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for the food before

us. We thank you for the caring hands that prepared

our bounty. We thank you for our many blessings and

all the joys this day and all our tomorrows will bring

&

nbsp; us. Amen."

I lowered my hands, raised my bowed head,

looked up, and found Troy staring at me in the most

quizzical way. "Your granny's grace?"