Every novel in this collection is your passport to a romantic tour of the United States through time-honored favorites by America’s First Lady of romance fiction． Each of the fifty novels is set in a different state， researched by Janet and her husband， Bill． For the Daileys it was an odyssey of discovery． For you， it’s the journey of a lifetime． Your tour of desire begins with this story set in Iowa．
Chapter One
The Boyer River was frozen over． A blanket of snow covered the pasture ground． Out of the leaden sky came more flakes gently drifting down like white flower petals on a spring day． The wind was still， although there was a nippiness in the air． Except for the crystalline flakes， the whole world seemed to have come to a standstill． Nothing moved， not even the girl standing so silently on the knoll above the river．
Her jade-green eyes surveyed the scene， nostalgia gripping her throat over all the bygone memories， but Catherine Carlsen refused to cry． She was taking a walk back into the past one last time and she didn’t want tears blurring her vision．
Below her， where the river made its sweeping bend， was the place where the gentle rapids began， the place that， as a child， she had been allowed to swim． At the bottom of the hill where she was standing， the water was deeper． It was there that she and Clay used to fish for bullheads and catfish with their bamboo poles and a can of night crawlers unearthed behind the machine shed． Farther on was an island， barely discernible now from the ice-covered river， but that was where they had launched their homemade raft． They had watched their visions of reenacting the adventures of Huckleberry Finn sink with their raft．
The memories were endless． Each place her gaze rested brought more recollections of her childhood days． The lone willow tree lay horizontally， almost covered by the winter blanket． It looked bleak and lonely with its limbs sheared of summer foliage． The tiny spring-fed stream that the willow bridged wasn’t visible under the snow， but many times she had quenched her thirst in its icy-cold waters in the height of a hot summer day．
Although the majority of her memories came from the summer seasons， Cathie recalled， too， the ice-skating on the river when the ice grew thick and firm and sledding down the hill toward the river， always stopping a hair’s breadth short of its bank． Or the time the adults built a bonfire at the top of the hill so there would be a place to warm themselves in between trips down the hill on a sled or a shovel． Cathie remembered so well how she had sat with her feet close to the fire so she could warm her freezing toes． She had warmed them， but she had also melted the soles off her brand new rubber boots．
How often had she visualized the day when she would bring her own children out here and show them all the places she had played as a child？ Now it was never to be． The land no longer belonged to the Carlsen family． The Homeplace， as it had been affectionately called， was no longer home． And she， Cathie Carlsen， was at that very moment a trespasser．
Something brushed the side of her leg． As she turned her gaze down， Cathie’s eyes met the earnest， imploring look of the English shepherd dog， Duchess． No matter what the circumstances there was always an apologetic look about the dog’s face． The sad brown eyes were expressing their sorrow at intruding on Cathie’s solitude even as Duchess inched closer for a reassuring caress of forgiveness． Obligingly Cathie removed a gloved hand from her pocket to fondle the red gold head．
”Hello， Duchess． What are you doing down here so far from the house？” Cathie noticed with sadness the collection of gray hairs around the pointed muzzle． Even Duchess was beginning to show her age， and it seemed like only yesterday that she had arrived on the farm， a frightened and bewildered puppy． ”Did you get lonely up there， pretty lady？”
![the GazettE LIVE09[7-SEVEN-] @2009.3.10.tue. Makuhari Messe Exhibition Hall the GazettE 高画質デジタル写真集 Mac版 2009.7.6（月）正午ダウンロード販売開始!!](/images/bnr_gazette.gif)
