alked without his wheelchair,

n't a

was

ea salt. I was Elara, the girl from the Appalachian mountains, the last resort for a desperate old man, Julian' s gr

n, and the Thorne name and fortune wou

gre

broken body. It was a draining, dangerous process, a secret act that left me weaker each dawn. But I fell i

strong. He stood, he walked, and the media cel

ways the "hillbilly" cure, a strange an

them, laid in the ancient way of my people. They were not flesh and blood yet, but thr

ared, a nest of soft linens and mountain herbs that smelled li

st. She was beautiful, a perfect porcelain doll of New England s

she said, her voice drip

aid, my voice sharper than I i

yes welled with tears instantly. "I was just c

eaving the scent of her

laughing with his friends on the veranda, his vo

you say to

to handle the eggs. Th

our mountain magic. Cassidy is a guest in this house

en, Julian," I whisp

missal. "My grandfather may have bought into your family's fairy tales, but I have a repu

tride perfect, each step a testa

the life he was a