A Secret at Windmill Cottage (Dune Island #8)

Prologue

LATE AUGUST, TWENTY YEARS EARLIER

The teenager’s bare feet skimmed the damp, velvety sand as she strode along the tidal flats, the sun warm on her face, the breeze lifting her hair from her shoulders.

This is my favorite place in the whole world , she thought, surveying the meandering network of rivulets and shallow pools, and the vast blue bay rippling gently in the distance to her right.

On her left, the golden dunes were crowned with aromatic wild roses. And up ahead, five or six spindle-legged little birds scuttled along the edge of the tidal river, which bisected the beach as it lazily wound its way inland.

Not only was the scenery magnificent, but the girl never felt as strong and special and carefree as when she was summering at the cottage with her aunt and uncle.

I wish August wasn’t almost over already. The end of the season always seemed to come too fast, and this year leaving Dune Island until the following June felt unbearable.

I can’t wait until Aunt Lydia and Uncle Albert retire and move here permanently .

Then I’ll be able to visit them at Thanksgiving.

I can still go beachcombing in the chilly weather, but afterward, instead of drinking lemonade on the porch with Aunt Lydia, we’ll have hot chocolate in the windmill loft…

she daydreamed wistfully, completely unaware that before the week ended, her life would change forever.