When the Wildflowers Speak

PROLOGUE The cottage sat nestled at the edge of Meadow brook, its weathered stones cradled by a riot of wildflowers that danced in the summer breeze. The garden seemed alive, its vibrant colors whispering secrets to anyone who paused long enough to listen. Claire Harper stood on the gravel path, her fingers curling around the strap of her suitcase. The scent of lavender and honeysuckle wafted through the air, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of bees.