“Welco!” she muttered. Crossing the vast living room, Crystal grabbed her purse and keys from the coffee table. That company and its mysterious—at least from Crystal’s point of view—owner wanted to own everything in town. Well, Hughes Farm was not for sale. What was it that Douglas Wellington III had been quoted saying in the paper last week? If Main Street can’t keep their lights on, why should I have to share my bulbs? How heartless! Crystal knew this man didn’t give a damn about Reeseville. If he did, he’d know that helping, not buying, was the way people made it through rough times in this small town. Crystal wasn’t even sure if old man Wellington even lived in Reeseville. If he did, he wouldn’t want to destroy Hughes Farm. Bastard! Dashing out of her plantation-style house, Crystal nearly bowled over two teenagers planting rosebushes near her steps. “Miss Crystal, is everything okay?” asked Renda Johnson as Crystal placed her hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I’m just in a hurry.
