Mountain Sanctuary. Lenora Worth

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СКАЧАТЬ the sheets and towels just out of the dryer, the smell of sunshine and tropical breezes making her put her nose to the crisp white linens.

      At least her mother had had the good sense to buy nice linens. Or maybe it had been Mrs. Ebard. Mrs. Ebard and her husband had managed the Sanctuary up until the day Stella had taken over. Tired and old and cranky, the married couple couldn’t wait to leave and be done with the falling-down old house. Stella remembered Louise Ebard’s words to her the day she’d called to tell Stella that Estelle Forsythe had died.

      “She just went to sleep and never woke up. Heart attack. At fifty-five. And her a little skinny thing, at that. ’Course, it might have been the smoking and drinking or the late nights out in that studio, who knows.” After much sniffing and crying, Mrs. Ebard had added, “She wanted you to have the inn, honey. Told me long ago—that’s in her will. But I have to tell you, things are bad here. It’s a bit run-down. We don’t get many visitors except the ones that have been coming here for years. Just the regulars or the occasional traveler who can’t find anything better. I still cook and Ralph works on the yard and house, but we can’t keep at this anymore. It’s just bad.”

      “Really bad,” Stella said now, hearing the sound of her son’s laughter out in the back garden. Her daddy was out there with Kyle, trying to clip the wisteria back before it took over the studio. Her mother had loved wisteria. But as beautiful as the purple, scented blossoms were this time of year, Stella knew even wisteria, left untamed, eventually suffocated everything in its path. The same way her mother had filled a room and suffocated everyone and everything in it, taking over, demanding, manipulating, the sweet scent of her perfume mixed with the charcoal smell of cigarettes wafting through the air until Stella would almost choke with the pain and grief of not measuring up, of not understanding that her mother was both brilliant and a bit mad.

      “Flighty.” That’s what her father had called his Estelle. Flighty and scatterbrained and tormented and talented. Not a woman made for maternal instincts, not a woman made to stay with one man. Not a woman to want her only daughter to bother her when she was working. One simple, hardworking man and one small, scared little girl, left behind, with only the scent of wisteria to comfort them.

      And yet, they’d both willingly come here to the home where the woman they’d loved had lived alone amongst strangers. And died alone, all of her guests gone. Maybe they were each hoping to catch a bit of Estelle’s elusive spirit, to be near the places she’d been near, to touch the things she’d touched.

      Stella hoped her father tamed that wisteria vine, once and for all. And she had to wonder for the hundredth time why she’d even bothered coming here. Did she want to be reminded of all that her mother had given up in order to have her freedom, her art? Did she want to be here so she could remember, or had she brought her son and her father here to start over, to forget?

      Daddy would tell her to put her trust in God. Daddy was a good, Christian man with a solid work ethic, but he’d had his heart broken long ago. Had that been a part of God’s grand plan for him?

      Stubbornly, Stella put her nose to a white lace-trimmed pillowcase, closing her eyes to take in the freshness of it. New, clean, washed. She prayed God would one day make her feel that way. And then she thought about Adam Callahan and wondered what his story was. What was he running from, to come here to this sad old house, to ask to be able to stay here? He’d called the Sanctuary a good place to lay his head. Maybe he was right there. It certainly was a place for confused, wayward travelers. Even if some of those travelers thought they were coming home.

      “Mama, why you got your nose in that pillow cover?”

      Her son’s words jarred Stella out of her musings. Opening her eyes, she tried to focus. “Oh, I was just enjoying the nice smell.”

      “Papa and me are thirsty. He sent me for lemonade. That store-bought stuff is pretty good. Papa said we can keep buying it, since the last time we tried to make it fresh, you poured the juice down the drain by accident.”

      Stella remembered. Five crushed lemon rinds and no juice to show for it, since she’d somehow managed to pour out the juice instead of the rinds. “I kind of got things backward that day, didn’t I?”

      Kyle grinned. “It’s okay. The kind we get at the store is powdery and already squeezed.”

      Stella looked down at her child, her heart unfolding toward him with a maternal surge of hope and pride. She loved her son, had loved him enough to fight for him, and she couldn’t imagine leaving him, ever. His daddy had been bad to the bone, but so good-looking and persuasive, so intense, that Stella had somehow overlooked that one big flaw. Stella had married Lawrence Forsythe on an impulsive whim, tinged with a passionate need to love and be loved.

      But their son, ah, their son was priceless, as perfect and pure as a fine piece of porcelain. As sturdy and strong as the timbers in this old house. He’d had to grow up too fast after his father’s death, but soon Kyle would have better. Kyle would survive and thrive, because Stella had her father here to guide him. And in spite of her own bent toward wanting to paint pretty pictures on everything from benches to teacups, Stella had to be practical and sure. She had to work to get this place back up and running. For Kyle’s sake. She wanted to be the one to take care of her son, not the other way around.

      Kyle had a keen sense of responsibility. Her father called him an old soul. But Stella didn’t want him to miss out on just being a child. She’d had to grow up too quickly in order to take care of her mother at times. Kyle wouldn’t have to do that.

      And that meant she certainly wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and turn him away. Adam Callahan had offered to help out. Stella, being practical in spite of her artistic side, aimed to take him up on that offer. Just as soon as she explained things to her father and her son, of course.

      Adam heard laughter. Maybe he was dreaming, but the sound brought him a kind of gentle peace. The laughter floated through his subconscious mind, reminding him of lazy days spent fishing with his father and brothers out on the bayou, of time spent riding the big boat out on Lake Pontchartrain, good times. Happy times. Laughter.

      He woke with a start, wondering where he was. He was hot and sweaty, his brow wet, his pulse pounding. Lifting his head, he slowly glanced around the darkened room, his gaze taking in the shiny mahogany armoire, the old-fashioned washstand with the white bowl and pitcher, the four-poster bed with the soft, fresh sheets and the rose-quilted cover. Sanctuary.

      He was at the Sanctuary House Inn in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Hundred of miles away from New Orleans. A million miles away from his past. Had he come far enough?

      Adam got up and took a long shower, enjoying the soft spray as he reminded himself to check the pressure later. The old claw-foot bathtub was respectable, even if it was ancient, but the shower could use a few tweaks. Maybe he’d install one of those fancy newfangled showerheads. That would certainly be a plus for guests.

      He got dressed, his mind already at work as he made a mental note of all the things he’d noticed around this place that needed to be fixed. Shutters that needed to be repaired and repainted. Porch steps that needed to be straightened and steadied. Rugs cleaned, trees trimmed.

      He was already out in the hallway across from the dark paneled library when it hit him that somehow in the space of about six hours and several sweet dreams, he’d made a commitment to a place he didn’t even know. And to a woman he surely didn’t even begin to understand. Not a good idea. Not good at all. What if things became all tangled, like the ivy vine growing down on the sign post? He might just have to tell Stella that he’d changed his mind, that he couldn’t stay after all.

      But СКАЧАТЬ