The Rebel. Jan Hudson

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СКАЧАТЬ moved the honey pot toward Belle. “This is local honey, the best kind. Only Suki uses cream in her coffee. I’ve tried to explain that it’s not the best mixture, but—”

      “But Suki is ornery and does as she pleases,” Suki said as she brought in a tray. “I like cream in my coffee, and it hasn’t given me a bellyache in all the years I’ve been drinking it.” She placed bowls in front of Flora and Belle. “Now I tried this stuff once, and I had a bellyache that wouldn’t quit.”

      “Suki has diverticulitis,” Flora said. “She doesn’t handle seeds well. I think it’s the raspberries.”

      “You gonna tell her about my bunions, too?” Suki asked.

      Belle stifled a laugh behind her mug.

      “I’m sorry, Suki,” Flora said. “That was indelicate of me.”

      Suki gave a curt nod. “We’re about out of that cereal mix. Want me to pick some up today?”

      “I can,” Flora said. “I need to run by the gallery this afternoon and the health food shop is next door. Belle, if you feel up to it, you might like to go with me and see a bit of the town.”

      “She needs to sit on the porch and rest, not gallivant all over the countryside,” Suki said.

      “I don’t intend to gallivant,” Flora said, looking indignant. “There’s not much to see of town anyway. Wimberley is very small, and we’ll be in the car. We’ll only walk a few steps into the gallery and a few steps next door to Daisy’s. Daisy runs the health food store. She’s an old friend.”

      “Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine,” Belle said to Suki, who looked as if she were about to argue. “I need a few things from the health food store myself.”

      “See that you take care,” Suki said, “and don’t overdo it. I’ll get to my chores.”

      Suki left, and they finished their breakfast. Belle heard a vacuum cleaner somewhere in the house as she poured a second cup of coffee.

      “Are you sure you don’t mind sitting for me?” Flora asked. “I’m eager to make some preliminary sketches.”

      “No, I don’t mind.”

      “Good.” Flora hopped up. “Bring your coffee and let’s sit on the front porch. The light’s good there, and Suki will be happy you’re getting some fresh air. I’ll run upstairs and get my pencils and pad.”

      Belle found a sunny spot on the porch and sat in one of the large wooden rockers there. Her parents used to have rocking chairs on their front porch in Naconiche. Thinking of her folks made her feel a bit guilty. She really ought to let them know where she was and about the situation between Matt and her. It would be awkward if her mom called Matt’s place looking for her. Belle had tried to head off that situation by calling home last week and casually mentioning that she would be involved in some out-of-town business and that she could be reached on her cell phone.

      She promised herself that she’d call her parents the next day.

      Or the day after.

      Odd that she felt more comfortable among strangers than her own family. It wasn’t that her mother and father wouldn’t understand—or her brothers and their wives. They would. They would gather her under their wings like a hen with chicks. And she’d have to admit that she’d failed. Belle hated failing. More than hated it. The word had been erased from her vocabulary. But in the past year, she’d failed as an FBI agent and failed as a wife.

      Someone had once said that failure was character-building. Maybe so, but she didn’t feel edified in any way. She felt like a first-class wuss, and to be sick and helpless on top of that had brought her to her knees. She didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t like it at all.

      “You must be pondering weighty things,” Flora said.

      Belle relaxed the wrinkles she felt in her forehead. “Oh? How can you tell?”

      “You have a very expressive face. And aura.”

      “Aura?”

      Flora’s lilting laugh blended in with the dewy scent of the mountain laurels. “Ah, you’re such a skeptic on the surface and such a believer down deep. You’ve made the right decisions, and you’ll find your way.”

      “Pardon?” Was Gabe’s mother some sort of psychic?

      Flora laughed again, sat down and began to sketch. “I’m not touched, you know. I simply have an ability to see my subjects more deeply than a camera sees them. I’m so glad Gabe brought you home with him. Skye always brings home lost puppies and stray cats. Gabe brings home people.”

      Belle wasn’t quite sure how the take the comment. She didn’t like to think of herself as the human version of a lost puppy. She’d always been tough and in control, goal-oriented. Now she felt rudderless. Maybe it was a good analogy.

      “Oh, such lovely potential I see breaking through that facade,” Flora said as she continued to sketch.

      “Was Lisa a stray?” Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that.

      “No. Lisa was a shark.”

      “I’ve been called a shark a few times myself.”

      “Oh, no, dear,” Flora said. “You’re no shark. And no stray cat, either. You’re an eagle. A young eagle almost ready to stretch her wings and fly. See?”

      Flora turned her pad so that Belle could see it, and Belle gasped. The drawing, a quick pastel sketch, literally took her breath away. With only a few lines, the older woman had captured her likeness, but she’d also captured something more. If Belle looked at the paper a certain way, her features seemed to morph into those of an eagle soaring toward a brilliant multicolored sky.

      “That’s amazing,” Belle said. “That’s…that’s…”

      “The way you feel inside?”

      “It’s the way I want to feel inside. It’s the way I used to feel when I was a child—just before I went to sleep.”

      “And you’ll feel that way again. You’ve just taken a detour for a while.”

      “Are you psychic or something?” Belle asked, the word almost sticking in her throat. She’d never had much use for hocus-pocus stuff.

      “Don’t I wish. I’d do better at the lottery. Do you know that the most I’ve ever won is twenty-five dollars? And that was three years ago. Which reminds me, I need to pick up a ticket when we go out this afternoon.”

      Belle continued to rock in her chair, and Flora continued to sketch and draw out the story of her life. Belle told her all about growing up with four brothers in Naconiche, about her time in training for the FBI and, to her surprise, about her failed marriage. She couldn’t believe that she was being such a blabbermouth, especially with a virtual stranger.

      “It hurts terribly, doesn’t it, dear? I found myself in the same situation with my last husband. I thought I knew him so well, and it turned out that I didn’t know him at all.”

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