Mountain Sanctuary (6 page)

Then she heard the faint sound of the baby birds chirping, and she wondered…did God really hear the little birds?

And did God listen to the rants, fears and pleas of a bitter, scared woman who’d lost all hope?

S
tella came home to find Adam and Kyle sitting at the small dining table in the private apartment across from the kitchen. They were both so intent on Kyle’s math work sheet, they barely glanced up when Stella and her daddy entered the room.

Wally glanced over at her, his eyes bright in spite of how tired and drained he looked. Then his gaze touched on his grandson. “That’s a nice picture.”

Stella clutched the grocery bag in her arms. “Daddy, why don’t you go and lie down until dinner. I’ll have it ready in a few minutes.”

They had not received a good report from the doctor. Basically, her father’s weak heart was shot and no amount of surgery would correct that. Between the cholesterol and high blood pressure, her father had to be monitored at all times. And she would be the main one doing that monitoring.

Kyle glanced up. “Mr. Adam’s done cooked dinner, Mama.”

Stella didn’t know whether to shout for joy or sit down and cry. “It’s ‘Mr. Adam has already cooked dinner,’ honey.”

Kyle shrugged. “That’s what I said.”

Wally grinned, then shuffled toward his room. In spite of his jovial nature, Stella could tell he was exhausted. “Call me when it’s on the table.”

Both Adam and Stella said, “I will.” Together.

Stella squirmed for two seconds, then pivoted toward the kitchen. She couldn’t be mad at Adam for helping out. It was nice to come home to a cooked dinner. At least tonight would be quiet. The couple coming to stay in the Morning Glory room wouldn’t be checking in until well after dinner and they were so regular, they knew where the key was to their suite. An easy night. Especially since she didn’t have to cook. Maybe she could catch up on some bill paying and start reading that novel she’d bought at the discount store. Or she might even go out and work on some of her china painting. It had been a long time since Stella had even thought about her own artistic hobby.

The kitchen sure smelled good, she reasoned, her earlier distorted displeasure with Adam’s kindness evaporating. She reasoned she was trying to ignore the good in the man for her own safety and protection. She didn’t want to get used to depending on Adam Callahan, or any man, ever again. When she heard his footsteps behind her, she whirled and almost collided with him. He took the bag from her and set it on the counter.

“Hello,” he said, looking sheepish and unsure since their earlier disagreement.

“Hi,” she replied as she busied herself with putting away the milk and butter, the scent of something good tweaking her nose and her curiosity. “What’s cooking?”

He gave her a long look that indicated a whole lot more than just whatever was bubbling on the stove. “Spaghetti. Kyle said it’s his favorite. That is, after pizza and hamburgers, of course.”

That made her smile. “That boy can put away some food. And he does love spaghetti, even if it’s just from a jar.”

“Uh, I made this sauce from scratch.”

“Of course you did,” she retorted, her jealousy flaring up with a green-eyed ugliness that instantly made her feel ashamed of herself. Adam was being way too kind and she just wasn’t used to that. When had she become so jaded and cynical, anyway? Probably the day she watched her mother pack up and drive away. Or maybe after she’d found out her husband had whittled away most of their savings.

Adam gave her another long look. This one a tad more chilled than the last one. “You don’t like homemade spaghetti?”

“No, I love anything homemade.” She stopped stocking the pantry and turned to face him. “It’s just that I should be cooking for you. I didn’t hire you to come in and take over all the duties.”

He frowned down at her. “Is that what you think? That I’m taking over around here? That in spite of what we talked about, I’m steamrollering you?”

She heard the hurt in his words, and wished she didn’t have such a snarly mouth. “No, I appreciate you. You know that. But you need time off, too. I mean, you babysat my son all afternoon—”

“It wasn’t babysitting. I had fun. Kyle’s a special little boy.”

She nodded on that account. “True, but he can be tiring, I know. And in the meantime, you managed to whip up a batch of homemade spaghetti sauce, too? See what I mean?”

He leaned his hands down on the counter, then lowered his head to give her a hard stare. “Well, no, Stella, I don’t see what you mean. Either I take over some of the cooking duties, or I don’t. You tell me.”

She slammed canned beans on the counter. “You cook for the guests. That was our agreement. I don’t recall ever telling you to cook for us.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re mad because I cooked something just for you and your family? And that means I’m pushing the envelope, right?”

“I’m not mad, exactly.” She looked down at the animal crackers she’d bought for Kyle. “I just seem to be having a hard time accepting your kind deeds. I’m sorry.”

Adam leaned close, then whispered. “Why don’t you just relax and enjoy having some help for a change? It won’t kill you, will it?” Then he managed a smile. “I didn’t poison the spaghetti.”

“It doesn’t smell poisoned,” she reasoned, mustering up a little smile of her own. “I’m just tired. It took forever with the doctors, then we had several prescriptions to fill.”

His gaze turned soft with understanding. “How’s your dad?”

“About the same. His heart is old and ornery. Two surgeries and several medications keep him ticking, but I still can’t help but worry about him. His heart is basically shot. We do what we can, but it’s not easy.” She shrugged. “And that keeps me on edge.”

He nodded. “Then I won’t be offended by your crankiness. Now, why don’t you go rest, too. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

She closed her eyes, weariness seeping through her bones. “I guess I might as well. You seem to have everything under control in the kitchen.”

He nodded. Then he said, “Next time, I’ll ask first, okay?”

“Okay.” She finished putting away the groceries then headed up the hall to her tiny bedroom. “I’ll just take about fifteen minutes.”

“Take all the time you need. The longer this simmers, the better it’ll be in the end.”

Stella took that statement to heart. That was exactly what she was so afraid of—if she let this attraction keep on bubbling and simmering, she might not be able to stop her feelings in the end. And she knew there would be an end.

There always was.

Stella woke up with a start, surprised to find it full dark outside. How long had she slept? Glancing at the horse-and-carriage clock on her nightstand, she groaned. She’d been asleep over an hour! Jumping out of bed, she straightened her blouse then went into the bathroom to wash her face and comb her hair. Not one to be lazy, she was appalled that she’d taken a nap when she should have been busy with her daily tasks. She was almost out the door, when she turned and rummaged through her scant supply of makeup to find her lip gloss. Only because she looked so haggard, she told herself.

Or maybe because she wanted to be presentable for Adam Callahan, that voice inside her head responded. Well, couldn’t a woman try to make an effort? She’d been so whipped when they’d gotten home, she hadn’t even bothered combing her hair. Being exhausted was no excuse for ignoring good grooming, after all.

Her stomach growled with a loud demand as she entered the kitchen. Where was everyone? Then she heard laughter coming from the backyard. Noticing the spaghetti pot still on the stove, she went to the back door and looked out.

Adam, Kyle and her father were all sitting at the picnic table, eating away. “Another nice picture,” she whispered, thinking Adam Callahan seemed to fit right in around here. Astonished at how that notion dueled inside her brain between being good and being bad, Stella grabbed a plate and slapped a pile of steaming spaghetti onto it, then grabbed a buttered slice of bread to add to the spaghetti. Finding a glass, she poured iced tea, then kicked open the back door and headed out to join her family.

My family?

Her mind was sure playing strange tricks on her with all its wishful thinking. I do have a family, she told herself. I have Daddy and Kyle. And that
is
enough for me. But when she glanced up to find Adam’s eyes on her, she thought adding one more to that list might not be such a bad idea.

He liked the way she moved. Even with a big plate of spaghetti held high in the air in front of her, she was so ethereal, so dainty, that he had to remember to breathe. Stella didn’t seem to cater to the whims of the modern woman. She mostly let her hair either hang in loose, curling waves, or she piled it high up in a ponytail. Her clothes looked like consignment-shop castoffs, but they somehow seemed to suit her artsy side. But her eyes, oh, those eyes always looked so direct, so practical that Adam was awestruck with the paradox that she seemed to be. Maybe the free spirit inside of Stella was at war with the responsible woman she presented to the world.

And how could a man reconcile the two? he wondered. Or worse, how could she ever reconcile the two enough inside her own soul to become complete?

“Hey, there,” she said, all smiles in spite of those determined eyes. “Did y’all decide to start the party without me?”

Kyle nodded. “Papa said to let you rest.”

“That was mighty considerate of Papa,” Stella replied as she sank down in one of the old wrought iron chairs across from Adam, her gaze flittering with dragonfly precision right over him. “This sure looks good.”

“It’s great,” Kyle said, tomato sauce all around his mouth as he slurped up noodles. “Mr. Adam said it’s a secret family recipe.”

Wally gave Stella a measured look that Adam didn’t miss. He reckoned the other two adults at this table might think he was showing off by cooking his mother’s famous spaghetti sauce. And maybe he was. But how could he explain that he needed to stay busy and focused, that he was so used to long hours and double-duty stress that just puttering and doing was a joy and a blessing in his life?

Stella took a bite, then closed her eyes. “Mmm, that is pretty tasty. Maybe I can get Mr. Adam to share his recipe one day.”

“Can you cook it the same way?” Kyle asked, his eyes going big with disbelief.

“I doubt it,” Stella replied, her smile so sweet no one noticed the disdain in her eyes.

No one but Adam, of course. What was he doing wrong here? Should he just back off? He’d have to ask her about that later. Right now, he needed to do some serious damage control. “It’s easy,” he said to salvage the situation. “Mostly just throw stuff together and let it simmer.”

Wally grunted. “Yeah, that makes sense to me.”

Adam noticed another meaningful look passing between Stella’s father and her son. He didn’t know if the two men in her life approved of him or not. Were they trying to make a match, or put out a potential fire?

Stella took a long drink of tea. “It is good, Adam,” she said, her smile as soft as the sunset off to the west. And just as full of sizzle. “Thank you for being so thoughtful. I do feel better after my nap.”

He took that as a compliment. Then he decided to take matters into his own hands. “Look, y’all, I don’t want to overstep my bounds here, so if me cooking dinner upset anyone, I’m sorry, too.”

“I’m not upset,” Kyle said, tearing into his bread. “But I’m sure gettin’ full.”

“Then why don’t you go wash up and get your jammies on,” Stella said, her eyes still on Adam. “Since you did your homework earlier, you can watch a video until I come to tuck you in.”

Kyle grinned. “Thanks.” Then he turned to Adam. “She doesn’t like me watching too much television and stuff. I think that nap did help her.”

Wally shook his head as he watched his grandson running toward the house. “That boy is way beyond his years.”

“That’s what scares me,” Stella said, looking down at her food. “He’s too smart for his own good.”

Her daddy took a swig of tea. “Or he just has a keen sense of intuition. Probably got that from Estelle. That woman could figure things out long before anyone else saw them coming.”

Stella stopped eating, then put her fork down on her plate, her whole demeanor changing. She seemed to shrink within herself. “Kyle is not like my mama, not at all.”

Then she got up, gathered Kyle’s plate on top of the remains of her own food then whirled to head back toward the house, her back ramrod straight.

Wally glanced over at Adam with an apologetic twist to his mouth. “She doesn’t like to discuss her mother. And she sure doesn’t like me comparing her and Kyle to Estelle.” He sighed, then swirled the tea at the bottom of his glass. “I forgave my wife years ago, but Stella, well, she can sure hold a grudge for a very long time.”

“I’ll have to bear that in mind,” Adam replied, still reeling from Stella’s quicksilver mood change. Then he looked over at Wally. “And remind me never to cook dinner again without clearing it with her first.”

“I’ll be glad to,” Wally replied. “But we do appreciate it anyway.” Wally sopped the last of his bread in the spaghetti sauce on his plate. “Stella is a good woman. She’s just used to being in control. Been that way since the day her mama left us. I blame myself for some of her ways. I should have been more of a father to her. But I was young and heartbroken back then. Couldn’t see the blessings right there in front of me.” He finished his tea, then got up. “Don’t judge her too harshly, Adam.”

“I’m not judging anyone,” Adam replied. “It’s not my place to judge.”

“Good, then you and me will get along just fine.”

Adam knew Wally was being sincere. And he also knew that he’d just been warned to tread lightly around Stella Forsythe. And her father.

L
ater that night, Adam was back out in the garden enjoying the merging scents of honeysuckle, wisteria and jasmine as he strolled silently around the dark house. Soon the towering magnolia tree out from the carriage drive would be blooming. He could see the iridescent white buds in the moonlight. The smell of flowers made him miss his grandmother’s garden back in New Orleans. His whole family had lived on the outskirts of the city and now, most of them were trying to rebuild after the floods and storms. He’d called his mother earlier, just to reassure her that he was doing fine. Of course, everyone wanted to know when he was coming home.

“I’m not sure, Mom,” he’d told her. “I like it here and I’ve found a temporary job. Just some handyman work.”

“You always did like to putter with wood and paint. Just take care of yourself, son. And remember, we all have storms to get through. Both from the weather and from life. Don’t forget that we all love you. And your brother sends his love and, Adam, he’s really sorry. You need to forgive him.”

“I already have, Mom.”

Adam could forgive his brother for getting them both caught up in the bad of this world, but he wouldn’t forget what had driven him away from his home. And because he was all alone and nearly broken from all the grief of those storms, he had needed to get away for a while. Maybe that was why he felt so safe and centered here, so far away from the waters surroundings New Orleans. He glanced up at the looming shadow of the mountain that served as a backdrop against the town. That mountain seemed so solid and sure, so formidable. It felt like a great wall of protection around him.

But how long can I just sit here, wishing on a mountain? Maybe his mother was right; maybe he needed to come back home in order to get on with his life.

It occurred to him that Stella and he hadn’t really discussed the length of his work here. He couldn’t just stay in the Sanctuary House indefinitely, could he? Stella needed to rent that space to make money, not give it over to him for as long as he needed. And while the room and bed were both comfortable, the decor was a touch too feminine and dainty for his liking. But he sure didn’t want to leave just yet. There was so much to do around here. Gardening, carpentry, cooking, mending here and there, helping Kyle with his homework, helping Stella get her dad to the doctor. Not to mention getting to know all the interesting guests who came through those doors.

Whoa! Adam stopped his train of thought, halting his restless pacing as he reached the end of the long driveway. All of that sounded kind of long-term and full of commitment. Adam wasn’t so sure he was ready for any kind of permanent arrangement.

He shifted back toward the house, hoping sleep would come easy now that he’d had some fresh air. He was stepping up on the side porch underneath the carriage drive when he saw a light click on in the old garage out back. Wondering who could be out there at this time of night, and knowing his cop’s instincts wouldn’t allow him to just ignore the light, he headed toward the carriage house then peeked through the paned windows.

Stella stood at a worktable staring at a set of old white dishes. Intrigued, Adam watched as she pulled out a carrying case full of paints and started rummaging through them until she seemed satisfied with her choices. He’d heard Wally mention she liked to paint, and he recalled her saying something about that the day they’d met.

Was she about to get serious with some moonlighting on her hobby?

Not wanting to disturb her, Adam turned to leave but his foot hit an old washtub sitting by the door. The tub rattled and clanged as it skidded on the worn concrete of the tiny patio.

And brought Stella running out the door. “Adam? You scared the living daylights out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug, his hands out in defense. “I saw the light—”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, what are you doing spying on me like that?”

“I wasn’t spying,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep so I came outside for a walk around the yard. Then I saw the light come on.”

She looked embarrassed. “Well, I couldn’t sleep, either. So I thought I’d come out here and try to straighten this place.”

He glanced around. The studio looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while. “Okay. Well, then I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

She reached out a hand to touch his shirtsleeve. “Wait. That’s not exactly the truth.”

He turned back, catching her there in the glow of the yellow light. She looked pretty as usual, but tonight her hair was down around her shoulders and back and she wore a loose teal-colored dress that was gathered at the shoulders and smocked across the waist. She looked like something out of a dream. Adam had to swallow hard. “What is the truth then?” he asked, his voice low and grainy.

She looked perplexed and afraid. “I came out here to work. You know, on my things—glazing some of this china, firing up that old kiln, just stuff I’ve wanted to do. I don’t seem to have the time to indulge in this these days.”

He smiled at her sweet hesitation. “Why was it so hard to tell me that?”

She tugged him inside the long room. “I feel guilty, dabbling in this when I’ve got other things to do.”

Adam stepped inside the room and took a better look around. “Wow.”

Every shelf was covered with her artwork. Stella had painted not only teacups and matching saucers and pots, but she’d also created a few pretty handbags and scarves and flowerpots, her whimsical smiling flowers and dainty little figures dancing across the various shapes and designs. An odd-looking oven—or was that her kiln?—sat in one corner, obviously so she could bake the glazes on her ceramic art.

“You did all of this?”

“Here and there,” she said with a shy shrug. “Over the years. I brought it all with me when Kyle and I moved.” She touched a hand to the china set she had on the table. “My husband didn’t like it when I painted. He said I was wasting time, that this was frivolous. Funny, how he managed to do the same thing even when he was supposed to be holding down a job.”

“How can this be frivolous?” Adam asked, noting she’d also painted words here and there on some of the objects. Faith, Hope, Love, Peace, Happiness, Patience, Kindness. All of these words shouted at him in pretty pastels and brilliant hues of primary colors. And they told him way more about Stella than she’d ever revealed. “I think it’s all real pretty.”

“Pretty.” She nodded. “Pretty, but what purpose does it serve?”

“Hey, now, don’t talk like that. Have you tried selling any of it?”

“A little,” she admitted. “When things were so bad for Kyle and me.” Her eyes took on a faraway look.

“And how’d you do?”

“I was beginning to make a name for myself, but then Lawrence died and my dad got so sick—” She shrugged again. “And after my mother died and I found out I’d inherited this place, well, I kind of gave up on my art. Too much else to do.”

“Then you need to get back into it,” he encouraged, meaning it. “Stella, you have a talent. I don’t know art, but I do know women. My mother and sisters back home would love this stuff.”

She smiled at that, lowering her head as she rubbed a finger over a dainty cup. “Most women like pretty things, I reckon. Maybe one day—”

“Why not today?” Adam met her insecure gaze with one of challenge. “Why not now?”

She sighed, picked up a brush. “Because I’m afraid. I’m so afraid things will get out of control, that I’ll get so caught up in this I’ll neglect Kyle and Daddy.”

“You seem like a sensible woman. I don’t see you abandoning your family—” He stopped, realization dawning in his dense head at about the time he saw that solid fear cresting in her eyes. “Your mother, right? You’re holding back because you don’t want to be like your mother?”

Stella dropped her brush and headed for the door. “This was a bad idea.”

He snagged her with a hand on her wrist. “Don’t think that. Why is doing something you love and you’re good at a bad idea?”

She let out a long sigh. “I just feel so scattered, so disoriented. You know, kind of off-kilter. I feel as if I’m trespassing on my mother’s memories. Or stomping right across them.”

Adam certainly knew that feeling. Holding her hand, he looked down at her long, dainty fingers. “I felt like that after the hurricane hit New Orleans. My world had shifted and turned upside down. Everything and everybody seemed crazy. I had this big hole inside my soul. I’m not so sure I’ll ever fill it again.”

She looked at him, understanding in her eyes. “Did you love being a policeman?”

“I did, a lot. I miss it now. But I saw too much pain and suffering. People dying, women being abused, children lost on the streets. It’s like that everywhere, but this was my town, my home. I tried to stay. I did stay for these past couple of years after everything started settling down. But it might not ever be the same. And one night, after we got a call for a drug-related shooting, I guess the body count finally got to me. Then, like I said, I had this personal stuff to deal with. I got in trouble with the department, so a week later I resigned, then I left and started driving.”

Looking surprised, she shifted her head, her hair falling down around her shoulders. “You mean, you really did just drive until you got to Hot Springs?”

“Yep. Until I saw your sign.”

She gave him one of her shy smiles. “Our slightly crooked sign, you mean?”

“It’s not crooked anymore. I fixed it.”

“So your cooking and mending and fixing, it’s not just about needing a job. You needed to keep busy, right?”

“Right.” He smiled then, glad she was finally getting it. “I’m not trying to take over your home, Stella. I like working around here. It’s nice, calm, peaceful work. And it makes me feel good. You and Kyle and Papa, you make me feel good.”

Wrong words. She pulled her hand away from his. “I’d better get back inside.”

“What about your work?”

“I can’t work tonight. I’ll get started soon.”

“I interrupted you.”

“No, you didn’t. I don’t think I wanted to paint. I just wanted to visit. Does that make sense?”

He saw the longing in her eyes. “So you’re just gonna stand in the shadows, visiting your dreams?”

“For now. Just for a little while.”

“I’d hate to think you’ll look up one day and see that a little while has turned into a long, long time.”

She tossed her hair back, a sure sign that he needed to change the subject. “What kind of dreams do you have?”

Adam didn’t know the answer to that question, or maybe he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. Because right now his dreams included watching a pretty redhead paint china. He tried to form the words, then shrugged. “I guess I’m just content to see where life takes me.”

“I wish I could let go and be content with that notion.”

He tried again. “You can. Come to church with me—just to get a little respite and some peace of mind.”

She shook her head. “I don’t need to be in a church to converse with God.”

“True, but it’s a good place to get away from other people’s questions and expectations.”

“I see it as the other way around. I’d be exposed to people’s questions and expectations. I’d have to open up my soul to a roomful of strangers.”

“They won’t be strangers if you give them a chance. It’s more like a sanctuary of sorts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She whirled like a dancer to leave.

“Hey,” he said, wanting to prolong their time together. “I was wondering, just how long did you want me to stick around?”

She seemed confused and put off, her eyes flying wide as she held a hand to the door. “I hadn’t thought about it. Something new crops up here on a daily basis, but if you could just finish the repairs and paint touch-ups on the shutters and help some with the gardens and cooking for a while, I’d really appreciate it.”

Adam thought about that. He could find any number of tasks to keep him here indefinitely, but that wouldn’t be honest or fair. “How about three months? Say around Labor Day?”

“Three months?” She rubbed a hand across her neck. “The end of summer?”

“Yeah. I figure summer’s the busy season, right?”

“Spring and summer, but we get a lot of leaf lookers, too.”

He laughed at that. “You mean, when the trees change color?”

“Yes. Fall is pretty around here. People love to hike the mountain when the weather gets cooler.”

Adam thought about how beautiful the park would be in the fall. He might not be here to see that. “Well, let’s shoot for a three-month trial period, okay?”

“Okay.”

Did he sense disappointment in her eyes?

Not wanting to push that issue, he forged on. “Anyway, I can’t stay in your guest room for three months. You need to rent that to a paying customer. I could move into a hotel or an apartment in town—”

“No.” She laughed, pushed at her hair. “I mean, that’s silly. I don’t mind letting you have the room, but—” She stopped, looking toward the back of the long garage. “Hey, what about the carriage house?”

He glanced around. “We have a carriage house?”

She nodded, pointing toward some stairs tucked away toward the back. “This was it long ago. And there’s a tiny apartment right up those stairs. My mama used to rent it out some at first. According to the people who used to work here, she started sleeping out here a lot herself, especially after a long day of painting. And whenever she didn’t want to be disturbed.” She stood silent for a minute, then said, “You could move in there, fix it up to your liking. Do whatever you need to do.”

Adam thought about that. He’d have his own space, but he’d still be on call whenever she needed him. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s not much—just two rooms with a tiny efficiency kitchen and a bath, but it’s already furnished. Just bring your duffel bag on over tomorrow and settle in.” Her gaze hit on the stairs. “I don’t go up there much.”

“It won’t bother you, me living in your mother’s private space?”

“It won’t bother me at all. I think that room needs a new tenant. And it makes perfect sense, right?”

“I guess it does.” Then he raised a hand. “I’ll pay rent.”