Mountain Sanctuary

Stella shook her head, then tossed her hair back.

Adam eyed her over his shoulder. “He’s a handful, I reckon.”

“You can say that again.”

“What’s your husband do?”

“He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s probably better off that way. And I know we’re better off for it.”

Realizing the man was staring at her with such intensity it bordered on shock, Stella waved a hand in the air. “I shouldn’t have said that. Lawrence was a no-good, cheating, drinking vagrant who pretty much robbed me blind, but I guess he had a soul. Or at least I hope so, anyway, for Kyle’s sake. He had a bad wreck on I-30 one rainy Saturday night about a year ago. Wrapped his souped-up Mustang around a steel pole on an embankment. And that was that.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

“No.” She wondered just when he’d get enough and leave. Everybody usually did. “I moved here after my mother died last year. This was her house.” She shrugged. “I mean, she lived here, but somebody ran the place for her. She spent most of her time out back in the studio. She was…an artist.”

He nodded at that, his expression blank as he rinsed a now-scrubbed muffin pan. “And Papa?”

Well, the man didn’t miss a thing. Figured, him being a cop. Always aware of his surroundings, she reasoned. She knew how cops operated, since her dearly departed husband had several run-ins with the law over the years she’d been with him. “Papa is my daddy, Watson Clark. Everyone calls him Wally, though. My mother left him when I was ten, but they never divorced. After she died, I brought him here to live with us and help out. But he can’t do a whole lot. He has a lot of health problems.”

She finished wiping down the counter, then prepared the plates for the guests, careful to make sure each plate was distinctively different in style and pattern, just to mix things up. She’d read somewhere that it was okay to do that, and besides, she didn’t really care about proper etiquette at this point.

“Got any fruit?” Adam asked over her shoulder, causing her to almost drop a delicate blue-etched plate.

“In the refrigerator. Strawberries, I think. And maybe some grapes.”

“We’ll add a few bites to each serving,” Adam said, already digging through the stuffed refrigerator. “You need to clean this thing out.”

“I’ll get to it,” Stella said, thinking one day she’d get to every little thing around here. “Soon.”

“Let’s get in there and serve our guests,” Adam said, holding a silver tray full of food in his hands. “Got the coffee ready?”

“Yes, I do know how to make coffee at least.” Then she winced. “Well, you might want to test it before we take it out.”

“I think I just might.”

He grinned, then headed through the swinging doors to the dining room. Stella grabbed another tray of food, thinking she liked the way he’d said “serve our guests.”

Don’t be silly, she admonished as she served the pleasantly surprised guests who were loyal customers from past years, bless them. He’s just passing through. He just happened up when you were in a fix. He just happened up when you needed him the most. And he’ll be gone before you even miss him. But the sweet smell of those incredible blueberry muffins made Stella hope Adam Callahan wouldn’t be in too big of a hurry to keep moving.

Chapter Two

“So…can I get my room now?”

Adam stood in the kitchen with Stella, watching as she put away the last of the breakfast dishes. The meal had been a success. The older couple from Florida and the honeymooners from Texas had all raved about the breakfast, all four of them fascinated and in awe as they asked Stella over and over how she’d pulled it off.

“First breakfast we’ve had in two days that wasn’t either burned or raw,” Mr. Gilchrest said with a wink. “Stella, did you find a new cookbook somewhere?”

“No, just a new friend,” Stella told the senior citizen, her eyes glowing with pride while her father and her son looked on with that same pride.

“Are you gonna keep him?” Joyce Gilchrest asked, her hazel eyes full of curiosity as she gave Adam the once-over.

Stella laughed and tossed her incredible hair. “I’m sure gonna give him that room he came looking for, you can count on that. Adam has to be exhausted after whipping up this great breakfast so lickety-split.”

Joyce smiled over at Adam. “We’ve been coming here every spring for the last ten years. We miss Estelle, but we love Stella just about as much as we loved her mother. So we came back this year to lend her our support.”

“It’s mighty nice of you to be that loyal,” Adam said.

“We love it here,” Joyce replied. “I think you will, too. Don’t you think so, Wally?”

Wally Clark gave Adam a long appraising look that was part gratitude and part protectiveness. Stella’s father was a quiet man, unassuming and undemanding, but Adam sensed a steel-encased dignity behind the calm, stoic exterior.

“Hot Springs—you either love it or hate it,” Wally replied, his smile serene.

“I liked those muffins,” Kyle offered up, his big eyes solemn. “But not the burned ones.”

“Kylie, finish your breakfast,” Stella said, turning red in the face. But she sent her son a sweet smile, all the same.

The honeymooners sitting across the dining room cooed and grinned, obviously too in love to expect anyone else to have problems in this life. “It was good,” the pretty blonde said, smiling over at her doting husband. “But then, I can hardly remember any of the meals anyway. We’re having so much fun.”

“I sure remember ’em,” Mr. Gilchrest replied with a grimace. “Had indigestion to remind me.” He chuckled then nodded toward Stella. “But I have very high hopes for our Stella. She’s gonna turn this place into a showcase one day.”

Adam watched as Stella basked in the compliments. “This place has a lot of potential,” he said, sending her his own smile of confidence. “And so does the hostess.”

Stella waved a hand in the air in dismissal. “Okay, now, don’t go giving me a big head. I still got a lot to learn. And the first rule—hire good help.”

“Amen,” Mr. Gilchrest said, lifting his coffee cup.

They all laughed out loud at that, including Adam.

Now that everyone had been fed, and the guests had headed out to the festival, Stella bobbed her head in response to Adam’s question, her long hair cascading over her shoulder. “Papa’s putting fresh sheets on the downstairs bedroom right across from the parlor. It’s a smaller room near our private quarters, but it’s usually nice and quiet toward the front of the house. And we have a creditable library down there, too, if you like to read.”

Adam lifted his head. “And far enough away from the stove?” At her confused look, he added, “Smoke.”

“Funny.” Then she looked down at the now-polished and shining butcher-block counter. “I want to thank you, Adam. I don’t know what I would have done this morning if you hadn’t come along. I’m good at multitasking, so I usually have things under control, but I might have taken on too much with this place. I’m not normally so emotional, but well…it just all hit me at once this morning. A lot has gone wrong around here since I took over. But I’m determined to make it work.”

Adam could see that although she was pretty and petite, Stella Forsythe seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. “You’re in a tough spot,” he said. “We just have to figure how to get you out of it.”

“If I knew what I was doing, that might help,” she said with a self-deprecating snort. “My mother left me this place, and at first, I saw it as a new beginning. I’d been living hand to mouth up in Little Rock, working odds jobs here and there just to keep Kyle fed and clothed.” She shrugged, started gathering up dish towels. “My mother and I weren’t exactly close. She left us when I was young and I never forgave her. So I was shocked when I found out I’d inherited this old place. Shocked and amazed.”

She glanced around, her green eyes lifting toward the high ceiling of the kitchen. “I used to dream of living here with her. I got to visit her during the summer, but I wanted to live here all the time, with both my parents. My dad did the best he could, working hard to raise me, sending me to school, cooking dinner for us at night, helping me with my homework. But…I guess I needed my mama, too. That’s why I was crying this morning. I needed my mama.”

Adam looked down at the aged wooden floor where the slant in the boards met in the middle of the big room with a soft sag. “That had to be tough. Why didn’t you live with her? I mean, fathers rarely win custody of a child.”

Stella let out a soft chuckle, then shook her head. “My family doesn’t go by the book on such things. They never divorced, never consulted any lawyers. They just kind of agreed that I’d stay with Daddy. You see, he was the more solid of the two.” She started walking toward the little laundry room just off the kitchen. “My mother’s only passion was her art. She could paint a pretty picture, but she didn’t have a pretty life.”