Mountain Sanctuary

“Do you still have faith?”

Because the question seemed so important to her, Adam knew the answer would be, too. “I have faith, yeah. I come from a good, solid family. My daddy taught all of us to never give up on God, no matter what.”

“But your job made you doubt Him?”

“Him and everything else in life.”

She braced her elbows on her knees, put her head in her hands, then looked out toward the wisteria vines again, her smile disappearing as fast as a dandelion’s floating whiskers. “Well, take it from me, you can run but you can’t hide—from your doubts, I mean. I doubt myself and God on a daily basis. But seems to me, things just keep on coming. Right now, I’m not on very good speaking terms with the Big Man.”

“How do you keep going then?”

She smiled again, the lifting of her lips a sweet symbol of something Adam couldn’t understand. “Kyle keeps me going. I have to remember Kyle. And my daddy. I love them both so much. And they’ve both been hurt and abandoned. I have to keep the faith for their sakes, at least.” She shrugged. “In case you haven’t noticed, my son tries very hard to be the mature one around here. He needs to be a kid again, before it’s too late.”

Adam looked over at her then, taking in the deep shimmer of her hair, the defiant tilt of her chin. He wondered about her hurts, her scars and her own lost childhood. “And what about for your sake?”

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment. “I guess I’m hoping some of their luster will rub off on me. You know, faith by association. I don’t always practice what my daddy tries to preach, but it does sink in. And it sure couldn’t hurt Kyle, right?”

He laughed. “Right. Couldn’t hurt.” Then he turned serious. “If you feel uncomfortable about me being here—”

“It’s not that. It’s just…I’ve never known a man other than my daddy who was as good as his word. Certainly not my dearly departed husband. And certainly not any of the many men my mother knew—according to rumors I’d hear from her staff now and then, at least. I guess it’s not easy for me to take you at your word. And I can’t take God at His word, either. I have to see something to believe it.”

Adam could understand that notion. But he wanted her to understand him, to understand that he didn’t know how to operate, except by the principles and standards he’d learned as a child. “My word is all I’ve got right now. And you have to believe me when I say that being here right now is the best thing for me. It’s like therapy, only way less expensive.”

“After New Orleans?”

“Yes, after New Orleans.”

She gave him one of those long, big-eyed stares again, but didn’t press him for the details. “We do tend to take things in stride here. We’re a lot more relaxed than the big city. We’re as laid back as New Orleans, but in a different way.”

“I like that.” And he liked the way her vanilla-scented shampoo smelled, too, he reasoned even as he tried to resist it.

“So you won’t push too hard on getting things in order around here? You’ll let me settle into this arrangement?”

“Yes, ma’am. But only if you’re willing to let me help you get things up to speed—whatever that speed might be.”

She got up, brushed off the back of her skirt. “Okay then. Since I’m the boss, I say it’s lunchtime. C’mon in and let me feed you for your troubles.”

“That sounds good, except…who cooked lunch?”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s just sandwiches and chips. Even I can’t mess that up.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Now about dinner—”

“Maybe we can grab a bite down at the festival.”

“Good idea, since I don’t have to provide dinner for our guests.” She turned at the door, smiling down at him. “Hurry up. Your sandwich might get stale.”

Adam started gathering his tools. “I reckon I am hungry, at that.” Putting everything in a neat pile by the back door, he said, “Hey, tomorrow I thought I could cook a roast for Sunday dinner. You know, after church.”

Stella whirled just inside the open kitchen door. “Who said anything about church?”

Holding a hammer in his hand, Adam replied, “Well, I just thought…I mean…I plan on finding a church nearby.”

“Good for you.”

“You won’t come with me, and bring the boy?”

She looked down at her turquoise sandals. “I told you, I only get sprinklings of faith from my daddy, and right now that has to be enough. I don’t have time for church.”

“Oh, I see. Then can Kyle come with me?”

She shook her head. “You’re rushing things again, Adam. I don’t want him expecting too much, too soon, from someone who’s just here for a little while.”

With that, she was gone, leaving the scent of something sultry and sweet in her wake. And leaving very little doubt in Adam’s mind that he didn’t want to get on Stella’s bad side. But he sure wouldn’t mind getting on her good side. And soon. And it might help both of them if they learned to lean on their own faith, instead of grasping at grains of it from other people.

“I wish Papa had come with us,” Kyle said later that afternoon as they strolled down the hill toward the festival on Central Avenue. The Hill Wheatley Park and Plaza was filled with people enjoying the nice spring weather and the rows and rows of all types of arts and crafts. From somewhere inside the park, a jazz ensemble’s lively music wafted out over the trees.

Stella glanced down at her son. “Papa’s knees are bad, honey. It’s hard for him to walk very far.”

“He needs new knees,” Kyle said, looking up at Adam.

“Yes, he sure does,” Stella agreed. “But Papa is fine back at the house. He’s taking a nice long nap, and later he’s going to set out the cookies and muffins Adam baked yesterday for our guests to snack on when they get ready for bed. So we’ll bring him back a grilled chicken sandwich for dinner.”

“Okay.” Kyle skipped ahead. “Can I have some cotton candy?”

“Maybe after dinner, if you’re not too full. And don’t run too far ahead. It’s crowded.”

Stella watched her son, then stole a look over at Adam. He had showered and now wore a fresh black T-shirt and faded jeans, his dark hair spiky and crisp against his olive skin. Stella could smell the clean evergreen from the soap he’d used. Adam cut a striking figure and turned a few female heads, Stella noticed. He turned her head just a tad, too. After all, she was only human. And female. Not dead.

At least, she felt little sparks of life shooting through her with tiny jolts each time she glanced at him. Or each time he looked at her. Telling herself to just ignore all that, Stella tried to focus on some of the paintings displayed along the busy sidewalks.

“Thanks for coming,” she told him. “It’s hard enough to keep up with Kyle when it’s not wall-to-wall people. I appreciate the extra set of eyes.”

Adam scanned the crowd, his gaze set and determined, and reminding Stella that he had been a big-city cop. She could almost see that in the way he went on full alert now, scoping the plaza and streets with a keen, but subtle appraisal.

“You don’t have to worry much about crime here,” she said, hoping he would relax. The man was as intense as a drill sergeant.

“Old habits die hard,” he said, shrugging. “A lot can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Stella kept her eyes on Kyle, then called to him. “Honey, stay close, okay?”

Kyle came running back. “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll eat soon enough,” Stella replied as they strolled by the Buckstaff Bathhouse. Pointing toward Bathhouse Row, she told Adam, “I could sure use a good hot mineral bath and a massage. One day.”

“That sounds nice,” Adam said, agreeing. “I’ve never been one for that kind of luxury, though.”