Some days I needed that reminder more than others.
The truck, which had been sitting in the sun, was overly warm, and I removed my sweater, turning up the air conditioning and adjusting the vents so the cool air was blowing on my exposed skin. Better. The truck I’d borrowed from Graystone Hill rumbled to a stop at a red light. I let out a breath, glancing to the right where the neighborhood I’d once lived in began. Lakewood Estates. Just the sight of the sign beside the cherry trees planted along the man-made lake with the fountain bubbling in the middle caused my heart to constrict, my breath stalling as my hands gripped the wheel tightly.
Bubbles, Mama!
Yes, baby.
I could hear her laughter in my mind and it hurt. It hurt, but oh, I prayed I’d never forget the sound. Please, dear God, let that be a hurt I carry forever.
Those cherry trees had been newly planted when I’d first gazed upon that sign, excitement and hope fluttering in my belly along with the tiny life of my daughter.
With effort, I sucked in a mouthful of air, filling my lungs and then letting it out in a loud gust of exhaled breath. Images assaulted me, and I clenched my eyes shut, letting out a scared squeak when a horn sounded directly behind me. Oh God. I jammed my foot on the gas, the truck lurching forward and sailing through the intersection.
>
My heart beat harshly in my chest, and I worked to steady my breathing. In, out. After a few minutes, I felt calmer, my grip loosening on the wheel. I was okay. I was okay. It might be all I ever was, but I was alive. And living, when once I believed I never would again.
Rolling green pastures stretched in every direction, intersected by the split-rail fencing and copses of lush green trees. A stream twined through the landscape on my right, a glimmer of deep blue-green that caught the sunshine and cast back twinkles of light. The late-afternoon sky was a soft blue, with billowy clouds dotting the horizon. My heart rate slowed, and my breath evened out as the tension drained from my spine. A dapple-gray horse grazed near the fence line that ran along the road, and I felt my facial muscles relax. Yes, I was okay.
God, I loved this land. Loved the peace it brought, serenity that settled deep in my bones. Graystone Hill was in Kentucky, but the Ohio border was so close and the land much the same as the Ohio countryside where I’d been born and raised. This beautiful part of the country spoke to my heart and soul, made me feel a deep sense of . . . belonging.
He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.
By the time I turned the truck onto the side road that led to Graystone Hill, I felt centered and in control of my emotions again. There was a black SUV parked in the driveway off the side of the house that I didn’t recognize, and I pulled up behind it, wondering whom it belonged to. The men and women who worked at Graystone Hill parked in the lots near the stables. Now that Mr. Talbot spent so much time at the house, and an increasing amount of time in bed, the only other car generally in the driveway at the main house was May’s. Her car was parked there now, though she only worked until two on Saturdays, and then she wouldn’t be back until Tuesday morning.
I grabbed the pie box out of the back seat, balancing it carefully as I walked to the house. Once inside, I dropped my keys in the basket on the foyer table and headed toward the kitchen. My steps slowed as I heard voices coming from that direction.
During the week, the employees who worked in other areas of Graystone Hill were in and out of the main house, grabbing coffee and lunch, or conducting business with Mr. Talbot. But on the weekends, the main house was generally quiet with only Mr. Talbot and me in residence, and May on Saturday mornings.
A deep, smooth chuckle caused my footsteps to falter as I made my way to the kitchen. Who was that? In reaction to the male voice, I reached to pull my sweater closed and realized I’d left it in the car. But the movement caused the pie box in my hand to wobble and spill forward, and I let out a gasp, leaning forward suddenly in an attempt to steady the pie. It didn’t work and the pie slipped from my hands, both the box and me spilling into the room, the pie landing with a soft thud on the hardwood floor.
“Oh, dear!” I heard May say as I caught myself and quickly squatted down to retrieve the pie. There was suddenly someone squatting down on the floor with me, his knees brushing mine as we both reached for the pie box. I looked up and came eye to eye with a dark-haired man. I sucked in a breath as his blue eyes met mine, that ridiculously handsome face I’d seen staring back at me first from the magazine article and then from the computer screen stealing my breath. For a moment I could do nothing but blink at him stupidly, my mouth hanging open. He was close. Very close and he was . . .
My God.
He was even more stunning in person, because he wasn’t only handsome. He was also solid and broad and exuded a masculine intensity that made my heart skitter nervously in my chest. He’s here, my heart whispered inexplicably, both seeming to speed up and slow down at the same time. Oh. He was here. He had answered my call after all.
“I got it,” he said, pulling the pie box toward him and beginning to stand. My fingers slipped away and I stood as well, forcing my gaze to May who had come around the counter to help.
“It’s only a little bit smashed,” he said, and for a second I had no earthly idea what he could be referring to. What was wrong with me?
“It’ll taste just as good smashed or not,” May’s voice said from beside me as Brant handed the pie to her. “Oh, it’s peach. Your favorite, Isabelle.”
With effort, I forced my gaze to May. “Yes,” I murmured, giving my head a small shake. “It should still taste good. Sorry. That’s from Paige.” My gaze moved to Brant just as my sundress strap slid off my shoulder. I pulled it back up distractedly and his eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze on the place where my hand held my strap on my bare shoulder. I looked away just as his eyes began lifting to mine. “She says hi,” I mumbled to May, hating the breathiness in my voice.
“How kind of her,” said May. “You thank her for me next time you see her. How was the picnic, dear? I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”
“I left early. I have some work to do.”
May laughed. “On a Saturday?” She made a tsk-tsking sound in her throat. “Brant, this workaholic is your father’s secretary, Isabelle Farris, the woman who called you. She lives here at Graystone Hill.”
Brant gave a wry tilt of his full lips, his gaze measuring, that condescension I’d first heard over the phone now directed at me in his expression. “So I heard.”
I stood taller, raising my chin slightly and forcing a small smile. “Mr. Talbot.” I stepped forward, reaching my hand out. “I’m glad you were able to come . . . home, after all.”
His smile slipped very, very slightly, but he caught it, reaching out and taking my hand in his. A small spark of . . . something seemed to pass between our skin, and I startled, letting go of his hand quickly. God, this man shook my nerves up. I needed to get hold of myself. “Please, call me Brant. My father is Mr. Talbot.”
“Speaking of your father,” May said, “do you want me to go up and tell him you’re here? He’ll be waking up from his nap soon.” Her expression was kind, but May wrung the hem of her apron in her hands, obviously not relishing the thought of being the messenger in this situation.