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.”
Adam didn’t question her anymore. She looked drained, washed out, defeated. “Uh…I guess I’ll go get a shower and some sleep.” At her nod, he stopped. “Stella, maybe we could negotiate an arrangement of sorts.”
She lifted her slanted brows. “What kind of arrangement?”
The question was asked with a not-so-subtle suspicion, as if she’d made arrangements before and lived to regret them.
“In exchange for room and board, I could help out around here for a while. Fix things up, cook. I’m good at things like that—you know, fixing up, cleaning up and cooking.”
Adam hated the plea in his voice, but he didn’t want to leave the Sanctuary Inn just yet. Something about the needy old house had captivated him. Or maybe it was something about the need he saw in the woman standing beside him that had captivated him. Besides, he wasn’t intent on going anyplace in a hurry. He’d come here to get as far away as possible from his past and his old life. Why not stay awhile and just…rest?
Stella looked at him as if he might be crazy, her eyes going wide, her mouth opening and then closing. “You’d be willing to do all that just for a place to sleep?”
“Sure. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not destitute. But I am on a budget, being retired and all. And it’d just be until I can find…until I can decide what to do next.”
She stood with her foot propped against the partially open door to the laundry room, the bundle of towels in her hands. “I’ll have to discuss it with Papa and Kyle, but I think we might be able to work something out. I mean, if you can make meals like the one you made this morning and help me get this place back into shape, well, who am I to turn you away?”
“I can fix that oven, too,” he reminded her. “Easy.”
“Then you’ve got a job.” She named her terms. “Room and board—and a weekly salary—I insist on paying you for your time and trouble.” She told him what the last maintenance man got paid. “Is that reasonable?”
“More than reasonable. Thank you,” Adam said, no other words available. It had been a long time since anyone had just accepted him. But then, he figured Stella had just about reached the end of the road, same as he had. “I’m going to my room now. I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yes, later,” she said, her expression puzzled and questioning. She turned to head into the laundry room, then whirled back around. “Adam?”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you here?”
Adam braced one hand on the swinging door opposite her, wondering how to answer that very loaded question. “It’s the first place I saw that had a vacancy,” he said. “Seemed like a good place to lay my head.” And before she could question him again, he turned and went through the swinging door, the swish, swish of it moving behind him, sending little currents of air chasing at his retreating back.
Stella went about the business of getting all the linens washed. This work she didn’t mind so much. This work had meaning. Washing away the old, bringing out the fresh and clean. She liked to fold the sheets and towels just out of the dryer, the smell of sunshine and tropical breezes making her put her nose to the crisp white linens.
At least her mother had had the good sense to buy nice linens. Or maybe it had been Mrs. Ebard. Mrs. Ebard and her husband had managed the Sanctuary up until the day Stella had taken over. Tired and old and cranky, the married couple couldn’t wait to leave and be done with the falling-down old house. Stella remembered Louise Ebard’s words to her the day she’d called to tell Stella that Estelle Forsythe had died.
“She just went to sleep and never woke up. Heart attack. At fifty-five. And her a little skinny thing, at that. ’Course, it might have been the smoking and drinking or the late nights out in that studio, who knows.” After much sniffing and crying, Mrs. Ebard had added, “She wanted you to have the inn,
