any type of happiness he might have found. He’d loved and left a lot of women, or more likely, they’d loved him and he’d left them. The job had always taken what little soul he had to give. And in the end, the job had taken all of him, all of his strength, all of his energy, all of his dreams. Adam had been too involved in real life to have any dreams in his own life.
But standing here now, watching the sweetness of a simple spring afternoon, hearing the drone of bumblebees on the rosebushes and the fussing and chirping of mockingbirds up in the big old live oak just beyond the house, and seeing this woman and her child playing with joy and abandon in the flower-filled yard of an old house that seemed to sigh in its contentment, Adam thought again about his dreams. And his torments. And he wished he could play with them, wished he could laugh out loud again.
But he couldn’t move. So he just stood there, watching, observing, with all of his cop instincts on full-throttle warning, while his heart sent out a warning of its own. Turn away, it told him inside each erratic beat. Don’t dream. It hurts too much. But he couldn’t turn away. He just couldn’t. The image of Stella and Kyle laughing and playing would stay with him for a very long time to come, like a faded picture held just out of his reach, a sweet reminder of all that was good and great in life. A reminder of all that he would never have.
Then Stella stopped skipping and fell down into the wildflowers, giggling as Kyle fell with her. She lifted her head, taking a breath, and saw Adam standing there. Her eyes held his, a soft surprised smile on her pink lips.
And she called out to him. “Adam, come and join us.”
Adam Callahan closed his eyes, images of death and crime, of drugs and killers and abuse and anger, moving through his tired, jaded brain to remind him that he’d dropped out of life. He’d once been a good cop. But then, he’d done something to change all of that. It didn’t matter that he was only trying to save a family member, it was still wrong. So wrong that Adam hadn’t used good judgment. Now he was paying for that with this self-imposed exile.
“Adam?”
Stella’s soft, melodious call seemed to push away all the dark-edged ugliness he’d seen in his head. Adam opened his eyes, smiled at her, then slowly starting walking through the overgrown garden toward the source of all that laughter and sunshine.
Chapter Three
The next day, Adam stood on a ladder on the side of the house, working on putting a decrepit shutter back in place. His goal for today was to get all the shutters cleaned, repaired and lined up straight, so he could decide how to paint the old house. He’d have to take them all down to really clean and paint them, but for now just setting them straight would have to do. He’d do some scraping and cleaning, and some sandblasting before he could actually worry about a new paint job. That and the fact that Stella didn’t have a whole lot of money for paint, meant Adam might be here a little longer than he’d originally planned.
But then, he reminded himself as green paint flecks showered his head, he hadn’t really had an original plan.
He’d just wanted to keep moving, until he’d arrived here. And now, the lovely owner of this inn and her family had talked it over and had all agreed to let Adam stay here for a while. He couldn’t say no to that kind of appreciation, that kind of tight-knit acceptance.
As if reading his thoughts, Kyle appeared next to the camellia bush near the window. “I sure am glad we voted to keep you, Mr. Adam.”
Adam grinned down at the energetic little boy. “Me, too, Kyle. It’s nice to have something to occupy my time while I’m here.”
Kyle bobbed his head, ran a dirty hand across his nose. “Mama said you needed a place to sleep, and I can be your friend.”
“I did need a place to sleep, and I sure could use a friend,” Adam replied, careful to keep his tone even and unassuming. This little boy and his pretty mama were a bit too astute. Adam had come on this trek seeking seclusion and time to relax and get his head straight. If he got too involved with Kyle and Stella, he might not reach any of those goals. But his couple of days here so far had been relaxing, in spite of the work that running a bed-and-breakfast demanded. And he liked that right now. He liked staying busy in a mindless sort of way that didn’t require guns and handcuffs or criminals and lost souls. “So you think I need a friend, huh?”
“Yep. My mama said she reckoned you were hurting real bad.” He shrugged. “What’d cha do, scrape your knee or something like that?”
Adam lowered his head to stare down at the cute little boy, wishing he still had such an innocent, wise heart. “Yeah, something like that.”
Kyle jumped as the door to the back porch slammed. Stella came down the stairs, her long blue-and-white paisley skirt swirling around her legs. “Kyle Watson Forsythe, are you talking this man’s poor head off again?”
Kyle squinted, then gave Adam a hard stare. “He’s still got his head, silly.”
“I’ll silly you if you don’t get inside and eat your peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Stella retorted, her green eyes full of mirth. “C’mon now.”
“Are we going to the festival later, like you promised?” Kyle asked, dragging his sneakered feet until she replied.
“Yes, but only if you pick up your toys and help Papa empty the trash.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kyle started for the door, then turned, his hands on his hips. “Hey, Mr. Adam, you coming to the festival with us?”
Adam shot a glance toward Stella, to see how she might react to this gracious invitation. She looked embarrassed, confused and unsure. But she gave him a quick little smile. “You’re welcome to come.”
He doubted that, but he played along. “Are you sure?”
“We’re as sure as corn shucks,” Kyle replied, bobbing his head.
“Get inside,” Stella said, pointing a finger toward the kitchen. “Now.”
Adam shook his head, then grinned as the back door slammed. “He’s a pistol.”
“Tell me.” Stella plopped down on the steps to stare up at him. “He was born an old soul, according to my daddy. Much too wise for his young years.” She surveyed his work for a minute. “How’s it coming with the windows and shutters?”
Adam let out a mock groan. “Well, considering there are about twenty-six shutters on this house, I’d say it’s coming along very slowly. Should take a few days, at least, to do it right.”
“So you might just need a break later this afternoon?”
Adam eyed his progress so far. He’d managed to get about six shutters cleaned off, scraped and hinged back into place and the day was already half-done. “I just might at that.”
Stella got up, tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day. You don’t have to do everything at once.”
Adam finished his work, then came down the rickety ladder to face her. “I’ve got it all worked out. Shutters and windows cleaned and fixed first. Then scraping and sanding these old boards for some primer. Then a whole new paint job—”
Stella held up a hand. “You’re talking a lot
