Free Mountain Sanctuary by Lenora Worth Page B

washtub sitting by the door. The tub rattled and clanged as it skidded on the worn concrete of the tiny patio.
    And brought Stella running out the door. “Adam? You scared the living daylights out of me!”
    “I’m sorry,” he said with a shrug, his hands out in defense. “I saw the light—”
    She put her hands on her hips. “Well, what are you doing spying on me like that?”
    “I wasn’t spying,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep so I came outside for a walk around the yard. Then I saw the light come on.”
    She looked embarrassed. “Well, I couldn’t sleep, either. So I thought I’d come out here and try to straighten this place.”
    He glanced around. The studio looked as if it hadn’t been used in a while. “Okay. Well, then I guess I’ll leave you to it.”
    She reached out a hand to touch his shirtsleeve. “Wait. That’s not exactly the truth.”
    He turned back, catching her there in the glow of the yellow light. She looked pretty as usual, but tonight her hair was down around her shoulders and back and she wore a loose teal-colored dress that was gathered at the shoulders and smocked across the waist. She looked like something out of a dream. Adam had to swallow hard. “What is the truth then?” he asked, his voice low and grainy.
    She looked perplexed and afraid. “I came out here to work. You know, on my things—glazing some of this china, firing up that old kiln, just stuff I’ve wanted to do. I don’t seem to have the time to indulge in this these days.”
    He smiled at her sweet hesitation. “Why was it so hard to tell me that?”
    She tugged him inside the long room. “I feel guilty, dabbling in this when I’ve got other things to do.”
    Adam stepped inside the room and took a better look around. “Wow.”
    Every shelf was covered with her artwork. Stella had painted not only teacups and matching saucers and pots, but she’d also created a few pretty handbags and scarves and flowerpots, her whimsical smiling flowers and dainty little figures dancing across the various shapes and designs. An odd-looking oven—or was that her kiln?—sat in one corner, obviously so she could bake the glazes on her ceramic art.
    “You did all of this?”
    “Here and there,” she said with a shy shrug. “Over the years. I brought it all with me when Kyle and I moved.” She touched a hand to the china set she had on the table. “My husband didn’t like it when I painted. He said I was wasting time, that this was frivolous. Funny, how he managed to do the same thing even when he was supposed to be holding down a job.”
    “How can this be frivolous?” Adam asked, noting she’d also painted words here and there on some of the objects. Faith, Hope, Love, Peace, Happiness, Patience, Kindness. All of these words shouted at him in pretty pastels and brilliant hues of primary colors. And they told him way more about Stella than she’d ever revealed. “I think it’s all real pretty.”
    “Pretty.” She nodded. “Pretty, but what purpose does it serve?”
    “Hey, now, don’t talk like that. Have you tried selling any of it?”
    “A little,” she admitted. “When things were so bad for Kyle and me.” Her eyes took on a faraway look.
    “And how’d you do?”
    “I was beginning to make a name for myself, but then Lawrence died and my dad got so sick—” She shrugged again. “And after my mother died and I found out I’d inherited this place, well, I kind of gave up on my art. Too much else to do.”
    “Then you need to get back into it,” he encouraged, meaning it. “Stella, you have a talent. I don’t know art, but I do know women. My mother and sisters back home would love this stuff.”
    She smiled at that, lowering her head as she rubbed a finger over a dainty cup. “Most women like pretty things, I reckon. Maybe one day—”
    “Why not today?” Adam met her insecure gaze with one of challenge. “Why not now?”
    She sighed, picked up a brush. “Because I’m afraid. I’m