Free Run To You by Rachel Gibson Page A

people who lived in houses like this. Stella’s mother and grandmother didn’t, but they certainly had at one time. Before Stella was born. Before Marisol had given birth to a rich man’s illegitimate child and been paid to stay away. “She knows I’m with you?”
    “Of course.”
    Of course . That was it. No reassuring, “She’s fine with it, Stella. Relax.” Years ago Stella had come to the realization that she was an acquired taste. More like schnapps than cognac. Which was fine with her. Schnapps was more fun than stuffy old cognac, but this was one of those times in her life when it might be best to be cognac.
    She glanced through the rooms at the white furniture, deep purple and red pillows, and silver tables. Huge windows looked out on the back terrace and the Gulf of Mexico beyond. “Did you grow up here?” In the entrance, a wide white marble staircase and black wrought-iron rails led to a second floor. Paintings and professional photographs were artistically hung on the walls, and a vase of fresh-cut flowers dominated the heavy table in the center. Stella looked up at the domed ceiling high above her head.
    “No. Dr. Mike is Mother’s second husband,” said the man of few words. Giving nothing more than the barest information.
    A spot of yellow caught Stella’s eye and she turned her attention to the woman at the top of the stairs. Even from a distance Stella could see that she was perfect. Perfect blond hair, perfect lemon-colored blouse and white pants. Perfect woman in a perfect house, and Stella became very aware of her nonperfect appearance. Of her wrinkled dress and scuffed boots. She’d found an elastic band in the bottom of her backpack and had pulled her hair into a ponytail. The closer the perfect woman moved toward them, the more Stella felt imperfect, and the more she felt an urge to hide behind the stone mountain of a man standing beside her. Just slide behind him and hide her face in the warmth of his back. Although she didn’t know why she thought she’d find comfort there or why she was being such a weenie. Usually she was much stronger. She’d learned to be strong at a young age, and instead of hiding, she squared her shoulders and stood a little taller. Well, as tall as possible given her height.
    “Beau!” A blond bob brushed the other woman’s shoulders and a twisted strand of pearls circled her throat. She was tall and thin and beautiful, and the tiny heels of her shoes tapped across the floor as she moved toward her son.
    “Mom.” Beau dropped Stella’s duffel at his feet and opened his arms as his mother disappeared inside. He dipped his head and spoke next to her ear. His mother nodded and pulled back.
    “Love you, too.” She gazed up and put her hands on the sides of his square jaw and cupped his face. “You look tired, baby boy.”
    Baby boy ? Stella bit the corner of her lip. He looked like neither a baby nor a boy.
    “Getting old.”
    “No, you’re not.” Her hands fell to his big shoulders. “If you’re getting old, that means I’m getting really old.”
    “You’ll never look old, Ma.” He cracked a rare smile and glanced up at the second floor. “Is Dr. Mike around?”
    “No.” She shook her head and took a step back. “He’s speaking at a cardiovascular diseases conference in Cleveland.”
    Beau returned his gaze to his mother, and a crease pulled at his brows. “You always travel with him. You didn’t stay because of me, did you?”
    “Of course. I’d rather be here with you than sitting around with a bunch of doctors talking about atrial fibrillation.” Her hands fell to the sides of her crisp linen pants. “I love spending time with Mike, but after a few hours of the latest treatments and curative therapies discussions, I have to excuse myself and find something else to do.” She turned and looked at Stella, her brown gaze intense and a little curious. Tension pinched between Stella’s shoulders as she stood still and as tall as