Mountain Sanctuary by Lenora Worth Page A

throughout her system each time the man was anywhere near her? How could she trust those feelings?
    Let God paint that picture, the voice inside her head said on a gentle whisper. For once, Stella didn’t argue with that voice. Instead, she said a prayer. I need Your help, Lord. It had taken a lot to voice that silent little prayer. But Stella had a feeling that prayer was just the beginning of her return into God’s loving arms.

     
    Adam couldn’t take his eyes off her.
    Why did this spry woman seem to have such a firm grip on his battered soul? Why did all of his protective instincts surface each time he looked into Stella’s confused eyes? Maybe because Stella was so stubborn, so full of pride, that she just naturally needed a little bit of nurturing? Or maybe because he was the one starving for some affection and nurturing himself? He was glad to see she’d gone back to her painting. Stella’s art was different from her mother’s. It was more contained and dainty. Her delicate little flower borders and pastel petals falling across plates didn’t shout out as much as Estelle’s birds and flowers. But then, Stella was not her mother. She fought against any part of being her mother.
    “How was church?” she asked as she swept past him, the scent of olive oil and kerosene merging with the sweetness of her shampoo.
    “It was nice,” he replied, taking in the chaotic tidiness of the studio. He also noted places where he could help improve things—an old shelf replaced here, a table cleared away there. “You should have come with us.”
    “I had some things to do here.” She tugged one of the big doors toward him, waiting for him to move so she could close it.
    Adam took the other door and pushed it forward. “What kind of things?”
    She inclined her head toward the work table. “I…I painted a plate and a teacup.”
    He grinned. “That’s good. Can I see it?”
    “Not yet,” she said on a breathless rush. “I have to do a bit more to it, then fire it. Then we’ll take a look.”
    “Okay.”
    He was pleased that she’d had some time to spend on her art. Adam knew that had to be important to her, or she wouldn’t have set up this studio, here in the place where her mother had also created her paintings. Wanting to express his pleasure, he secured the doors then turned to face her. “I’m glad you had some privacy to paint.”
    “It was nice,” she said, that brief admission spoken so softly Adam almost didn’t hear it. “I painted Confederate jasmines on a plate.”
    Adam glanced over at the jasmine bush. “Good choice.”
    “I was just dabbling.”
    “Dabbling is good sometimes. Helps us sort through things.”
    “Instead of going to church?”
    He saw the dare in her green eyes. “You won’t get any argument from me, Stella. You know, there are a lot of different ways to feel closer to God.”
    She cut him a sideways look. “So you’re not going to condemn me for skipping church?”
    “Not my place to condemn,” he replied, hoping this low-key approach would work on her. She was like a little fawn, all fragile and skittish and ready to run at the first sign of trouble, or at the first sign of honesty.
    “Thanks,” she said as they reached the back porch. “I’m sure hungry.”
    “Then let’s get that pot roast on the table.”
    Together, they went inside and quietly went about heating up the Sunday meal. Their coordinated movements around the kitchen seemed like a gentle dance to Adam. They were beginning to know each other’s habits. He could move around Stella, knowing which way she was headed. He could hand her a bowl and she knew instinctively how to fill that bowl. Adam wondered if she knew instinctively that his feelings for her were changing and growing just like the petunias spilling out from the huge terra-cotta pot near the back door. From the way she looked at him, he thought she knew and felt the same. But Stella wasn’t going to be honest about that, not yet at