by Denise Daisy
Bethany wanted to believe her, but for some reason, her distrust suddenly grew towards these curious mountain people. Travis’ deep concern for Bronwyn’s whereabouts unnerved her. He was more than eager to go searching for her, and refused to allow her to accompany him. She had noticed Travis intently watching Bronwyn more than once since their arrival. She neglected to mention it, not wanting to alarm her friend, seeing Bronwyn had been going through enough lately. She remembered Bronwyn’s paranoid outburst at lunch yesterday saying she saw someone following her. Maybe she was right; maybe they all overlooked it, believing Trent’s diagnosis of the progressions of a broken heart. A sick feeling hit her stomach, and she debated whether she should search for Bronwyn herself. She was certain Bronwyn would do the same for her. However, if Travis was some sort of serial killer, she could simply be walking into her own death as well. In any case, the attempt would be futile. As soon as they were able to leave this place, she would alert the authorities, and if need be, drag the FBI up here herself and search every inch of this place with a fine-toothed comb.
The lazy squeak of the screen door interrupted her cascading thoughts.
Everyone in the kitchen let out collective gasps at the sight of Bronwyn and Travis. The quietness of the morning erupted into laughter, applause, a loud “Hallelujah!” from Mavis, and delighted screams from the kids as they ran to hug Travis.
An endless barrage of questions erupted from everyone’s mouth at once. Trent’s voice overpowered them all.
“My God, I’m glad you’re alright. I don’t think I could have lived with the guilt.”
“What happened to you?” Lillian gasped. “You look absolutely horrid!”
“Are you okay, honey?” Anna asked.
Marcus hugged her lovingly. “You sure gave us all quite a scare.”
“Girl, where were you all night? And where are your clothes?” Karley asked, rather loudly.
Bethany stood frozen across the room, arms folded in front of her, relieved, yet angry. At least there would be no need to call the FBI.
“I’m in desperate need of a nice, long shower,” Bronwyn said, attempting to escape the onslaught of questions.
“Like hell you are!” Karley said. “You stay out all night long, come walking through the door without your clothes, wearing nothing but a man’s t-shirt, trying to hide your nakedness with a blanket. You owe us an explanation and it better be good!”
“Karley!” Anna reprimanded out of concern for Mavis, who had returned to the stove and continued to cook, her humming much livelier now.
“I went canoeing on the lake after I left the café. I fell asleep and didn’t make it back to shore before the storm hit. My canoe capsized hit me in the head and knocked me out.” Bronwyn pointed to her bandage.
“Travis found me just in time and pulled me from the water. The sirens went off, so we rode out the storm in town.”
Daniel shook his head. “Man that’s intense.”
“Head injuries aren’t something to fool around with,” Walt said. “When I fell head first, ten floors off that building-”
Marcus turned to Travis, quickly cutting short Walt’s recounting “On behalf of all of us, thank you for saving our Bronwyn.”
“My pleasure,” Travis said, his eyes smiling at her. He crossed over to the stove and gave Mavis a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving the kitchen. Bronwyn felt a bit of sadness as she watched him leave. Feeling such a strong connection to him, she found herself wondering when she would have another opportunity to be near him. Quickly she reprimanded herself. He was a married man, definitely off limits.
“Save you a plate hon?” Mavis asked. “Why don’t you go take yourself a nice long bath. “I’ll keep a plate hot for you.”
She felt even guiltier. Mavis was so kind, offering her a warm breakfast, even after she’d been the cause of her husband risking his life in the terrible storm. Now she felt extremely selfish. Her stubbornness, anger and refusal to take constructive criticism nearly cost her and another innocent person their lives.
She looked into the faces of the people surrounding her. These were her friends, her family. Even Wilbur had left the table and his plate of food to greet her. She was thankful. She smiled and headed upstairs.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Bronwyn reluctantly pulled herself out of the water. She had drawn herself a very hot bath, adding in several of the elixirs from the welcome basket. Whatever these potions were, they brought complete relaxing comfort to her tired, aching muscles.
She toweled off and dressed in a clean pair of comfortable sweats and a tank. She was grateful to Bethany and Lillian for bringing her luggage back from the bus. Hanging her towel on the rack, she looked back into the draining tub at all the dirt. She pitied the maid who would clean this mess. Realizing it would more than likely be Mavis, she made a mental note to retrieve some cleaning equipment and do it herself.
Opening the door to the bathroom, she was surprised to see Bethany sprawled across the bed.
“Spill it, sister!”
“Spill what?” Bronwyn chose to be evasive. “I told everyone downstairs what happened.”
“First of all, I am not everyone; I am your best friend. I get more than what you tell everyone. I get the uncut, uncensored version.”
Bronwyn began combing the knots from her freshly washed hair. “There is no uncensored version.”
“Oh yes there is!” Bethany‘s tone was a bit harsh, accusing. “I can see loads behind that smile you’re attempting to suppress.”
This time, Bronwyn was actually pleased with Bethany’s relentless prodding. She did feel a need to share her experience. It had been one of the most surreal, awkwardly romantic evenings of her life. She reasoned that if she talked things through, the feelings of a juvenile crush would subside.
She sat next to Bethany on the bed. “Alright, there is a bit more. But I’m a bit ashamed to admit it.”
“I knew it the moment you came in the kitchen door! Did you have sex with him?”
“Sh-sh-sh!” Bronwyn glanced over her shoulder, making sure the door was closed. “No, I didn’t have sex with him! Good lord, Beth, he’s a married man. We didn’t even come close to that.”
“Then why the guilt?”
Bronwyn sighed. “Because I do have a slight, and I mean ever so slight, attraction to him now.”
“That’s totally normal. It’s some sort of damsel-in-distress syndrome. He gallantly rescued you, saved your life, and obviously doctored you up a bit. It’s totally expected for you to feel a closeness to him. Plus, it doesn’t help that he is extremely handsome with a killer body.”
Bronwyn smiled. “It’s not just his looks. We talked a lot last night, or at least I did. You know how I spill my guts when I get nervous…”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes. I was terrified of the storm, the sirens freaked me out, I was traumatized from nearly drowning, not to mention extremely tense because we were alone in a dimly lit basement.”
“What basement? Where were you?”
“His place. He has a nice cabin on the lake. He said it was his thinking spot.”
A cynical smirk crossed Bethany‘s mouth. “More like his cheating spot.”
“I don’t know, Beth. He seems to have plenty of integrity if you ask me.”
“All men cheat Bronwyn.” Bethany’s proclamation sounded bulletproof, certain.
Bronwyn frowned at her assumptions and for a moment regretted confiding in her. This was how it had been lately, and why she had refused to divulge her feelings. Bethany couldn’t listen without offering advice or her own perspective on the issue.
“Well, he kept his distance last night.”
“Of course he didn’t try anything. You guys just met. But given time and the right circumstances, he’ll make his move. I saw the way he looked at you this morning.” Bethany leaned back against the head board, confident of her analysis.
“So, what did you two talk about?”
“Like I said, I was pretty nervous so I did most of the talking. I literally spilled my guts.”
“No wonder he didn’t try anything, you were pathetic.”
Bronwyn rolled her eyes, and then thought a moment. “He was a good listener. He seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. I told him all about Ryan and our break up.”
She stopped cold. She’d never confided to Bethany about her pregnancy and the lost child. If Bethany knew she had revealed this information to Travis and not her, she would be extremely hurt. Still, some things were easier to tell a stranger than a friend. She held the secret inside for almost six months, telling no one, not even Ryan. It had been quite therapeutic just to talk about it and get the emotion off her chest. She moved onward.
“I told him about the screenplay we wrote, and how Ryan and his attorneys are harassing me to sign my rights over, so he can make the movie with Gabriella. I told him about my severe writer’s block. He asked me a few questions and then deduced that I was cynical and a bit prideful.”
Bethany grinned. “And you let him get away with that?”
“Well it was storming outside. I couldn’t just march away angry again, seeing that’s what got me in my situation in the first place.” She felt a little sheepish in her admission. “I sort of had to stay and take it. I kind of liked it, though. When he was talking to me, it felt as if he were looking into my soul.”
“I knew it! He got in!”
Bronwyn grinned slightly. “How so?”
Bethany sighed and grabbed Bronwyn‘s hand. “Because, my dear, naïve friend, the eyes are the window to the soul. If he got the chance to stare into your eyes long enough to see into your soul, then that means you two were entranced with each other and that you connected on a whole different level. This means you also got into each other’s heads and hearts, for that matter. Pretty dangerous, if you ask me. You’re playing with fire there.”
Bronwyn didn’t want to admit it but Bethany’s evaluation was somehow impressive. “There was this one moment…”
Bethany leaned in closer, eager to hear.
“…when I was describing to him what kind of person I read him to be. It was like I nailed it. Like I knew him, even though I didn’t know him. Make sense?”
Bethany nodded, wide-eyed.
“Our eyes just locked in on each other. I don’t think either one of us could actually pull away.”
“I knew it!” Bethany said, nearly jumping off the bed. “So what happened next?”
“It thundered really loud, I jumped, and the moment was lost.”
“Be careful Bronwyn.” Bethany warned. “It won’t be long now before he makes his move.”
Bronwyn shook her head. “You’re wrong. He loves Mavis. He told me so.”
“I’m sure he does,” Bethany said dryly. “All men love their wives, but given the right situation, they all cheat. Be careful, my friend. I don’t trust him.”
Bronwyn shrugged. “Well, I do.”
She made her way back into the bathroom and continued combing out her very tangled hair.
Bronwyn didn’t realize how late she had slept in that morning. By the time Travis drove her back to the inn, and she cleaned up and endured Bethany’s interrogation, most of the morning had passed. Now it was well into the afternoon. Clean and in fresh clothes, she decided to explore the grounds of the inn.
A beautiful stone driveway led up to the main entrance. A large porch surrounded the entire inn, offering cushioned rocking chairs, comfortable swings, and a breathtaking view on all sides. The front of the inn was well landscaped, with cottonwood, dogwoods, and magnolias lining the driveway, among others.
A peaceful river cut through the west side, with a wooden deck built over the waters. Large oak trees lined the banks; one offered a hefty branch with a thick rope to swing into the peaceful, relaxing waters. Mammoth natural rocks lined the banks of the river, with a few covering the bottom, allowing the slow-moving river to wash gently over them.
The east side of the property was the site of a rather large garage that housed Travis’ truck and Mavis’ car. Sitting behind the garage were three similarly sized buildings, each mimicking the Inn’s outer décor.
Directly behind the inn, small cobblestone paths led to a variety of gardens, each unique, each a particularly therapeutic destination unto itself. Bronwyn explored every one. A hedge or tall wooden fence surrounded all the gardens, enclosing each one in privacy. She entered the first beneath an archway covered with hanging vines, and took in the sights and scents. Once again, the relaxing scent of lavender permeated the air. Numerous large trees offered ample shade and a few provided woven hammocks. She followed the path to the center, where an exquisite fountain stood. Water trickled from the top, flowing quietly into a pool-sized basin. A couple of bathing birds took flight. A small table and two rustic bamboo chairs sat nearby. A fresh linen table cloth covered the top, along with pitchers of iced water and lemonade. Empty glasses sat upside down on the table, awaiting their thirsty visitors. Mavis’ many efforts to provide her guests as much comfort as possible really showed. Bronwyn almost stopped to lay in one of the hammocks, sip icy lemonade, and wait for inspiration to strike. Nevertheless, she knew this was only the first garden; she desired to explore as many as possible before sundown.
All the paths she followed led to exquisite findings. Some gardens offered sweet floral scents, others offered earthy scents of pine, spruce, cedar, mint, and refreshing eucalyptus. Each carried some type of relaxing noise, whether the trickling sound of a waterfall or the melodious sounds of various wind chimes, playing their tune in the gentle breeze. A couple of gardens were home to beautiful natural ponds, complete with jumping fish, frogs sunning on lily pads, and an occasional lazy turtle sleeping on a rock.
She enjoyed every garden, not able to decide which her favorite was. Realizing she had walked at least three or four miles, she was surprised she didn’t feel the least bit tired. Instead, she felt a renewed vigor with each garden she entered. Her tender muscles no longer ached; the warm sun caressed her like a gentle massage.
She approached the end of the cobblestone path and the last garden, surrounded by a towering wooden fence. It was also the only garden without a gate. Instead, a colossal wooden door barred the entrance. Into its center, the letters BJC were carved elaborately. There was a brass knob on the door with an old-fashioned key hole directly beneath it. She turned the brass knob. The door was locked, forbidding entrance to this secret garden. Stooping down, she placed her eye over the small opening, and peeked inside. Rays from the setting sun broke through the many vines and ferns, shading a tiny moss path which disappeared into a grove of thick trees. Her sneak peek revealed nothing. Disappointed, she stood to leave, but voices on the path motivated her to stay. Peering through the key-hole, she noticed two figures come into view. Her throat tightened when she recognized one of them as the smoking man from the café. He was walking alongside Travis. The two were engaged in a conversation, but she was too far away to hear anything they were saying. The men came closer then stopped on the path to finish their discussion before leaving the private garden. She strained her ear, trying to pick up a word or two. However, they spoke in hushed voices and in what seemed to be an unfamiliar language. Perhaps a lost dialect used by the mountain people.
Her heart seized as the smoking man unexpectedly reached over and grabbed a black cloak clinging to a large rock. He put it on, pulling the hood over his head. Her heart fell. Travis had lied to her; he did know of the cloaked figure! Her head began to swim. What was going on in this town? Why were they stalking her, or better yet, what were they protecting? The smoking man swiftly disappeared into the trees and Travis walked toward the entrance.
Regaining her composure she quickly retreated, bolting down the path and entering into another garden so Travis would not catch her eavesdropping. She waited just inside the gate, her heart pounding. Hearing his footsteps, she held her breath until he passed, then, leaning her
head outside the gate, she watched as he disappeared down the path towards the inn. She sighed but the anxiousness did not leave, and once again she feared for her safety, as well as that of the entire troupe. Since Travis knew of the knife-wielding cloaked man, was he an accomplice to his murderous intentions? She argued with her thoughts. She had an unexplainable trust for Travis. After all, he had risked his life to save hers, and had been more than a gentleman during the entire night. She had looked deep into his dark eyes, and evil did not dwell there. Still, there was something secretive at play in this town, and she thought it best to be on her guard.
The garden began to lose light as the sun sank lower in the evening sky. Mavis would be serving dinner soon, however, her appetite was gone. Realizing that Travis was more than likely at the inn by now, she ventured out of the garden, all the while unaware of the cloaked figure walking only a few feet behind her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After a delicious evening meal, the troupe gathered in the inn’s library for what Marcus considered a much-needed rehearsal. As the largest room in the inn aside from the kitchen, the library served as an ideal rehearsal area. Carla Jo and Molly had politely begged their way in, and were now sitting wide-eyed on the large leather sofa. The rest of the troupe grew comfortable on various pieces of furniture, waiting for their entrance to the makeshift stage in the center of the room. After their scenes, they exited back to their personal perches. The rehearsal found its audience with random giggles from the kids and an occasional sigh and burst of applause from a starry-eyed Carla Jo. Marcus occasionally stopped the rehearsal to suggest different blocking or to politely propose an alternative way to deliver a line.
Bronwyn sat on the edge of a small table, growing more bored as the rehearsal continued. They had been performing this particular script most of the summer. Each time the production played out, she felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Trent was right; her story was shallow and hollow. This was not the kind of material she wanted to write. Other than the fact that the two children who sat on the sofa were totally enthralled by the whole of it, she felt ashamed, and wished her name was not attached. However, she was relieved Travis had not come into the library to observe. Despite her new-found suspicious of him, he still struck her as such a deep, insightful, man. She didn’t want him thinking of her as shallow and trite because of the ridiculous story birthed from her pen. She hoped he would stay away from the library now that Lillian had taken the stage to unfold the worst part of the play.
