Healing Hearts Read online

  Synopsis

  Christian Sutter is a broken woman. After the loss of her lover, she is plagued by survivor guilt and struggles to engage contact with others in the simplest relationships. Seeking refuge, she turns to the solitude of Willow Springs, an all-women retreat in the mountains of East Tennessee. When Christian meets a reclusive artist, her world is turned upside down again.

  Elaine Barber is on the run. She is no fugitive but the victim of a vicious crime that keeps her in constant fear. A once renowned FBI profiler and psychologist, Elaine has turned her back on her career, her home, and her lover to escape the unbearable fear that someone is still out there waiting to finish what they started.

  Both women will begin the journey toward healing, a journey that will take them on a collision course with the very person who can destroy them all. Can love heal all wounds? One thing is certain: the lives of the women of Willow Springs will never be the same.

  Healing Hearts

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  Healing Hearts

  © 2013 By Donna K. Ford. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-916-9

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: May 2013

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  Acknowledgments

  When I set out to write this book, I had no idea what I was getting into. Like so many others, I was inspired by the beautiful stories I had discovered as I read books by Radclyffe, and I fell in love with a world where the lesbian characters were people anyone would want to know. As I read, I became obsessed with the idea that I wanted to make a contribution to the literary world and share the passion for telling our stories as Lesbian women. From the beginning, this book was my journey into a new world where I think I found an inner strength that had been waiting to be unleashed. But this was a journey I did not take alone.

  Thank you to my dear friends Keah, Sheila, Sandy, and Marie for always listening.

  I offer much gratitude to my first readers Kellie and Sheila. Without their support, I am uncertain if I would have had the courage to pursue not only finishing but publishing this book. It is amazing how far a kind word can take us.

  I also owe a great deal of gratitude to my editor, Ruth Sternglantz, for her patience and guidance through this wonderful journey and for helping me become a better writer and making me laugh at myself.

  Many thanks to all the wonderful staff at Bold Strokes Books for supporting me and accepting my book and helping me make it so much better. And to Sheri for developing a cover that I felt captured the soul of the story.

  A special thank you to Keah, who has a way of making me believe that all things are possible.

  For my mom and dad. Thank you for being as proud of this book as I am and for loving me for who I am.

  And to Keah, my sweetness, for believing I can do anything.

  Chapter One

  Christian felt the calm settle over her as she navigated the long gravel drive that would lead her to the place she hoped to finally put her grief and fear to rest. Since Cara’s death, nothing in her life seemed real. She was looking forward to some peace and quiet away from everyone who questioned her isolation, pressed her to get on with life, and didn’t understand her ongoing grief. As she drove, she thought over her life and realized she had never been alone like this before. She was looking forward to the fresh air and the peace that comes from solitude among strangers.

  It was early April and had been an unusually warm spring following a long, cold, and wet winter. The sun was warm on Christian’s arm and face as it poured in through the glass. She rolled down the window to take in the crisp morning air, and goose bumps rose on her arms as the cool air danced over her sun-warmed skin. It was cooler in East Tennessee than it had been when she’d left New Orleans the day before, but it was a pleasant change. And the quiet was a comfort from the city sounds that usually buzzed around her.

  Christian smiled faintly as a loose lock of her newly cut hair tickled the side of her jaw. Reaching a hand to her face, she gently tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. Cara had loved playing with her long curls, often twisting them around her fingers and playing them across her lips. The memory made Christian sigh with longing. She had cut her hair only a week ago, trying to convince herself that change would help her move forward. She had thought that cutting her hair would make the memories fade, but she still thought of Cara each time she brushed her hair back from her face or tucked it behind her ear. She wondered somberly what Cara would think of the change.

  As she drew closer to her destination, she noticed that daffodils lined the drive and grew in mounds around the giant oaks that stood sentry over the grounds, making her smile as she breathed in the welcoming air of the country and the freshness of early spring. The air was crisp and had an earthy undertone. Christian drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs. She detected a hint of sweetness that tickled her nose. She tried to place the scent but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It reminded her of lace and something wild that made her mouth water. She could almost taste it.

  Christian had heard about Willow Springs from a client of her law practice and, upon further research, had learned it was a private resort for lesbians. With the promise of beautiful sunsets, rolling mountains, and pristine lakes, Willow Springs had seemed the perfect sanctuary.

  The drive was a long, winding gravel path that allowed glimpses of the lodge from a distance. Flashes of the structure flickered between the intermittent trees that seemed to be standing at attention in formation. A split-rail fence lined the drive and was partially overgrown with a small twisted vine and tiny yellow flowers. Christian smiled. That had been the smell she had detected earlier—jasmine.

  The lodge was a large Victorian house, renovated and expanded as a bed-and-breakfast retreat, tucked secretively into the mountains of East Tennessee. The white siding and giant red shutters were like the smiling face of a mother, welcoming the prodigal daughter home.

  Christian felt her heart lighten with the warmth of the welcome, pleased with her first impression of the place that would be her home for several months. She was tired from the travel and from the weight that settled deep in her heart. She didn’t pretend she would be able to forget about the accident that had claimed her lover, but perhaps she could find a way to put her own life back together.

  Pulling the car around to the front entrance, Christian was met by the porter, a young woman in her twenties with golden tanned skin, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore tan shorts and a tight-fitting blue T-shirt that had the lodge logo embossed over her left breast. Christian took in the girl’s slight athleticism and eager expression and felt some of her tension ease as she let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

  The girl smiled cheerfully as she greeted Christian at the door of her car as it came to a stop. She offered Christian her hand as she opened the door.
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br />   “Welcome to Willow Springs, you must be Ms. Sutter,” the woman said more as a statement than a question. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  Tucking the stray hair behind her ear again, Christian reached out and took the offered hand. Christian welcomed the warmth of the girl’s hand as her fingers curled around her own with a firm strength that offered both comfort and welcome. Christian smiled up at her as she stood, thankful for her kindness. “Yes,” she replied, “but you can call me Christian.”

  As they circled to the back of the car, the young woman took the bags from the trunk and ceremoniously offered her other arm. “May I escort you?” Her smile was genuine and her eyes were like blue diamonds, sparkling in the sun.

  Christian studied the eager young face, feeling somewhat self-conscious from the attention. “What’s your name? I can’t exactly accept your arm when I don’t even know your name,” she said playfully.

  “Hannah,” the girl replied. “Please, it would be my honor.”

  “Well, Hannah,” Christian said taking her arm, “I believe the honor is all mine, thank you.” Christian was thankful for the support, as her strength faltered and her legs threatened to give way.

  The front entrance to the lodge was a long porch that stretched the length of the original home, with wide plank steps leading up to large French doors. As they entered the lodge, Christian paused for a moment to take in the front room. It was beautiful. There was no traditional front desk. Instead, guests were greeted in a formal living room, with a library, an open bar, and a fireplace that begged to be worshiped.

  There was so much to take in: a baby grand piano, the rich dark wood of the bar, two elegant formal sofas set facing each other, the large fireplace centered on the far wall. Christian could imagine the scores of women who had sat in this room, basking in the warmth of the fire, sharing stories about their lives, and she was suddenly short of breath as a wave of loneliness washed over her. Hannah led her just inside the door to a small desk that looked like it belonged in someone’s study. Most of her arrangements had been made over the phone, and it only took a few moments for Christian to sign the needed forms and get checked in. She turned to follow Hannah when she picked up Christian’s bags and gestured upstairs.

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Christian was mesmerized as she made her way across the room. A large staircase in the center of the room branched off both right and left halfway up, mimicking the open-arm structure of the building itself. The two arms of the staircase met the grand landing at the top overlooking the large room and front entrance. As Hannah led her up the stairs, Christian felt her feet glide across the smooth hardwood floor and noted the ease of the climb as the steps were spaced at a gradual incline that made the ascent effortless. The smooth banister seemed to flow under her touch as she ran her hand along the well-worn surface. From the landing, the large windows Christian had admired on her arrival now offered a stunning view of the front gardens and the grove of oak trees that still looked like an army standing at attention.

  Christian stopped at the top of the landing and studied the crown moldings that ran throughout the room.

  “All the wood is hand carved,” Hannah explained. “The house was originally an old farmhouse that was built around the time the TVA flooded the valley creating the lake. Of course, the original home was much smaller, just the main building here. The wings were added when the owners renovated, but they made sure to preserve as much of the wood as possible. You’ll see that the local craftsmen were able to mimic the old style quite well in the new structure.”

  Christian met Hannah’s eyes and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

  Reaching Christian’s room, Hannah produced a small iron key and promptly unlocked the door. She opened the door and, with a sweep of her hand, motioned Christian inside and followed with the luggage. Stepping into the room, Christian’s eyes took in the warm sage color of the walls, and she noticed the rich hardwood floors of the hallway continued throughout the room. At the back of the room was a queen-size bed, a small desk with a reading lamp, and a lazy chair. Christian walked around the room, stopping to check out the view, tilting her head toward the warm rays of sun that hit her skin as they filtered through the French doors that led to a small balcony overlooking the lake.

  Hannah spoke softly, breaking the silence. “I am posted in the front room and entrance. If you need anything, please ring me. Breakfast begins at six a.m., lunch at eleven a.m., and dinner at five p.m. The kitchen is always open if you would prefer to eat in your room. There are marked paths around the property, horseback riding at the stables, and lots of water activities at the lake. The pool is in the back, as well as the patio. Most everyone prefers to eat on the patio at lunch so they can enjoy the sun, pool, and view. You’ll find everything you need there. The staff will be happy to assist you with any of your needs.”

  “Thank you, Hannah.”

  Hannah smiled. “Please make yourself comfortable, Ms. Sutter…uh, Christian.” She blushed, dropping her gaze. She placed the key on the small table by the door. “Good day, Ms. Sutter.”

  *

  The room was too quiet, and Christian couldn’t stand to sit still a moment longer. She grabbed her key from the table and slipped into a light jacket, deciding she needed to do a little exploring. A twinge of excitement trickled through her. She was excited to get started learning her way around.

  She hadn’t made it far when her fatigue reminded her she wasn’t quite strong enough for a serious expedition. She stepped through a set of doors in the back of the lobby into a small courtyard. An arched pergola extended from the main building, creating a sort of tunnel that led to what appeared to be an old greenhouse. The pergola was covered in old, thick vines that sprouted with new leaves and flower buds. Wisps of the last year’s growth hung loosely and drifted lazily in the faint breeze. Wisteria, she guessed. Christian followed the path into the greenhouse, where she was met with an assault of color from the flowering plants and the earthy smell of soil and fertilizer.

  She felt like a child who’d just discovered a hidden world enchanted with magical plants. The thought made her laugh. She let her fingers trail over the damp leaves of the plants as she passed, feeling like she had entered an enchanted world.

  A rustling and a faint clicking noise caught her attention, and she followed the sound through rows of potted roses, ferns, and small shrubs. Silently she combed through the mass of plants on her way toward the unusual clicking. The maze of plants opened into an area arranged with glazed pots of all shapes and sizes. In the center was a woman, sitting on a strange stool in front of a potter’s wheel. It looked ancient and was powered by the slow pushing motion of the woman’s foot turning a round wheel on the floor.

  Christian studied the intensity in the woman’s face as she studied her work, unaware she was being watched. Although her face was partially turned away, everything from her posture to the set of her jaw suggested she was a woman on the verge of creating something born from her soul. All her energy was focused in that one instrument. The clay turned with the wheel, and the slightest touch of the woman’s hands transformed it. Christian watched the blob of mud suddenly expand, forming a hollow in the center, when the woman pressed her thumbs gently into the clay until a vessel was born. She stretched long slender fingers along the sides of the clay, and again, the form was transformed, pulled upward into a tall vase. Ripples flowed along the sides of the vase with just the slightest touch of her finger.

  The whole scene was intense, and Christian found herself watching the woman more than the clay. She wore a dark rubber apron over her clothes that protected her from the sling of the water and slip. The apron was spattered with light brown specks of clay and water. Her arms were bare from the elbows down, where her long-sleeved T-shirt had been pushed up, bunching at her biceps. On the back of her shirt, the name Alex was stenciled in bold black letters above the number thirteen. There was strength in her broad shoulders and well-muscled
arms, but there was also something tender about the way she worked the clay. Her touch was guiding and commanding, but gentle and intuitive.

  Calm settled over Christian as she watched the woman’s hands caress the ever-changing form in her grasp. Christian swayed with the rhythm of the spinning wheel, with its rasping and clicking, as if she was being molded beneath the sensual guiding hands. Warmth spread through her, and she caught her breath. Startled by her response, Christian glanced around, reorienting herself to her surroundings. Silently she stepped back among the lush foliage of the plants, fighting the urge to run. Instead she let the image of the woman fade from her vision slowly as she stepped among the flowers.

  Christian could still hear the rhythmic sound of the wheel as she closed the greenhouse door and tried to gather her breath. She was confused by the stir of sensations bubbling beneath her skin but felt more alive than she had in months. The thought made her smile.

  *

  The next morning, Christian sat at the window of her room watching the sunrise. The pinks blending into orange, and then red, reflected off the lake back to the heavens. She listened to the sounds of life awakening around her as the other patrons and the staff began to stir.

  She had set up her books and computer at the desk and contemplated whether she would brave the outside world today. She hadn’t left the room since her adventure to the greenhouse the evening before. Now, contemplating even trying to be with other people, a sudden fear knotted her stomach and she struggled to push the feeling away. She hadn’t come here to hide in her room, but the thought of facing other people suddenly seemed too much to bear.