Page 14 of A Twist of Faith
In complete contrast to the mamba rhythm of her pulse, Haus sat on the ground a few feet away and yawned. Yawned? She sniffled through a nervous laugh. Well at least one of them would be sleeping. Her nerves were so raw, she wouldn’t be able to calm down for hours. With a hand to the porch railing, she pulled herself to her feet, snatching the pan as she stood. Haus’ head perked up.
“I’m going inside now, Dog.”
He licked his jaws and placed his head down on his crossed paws, big brown eyes staring up at her. Dee looked around the back yard for a dog’s house, but there wasn’t anything except the overturned garbage can and miles of darkness.
She took the last two steps up to the covered back porch and sighed. “Well, I suppose you should stay on the porch so you can keep an eye on things.” She pointed a finger at him. “But don’t get used to it.”
Haus’ head popped back up and one ear tilted upward.
Dee bit the inside of her lip studying the problem of breaking her own rules about dogs. She cast another glance to the forest and squeezed her eyes closed in resignation. “Come on, then.”
As if English was his first language, the dog lifted himself from the ground and ambled to the top of the stairs, taking a place in the shaded corner of the porch. She almost smiled at the big bundle of curled-up black, and for the first time since stepping into her new world, she didn’t feel quite so alone.
Haus closed his eyes and snorted into the night, emotions clearly not as high-strung as hers. The dog had to be male. She walked into the kitchen and rubbed her palms down her arms to ward off the residual chill the coyotes left behind. The fireplace glowed with a dying flame, flickering light across the cozy living room furniture. Dee snuck a cookie from the plate on the counter and snatched the brown blanket from the back of the couch—draping it across her shoulders.
Silence whispered a lonesome tune with the thrums of a familiar ache. She tossed in an extra log from the wood stashed nearby and sparks danced a magical mixture of light and smoke into the air.
The flames highlighted the silver strings of the dulcimer, tempting her heart with a taste for something she’d ignored a long time. Ransom’s quaint world kept doing that—drawing her mind into vulnerable territory. In the two days she’d spent alone at this house, everything from the morning birdcalls to the fresh smell of dew awakened her mind to a few of the beauties of Appalachian life she’d chosen to forget … or ignore. She took a deep breath and stepped to the fireplace, resting her fingers against the mantle.
The fretted dulcimer shone with a cherry finish, dark and smooth. The small size hinted the sound would have tenor tones, unlike her uncle’s larger one which carried more bass. She smoothed her fingers over the strings, the dulled song soft and familiar, sending a tremor from her fingertips to her heart.
Sting.
She drew back, the touch too painful. If she accepted the small beauties of her past, she’d have to accept it all—wouldn’t she? She cleared her blurred vision with a blink and backed away, picking up her newest professional journal on the coffee table. She didn’t have time for the past when her dreams waited on the other side of Ransom, and listening to the silence only widened the awareness of her solo path.
Career first.
Success waited on the other side of one handsome cattleman and a ridiculous wager.
Well, she could handle the wager. Her thoughts settled on Reese Mitchell, but her heart responded with anything but a steadied beat.
Chapter 4
Oh, men! men!! men!!!
(Pygmalion, Act 3)
Dee turned her car up the gravel road away from her house and began to climb a hill through pastureland. After she found Reese’s number and directions, it took the entire day to convince herself to go through with this crazy plan. Traveling to a man’s house she barely knew to give him accent modification therapy? Out in the middle of nowhere? What was she thinking?
Desperate times and coyote-filled dreams forced acts of insanity.
From the sound of his commitment over the phone, he was as thrilled about it as she.
Maybe his wife would be there.
As she crested the hill, a two-story farmhouse came into view. Its cream siding and wrap-around front porch stood in contrast to everything she expected from Reese Mitchell. A porch swing rocked in the breeze, inviting a moment’s pause from the hectic push-and-pull of her emotions. Empty flowerpots stood to each side of the porch steps—waiting for a bunch of red mums, maybe?
The dark burgundy front door, a simple berry wreath hung for welcome, inched open a floodgate of regrets. Home? Family? Love? Her grip tightened on the steering wheel, forcing the weak feelings to subside. Looks were deceiving—a truth engraved on every chapter of her childhood. Anyone could pretend to have it all together. And in her experience, Appalachian secrets came with drunken nights, dangerous arguments, and enough hypocrisy to cover a lifetime of sins.
As Dee stepped from her car and glanced back toward the way she’d come, her breath caught. The view stretched out over the valley, a splattering of houses decorating the verdant countryside. Various shades of green rolling hills spanned out to the gray-blue mountain ridge in the distance and the horizon beyond. Majestic and marvelous, it called to a hidden place in her soul. She shuddered. Even the scenery hinted at pretense—a shallow beauty.
“You Doc?”
Dee shaded her eyes and looked up to the porch where a young girl with a dark ponytail stood. Grass stains smudged the knees of her jeans and a strip of dirt smeared down one side of her face. Was she the same little girl Reese had with him a few days before?
“Yes, I’m Dr. Roseland.”
With one hand hitched to her side and her dimpled chin low, she stretched out a welcome palm with the confidence of an adult. “Daddy told me you’d be comin’ today. I’m Lou Mitchell. But Lou ain’t my real name. My real name is Louisa, but everybody calls me Lou. You can call me Lou too, if you want. I don’t mind none.”
