Homecoming Read Online Free PDF Page A

faucet until it was exactly to her liking and stand under the refreshing jet. Still dripping, she padded into the bedroom.
    Her suitcase lay on the floor, open, the elastic straps still in place. Usually, the first thing she did when arriving somewhere was unpack and try to make the temporary hotel room as homey as possible.
    Her traveling wardrobe was either business suits or casual wear for the hotel room. She rummaged, and brought out black leggings and a turquoise silk top.
    She felt as if she were moving under water. Black wings of anxiety— there was something she had to do —brushed fleetingly across her mind, but she couldn’t hold onto any thoughts as she descended slowly, carefully, down a big wooden staircase to the ground floor.
    She was in a beautiful building. That much penetrated her benumbed senses, but it had no meaning, as impersonal as the sun shining through the big transom window over the front door, as right and timeless as the oaks and the roses and the buzzing bees.
    She stepped out onto a wide veranda and breathed deeply. The air smelled as sparkling as champagne.
    The sound of an engine changing gears as it climbed the mountain road filtered through the morning’s silence.
    Federica sat down on the top step and waited for what the morning would bring, bare feet curling into the rough wooden planking. She felt as if she were living each moment, each second, anew, as if she had never done anything but sit in the morning sunshine on a wooden veranda, and would stay there forever.
    A dusty van rounded a corner and the driver killed the engine. Slowly, the sounds of the forest began again—a gentle soughing of wind, the soft hum of bees.
    A tall man unfolded himself from the van and walked with an easy, lanky grace up the driveway, carrying a large paper bag. The Mayor. The Sheriff.
    Dispassionately, Federica saw that he was handsome, in a rough, very masculine way, totally unlike Russell—but that thought escaped her as quickly as it formed. He had intense blue eyes, set in a strong, bluntly carved face tanned a deep brown. He had the kind of tan that came from working in the sun, not lying in it.
    She watched him walk up and shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight.
    “Sheriff.”
    He stopped a few feet away, tipping back his Stetson with a thumb. He held up the bag. “Brought breakfast.”
    She smiled. “Right neighborly of you, Sheriff.”
    He climbed the steps to the veranda and sat down beside her. He opened the bag and peered inside. “Let’s see what Stella packed this time. A thermos of,” he unscrewed the cap and smelled reverently, “coffee. Stella’s coffee is famous in three counties. A couple of Danish and four apples.”
    There were some paper cups in the bag. Jack poured them two cups and handed her one.
    They sat in a comfortable silence, sipping coffee. The morning fog was clearing quickly, revealing a handful of wooden buildings down in the valley, beautiful even from up at the Folly.
    “What’s that?” Federica pointed with her cup. “Brigadoon?”
    “Not quite.” The sheriff smiled. “But close.”
    “It’s pretty.” She sighed. “Peaceful.”
    “That it is.” He slanted her a close look. “Folks around here would like to keep it that way.”
    “That I can imagine.” She tilted her face into the sun and closed her eyes.
    “So,” he said quietly as he put the cup of coffee down, “how’re you feeling?”
    “I’m not sure.” She still had her face to the sun, like a soft sunflower. Slowly, she lowered her head until it rested on her knees and turned her face to him. “I think—I think I’m having a nervous breakdown.”
    His expression didn’t change. “That so?”
    “I’m not so sure, because I’ve never had one before, you see, but it certainly feels like one.”
    “Well,” he grinned suddenly, “you’ve come to the right place. We’ve all had one—it’s practically a precondition for citizenship of Carson’s Bluff.” A shadow