Sanctuary Read Online Free PDF

to stay. In any case, he didn’t believe people stayed in the long run.
    Annabelle hadn’t.
    Brian rose, vaguely irritated that a twenty-year-old scar had unexpectedly throbbed. Ignoring it, he turned away and took the winding upward path toward Sanctuary.
    When he came out of the trees, the light was dazzling. It struck the spray of a fountain and turned each individual drop into a rainbow. He looked at the back end of the garden. The tulips were rioting dependably. The sea pinks looked a little shaggy, and the ... what the hell was that purple thing anyway? he asked himself. He was a mediocre gardener at best, struggling constantly to keep up the grounds. Paying guests expected tended gardens as much as they expected gleaming antiques and fine meals.
    Sanctuary had to be kept in tip-top shape to lure them, and that meant endless hours of work. Without paying guests, there would be no means for upkeep on Sanctuary at all. So, Brian thought, scowling down at the flowers, it was an endless cycle, a snake swallowing its own tail. A trap without a key.
    â€œAgeratum.”
    Brian’s head came up. He had to squint against the sunlight to bring the woman into focus. But he recognized the voice. It irritated him that she’d been able to walk up behind him that way. Then again, he always viewed Dr. Kirby Fitzsimmons as a minor irritation.
    â€œAgeratum,” she repeated, and smiled. She knew she annoyed him, and considered it progress. It had taken nearly a year before she’d been able to get even that much of a reaction from him. “The flower you’re glaring at. Your gardens need some work, Brian.”
    â€œI’ll get to it,” he said and fell back on his best weapon. Silence.
    He never felt completely easy around Kirby. It wasn’t just her looks, though she was attractive enough if you went for the delicate blond type. Brian figured it was her manner, which was the direct opposite of delicate. She was efficient, competent, and seemed to know a little about every damn thing.
    Her voice carried what he thought of as high-society New England. Or, when he was feeling less charitable, damn Yankee. She had those Yankee cheekbones, too. They set off sea-green eyes and a slightly turned-up nose. Her mouth was full—not too wide, not too small. It was just one more irritatingly perfect thing about her.
    He kept expecting to hear that she’d gone back to the mainland, closed up the little cottage she’d inherited from her granny and given up on the notion of running a clinic on the island. But month after month she stayed, slowly weaving herself into the fabric of the place.
    And getting under his skin.
    She kept smiling at him, with that mocking look in her eyes, as she pushed back a soft wave of the wheat-colored hair that fell smoothly to her shoulders. “Beautiful morning.”
    â€œIt’s early.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. He never knew quite what to do with them around her.
    â€œNot too early for you.” She angled her head. Lord, he was fun to look at. She’d been hoping to do more than look for months, but Brian Hathaway was one of the natives of this little spit of land that she was having trouble winning over. “I guess breakfast isn’t ready yet.”
    â€œWe don’t serve till eight.” He figured she knew that as well as he did. She came around often enough.
    â€œI suppose I can wait. What’s the special this morning?”
    â€œHaven’t decided.” Since there was no shaking her off, he resigned himself when she fell into step beside him.
    â€œMy vote’s for your cinnamon waffles. I could eat a dozen.” She stretched, linking her fingers as she lifted her arms overhead.
    He did his best not to notice the way her cotton shirt strained over small, firm breasts. Not noticing Kirby Fitzsimmons had become a full-time job. He wound around the side of the house, through the spring blooms that lined the