Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

her mother, trying to sort out the mischievous look on her face, and then left the room. When she returned, Max and Mom were laughing, and the hint of reticence in Max’s behavior had disappeared. Whatever had transpired over the five minutes Clara had been gone set Max at ease.

“Thank you, my dear.” Mom smiled as Clara placed the cup with ice chips on the table by her bed. “Now, it’s time for you to keep your promise and leave.”

“What?”

“Max and I have already sorted it out, haven’t we, Max?” She offered him a sneaky grin and he responded with a helpless one of his own. “You’re going to take him to visit Biltmore so you can talk with Mrs. Carter about this letter she’s found and then you’re going to take him to a nice restaurant for dinner.” Her finger raised to stop Clara’s response. “And, since we have the extra guest room downstairs in the apartment, there’s no reason he should have to stay in a hotel.”

Max did very little to hide his amusement.

“It sounds like the rest of my day is already decided for me.”

“It is.” Mom gave a definitive nod. “But I don’t think you’ll complain too much for the company.”

Her gaze found Max’s again. “No, not one complaint.”

Max kissed like a romantic—like a man who’d stored up a great deal of imagination just to unleash it, quite admirably, on the woman of his choice. Clara had always been a huge proponent of imagination, and she definitely wouldn’t complain about Max’s choice. In fact, his focused and expert skills certainly had to rub off and improve her own.

He’d gently coaxed her forward when they’d gotten inside her car, those umber eyes of his drawing her in before she even realized they’d both spanned the distance to greet each other in a rather kneeweakening way. She didn’t flatter herself on being seductive, but the way Max responded to her generous attempts ensured she hadn’t disappointed him.

Maybe the definition of romance wasn’t some generic ideal dispersed among the romance-reading masses. Perhaps, in real life, romance corresponded to the intimate and individual needs of the two hearts. Unique. A handcrafted, heavenly match.

As she drove away from the hospital, her lips still humming with appreciation for his excellent care of them, she sent him a glance in her periphery.

“We don’t have to go to the Biltmore if you don’t want to.” She turned her attention back to the road. “I mean, if you’re uncomfortable with it or you want to rest? We can just pick up some dinner and take it back to the apartment.”

He seemed to understand her reservation and touched her arm. “Your mother says I can’t leave Asheville without seeing Biltmore at Christmas.”

“It is beautiful, but I want you to enjoy the time you have here.”

“I’ve enjoyed my time immensely already.”

Heat crept up her neck at the very tangible memories of their mutual enjoyment. “Whew, so have I.” She breathed out a sigh. “So I really don’t want to ruin the momentum.”

“If we engage in our previous activity a few more times, I don’t think anything could ruin the rest of my year.” He chuckled. “And as long as you don’t mind that I wear my cap and turn up the collar of my jacket, then I’d like to go.”

“I don’t mind.” She tossed him a grin. “It makes me feel like I’m walking around with a dashing Sherlock Holmes.”

“Does it, now?” The hooded look he sent her tightened her throat and nearly had her running a red light.

She jerked her attention back to the road. “Stop it. You’re distracting me with that look and your accent and the wonderful thought of kissing you.”

When he didn’t respond, she glanced back at him. He stared at her, the lines around his eyes and mouth, gentled, tender. “Clara, I want to be with you, and if that means taking a plane or touring a mansion or sitting in a restaurant, I want to experience them with you. I’ve given up enough of my life to fear. I don’t want to lose any more.”

Almost exactly what her mom had said to her. She and Max were more alike than she’d realized. Perhaps that was why they understood each other so well.

“And…when you’re with someone who sees beyond the scars, then the scars don’t seem as large anymore.”

Neither does the fear.

They took their time walking hand in hand from the parking lot through the forest trail to the Biltmore. Clara always loved how it emerged through the trees like a great unveiling. Even Max, with his life among grand homes much larger than Biltmore, paused to appreciate the view and structure. Sunset glowed in burnt orange against the purple-hued mountains behind the house, casting the front of the magnificent chateau into gray-blue shadows. But the large pine in front of the house cheered the way with its white Christmas lights as well as the candles flickering in the many windows of the house.

As they waited for Mrs. Carter by the grand stairs, a stringed quartet played Christmas music from the lovely Winter Garden as festive Victorian decor displayed the gold and red of the season. She would bring Max back sometime so he could experience the beauties of her favorite room, the library.

Mrs. Carter greeted them with an enthusiastic welcome. “I was glad to hear your mother is recovering.” She took Clara’s hands into hers after introductions. “She’s the dearest lady.”

“She is and thank you.”

“Come, I have a puzzle for you to sort out about Sadie Blackwell.”

They followed her to the little office where Clara had joined her on the last visit. A letter housed in protective plastic waited on the desk and Mrs. Carter gestured toward it. “It’s a letter from Sadie to Mrs. Vanderbilt. It’s the only one I’ve found, but the note hints at perhaps one more. This one, as you can see from the date, was written in 1919, and it seems that Sadie was