Long Road Home (The Barker Triplets 4)

It was for that little someone, that Bobbi needed to get this right.

Chapter Eight

Shane was up before dawn. And though he’d had a restless night and hadn’t slept much, he had too much energy to lie in bed staring at the ceiling. By five thirty, he gave up and grabbed a quick shower, then pulled on a T-shirt, shorts, and his sneakers. He scooped his earbuds off the dresser along with his cell phone and credit card and headed out for a run. All was quiet behind the door across from his, and he paused there for a few moments, muscles tight with tension.

He rested his forehead against the door and exhaled, wondering at the thought of his wife sleeping only a few feet from him. The whole situation was crazy, and if he was still that guy from the past, the hothead with too much pride, he wouldn’t be standing outside her door. He’d have busted it down to have it out with her.

But he wasn’t that guy anymore, and fighting about shit hadn’t worked for him three months ago. This was new territory for Shane, and he knew if there was any chance for him and Bobbi to make it, he had to traverse this new frontier with a gentle hand and be grateful for the little things.

Bobbi was still there, and that was all that mattered.

The house was quiet as he slipped outside without seeing a soul, though the smell of coffee wafted down from the kitchen. Someone was up, no doubt preparing breakfast. He noted a Chevy pickup in the parking area, though the Louisiana plates told him it was a local. The small rental on the other side of it must belong to Bobbi.

Shane stretched and, after his earbuds were in place, started out on a run that would take him all over the small, sleepy town of Belle Adair. It was Monday, a work week for most, and yet there was no hustle or bustle to be seen. It seemed like time stood still in this corner of the world and moved at a much slower pace. Folks seemed friendly, and he earned more than one wave from a porch rocking chair, from an owner enjoying an early morning coffee and quiet.

There were more churches than he’d ever seen in one place, and the small river that Belle Adair sat on at the edge of town was serene as he came to a stop near a park bench. At some point or other, it dumped into the Mississippi, but here it was nothing more than a calm meandering stream of water.

The sun was high by now—he’d been running for well over an hour—and all that restless energy was at least tied down. He shook out his long, loose limbs and walked uptown, suddenly ravenous, with an eye on getting some food into his gut. He’d hardly eaten the day before and couldn’t wait until he got back to the bed-and-breakfast, which was at the other end of town.

The town center boasted a large white gazebo surrounded by a sea of colorful flowers, set smack-dab in the middle of a perfectly manicured lawn, which in turn was surrounded by a bunch of oak trees that stood like soldiers. Birds flew overhead singing songs of summer, and as Shane walked along the sidewalk, he spied a restaurant across the way with a sign out front that boasted “the best breakfast this side of the Mississippi.”

The place was busy, so Shane was going to assume the sign out front was correct.

He walked inside and waited patiently, aware of the curious looks. He got it. He was a stranger in town, and this small slice of heaven was no different from the place he called home. A newcomer always drew looks and conversation.

He ordered a Hungry Man #3 and a large coffee, and was directed to grab a seat at the long counter by the friendly teenager behind the till. Shane slid onto the last stool at the end and accepted his coffee with a smile.

It wasn’t the teen who brought it, but an older woman with beautiful brown skin stretched smooth over high cheekbones. Her hair was pulled back beneath a bright red scarf, but a few gray curls escaped and clung to her neck. She wore no makeup, but her big dark eyes were striking and her smile was genuine. She had a regal bearing with the kind of posture that was natural and not learned, and she moved with fluid grace.

“You’re a dancer,” Shane said, accepting the coffee. He could tell she was surprised by his words and shrugged. “It’s my job to be observant.”

“You don’t say?” Her voice sounded the way she looked—soft and delicate and one hundred percent Southern.

“Am I right?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned.

She filled the coffee cup of the gentleman to his right and set the pot down on a warming pad behind her before turning back to Shane. “What exactly do you do that gives you the gift to know such things?”

“I’m an artist. I paint.”

“You don’t look like no artist I ever saw.”

“No?”

“Hell no,” she replied with a chuckle. “Most of the artists I meet are kind of…” She pursed her lips and hesitated. “Well, they’re just a different kind of folk, is all. They’re flighty or unsettled somehow, though I suppose that comes from living in your head all the time. I swear all they do is think, look, and think some more. We get a lot of artsy folks in our area on account of the plantation up the way, and not a one of them that I ever met was so darn big and handsome, with the kind of devilish smile that I’m sure turns a lot of heads.” She paused. “You are here because of the plantation.”

It wasn’t a question, and Shane nodded.

“You staying out there? It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Nope. At the bed-and-breakfast on the other side of town.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Miss Callie has the best place to lay your head down in the area, and her food is to die for, though we won’t tell my sister Mavis that. She owns this place.” The woman arched an eyebrow. “Why are you here when you could be eating back at the B and B?”

“I was out for a run and didn’t think I’d make it back without caffeine and fuel.”

The teen who’d taken his payment handed her his plate, and she in turn put it in front of him, along with condiments, a clean napkin, and utensils.

“Dora Lee, is that pretty man going to take up all your time, or can you help me back here?”