Long Road Home (The Barker Triplets 4)

“You’re not painting, and the wood shop looks like you haven’t been inside it for weeks. Mark says you haven’t been to the barns and that Chalice had her colt ten days ago, and you haven’t even seen it yet.”

Shane towel-dried his hair and tried to keep the irritation from his voice. “I told you I’m good.”

She held up the empty bottle of whiskey from the morning. “I can see that.” She cocked her head and studied him in silence for a few seconds. “I heard your show in Paris has been pushed back to next year.”

“Didn’t know that was common knowledge.”

“Dad told me.”

He shrugged and said nothing, because there was nothing to say. His show was pushed back because three of the pieces he was working on were still unfinished. His mojo was gone, along with everything else good in his life. In the past when his demons struck and life was dark, he’d always been able to count on his work and the insatiable need to create. But now? His talent had all but abandoned him.

To most folks, this right here was about as low as you could get. Busted-up marriage. Wife who wasn’t returning his calls and refusing to see him. And no creative outlet.

But Shane knew better. For his particular brand of human, things could get a whole lot worse. His dark side was darker than most.

He also knew it was the reason everyone was worried about him. Hell, even his father had left several messages on his voicemail, and the guy never picked up the phone these days.

“You should get away,” Eden said softly.

“What?” He ran a hand over the hair on his chin. Damn, but he needed to shave.

“Get away. Go someplace where no one knows you. Where you can clear your head and paint and focus on the things that matter without all the noise in the background.” She shrugged. “Logan and Dad and the Barker sisters won’t stop bothering you. You know that, right? I mean, they care about you. We all do.” She paused. “Have you talked to Bobbi at all?”

“No.” His reply was curt and sharp and didn’t invite a response. He wasn’t having this conversation with his sister. She hadn’t lived enough to appreciate the anger inside him. His wife had all but written him off and made it plain that she had no desire to fight for them. For what they had. For their past and future. She’d given up when things got tough, and Shane wasn’t so sure she was wrong.

And t

hat made him angrier and darker and blacker.

“I think you need to get away, Shane.” Eden crossed the room until she stood a few inches from him. She reached into her bag and withdrew a pamphlet, which she handed over before taking a step back.

“This place will feed your artistic soul. I promise you that.”

He glanced down at an advertisement for a B and B. “Belle Adair? Where’s that?” he asked, eyes on his sister again.

“Louisiana. I stayed there with a couple of girlfriends a while back, and it’s like this little piece of paradise plopped down in the middle of nowhere. There’s this plantation not far from town that’s all about artists and stuff owned by this famous woman, Marisol. You can rent space and paint and just…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes shone when she looked up at him. “You can find yourself again.”

“Eden—”

She held up her hand and attempted a smile. “Think about it?” She took another step toward the door. “I’ll call you from Daddy’s.”

Shane tossed the pamphlet onto the counter and sank into the old sofa. He sat there for a long time. Long enough for hunger pains to hit him in the gut. Long enough for the rain to give way and the early evening twilight to shine through the windows of his studio. He glanced over to the unfinished pieces he’d been working on for months and stared at them until his eyes blurred.

He rested his head back and closed his eyes. How long he stayed that way, he wasn’t sure, but when Shane got to his feet, twilight had given way to the kind of inky darkness that covered the earth solid. It was the kind of night that made a man feel small.

He flicked on a light, walked over to the island, and grabbed up the pamphlet. He looked at it for a long time.

And when the sun came up, he was gone.

Chapter Three

The first day in Belle Adair was spent in her room, sleeping off the fatigue the trip down south had given her. She’d fallen into the big four-poster bed, exhausted, and didn’t wake up until dusk the next night. After that, a bath in the big old tub had done wonders for her body and mind, and by the next day, she’d been ready to head out and explore.

Bobbi decided early on to not think about the thing that she probably should be thinking about. It was her prerogative to do so; wasn’t like she had anyone to answer to, so she pulled a Scarlett O’Hara and pushed it to the back of her mind where it could stay until she was damn well ready to deal with it. As Scarlett had said in Gone with the Wind, tomorrow was another day.

She spent her time exploring the sleepy town, and though those thoughts of that little pink case at the bottom of her purse and the fact she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a period followed her like a shadow, she was somehow able to enjoy a unique and wonderful little town that in its own way was a lot like New Waterford. A place that clung to the past and simpler times, resisting bright and shiny for warm and stable.

There wasn’t a Starbucks or McDonald’s in sight. Instead, there was Mavis’s Diner and The Coffee Shop in the town center square, which served up fresh-roasted java along with the tastiest pastries she’d ever had. The Coffee Shop was owned and operated by a sweet and charming couple, Delia and Henry, who’d taken over from Delia’s grandparents forty years earlier—and her grandfather had taken over from his. This was a town full of history (some good, some bad), rich in tradition and the sanctity of church and family. The kind of place where she got the same knowing looks she’d get back home in Michigan if she were a stranger passing through. As she walked downtown that first day, she could hear Gramps in her head as he sat out front of his own coffee place, watching folks walk by. He’d smile at those he knew, which would be most of them, and to those he didn’t, a polite nod would suffice.