One Mountain Away. Emilie RichardsЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Eight

      HARMONY AWOKE IN a strange bed, and for a moment panic filled her. She had been dreaming of home, of the muffled footsteps of her mother wearing the slippers Harmony had given her as a birthday gift. Before that, no matter the season, Janine Stoddard had tiptoed around the house in her bare feet, because she had been afraid of prematurely waking Harmony’s father.

      Harmony’s childhood had been all about walking on tiptoes, about muffling laughter or tears, about apologies. The dream was no surprise, but this bed and this room startled her into stillness. She was afraid to move, afraid to cry out. And whose name would she call, anyway?

      Slowly the events of last night came back to her. Her shift at Cuppa, the man who had succeeded in making her feel small and stupid. The chunks of salad spread on the floor with dressing pooling beside…

      She wouldn’t think of that now.

      Charlotte Hale, who had witnessed everything, had found her lying in the backseat of her Buick. Her cheeks burned at the memory. She had been afraid to park on a darker side street until it was okay to go back to Jennifer’s. Instead, she had parked far enough away from Cuppa to feel certain no one would spot her. When she’d returned to the car after her shift, she had stretched out in the back as best she could, an army blanket rolled under her head and another pulled over her.

      She had wondered where Davis was at that moment—and with whom. She had wondered exactly why she was alive.

      Then she’d opened her eyes to see Charlotte Hale staring down at her.

      Now she was in the woman’s mansion, because Harmony could think of no other word for this house. It was a home beyond any she had ever been inside, with a front hall as large as Jennifer’s entire apartment. She had been stunned as they walked to the kitchen, scuffing her soles over rugs as soft as pillows, winding through rooms with sky-high ceilings. She had been unable to stomach more than a glass of milk, and as she’d sipped, she had gaped at what had to be a place where food would be smart enough, confident enough, to cook itself without interference.

      Charlotte—because that was what she insisted on being called—had seen how exhausted and upset Harmony was, and she had led her here, to a green-and-yellow bedroom with polished cherry furniture and a bathroom Harmony would be content to live in. Charlotte had returned with a nightgown that was inches too short but otherwise perfect, told her where to find a new toothbrush, soap and anything else she desired, then abandoned her.

      Now, gazing up at the ceiling, Harmony was once again amazed. Even the ceiling was extraordinary. It was high, like all the ones she’d noted last night, but the center was marked by a plaster medallion that would look at home in a palace. She thought she identified grapes and the faces of cherubs. The ceiling curved down into sage green walls, and where it did, there was more adornment, plaster ivy, flowers, birds. In another era artists might have labored for months creating these scenes. Now she imagined there were shortcuts and factory-produced enhancements that could be quickly added by construction workers, but she was still awed by the time and expense, if not by the art itself.

      She only moved her eyes. She didn’t move her head. In the past week she’d learned that lesson. When she awoke it was important not to move quickly, to let her body adjust and prepare. Then she could get up by degrees, swinging her legs over the bed in slow motion, pushing up an inch at a time until she was sitting on the edge. If she was lucky she’d remembered to put her purse beside her, and packs of saltines from Cuppa’s vast supply waited there for nibbling. If she didn’t move quickly, if she took her time slowly eating a morsel at a time, she would not have to run gagging to the perfect marble bathroom with its multinozzle shower and spa tub.

      She wondered if there would be time for a shower after she finally rose. By now Charlotte would surely be asking herself why she had invited a stranger to her home. One look around had proved there was so much here worth stealing. The house was filled with valuable art; even this room had china figurines that were clearly not from the Walmart housewares department. Of course, Harmony had never stolen so much as a toothpick. Even the saltines in her purse were courtesy of her manager.

      Fifteen minutes later she was on her feet and holding steady. The saltines had, as she’d hoped, calmed her roiling stomach. She debated a shower, and in the end, she couldn’t resist. Inside the marble-tile enclosure three separate sprays pummeled her from behind. The showerhead itself had more settings than Davis’s state-of-the-art flat-screen television, but the warm water made her nauseous, and she didn’t stay long.

      She dressed in yesterday’s rumpled skirt and Cuppa T-shirt, which were all she had until she could get back to Jennifer’s apartment to rummage through her suitcases for something clean. She pulled her wet hair back from her face and fastened it with the same band she’d used last night. Then she went to find Charlotte.

      She realized it was possible her hostess might still be asleep. Harmony had always been an early riser. She’d never had an opportunity to be anything else. As a child, if she wanted time in the family bathroom before school, she’d needed to get up at dawn, because once her father and brother, Buddy, were up, the house and everything in it belonged to them. In the summer she’d been required to get up by six to help Buddy bag newspapers for his route.

      Since leaving home she hadn’t lived anywhere she could be comfortable sleeping in. Even when she had lived with Davis, she’d felt obligated to cook an early breakfast before he left for his office. He had never told her she had to, but he’d made enough snide jokes about “kept women” that she’d known better than to become one.

      Charlotte’s house was easy to get lost in. Harmony paid attention as she tiptoed through the hallway looking for her hostess and still ended up in a mahogany-paneled study by mistake. She left that quickly, and later, the dining room, although she could swear she’d also seen a dining room off the entry way. A house with two dining rooms perplexed her. Separate dinner parties? Would the guests realize they had competition for their hostess from the other side of the house?

      She found the kitchen at last, guided by the smell of coffee brewing. While she’d given it up, the smell was enticingly familiar, and her stomach behaved. She stepped in and saw Charlotte wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and standing at the stove.

      “Good morning,” she said tentatively.

      Charlotte turned and smiled at her. The smile was so welcoming that Harmony felt her tension ease.

      “I hope I didn’t wake you while I puttered around in here,” Charlotte said.

      “This house is so big, I think you could drill for oil and I wouldn’t hear you.” The moment she said it, Harmony wondered if she’d sounded critical, but before she could apologize, Charlotte laughed.

      “On top of that, the builder did everything he could to soundproof the rooms. Maybe he thought it was destined for a large noisy family.”

      Harmony moved closer, then took a seat at the island when Charlotte waved in that direction. “It’s an amazing house. Really.”

      “I could say you don’t know the half of it, and I would be right. It goes on and on and on, and you haven’t even been upstairs. If you were wearing hiking boots, I’d give you a tour.”

      Harmony