Read Online Tempest's Course: Quilts of Love Series by Lynette Sowell - Free Book Online Page B

for now, he’d let that bit of info sit with her.
    “I’m sorry” was all she could manage at first. “I know how it feels, trying to get life figured out. I’m a Christian, too. One thing I’ve learned is that in the end, God is all I have.”
    It was his turn to nod. “This is why I can’t go backwards. I’m getting things figured out, little by little. My pastor said something about me getting used to my new reality. This isn’t what I was looking for. I wanted to make a career out of serving my country.”
    “I know what you mean. I never thought I’d end up here.” She exhaled sharply, her breath fluffing the ends of her hair that had escaped her ponytail and dangled as wisps in front of her eyes.
    “Guess we’d better get back to work.”
    “I guess so.” She looked at him and blinked. “I figure it won’t do much good to tell you to be careful.”
    He gave her a rueful grin. “Probably not. But I’ll pace myself as long as you don’t call my mother again.”
    “Deal,” she said, opening the driver’s side door. “Besides, I have too much to do this afternoon.”
    He snapped to attention at her remark, then realized she was joking as she grinned at him.

    Kelly sauntered into the house, flying on her little wave of orneriness. He was getting to her, and she needed to make herself quit. She refused to listen to that something she felt was calling out inside her when Tom admitted his life wasn’t going the direction he’d intended, through circumstances beyond his control. She always liked cheering for the underdog, the fighter, the one who looked at the world like they had something to prove.
    Because the world could be cruel. So, so cruel. She carried her purse and keys up to the room she called hers. The house was massive and she didn’t feel comfortable leaving her purse and keys casually on the countertop or in the front hallway.
    She glimpsed Mary Gray’s journal on the chest of drawers. Much as she’d love to sit for a while and puzzle out some of Mary’s fine script, she should return her attention to the quilt. Kelly entered the hallway and headed for the bathroom once belonging to Captain Gray.
    The quilt lay where she left it, on its layer of towels. She touched the delicate fibers. Still damp. Perhaps she’d better transfer it to another set of towels. She laid another rectangle of dry towels on the floor, then tiptoed around the edge of the quilt. Lifting the corners slowly, she folded the cloth over itself in half, then half again. The backing had been white, or at least a shade of ecru. The burn marks showed up on this side of the quilt as well.
    She laid the folded quilt on the layer of fresh towels, then kicked the soggy towels out of the way. Then she knelt beside the quilt and felt the folded layers again. She unfolded the quilt and ran her fingers across the surface.
    This was it for the day. The poor quilt had seen enough trauma after being cast off for so long. Tomorrow the real work began. She needed to set up a workroom, likely in the drawing room downstairs.
    Kelly left the quilt drying in the semi-darkened room and went to check her e-mail. Lottie had written, and Kelly’s conscience pinged her. She still hadn’t called Lottie back.

    Dear Kelly,
    I hope you arrived safely in New Bedford. If you need anything, let me know. Sewing supplies, anything. I know that you have traveled for your work before, but this feels different. Please call when you can. I hope to hear from you soon.
    Love,
    Lottie
    P.S. Someone called yesterday, asking about your mother. I thought that was extremely odd.
    So did she. Kelly bit her lip. Who would be asking about Frances Simmons Frost, dead and gone for sixteen years?
    Kelly picked up her phone and called Lottie, who answered after the second ring.
    “Kelly!”
    “Hi, I got your message yesterday, and your e-mail. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”
    “Not to worry. I knew you would. So, tell me about the house. I bet it looks