the homey scent of baking bread couldn’t pacify his impatience. Now that the initial shock of the situation was wearing off and the possible repercussions were settling in, he wanted Tyler found. Immediately.
As they strode through the house, the only sound in the hallway came from their heels pounding against the wood floor like hammers to nails. An uneasy feeling darted toward the surface before Beau tamped it down. So much time had passed. Tyler and Miss Southerland’s sister could be anywhere by now.
Lord, Beau prayed, I’m overwhelmed by this task You’ve brought before me. Please, give me strength, wisdom and clarity, so I may guide Miss Southerland in this search.
At the end of the hallway, they rounded the corner and came across Marc, who was exiting a room on their left.
“We’d like to borrow your study awhile,” Trey asked in explanation of their presence.
Marc looked from one man to the other, and then nodded. “Take your time.”
Remembering his original mission, Beau reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with Marc’s name scrawled on the outside. “This is from Jane. For Megan’s care.”
“Set it on my desk,” Marc said, but then his gaze turned serious. “How is Jane?”
Beau’s chest pinched tight as he called to mind the unnatural pallor of the former actress’s skin and the lack of fight in her eyes. “Time’s running out for her.”
Marc released a resigned sigh. “I’ll prepare Megan.”
“At some point I’d like to speak with her, as well.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Marc turned to go. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Trey answered for them both. “Will do.”
While Marc disappeared in the opposite direction, Beau followed Trey into the empty office. Once inside, Beau’s mind circled back to Miss Southerland. He wondered how she was faring. She’d looked so fragile earlier, practically dropping from exhaustion.
Yet she hadn’t complained once. He told himself he appreciated that rare quality in her, but it wasn’t true. If only she would lean on him, just a little. But that would require trust. Something Beau had destroyed with an ill-timed, harshly worded snap judgment.
“Have a seat.” Trey waved his hand toward a matching pair of leather, wingback chairs facing a large mahogany desk.
Beau lowered himself into the one on his right and looked around. The dark furniture, with its bold, masculine lines, lacked all sign of feminine frills. A fire snapped in the hearth, giving the room a pleasant, smoky odor. One day Beau hoped to have a similar room, a place where he could write his sermons and conduct the business of his ministry.
A private refuge all his own. No women allowed.
It wasn’t that Beau didn’t like women. On the contrary. They fascinated him, intrigued him. He liked the way they took such care with their hair and clothing, liked how they found joy in silly things like a new bit of lace. But as a child he’d been unable to get away from the flounce and feminine scents that were commonplace backstage.
Even now, as an adult, his ministry brought him to places like Mattie’s, places that held many of the same female sounds and smells of the theater.
At least the women in the theater kept their dignity when they conducted the business of their trade.
Beau thought of Jane then. He needed to return to her bedside as soon as possible. Perhaps he could still convince her to move into the sanatorium. Perhaps there was still time to save her. Perhaps…
Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain made a hard hissing sound as it scraped against the windows in the back of the room.
Undaunted by the commotion building outside, Trey settled into the chair behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper from the top drawer. “Let’s start with the basics. Tell me about your brother.”
Where to begin?
In an attempt to gather his thoughts, Beau rose from his chair and walked over to the hearth. The fire cracked and popped,
As they strode through the house, the only sound in the hallway came from their heels pounding against the wood floor like hammers to nails. An uneasy feeling darted toward the surface before Beau tamped it down. So much time had passed. Tyler and Miss Southerland’s sister could be anywhere by now.
Lord, Beau prayed, I’m overwhelmed by this task You’ve brought before me. Please, give me strength, wisdom and clarity, so I may guide Miss Southerland in this search.
At the end of the hallway, they rounded the corner and came across Marc, who was exiting a room on their left.
“We’d like to borrow your study awhile,” Trey asked in explanation of their presence.
Marc looked from one man to the other, and then nodded. “Take your time.”
Remembering his original mission, Beau reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope with Marc’s name scrawled on the outside. “This is from Jane. For Megan’s care.”
“Set it on my desk,” Marc said, but then his gaze turned serious. “How is Jane?”
Beau’s chest pinched tight as he called to mind the unnatural pallor of the former actress’s skin and the lack of fight in her eyes. “Time’s running out for her.”
Marc released a resigned sigh. “I’ll prepare Megan.”
“At some point I’d like to speak with her, as well.”
“I think that’s a good idea.” Marc turned to go. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Trey answered for them both. “Will do.”
While Marc disappeared in the opposite direction, Beau followed Trey into the empty office. Once inside, Beau’s mind circled back to Miss Southerland. He wondered how she was faring. She’d looked so fragile earlier, practically dropping from exhaustion.
Yet she hadn’t complained once. He told himself he appreciated that rare quality in her, but it wasn’t true. If only she would lean on him, just a little. But that would require trust. Something Beau had destroyed with an ill-timed, harshly worded snap judgment.
“Have a seat.” Trey waved his hand toward a matching pair of leather, wingback chairs facing a large mahogany desk.
Beau lowered himself into the one on his right and looked around. The dark furniture, with its bold, masculine lines, lacked all sign of feminine frills. A fire snapped in the hearth, giving the room a pleasant, smoky odor. One day Beau hoped to have a similar room, a place where he could write his sermons and conduct the business of his ministry.
A private refuge all his own. No women allowed.
It wasn’t that Beau didn’t like women. On the contrary. They fascinated him, intrigued him. He liked the way they took such care with their hair and clothing, liked how they found joy in silly things like a new bit of lace. But as a child he’d been unable to get away from the flounce and feminine scents that were commonplace backstage.
Even now, as an adult, his ministry brought him to places like Mattie’s, places that held many of the same female sounds and smells of the theater.
At least the women in the theater kept their dignity when they conducted the business of their trade.
Beau thought of Jane then. He needed to return to her bedside as soon as possible. Perhaps he could still convince her to move into the sanatorium. Perhaps there was still time to save her. Perhaps…
Thunder rumbled overhead. The rain made a hard hissing sound as it scraped against the windows in the back of the room.
Undaunted by the commotion building outside, Trey settled into the chair behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper from the top drawer. “Let’s start with the basics. Tell me about your brother.”
Where to begin?
In an attempt to gather his thoughts, Beau rose from his chair and walked over to the hearth. The fire cracked and popped,
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