Page 7 of Fragile Sanctuary

I’d needed that numbness when I didn’t know where I’d endup. I’d needed it when I heard whispers about my burned flesh and dead family.

And just when I thought I would break, a miracle came.

In the form of the five-foot-two spitfire package of Nora Colson. Fallon’s mom. A woman who’d lost her husband and son years before and opened her home to children in need. I’d heard my mom say Nora took the tough cases that nobody wanted because the kids were too much work, and foster parents and social workers alike were already stretched too thin. But living with them, I saw it firsthand.

She’d demanded that I be placed with her, and the state listened. Because as tiny as Nora was, she had a fire that made others pay attention to whatever she had to say. So, I went to live with her, Fallon, and the rest of their patchwork family. And it made me one of the lucky ones. The luckiest.

The sound of gravel crunching had me turning around, away from the pull of the house that had once been a home. A familiar massive SUV barreled down the gravel road, not bothering to avoid the potholes.

I couldn’t help the grin that pulled at my lips. One of my brothers would have to take her vehicle into the shop for sure. My money was on Shep or Trace. Shepard always took ensuring everybody’s well-being on his shoulders. He was the ultimate caretaker. But Trace made sure everyone was safe and had since the state placed me with Nora. It made sense he’d ended up sheriff of the entire county.

The door to the SUV slammed, and Nora hurried toward me, light brown hair peppered with gray flying behind her. “I told you to wait for me, but when I got to your cottage, you were already gone.”

A hint of guilt swept through me at the true worry carving lines into her face. I grabbed her hand, squeezing it in reassurance. “I needed to stand on my own two feet.”

Nora’s green eyes swept over my face. The pass felt achingly familiar, something she’d done countless times. My mother had made it an art, too.

“There’s no rush,” Nora said carefully.

I winced. “Well, a new tenant is moving into the cottage onMonday, and Shep is set to start restoration work tomorrow, so I think the ball is rolling.”

“You can move back in with me and Lolli,” Nora said quickly. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

My lips twitched. Nora and her mother certainly did have space. The house I’d spent my teen years in was so large you needed a map to get around it. But it fit the land it had been built on—thousands of acres spread out as far as the eye could see.

“I think I’m a little old to move back home,” I chided.

She pulled me into a hug. “Never too old for that. Not ever.”

The ache intensified, a mixture of happy and sad, pleasure and pain. “Love you,” I whispered.

“More than there are stars in the sky,” Nora whispered back.

“Enough with the mushy stuff,” a female voice cut in, one that sounded like it smoked eight packs a day and followed them with a whiskey chaser. “I need you to help me hang my gift in the guesthouse.”

Nora released me, and we both turned to face the older woman standing in my drive. Lolli was dressed in a flowy maxi dress with more necklaces and bracelets than I could count, her gray hair tied up in a wild bun. She held something that sparkled in the sunlight—a canvas covered with hundreds of glittering stones.

“Mom,” Nora began.

“I’m thinking in the hallway as you come in,” Lolli interjected, then drummed her fingers on her lips. “No. Over your bed. What do you think, Rho?”

I stared hard at the result of Lolli’s newest hobby, diamond art. At first glance, it looked like some sort of flower you might find in the Amazon rainforest. But I knew better. I squinted and studied it harder.

Nora gasped to my right. “Mom! Tell me that isn’t a penis.”

I choked on a strangled laugh as the dick and balls came into focus. Lolli wasn’t happy with simple diamond art. She needed inappropriate gemstone creations.

Lolli arched a brow. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about the human body. Our forms are what inspire the very best art.”

I rolled my lips over my teeth, trying to keep the worst of my laughter in.

“That may be true, but Rho can’t hang this in herhome. Not where people will see,” Nora hissed.

Lolli straightened her shoulders and jutted her chin. “Would you tell that to The Met? The Louvre?”

Nora’s eyes narrowed on her. “I hate to break it to you, Mom, but you are not the Michelangelo of diamond art.”

I moved then, knowing we were about to descend into an argument we’d never get out of. Crossing to Lolli, I took the canvas from her hands. “I love my dick flower. I’ll hang it with pride.”

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