The Touchstone 0f Raven Hollow (Secrets 0f Roseville Book 3)
The Touchstone of Raven Hollow
Secrets of Roseville
Book 3
Betty Bolté
Also by Betty Bolté
Secrets of Roseville
Undying Love
Haunted Melody
The Touchstone of Raven Hollow
A More Perfect Union
Elizabeth’s Hope
Emily’s Vow
Amy’s Choice
Samantha’s Secret
Evelyn’s Promise
Hometown Heroines
True Stories of Bravery, Daring, and Adventure
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Betty Bolté
www.bettybolte.com
Copyright © 2017 by Betty Bolté.
ISBN-13: 978-0-9981625-4-6
ISBN-10: 0-9981625-4-X
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher via the website above.
Table of Contents
THE TOUCHSTONE OF RAVEN HOLLOW
Also by Betty Bolté
Copyright
About the Book
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About
The Touchstone of Raven Hollow
Was it a miracle?
The latest tests proved Grant Markel’s fatal medical condition was gone. But the scientist within him wouldn’t accept that fact as a miracle. So he’s come to Roseville, Tennessee, to dig for the truth. As a geologist, he knows that uncovering layers of earth can lead to surprising finds—but when he discovers Tara Golden, he determines to reach her bedrock despite her denial of their mutual attraction.
Tara has hidden her healing power all of her life. But occasionally she uses her abilities on people passing through town, sure they’d never figure out what saved them. Now tall, sexy Grant is asking questions she doesn’t want to face, but he isn’t going to take no for an answer. She’s committed to this town, and her gifted sisters who need her powers. There’s no way she would risk them for a fling. Yet what she’s feeling is more than lust. What if the only thing she can’t heal is her heart?
Dedication
To Crystal, for all her guidance and inspiration.
Chapter 1
“Damn. I can’t do this.”
If pride caused one to fall, she had nothing to fear. She took no pride in her cooking nor her gift. Everything she tried turned out either mediocre or a dismal failure. She hid any hint of talent or ability. She preferred to get through her life without anyone unmasking her for who and what she was. And yet today loomed ahead as yet another opportunity for proving she couldn’t meet the expectations set before her.
Tara Golden stared out the kitchen door, frowning at the familiar scene for several frantic beats of her heart. Morning sunshine filtered through the waxy leaves of a tall magnolia, illuminating the covered fire pit and surrounding rustic chairs nestled in the far reaches of the yard. The conversation corner in the backyard had witnessed many evenings of laughter and shared secrets. Quiet and private, she escaped to her favorite chair as often as possible. Perhaps she’d snatch a book and brave the November chill. Forget about the pressure to succeed, to pass the unspoken and unfair test, yet again filling her gut with trepidation. No matter how hard she tried.
She pressed her fingers to both temples, trying to quiet her mind as well as her rapid pulse. Her sisters hadn’t emerged from their rooms yet, so she had a little time to indulge her whim. She turned away from the window, already mentally sifting through the titles on the shelf at the other end of the room. Just a few minutes would alleviate some of the stress in her soul. As she walked away from the door, her gaze landed on the empty bakery box on the countertop. She dropped her hands, fingers curling into fists, pushing against her legs.
“Double damn.” She’d forgotten the buns warming in the oven. She inhaled as she brushed her hair away from her face, pulling it up into a ponytail that grazed her shoulders.
The sweet smell of hot cinnamon and sugar filled the kitchen with memories. Memories of her mother cooking and baking up a storm for family meals. Before she’d died so suddenly three years before. A tear fell on Tara’s cheek, and she rubbed the moisture away. She’d cried enough. She surveyed the cozy room, aware of the lingering sense of intruding into a special place ricocheting in her heart. Almost as if she sensed her mother’s presence. She hoped not. Although she missed her mother desperately, it helped to think that her mom had found peace. Perhaps one day Tara might also find inner peace. If she ever managed to tame the guilt monster who clawed inside every time she thought of how her mother died.
“Something smells yummy.” Beth strode into the sunny room and headed straight for the coffee pot. She wore a forest green pullover sweater with cream corduroy jeans, emphasizing her slim figure. Bunny slippers with floppy ears completed the outfit with a bit of whimsy. Cup in hand, Tara’s older sister pivoted to peer at her. Her expression indicated she’d detected the hot sweet aroma. “Do I smell sticky buns?”
“Yeppers.” Tara waved a hand toward the oven as she moved to stand by the center island. She braced a hand on the edge of the counter, noting Beth appeared pulled together as always. “They’re best warm.”
Tara had chosen khaki jeans, a black cable knit sweater, and black loafers, ready to head to the Golden Owl Books and Brews store right after she finished breakfast. A utilitarian uniform. Ugh. Compared to the trim outfit her next older sister wore, she probably looked dowdy at best. She didn’t want to think about how others viewed her attire. She never seemed able to live up to expectations. Her own or her sisters.
“As if you made them yourself, right?” Beth chuckled and then sipped from the steaming mug. “You’re not fooling anyone; you know that right?”
She knew it. Tara relived the memories of her mother, Peggy Golden, most every day. Recalled how smart, pretty, and competent she’d been. Envisioning her bustling about the small yet efficient kitchen, an apron covering her slacks and top, while she stirred or sautéed or whatever task necessary to make the most amazing meals. Repasts good for both body and soul. The elegant cakes and tarts, pies and puddings, also caused people to exclaim over them. Tara’s kitchen magic was weak by comparison. Despite her best efforts, her meals ended up workmanlike and plain, much like her choice of attire, even if they did nourish the body. The soul was left to fend for its
elf.
“I’m not trying to.” Tara shrugged off her sister’s observation. Everyone knew she was not the baker of the family. Sure, she baked occasionally, but never anything fancy or difficult. She couldn’t compete with her sisters in the kitchen. Roxie, in particular, seemed capable of accomplishing anything she set out to do. Tara was not so fortunate. But ask her to make a salad, and she’d whip up the best combination of healthy vegetables and lean protein with a delicious, low-fat dressing any day. She preferred simple and easy to elaborate and difficult. “See? There’s the box from the bakery in plain view for all to see.”
Beth leaned forward to peruse the label, her golden locks falling around her cheeks to hang over the counter. “The new one over on Poplar Street?”
“The Sweet Serendipity has a nice variety of breakfast buns and bagels.” She’d been tempted to buy more than she had but decided to limit the indulgence. Her thighs thanked her. “I imagine I’ll be a regular customer.”
“Where?” Roxie strolled in, pushing up the sleeves of her crimson Alabama sweatshirt to just below her elbows. Faded blue jeans and brown loafers completed her outfit. Sensible and neat described her perfectly. Roxie spotted the white paperboard box sitting open on the counter and nodded, making her brown and gold ponytail swing side to side. “I see.”
“Tara…” Beth pointed toward the stove with a manicured finger. “I think you need to take them out.”
“No, they need a few more minutes to be good and gooey warm.” Tara pivoted to reassure herself after the note of warning in Beth’s voice. “Oh!”
She raced to open the door only to cough as smoke poured into the room, triggering the smoke alarm on the ceiling to blare her embarrassment for all their neighbors to hear. She grabbed the hot pads and quickly pulled the flimsy aluminum pan from the hot interior, popping and smoking, and plopped it on top of the range. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the dial to the left to turn off the heat. Spinning around, she covered her ears to dampen the blaring of the obnoxious alarm. Beth had opened the outside door while Roxie used the bakery box to fan the smoke away from the noise maker. After several minutes, the shrieking stopped and Tara forced her shoulders into their normal position. What had she expected?
“You used to know your way around the kitchen, Tara.” Roxie tossed the box onto the counter and then retrieved a mug from the rack by the coffee maker. Pouring the dark liquid into the cup, she glanced at Tara. “You need to get over it.”
“I’m not sure I can.” Tara wouldn’t even pretend not to catch her sister’s allusion so casually tossed in her direction.
She’d been busy in the kitchen the day her mother died. Baking a lemon cake for her birthday as a surprise. Decorating the layers with chocolate frosting and then writing in yellow buttercream icing had taken forever but she’d managed to finish it with time to spare. Pride had swelled her chest for a change. Not only had she managed to make the two layers the same size without sloping one direction or the other. The writing even ended up legible. Her mother would have been very pleased with how neatly she’d written with the recalcitrant icing.
Only the surprise had been on Tara when she had gone into her mother’s bedroom where she’d gone for a nap. She’d felt tired and had a slight ache in her jaw and head. Tara had offered to ease her discomfort, but her mother had insisted it wasn’t necessary. A little rest and she’d be good as new. Tara eased up to the side of the bed, and whispered to her. No response, no shift, no eyes opening. Tara gently shook her mother’s shoulder and then froze. Her mother had died in her sleep. Alone. Tara had so much she wanted to share with her mother. Then to never have the opportunity, or even the chance to say goodbye. Tears had flowed until she thought she’d choke on them. But arrangements had to be made and people informed of her passing. The following days remained a foggy blur of condolences and sadness. The whole town turned out for her mother’s funeral. Since Peggy ran the only bookstore in the area around Roseville, Tennessee, everyone knew and adored her.
“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s.” Roxie crossed to Tara’s side and peered at her. “You need to put all that behind you and move forward. It’s what Mom would have wanted.”
How could anyone know what their mother would have asked of them had she lived? People say that they know, but do they really? Peggy Golden had been the sun the three sisters revolved around. They had lived together in the historic home for as long as Tara could remember. Longer, since she was the youngest. She barely remembered her father, Roscoe Golden, as a big man with a big laugh. He’d died before she started kindergarten, leaving her mother to raise the three girls by herself. A cohesive unit until the sun burned out and left the planets to drift apart on their own. Somehow she had to find her way without the pull of a central force.
“They’re not too black if you want one.” Tara motioned to the pan of sticky buns and then refilled her coffee cup. She’d not apologize for knowing her limitations. An envelope Roxie apparently liked to push farther and farther. At some point, the barrier would break and then she’d fail resplendently. She didn’t want to contemplate such a dismal event. “You’re braver than I am to wear that to work.”
“Do you think folks will mind here in Volunteer territory?” Roxie dipped her head to glance at the stylized white A on the front of the sweatshirt and then grinned at Tara. “I’m not wearing it to the store. I have some errands to run this morning so thought I’d risk it about town. You know, to get a reaction.”
One thing the oldest sister could count on was eliciting a reaction from others. Her personality and her attitude seemed to poke and prod people into a strong retort. Always had. Both positive and negative responses seemed to come with an added measure of punch. As if the very air around Roxie intoxicated her audience, reducing their ability to suppress their emotions much like the effect of alcohol.
“I’m sure you will. This small town has a tendency to think small as well.” Beth shook her head in mock disapproval, her long hair brushing her shoulders. She studied Roxie’s attire for several moments. “You’ll surely get noticed. For better or worse.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.” Roxie burst out laughing, her shoulders shaking as she slapped a hand over her mouth. She moved to the other side of the island, still chuckling. After she regained control, she winked at Beth. “I know I shouldn’t do it. Some folks think it’s mean. But I love to push buttons.”
“You’re good at it, too.” Tara sipped her coffee before setting the cup on the counter. The sound of Roxie’s laughter reminded Tara of her father’s, a faint echo of memory decades old.
Beth’s dig at the people of Roseville hinted at a growing dissatisfaction with small town life. Not that Beth had said as much, but the increase in the number of snarky observations sparked suspicions of her intent, whether she was aware of them or not. Tara cradled the mug in both hands as she shifted her attention to her oldest sister. She seemed different on this fall morning. The longer she contemplated Roxie, the more certain she became of a change in the air. Not just the clearing of the burned sugar smell, either. Better to find out up front than to leave the lingering sensation to tickle her conscious for hours or days. Been there, done that.
Tara cleared her throat, fingers wrapped around her cold cup. “Speaking of buttons being pushed, you look like you’ve got a surprise up your sleeve. What’s with the grin?”
Roxie aimed hazel eyes at Tara and placed her hands on the island, leaning on the surface to support her torso. “You’ve always been able to read my moods. That’s part of your gift. You’re right. I do have a surprise. Can you guess?”
Her sisters accepted her special abilities because they possessed their own gifts. Ones they employed with extreme caution so others wouldn’t suspect. Or at least that was her goal. Roxie tended to hide her proclivities in plain sight, her gift centered in the language of spells and incantations. Beth’s gift also was easy to hide. Visions of the future could only be seen in her mind, after a
ll. But Tara’s proved impossible to hide completely. She’d tried over the years, but had only mastered subtlety as a smokescreen. Her talent lay in detecting the health and wellbeing of a person and then her touch would set matters aright. But first, she had to determine what was amiss. All of which could require the laying on of hands, literally, which could be tricky to do without raising questions.
She had first discovered her powers when a little girl. Playing at the school with her classmates. One classmate had climbed onto the jungle gym on a sunny, late August day despite the teacher warning the children away from the hot metal. Tara had gravitated toward her, sensing danger and a looming need. But nobody else reacted to the strange sight, the pulsating energy, so she kept mum. Waited with mounting fear for someone else to step in and stop the imminent accident. When the small hand wrapped around first one and then the next bar of the metal playground apparatus, Tara jerked in sympathy. After only a few swings from one to the next, the girl had screamed and dropped to the ground near where Tara watched in horror. The air between them vibrated and pulsed, shimmering and glowing in a terrifying way.
A compulsion overcame her paralysis at the sight of the crying girl and forced her to run to her side and grab both of her raw palms in her own. Tingling in Tara’s fingers cooled her palms until the heat in the other girl’s hands dissipated like fog before the sun. When she’d removed her hands, Tara was shocked to see the girl’s palms healed as if never injured. The girl had looked at Tara with a grateful yet fearful expression and then jumped up and ran away to surround herself with her friends. Leaving Tara alone and scared with no one to turn to for an explanation of what had occurred.