Page 32 of Sterling Stone

Stone is planted while I constantly uproot. Commissions call. Adventures lead.

Once upon a time, Sterling Falls was my home, but was it really? I’d felt safe with Aunt Trudy and Uncle Carlton, but never truly secure. In the recesses of my mind was the fear that someone would come forward and claim my sisters and me. They’d take us away from Trudy and Carlton like we’d been taken away from our mother.

Of course, our mother made that choice for us.

And as for my father, I’d never known the man. He’d made the decision to never know me.

Then again, I recognize the urge to flee. Not so much a desire to run as a fear of staying in place.

I was only here for a visit.

At the sound of chatter from the lower level, I release the doorknob and walk down the hall, taking the stairs slowly as I still need to use the bathroom.

Stone Sylver has a nice house. One filled with soothing colors and personal touches. Steel blues and sandy browns fill his living room, where a large fieldstone fireplace that looks original is the major focal point. Old farmhouses like this one have character, and I’m pleased to see the Sylvers have not removed it, while adding modern updates.

A large dining room leads to a remodeled kitchen with an island that separates the workspace from a table that seats eight.

Seven siblings plus one.

From what I’ve learned today, each sibling has a partner. Clay and Mavis. Judd and Genie. Knox and Halle. Ford and Cadence. Sebastian and Enya. Vale and Cortland. Not going to lie, I was starstruck to meet Cadence, one of country music’s sweethearts, even if I’m not a country music fan. I also have an instant girl crush on Genie and understand why Judd has heart-emoji eyes every time he looks at her.

Only Stone is alone.

Whether I believe his story about Emerson Milton or not is yet to be determined. What I do remember is the way his eyes were lit and his smile easy with her. And how her hair was long and straight and beautifully blonde.

Curly-haired girls almost always want that smooth, sleek look, while women with stick straight hair want curls. Sometimes, women are never happy with themselves.

I didn’t see her face, but I’d bet Gloria, my van, on Emerson being a beauty.

This mountain is named for the Miltons. Milton Peak. Milton County. And apparently, Emerson Milton is the town mayor. Five girls in their family, if I remember correctly. Suddenly, I recall little blondes with perfect bows in their hair. I wasn’t in their circle when I lived here. I got the impression they didn’t want anything to do with poor foster kids like me, living with my aunt while my mother rotted in jail. I learned early to keep my distance, to watch, to survive, but never to belong.

Just another reason not to trust people so easily. I’ve built walls so high I don’t even notice them anymore. I’m not certain even I can climb over them.

And yet . . . there’s something about Stone Sylver. Something that makes me question the rules I’ve lived by. He’s different. Unpredictable in a way that makes my chest tighten.

Let me show you who I am.

And he’s scaling those walls, rattling my foundation.

When I eventually make my way back to the kitchen, I step closer to Aunt Trudy, who is standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island, across from where Mary Haven is cutting lemons. I’d been long overdue to pay my aunt a visit, so when she asked me to come here, the timing worked because I had a few days between jobs.

“The bathroom upstairs was occupied. Is there another one?” I ask, like Trudy is familiar with the house.

“There should be one around the corner,” Mary points with the knife she’d been using toward the refrigerator and a hallway beside it.

At the same time, Stone rushes into the kitchen wearing only a towel.

He stumbles and stalls. “Oops,” he says, then quickly nods. “Ladies.” He rushes through the kitchen toward that hallway beside the fridge and disappears.

My gaze follows his retreat, wondering once again if I’ve made a mistake.

Mary and Trudy giggle like schoolgirls.

“Well.” Mary clears her throat, although her eyes are still laughing. “He’s grown up very nicely.”

Stone Sylver is one fine man. Those broad shoulders. That thick patch of hair on his chest. The apparent strength in his arms. I didn’t miss the shape of his ass when I caught a peek in the reflection of the mirror. I also didn’t miss the outline of another appendage. One long and thick and poking in my direction through terrycloth.

“Mm-mm-mm,” Aunt Trudy hums, shaking her head. “And such a good man. Who would have thought?”