"Oh, Rose. Running away is no solution."

"Isn't it? It seems to have worked for Sage." Celeste chastised her with a look, and Rose shrugged. "It's not running away. Not really. I need a new beginning. I need to figure out what that beginning should be."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"I'm a physician and I'm good at it. Unlike someone else we know, I have no intention of leaving that behind."

"Of course not."

Rose stood up and began to pace the gazebo's confines. "I may not have had the manual dexterity to be a surgeon, but that doesn't mean I'm not a good doctor. My instincts are excellent, my diagnostic skills superb. I am caring and compa.s.sionate and my patients trust me and trust in me. Medicine is more than just surgeons. My father always said I was born to be a doctor, and he was right. Dad almost always was right."

"Almost?" Celeste asked quietly.

"He was a strong, disciplined man with exceedingly high expectations. He challenged us to be our best and drove us to achieve. The worst thing in the world was to let our father down. If I left medicine, too, why, he'd turn over in his grave or come back to haunt me."

She whipped her head around and met Celeste's gaze. "Maybe that's Sage's problem. Maybe Dad is haunting her."

"While I am certain that the true reality of existence is beyond the human mind's comprehension, I doubt that it is in G.o.d's plan for a father to literally haunt his daughter over something as trivial as career decisions."

"Trivial!"

"What you do isn't as important as who you are."

"But being a doctor is what I am. It's who Sage is, too."

"Is it really?" Celeste gave the swing a push with her foot. "So, medicine was always your dream? When you were young, you and Sage both dreamed of being a doctor?"

The questions made Rose pause. She sat back down beside Celeste. "No, Sage wanted to be a painter."

"What did you want to be?"

Following a long pause, Rose said, "A writer."

"A writer!" Celeste exclaimed with delight. "What did you dream of writing?"

"Fiction. When I was young, I made up stories in my mind as I went to sleep at night."

"How fun. You must have such a creative mind. What type of fiction did you want to write? Do you still plot stories as you drift off to sleep?"

"I wanted to write mysteries-I loved Lilian Jackson Braun's cat books, but I haven't made up stories for a long time."

"Why not?"

Rose shrugged. "Medicine took over my thoughts. First med school and the army and then the job itself. I usually fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow."

"And now? You're not working now."

"No." Rose exhaled a heavy sigh. "Since the diagnosis, that drifting-off time tends to be my worry moments."

"I see." Celeste patted Rose's knee. "Would you do me a favor? Would you walk with me back to the house? I have something I'd like to show you."

Rose hesitated. She should get packed and on the road. She wouldn't like tackling Sinner's Prayer Pa.s.s in the dark as it was. The thought of driving it while tired left her even more uneasy.

As if reading her mind, Celeste stood, saying, "This won't take long. Trust me. This is something you absolutely must see before you leave Eternity Springs."

Rose found it impossible to deny Celeste. "In that case, lead on."

The fragrance of roses swirled on the cool mountain air as they walked through the garden toward the Victorian mansion that was the heart of the Angel's Rest center. As Rose followed Celeste along the pave stone path, she guarded against allowing her thoughts to drift toward Sage and instead focused on her immediate future. She'd call and book a room in Gunnison before leaving Angel's Rest. Since it wasn't quite high season in the mountains yet, she shouldn't have a problem finding a place to stay, but she'd rather not have that worry as she made the drive.

Celeste greeted the front desk clerk as they walked inside and asked how the teenager's grandmother was feeling following her recent gallbladder surgery. When that brief discussion ended, Rose said, "I'm in Aspen room seven, and I'll be checking out in a few minutes. Would you please get my bill ready?"

"Sure will."

Rose began dragging her feet as they approached the stairs she'd climbed earlier on her way to the Patchwork Angels workroom. She didn't think her sister would have returned to her quilt group, but ... "Is the quilt meeting over?"

"Yes, it is. However, what I want to show you isn't in the workroom. It's a special little place I've prepared on the other side of the attic. Come along, dear."

Rose was relieved to know she wouldn't be running into Angels in this attic, but she wondered what in the world Celeste had up here that she thought Rose needed to see. When Celeste paused in front of a door and fished a set of keys from her pocket, Rose sneaked a quick look at her watch. If she could finish up here at Cavanaugh House in the next twenty minutes, take ten to pack her suitcase and get out of her room, she shouldn't be too late getting to Gunnison.

"Now, dear, before we step inside, I want you to promise me that you will keep an open mind for the next few minutes. Will you do that for me, please?"

Rose smiled indulgently. "I'll try."

Celeste swung the door open, flipped on a light switch, and motioned Rose inside. "This is our garret suite. It's been designed with creative souls-writers in particular-in mind. Since it's dark outside, you can't enjoy the view, but it's one of the loveliest pictures of snowcapped peaks in town. The furnishings are all prizes original to the house. Well, except for the computer, of course. I have a desktop set up here and we're equipped with Wi-Fi."

She opened a cabinet that revealed an entire modern workstation. "However, it's my opinion that the best seat in the house is the window seat. You'll note the convenient electrical outlet. A writer will be able to sit in the window nook all day long and write to her heart's content on a laptop. If writing longhand is more her style-I understand some writers do that still-we designed lighting just for that, too."

She gestured toward the nifty little adjustable wall lamp, then added, "Can't you feel the creative energy buzzing in this room?"

To Rose's surprise, she could feel it, and she felt herself responding to it at the same time her defenses rose. She wasn't stupid. She knew why Celeste had brought her here. "It's a wonderful room, but honestly, you don't think I'm going to hole up here and take a shot at writing?"

"Why not?"

"Well, because."

Celeste grinned. "Now there's a strong argument. I want you to notice that tucked away out of sight of the work area, but handy, too, is the sleeping area and a kitchenette. This suite is the only one in Cavanaugh House itself to have this feature. I had a friend who wrote novels, and he would shut himself up and not leave his apartment for days on end. I thought it was important for our garret suite occupant to be able to nourish not only her creativity but also her body. Rosemary, you could stay here and work on a book and no one would have to know."

Interest fluttered to life inside her, and Rose couldn't help but take another look around the room. What if ...

"No." She shook her head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"It was a childhood dream. A childish idea. Even if I wanted to give this a try, what do I know about writing?"

"You are a medical school graduate. I am certain you know how to do research. I don't doubt you can construct a strong sentence. Can you tell a good story? I don't know. Based on what you've said, I imagine you don't know, either. What I do know is that you won't know the answer until you try."

Rose stepped farther into the room. She did have her laptop with her. Maybe, just maybe, she had the threads of a medical thriller in the back of her mind. But she also had the echo of her father's voice.

You are a physician, Rosemary. You have been given a fine mind and the opportunity to excel. It is your duty to honor those gifts in service to others. You are a healer.

"I need to find another job."

"Pardon my asking, but is that due to financial concerns?" Celeste said.

No. Rose had always been a saver and she had a nice little nest egg built up. "It's because working is what I do."

"I see." Celeste tilted her head and asked, "When was your last vacation?"

"I haven't taken a real vacation in years."

"Then now is your chance."

A vacation? Well, a vacation was different. What would it hurt to take a little time away from reality? Away from expectations?

"Listen to this." Celeste twisted the latch on the windows and threw them open wide. The bubbling rush of Angel Creek drifted up to her like a song. "Isn't it lovely? The topography amplifies the sound. I adore the sound of a bubbling creek. That's what I listen to as I'm drifting off to sleep during these warmer months."

She patted the cushioned window seat. "Come here, my dear. Sit for a spell and listen to the night. It's so peaceful and, in its own way, healing."

Rose knew if she sat down, she probably was toast. The window seat looked like the perfect place to sit, to dream, to escape. It tempted her like chocolate brownies fresh from the oven.

What if she gave it a try? What would it hurt? She had nowhere else she needed to be. Nowhere else she wanted to be, to be honest. Maybe she'd hate it. Perhaps she would be lousy at it. It might be nice to give it a shot, and n.o.body would ever need to know. Medicine would be there waiting for her, just like always.

Celeste fussed with the fold on the filmy white lace window curtain. "We have another resident in town who is dabbling with a book. Gabe Callahan. He's a happy man now with a new wife and twin baby girls, but he's had a difficult time of it in his past. He says that he finds writing therapeutic."

"I could write a novel and name the villainess Sage," she grumbled.

"Now, Rose," Celeste chided. Then, in a more encouraging tone, she added, "Don't give up on your sister. She has been wounded and needs time to heal."

"I've been wounded, too," she responded. She felt a bit embarra.s.sed by her petulant tone, but still-she'd had the Big C.

"Yes, you have," Celeste said. "I am not discounting that at all. It's part of you, and as such, part of your relationship with Sage. As a physician, you know that not all injuries are physical, that some injuries take longer to heal than others, and that injured people heal at different rates."

"True, and some injuries never heal. Despite our efforts, some injuries kill."

"Absolutely. But if you'll look deep inside yourself, you'll recognize that in this case, the patient isn't dead yet."

The patient being her relationship with her sister, Rose understood. "Maybe not, but it's on life support."

"You've already pulled the plug on one family member. Are you honestly prepared to do it again?"

"Ouch."

"Sage is your sister. You are her sister. Each of you needs to forgive the other. True forgiveness can be difficult to achieve, but the reward is immense. Stay with us for a little while, Rose. Indulge your muse. Give yourself and your sister the time to find forgiveness."

Rose sat on the window seat and leaned against the comfy cushioned backrest. By their own volition, her feet lifted and she stretched out her legs. The seat fit her body so perfectly that it might as well have been built for her.

In that moment, she wanted to remain in Eternity Springs, in this garret suite, attempting to write a book and reconcile with her sister. She wanted it so badly that it frightened her. Reacting, she started to move, to flee this suite as fast as Sage had fled the hot springs park earlier. Even as she flexed her muscles, Celeste reached down to the window seat and said, "Look. It's a built-in serving tray. It's a perfect place to set your cup of tea."

Her gaze on the oh-so-perfect tray, Rose surrendered. "What's the security code for the Wi-Fi?"

SEVENTEEN.

June At the end of the third day of the five-day children's cancer camp program at Angel's Rest, Colt sat with Ali Timberlake at a table set for four at the Bristlecone Cafe. Nic Callahan and Sarah Reese had excused themselves moments ago to visit the ladies' room. As a high school kid bused their plates, Colt gazed glumly out the window toward Angel's Rest and the footbridge over the creek where Rose Anderson basked in the attention of Connor Keene, cartoonist and wolf on the prowl. "Sage is going to hear about this and it's going to drive her crazy."

"Why is that?" Ali asked.

"Because Pencil Boy is the perfect p.a.w.n in the War of the Herbs."

A laugh bubbled from Ali's lips. "War of the Herbs?"

"Sage and Rosemary. I halfway expect their twin brothers to show up anytime now looking for their true love."

Ali visibly thought it through. "Parsley and Thyme? Are you a Simon and Garfunkel fan, Rafferty?"

"I'm a sucker who has somehow, without any intentional effort, found himself stuck in the middle between two hardheaded women."

Ali summoned Glenda Hawkins' attention with a little wave and gestured toward her tea gla.s.s. "They are both determined."

"Demented," he grumbled, taking a swig from his own gla.s.s of iced tea.

It had been six weeks since the sisters' scene at the hot springs at Angel's Rest. Four weeks since Rose went public with the news of her "extended vacation" and flew a bee right into Sage's bonnet that had yet to stop buzzing. The two women hadn't spoken to each other, but from what he observed, they each spent half their day trying to ferret out news about the other. Yet a part of him couldn't complain, because for the most part, he had been the beneficiary of Sage's snit about her sister.

She turned to him when she was in turmoil. That had gotten him back into her bed when he first returned to town, and despite a halfhearted attempt or two, she had yet to kick him out. His mistake-and in retrospect it had been a doozy-was to let Sage talk him into approaching Rose for the purpose of subtle interrogation.

He liked Rose Anderson a lot. She was friendly and funny and straightforward. She'd flat out asked him if he was a spy for her sister. He'd confessed that Sage was curious, she'd admitted to a similar state, and he'd launched into his newest part-time job-acting as go-between for the Anderson sisters.

He sighed and said, "So, how did the kids like Cartoon Man?"

"What do you have against Connor Keene?" Ali asked. "He's a really nice guy."

"He's a wolf. He comes on to every woman he meets-doesn't matter if they're sixteen or sixty. Single or married or ..."

"Sleeping with someone?" Ali arched a brow. "Jealous, Rafferty?"

"He has octopus arms and he needs to keep them off my woman."

Ali laughed. "Well, he's great with the children, and he's been a wonderful addition to the program. He's even promised that if we do this again next summer, he'll come back."

"Oh, joy."

At that point, Glenda finally managed to break away from the other table of diners and make her way over to refill Ali's iced tea. Ali smiled up at her and asked, "How are the moving plans going, Glenda?"