Нора Робертс - Key Of Valor

Step by step, until she began to see the picture. A painting for Malory, a book for Dana. What did that leave for her? Shampoo and face cream? she wondered with a half laugh. Those were the kinds of things she knew. Those and what was important in a young boy's world. She knew how to make things, she considered. How to build or transform.

She was good with her hands, she reminded herself, and turned them under the water while she studied them. But what did any of that have to do with paths in a forest, or a goddess with a sword?

A journey, she thought as she turned off the water. That had to be a kind of symbol, as she'd never actually been anywhere. And that didn't look to be changing anytime soon.

Maybe it had to do with her coming to the Valley in the first place, or starting her business with Malory and Dana. Or, she mused as she toweled off, maybe it was just life.

Her life? The daughters' lives? It was something to work out, she decided as she smoothed peach-scented cream over her skin. Nothing all that interesting about her life, but nothing said it had to be. She recalled that Dana had taken specific words from her clue and worked with them. Maybe she would try that.

The goddess with the sword—that was easy enough. Kyna had the sword, and Kyna was hers. But that didn't explain how she was supposed to know her in order to find the key to free her.

With a shake of her head, Zoe turned, glanced at the steamy mirror over the sink.

Her hair was long, a spill of black over her shoulders that made her face look very, very pale. Her eyes were direct, intense, and golden. The mists, warm from the shower, drifted between Zoe and the glass, shimmered like a curtain as she lifted her hand to reach with fingers that trembled toward a reflection that wasn't her own.

For a moment, it seemed her fingers would pass through the curtain, through the glass, and touch flesh.

Then she was standing, alone, in a steamy bathroom, her fingers pressed to the streaked mirror. And staring at her own face.

Imagining things already, she thought, and let her hand fall. Projecting, that's what it was called. Trying to see herself in the young goddess, and just tired and worked up enough to think she could. Another angle to consider, she decided. In the morning when her mind was sharper.

She got into bed with her files, and went over her supply lists. For the salon, for the day spa she planned to attach to it. For the house itself.

She toyed with some new ideas, made some notes, tried to concentrate.

But the key and the clue kept winding back through her mind.

A forest. There were lots of forests in theLaurelHighlands ofPennsylvania . Did it mean a literal forest, like with trees, or was it a metaphor?

She wasn't good with metaphors.

Blood, what did the blood mean? Did it refer toJordan 's blood when he'd been hurt? Or was it someone else's? Was it hers?

She'd certainly had her cuts and scrapes over the years. She'd sliced her thumb once, when she was, what, eleven? Cutting tomatoes for sandwiches. Her brother and sister had been fighting, and one of them had bumped her.

The knife had cut right along the side of her thumb, from the tip past the knuckle, and the gash had bled like a fountain. She still had a scar, she mused, turning her thumb up to trace the faint line.

But the scar wasn't hard, and it certainly wasn't any kind of shield. So that probably wasn't it.

Pain and loss and blood and despair. Christ, why did her clue have to be so depressing?

She would just have to make the best of it, she decided, and picked up her notes again. She blinked when her vision started to blur, and slid into sleep with the light still burning.

She dreamed of her blood, dripping steadily on a dull brown linoleum floor while children screamed around her.

She overslept. Zoe couldn't remember the last time she'd done that. Certainly not in the past decade. As a result, it was nearly ten by the time she arrived, boy and dog in tow, at Indulgence.

She parked on the street, as the driveway was already loaded. Flynn's car,Jordan 's. And one of Brad's. He had two that she knew of, and probably more.

She managed to snag Moe's leash before he leaped out of the car, and with a mother's skill for juggling, grabbed her purse and her cooler, controlled the dog, and kept a sharp eye on her son as she loaded everything up.

"You keep a good hold of this dog," she told Simon as she passed him the leash. "You make him mind you. We have to find out what Flynn wants to do about him today."

"He can stay with me. We can fool around out back."

"We'll see. You go on, but stay where I can see you from the house until I get sorted out."

They bounded off while she walked toward the front door.

She loved to look at the place, the big old house with all its possibilities. They'd already put their mark on it, painting the front porch a bright, celebrational blue and arranging pots of mums to flank the front steps.

As soon as she got around to it, she was going to pick up some old pots at the flea market. Clean them up, paint them. Maybe she'd search out half a whiskey barrel as well, and they could plant seasonal flowers in it.

She glanced up at the window above the front door. Malory had hired a glass artist to create a stained-glass panel for that space, using the design from their logo.

That was just the sort of touch that was going to make their place unique.

She set the cooler down, opened the door.

She heard the music. It wasn't set up to blast, but it was close. Through it, she heard hammering, sawing, voices. The good noise of work in progress.

She stood absorbing it for a moment, looking up the stairs that neatly bisected the main level. Dana's bookstore on one side, and Malory's gallery on the other. With my salon over them, she thought. The communal kitchen in the back, then the nice little yard where one day, she hoped, they would set up tables where customers could sit and enjoy refreshments during good weather.

Though it would be weeks before Indulgence could open, it was already a dream come true for Zoe.

"Hey. Where's the rest of your crew?"

Zoe brought herself back and looked over to see Dana stroll into the little foyer. "Out in the back. I'm sorry I'm late."

"We've already docked your pay. Or we will, once we get a time clock. Jeez, lose the guilty look, Zoe. Nobody's set hours yet, especially on Saturday."

"I meant to be here an hour and a half ago," she said as she shrugged out of her coat, "but I slept late. I didn't get up until nearly eight."

"Eight!" Dana exclaimed in horror "Why, you lazy bitch!"

"I don't know how Simon kept that dog quiet—or vice versa—but when I got up they were in the backyard. By the time I made them presentable, got them breakfast, pulled myself together, I was way behind. Then I stopped by Flynn's, thinking I would drop Moe off, but nobody was home, which made Simon's day."

She let out a sigh. "Dana, I'm going to end up getting him a dog. I just know it."

Dana's dimples appeared in her cheeks as she grinned. "Sap."

"That's the God's truth. I didn't know everybody was coming over here today."

"Figured we'd give it a nice big Saturday push."

"That's good." Ready to dive in, Zoe strapped on her tool belt. "What are you up to?"

"I was up to putting the second coat of varnish on my floors, butJordan claims I don't do it right. So he's putting it on, which leaves me painting the kitchen, as the unanimous opinion around here is that painting's all I'm good for."

"You're an excellent painter," Zoe said diplomatically.

"Hmm. Malory and Flynn were doing the varnish in her spot, but she claims he doesn't do it right, so he was sent upstairs to work with Brad."

"Upstairs? In my place? What's Bradley doing upstairs in my place?"

"I think he was…" Dana decided to save her breath as Zoe was already sprinting up to see for herself.

The walls of the salon area had already been painted by her own hand. They were a deep pink that edged toward purple. A rich color, she'd thought, a feminine one, but not so girly that a man would be put off by it.

For contrast, on the trim and for the counters she'd begun to build, she was going to go with a bold green, then take these same colors, in softer hues, into her treatment areas.

The floors were already sanded and sealed—a chore she'd taken care of personally, then protected with drop cloths.

She had plans for displays, and had already picked out the fabric to make slipcovers for a secondhand couch and a couple of chairs she had on hold.

She'd decided on the lighting, on the treatment tables, even on the color of the towels she would use. Everything in her salon would have her touch, reflect her vision, and be created by her own two hands.

And there was Bradley Charles Vane IV busily sawing the board for one of her counter stations.

"What are you doing?"

Nobody heard her, of course. Not with Brad's saw buzzing, and Flynn's nail gun popping, and the damn music blaring.

She might as well not even be there. Well, she would fix that, right this minute.

She marched over until her shadow fell across the board and the template Brad was following. He glanced up, gave her a little head jerk to indicate she was in his light.

She stood her ground.

"I want to know what you're doing."

"Hold on a minute," he shouted right back at her, and finished running the blade through the board. He turned off the saw, shoved up his safety goggles.

"Your laminate came in."

"I want—my laminate?" The thrill of that had her spinning around in the direction he pointed. And there it was, that wonderful bold green. "It's perfect. I knew it would be perfect. It wasn't supposed to come in until next week."

"Got in early." He'd put a rush on it. "We ought to be able to have a couple of these done today."

"I don't expect you to—"

"Hi, Zo." Flynn set the nail gun down, grinned up at her. "What do you think?"

"I think it's really nice of you to pitch in this way. Give up your Saturday and all. But I can do this if you want to… do something else."

"We've got a good start on it." He glanced past her. "Where are the big dog and the small boy?"

"They're out back. I didn't know what to do with them."

"Plenty of room to run around out there. I'll go check on them." Flynn got to his feet. "Want coffee when I come back?"

"Only if you didn't make it," Brad told him.

"Ingrate." Flynn gave Zoe a wink, then left them alone.

"I don't want you to—"

"You've got a good design," Brad interrupted. "For your stations. Neat and simple. It's easy to follow your plans, get a good sense of what you have in mind."

She folded her arms. "I didn't expect anybody would have to follow them."

"You do good work." He paused a beat while she stared at him. "Careful planning, good choices, a flair for design. Any reason why you have to do everything yourself?"

"No. You just shouldn't feel obligated, that's all."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Ingrate."

Defeated, she let out a half laugh. "Maybe it's more that I know what kind of work I do, but I don't know if you're any good." She walked around the base of the counter he was finishing for her. "I guess you do okay."

"My granddaddy'd be so proud to hear that." With the wood between them, she gave him a quick, easy smile. "I want to cut the laminate myself. I just want to be able to…"

'To look at it when it's finished, to look at it a year from when it's finished and say, Hey, I did that."

"Yes. That's it exactly. I didn't mink you'd understand."

He shifted, stood hip-shot, and angled his head. "Do you know why I came back to the Valley?"

"I guess I don't. Not really."

"Ask me sometime. You want to get that nail gun? We'll knock this thing out."

She had to admit they worked well together, and he didn't, as she'd assumed he would, treat her as if she wasn't capable of handling tools. On the contrary, he took for granted that she was capable.

He did tend to be bossy about certain things. If she started to lift something he deemed too heavy, he snapped out an order for her to leave it be. And he insisted on going down himself to haul up her cooler.