Kathleen O'Brien - The Secrets of Bell River

Tess was a tactile person. She thought, and heard, and spoke, and even learned, through her hands. It was her talent. Really, her only talent. If she’d had a choice, she would have chosen something far more lucrative, like computer programming or rocket science.

But she hadn’t had a choice. All she had was the ability to learn about a person by touching their skin, working their body. By hearing the tension in their muscles and the strain in their joints. By knowing which pressure points they responded to, what made their blood flow more easily, what drained the unhappiness from their faces.

Once she worked on someone, she understood them in a new way, and the urge to judge, or mock, or take down a peg simply vanished.

“I’m not worried about the health inspector, really,” Rowena went on, indicating to both Brianna and Tess in her explanation. “There’s nothing to find, so he can dig away. Whoever phoned is just causing trouble for the fun of it. The real problem is that I will have to dance him around, which means I won’t be available for the working massage, Tess. We’ll have to find someone else for you to work on.”

Rowena turned a hopeful gaze toward her sister, who shook her head implacably. “Sorry,” Bree said. “Much as I’d love to let someone work out these kinks, I’ve got nine eight-year-olds waiting to take a sleigh ride to see Santa in downtown Silverdell.”

Rowena made a raspberry of annoyance. “Drat. Forgot about that. Really, next year we are going to have to close from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, like we planned. Won’t that be heavenly? I’ll sleep the whole time.” She gave Tess a rueful glance. “This year, we can’t afford to close a single minute. Which is why we’re interviewing four days before Christmas, in case you thought that was nuts.”

Tess smiled neutrally. She had been part of start-ups before, and she knew the first couple of years were insane, and very touch-and-go, financially. Rowena might be optimistic to think they’d be on solid footing in twelve months.

Besides, Tess couldn’t bring herself to think about Christmas this year. Her mother had died two months ago, and the jingling bells and twinkling lights all over town were a jarring reminder of what she’d lost.

She didn’t intend to celebrate any holidays for a while. The only toast she’d raise this year was to a new beginning and an entirely new life.

“I’m glad you were,” she said, “since four days before Christmas just happened to be when I was looking for a job.”

Rowena accepted that logic with a nod, then turned to Bree. “What about Becky? Can’t she take over?”

“Nope. She’s leading Pilates. We’d have a mutiny if we canceled Pilates.”

“Mark? He’s good with kids!”

“Good with kids?” Brianna laughed. “Are you kidding? Mark threatened to tie Alec to a tree yesterday if he didn’t stop putting snowballs down Ellen’s back.”

“So?” Rowena grinned. “I threaten to tie Alec to a tree every day.”

“Well, you’re his stepmother. I think it’s written in the job description.”

“Hey,” Tess interrupted, finally realizing that if she waited for an opening she’d be here all day. “It’s okay. Really. I can come back tomorrow.”

Rowena shook her head. “No, that’s silly. I need you to start tomorrow, if everything works out. With Devon leaving in a week, there’s hardly any time to get you up to speed.”

Rowena chewed on her lower lip, narrowing her eyes with fierce determination. “There has to be a way...there must be someone.” Her eyes opened wide. “Mrs. Fillmore! Is there any chance you would be willing to let Tess do your massage today? She has excellent credentials, and we need some feedback on a working massage, so that—”

“No.” The older woman folded her magazine tightly, the paper crackling under the force of her fingers.

Rowena frowned. “Of course it would be a complimentary session, as you’d be doing us a favor. And if for any reason it wasn’t satisfactory, we could ask Ashley to—”

“No.” For a minute it seemed Mrs. Fillmore wasn’t going to elaborate, and would let the rejection hang there like a slap in the face. But apparently she realized how rude it sounded and bent a little.

“My sciatica is acting up today. Ashley is the only one who knows how to give me any relief. I’m sorry, but I just can’t take chances with a...” She paused, wrinkling her nose slightly. “A beginner.”

Heat flooded Tess’s face. Beginner was insulting enough, given that she had three degrees and five years of experience. But she had, in her intuitive way, “heard” all the other words that Mrs. Fillmore had considered saying. A nobody. A stranger. A loser. An urchin. A child.

It struck a nerve. Tess was always being taken for younger than she was. She was only five-three. She’d always been too thin, the kind of thin that broadcast the years of going to bed hungry when her mother got laid off. The kind of thin that made her breasts look ridiculous.

And she wasn’t one bit glamorous, didn’t possess an ounce of the confident gloss that rich, well-tended women acquired. She had a small chip out one of her front teeth that should have been repaired long ago, but there’d never been enough money. She worried off her lipstick and couldn’t be bothered applying mascara.

Her only real asset, a mass of curly brown hair that bounced and shone without spending a fortune on it, had to be pinned back ruthlessly when she worked. No one wanted the massage therapist’s curls tickling their bare back.

The compliment she’d heard most often from kind-hearted clients was that she had a sweet face. She knew that was shorthand for “not ugly, of course, a perfectly nice-looking girl, but...”

“Beginner? Beginner?” Rowena’s high cheekbones were tipped with red. “Tess isn’t a beginner, I assure you, Mrs. Fillmore. In fact, we’re quite lucky to get her. Her last job was at the—”

“It’s okay,” Tess said, wondering about Rowena’s temper. There was zero chance that Mrs. Fillmore would have heard of the Pink Roses Salon, the luxury spa where Tess had worked a year before her mother’s death. Impressing Mrs. Fillmore was impossible. “Really,” Tess added firmly. “Mrs. Fillmore is right. Sciatica can be debilitating. She should have the massage therapist she trusts.”

And Tess should have a fair judge of her talents. A woman bullied into accepting an unwanted massage didn’t look like the most impartial critic.

To her credit, Rowena seemed suddenly to get that. “Oh. Right.” She took a deep breath, clearly tamping down the irritation with the older lady. “Of course.”

Bree, who clearly either didn’t have a temper or knew how to hide it, smiled. “I know. What about Jude?”

“What about Jude?” The man’s amused voice came from behind the wall, and was followed by a rustling sound, then the appearance of a large body.

For a minute, Tess wasn’t sure he was real. Surely people that exquisite, that drop-dead gorgeous, didn’t just emerge from behind walls on command. Not even here, at the fairy-tale Bell River Ranch.

Tumbling black waves of hair. Eyes bluer than cornflowers. Lips, jaw, cheekbones, forehead—all chiseled Michelangelo perfect. Tall, lean, perfectly proportioned.

The beautiful creature was dressed as a laborer. A carpenter, probably, judging from the leather apron slung low on his trim hips, like a gunslinger’s belt. His weapons appeared to be screwdrivers, wrenches and other tools she was too ignorant to name.

She almost laughed. If he’d been sent to a movie set by central casting, the director would have rejected him instantly, on the grounds that no real person, carpenter or king, ever looked like this.